Red Skye at Night (25 page)

We spent three nights with Janet, doing the rounds of Harry’s Orcadian relatives. Despite the mass exodus to Canada in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, there are still a hearty crowd of Harrisons scattered across Orkney, and plenty more on the mainland. We visited the small churchyard where Mary is buried, along with her husband, Harry’s great-grandfather, who died some ten years before his wife. Harry took a photo of the gravestone and texted it to his grandma in Canada. Sarah texted back to thank him, and asked him to lay flowers there for her. Harry duly obliged.

We did plenty of honest to goodness tourist stuff as well—ancient stone circles, historic houses, and the inevitable Second World War memorabilia. The Orkneys provided a natural harbor that offered protection to the British fleet during the War—the islands still dine out on their tales of this. When not sightseeing or being feted by relatives, we trod the narrow shopping streets of Kirkwall, and throughout it all, drank a great deal of tea.

Daisy was made a fuss of by everyone we met. I suspect Harry could have found her a home here if he chose to but he seems determined that she’s staying with him. If Daisy has any objections she’s keeping them to herself. She is truly besotted with her new master. I think I may be, too.

I’m sorry to be leaving as we lean on the rail at the stern of the ferry, watching the Orkneys recede into the distance. We are heading back to Thurso where we’ll spend one more night at the mill—Harry got Jill to book us in there again—then the plan is to press on across the Highlands to Skye. Harry has been studying his map again, planning our route. I’ve given up mentioning my satnav—he prefers to do this the old-fashioned way. From Thurso it’s south toward Inverness, but veering to the west before we actually reach the city, then across perhaps a hundred miles of wild Scottish countryside to the Skye bridge. At least there is a road link, no need for a ferry this time. The roads are good, but remote and not especially fast. Harry estimates it will take about six hours if we do it non-stop, which may well be the only option. Apart from stunning scenery, which we’ll find in abundance, there’s precious little else to stop for along this route. We decide to enjoy the facilities at the mill, then make an early start.

My bottom is tingling already. Janet never turned a hair at the prospect of Harry and me sharing a room, but we’ve kept our play pretty vanilla. The sound of me screaming in the middle of the night would have taken some explaining, and neither of us was up for that. It’s been nice, though, plenty of relaxed, gentle fucking. What it may have lacked in inventive finesse has been more than made up for in quantity and quality. Harry is a demanding Dom, but he’s a sensitive lover too. I’m not sure which facet I prefer. Even so, I’m in the mood for something a little edgier now. Harry has unleashed my inner submissive. She’s had a quiet couple of days but I’m hoping that Harry is ready to do something to pep her up again.

I decide to broach the subject with him. “May I ask what you have in mind for later, Sir? I assume we will be…”

“Oh yes. And no, I prefer to surprise you.” His tone is terse—not curt exactly, but I do detect the thread of Dom steel, which tells me there will be no discussion, no negotiating. I have two choices—safe word or accept.

“I see. Thank you, Sir.” I accept.

He smiles, drapes his arm across my shoulders as we stare at the horizon, the Orkneys now reduced to a hazy smudge. “My perfect little sub.”

His?
For now, yes.

Chapter Fourteen

“Stand facing the foot of the bed and lean on it. I want your head and shoulders down, your ass up.”

We’re back in the master bedroom