Red Skye at Night (11 page)

Back in my days as a competitive athlete I used to push myself hard, daily. My coach would urge me on, and I did as I was told, resolute about stretching my boundaries, bettering my previous achievements. My lungs would be burning, my legs close to collapse at the end of a hard sprint, but the exhilaration was total. That was pain and pleasure mingled, the thrill of success dragged from the grueling punishment of supreme effort. I loved it, thrived on it. I miss it still. I’ve never felt anything like that since. Perhaps Harry is offering me an alternative.

Could I do it? Could I even consider it?

“How would you do it? I mean, what would I…?”

“Your bare bottom, my bare hand. At least to start with. You might acquire a taste for the exercise, in which case I’d have to find something more imaginative for you.”

“Yeah, right. I doubt we’ll find an Ann Summers in the Scottish Highlands.”

“Ann who?”

“Ann Summers. A sex shop. For the handcuffs and, and—stuff.”

“Ah, right. I see. We won’t be needing Ann Summers. I can get all the ‘stuff’ I’ll need in a grocery store. Certainly enough to give you a good time.”

I turn to gape at him as he sprays the water onto my head to rinse away the lather. “A grocery store?”

He nods. “A roll of adhesive tape and a bottle of baby oil would be enough for most things. And a whole lot of condoms, obviously. You already saw what we could achieve with just a few neckties. The rest is just props. Sex toys are nice, good fun to play with, but what really matters is what happens in here.” He taps my forehead. “This is the erogenous zone we need to work on. And I think a decent spanking would help you get your head where it needs to be.”

“What if I like my head just as it is, thank you?”

“Then that’s fine too. I’ll never force you, or put pressure on you to do something you really don’t want.” He tips my chin up, holding my gaze. “But, Hope, can you honestly tell me you don’t want this? That you don’t want to at least to try it? Just once?”

I stare back at him, chewing on my lower lip. It’s a nervous habit, I know that, but I can’t seem to help it. I suspect I’ll be doing it a lot in the coming days.

“Yes. Yes, all right.”

“Yes, what? Yes, you can tell me you don’t want to? Or yes, let’s do it?”

“Yes, let’s do it.”

My reply is whispered, I can’t quite believe I’ve said it. But as soon as the words are out, I know I’m doing the right thing. The right thing for me. Harry McLeod might hurt me, challenge me, he might push my limits, but it’s high time someone did. This could be a mad, crazy idea, but no more so than agreeing to come to Scotland with a man I hardly know. A man who is turning out to be the most exciting, wonderful, vitally alive person I have ever met. A man I could love.

“You won’t regret this, Hope. I intend to take very good care of you.”

I believe he will. Absolutely. For as long as he’s here.

* * * *

We eat our chicken salad and various accompaniments picnic-style, sitting cross-legged on the huge bed, both of us wrapped in fluffy hotel towels. The food is delicious, and I’m starving. Orgasms are hungry work. By mutual but unspoken agreement, we confine the rest of our questions to the matter of sustenance.

“Would you like the last chip?”

“Is there any coleslaw left?”

“Brie or red Leicester?”

Eventually I collect the remnants of our meal back onto the tray and deposit the lot on the hall carpet outside our bedroom door. I return to the bed where Harry is already opening the road atlas at the right page.

“So, we’re here.” He points to the little dot on the map that is Scone. “Tomorrow we head on north, and stop somewhere after about two hours. It’ll be slower going because we’re done with the freeways now. How far do you think we could do? A hundred miles or so?

I ponder that. He’s probably about right. The roads are good, the weather not a problem. An average of fifty miles an hour or thereabouts seems doable. I can’t say I relish the prospect of driving three hundred miles a day, though, and to be expected to contend with spankings on top.

“We can share the driving from now on. Seems fair.” Harry seems to tune in to my unspoken thought. I’m incredulous.

“What are you on about? How can we share the driving?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “The only reason you hired me was because you can’t drive—or so you said.”

“I think, if you recall, what I actually said was that I didn’t drive, not that I can’t. I can, and I do. And I think by now we both know I didn’t only hire you because I needed a driver. I needed you, Hope. Wanted you.”

If I found the notion of sharing the driving difficult to comprehend, the conversation is really getting away from me now. This can’t be true. “I— You couldn’t. I mean, why? Why would a man like you want me?” I refrain from going on to say the rest of what I’m thinking—
Why would a man like Harry McLeod want a plain little nobody, a grumpy cabbie with a gammy leg?

He smiles, his expression sad. “You underrate yourself, Hope. I’ve noticed you do it a lot and we need to work on that. Can’t you just believe me when I say I took one look at you and I knew I had to have you? Would you have come with me, do you think, if I’d told you the truth? If I’d asked you to come to Scotland, to sleep with me, to fuck me, to let me give you orgasms, spank you, make you scream? Would you have said yes to all that?” He watches me, his lip quirking. “No, I thought not. So I hired you to drive me, paid you a bloody fortune in fact. But it was worth every penny because it got you here. With me.”

I gaze at him as if through a fog, peering to make out his features, battling to drag some sense or sanity from this madness. The mist starts to clear, slowly dissolving. Harry’s face comes into sharp focus. I open my mouth, and words come out. No one is more surprised than I am. “I might have agreed to the orgasms. And what about the purring? You promised me purring.” Is it really me saying these things?

Harry lounges against the pillows, the atlas abandoned. He inclines his head thoughtfully. “That too. And of course I haven’t spanked you yet.”

“Maybe you need to put that right then. After all, a deal’s a deal. But if my bottom’s going to be sore, I definitely won’t be driving.” No, this can’t be me. Some inner demon has taken control of my tongue.
Bring it on.

Harry’s answering grin is nothing short of lecherous. “Agreed. Which means I’ll be taking first shift in the morning then. And you can lose that towel.”

* * * *

Am I really doing this? I must be—there’s no other reason I can think of that I would be kneeling naked on a bed about to lay my body across Harry’s lap. No other explanation for my presenting my bare and vulnerable bottom for him to spank. I sneak a glance at his right hand, and I wonder if he’s done this before.

Idiot, of course he has.
The question is, how much experience has he had? Enough to know how to really hurt me? Or perhaps how not to hurt me at all? Because it’s really all the same thing, isn’t it? Pleasure and pain, two extremes with a wide expanse of gray in between. And where am I in all that grayness? I expect I’ll know soon enough.

“How should I…?” I look to him for guidance, for a clue as to how this ought to be done. It should be obvious. It isn’t.

“Face down, your hips on my lap. Just however feels comfortable to you.”

I’ve dumped my towel, as instructed, though it seems Harry saw no pressing reason to be rid of his. It remains knotted around his waist and the telltale bulge under the thick fabric suggests he is as aroused by this as I suspect I may be. In truth, the exact nature of my response remains right now something of an unknown quantity, but arousal might be the nearest description. That or sheer terror. I offer no further comment as I shuffle into position beside Harry and lean forward to position myself across his body.

“That’s good. Wriggle a little farther forward if you could…”

I oblige, to be rewarded by a soft tap on my bum. “Great, that’s just fine.” He continues to massage my bottom, his palm firm and warm, feeling slightly roughened against my skin. “Do you have any questions?”

Just the obvious. “Will this hurt? A lot, I mean?”

“Yes and no. Yes it will hurt, but no, not a lot. Well, not too much. I’ll take it easy on you, and I’ll stop when you ask me to. Fair enough?”

My heart is in my mouth, but still I manage a feeble little nod.

“Ready?” Harry’s voice is soft, his tone gentle, despite what I know will be coming next. I’m struck by the insane thought that here I am, at my most vulnerable, yet I still feel entirely safe with him. And any remaining ambiguity in my response dissipates. I am aroused. Very aroused indeed. I writhe, trying to rub myself against the towel under me. Harry chuckles.

“I think we should get on with this.”

Me too.
“Ouch! Ouch, that hurts.” I jerk, try to roll from his lap as the sharp pain of the first slap radiates across my undefended right buttock. A firm hand in the small of my back puts a stop that.

“Keep still.” The command is terse, and very effective.

I stop wriggling and concentrate on steadying my breathing. “You took me by surprise,” I accuse him, peeved.

“I did ask if you were ready. Can we continue now, please?”

“Yes. But not so hard. Right?”

“Wrong. I decide how hard. You decide when we stop. Okay?”

My answering “Okay” is decidedly grudging, but must be sufficient as he lands the next slap immediately. I yelp, but in truth it feels less severe than the first. The next two are bearable as well, the pain sharp but tolerable.

Harry continues to land slap after slap, his rhythm brisk but controlled. He seems intent on covering the whole of my bottom, spreading the spanks evenly across both buttocks and the tops of my thighs. I lose count after about ten, but by then I’m finding the sensation strangely compelling. It’s uncomfortable, but intoxicating too. I don’t want him to stop, not yet. The burn is increasing, building now, the heat radiating across my sensitive skin. My pussy is wet, my clit throbbing, aching for friction. Harry’s relentless spanking is whipping my nervous system into a state of intense awareness. If I harbored any doubts about my level of arousal at the outset, they are thoroughly dispelled now. I need to come.

“Harry, I…”

He pauses, his palm heavy against my smarting bum. “Enough?”

“Yes. I mean no. I was just… Could you…?”

“Ah, right. Open your legs, please, Hope.”

I do so, willingly. His slides his fingers through my drenched folds, plunging three of them deep into my pussy. He withdraws, then thrusts again, hard.

“Oh, God, that’s fabulous.”

“More?”

“Please. Yes, please.” I’m writhing on his lap, my hips gyrating in desperation. “I want to come. Now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes!”

Harry obliges, finger-fucking me in earnest. He twists his angle of entry to pay due respect to my G-spot. The outcome is inevitable. I climax hard, my pussy contracting around his fingers. My body is spasming madly, the waves of orgasmic pleasure rushing at me. I grasp the duvet in my fists, twisting it as I moan my delight into the soft quilt. Christ, did anything ever feel as good as this?

My orgasm subsides and I lie still again. Harry pulls his fingers from my pussy. “So, do you feel better now?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Shall we continue?”

He means more spanking. I’m surprised at how attractive that prospect seems. Who would have thought it? “Yes, please continue.”

My body jerks as the next spank lands, sharp against my left buttock, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room. I let out a satisfied little gasp. Harry spanks me again, and I moan. The next blow elicits a breathless squeal, the next a distinct yelp.

“More?” Harry pauses to check.

I nod, though I know I’ll need to stop soon. The old determination is reasserting itself, that inner compulsion to reach my limit and go just a little bit further. To have a goal and conquer it.

Harry resumes his spanking, the slaps dropping in a remorseless rhythm against my sensitized, tender skin. My bum feels to be on fire, but still I don’t ask him to stop. And Harry, bless him, doesn’t let up. The intensity is cruel, driven by his ruthless dedication to push me right to my limit.

I reach it. “Enough. Enough now.” I whisper the words, but Harry hears me and stops immediately. I lie still, not wanting—probably not even able—to move for a few moments. Harry says nothing. The bed shifts slightly as he eases his body back against the headboard. He relaxes there, to wait for me.

Eventually I roll to my side, to face him. His expression is inscrutable.

“Did I do okay?” I think I did, but feel compelled to ask.

“You were fantastic, babe. The question is, really, did I do okay?”

“You? Of course. Why would you ask that?”

“You enjoyed that? Mostly?”

I have to think about it for a moment, but I nod my head. “It was painful. At first. Then I got used to it and it felt, I don’t know, sort of invigorating. It set me on edge, like a cold shower or maybe a rollercoaster ride. Scary, but so, so satisfying afterwards.”

“So, are you quite satisfied, Hope?” His voice is rich, overflowing with sensual promise.

I nod again, with rather more conviction this time. “It was fabulous. Really. Like, like nothing I could have imagined.”

“That’s good to hear. Particularly as I haven’t finished with you yet.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t considered that prospect, the possibility that there might be more. I clench my buttocks in self-defense, my new-found enthusiasm evaporating in a moment. I frown, uncertain what to say. Have we passed the point when I can back out, tell him no?

Harry’s smile is sweet, but with an edge of something more. I detect an almost indefinable grimness in his expression, a flash of steely resolve. I’ve glimpsed this before, this resolute determination. I caught a fleeting glance the first time, as he sat in the back of my taxi directing me to the Queens Hotel. There have been flashes since, gone in a moment, but it is undisguised now and going nowhere. There’s an intimacy too, a knowing that is vaguely irresistible. His mouth curls in a wicked smile.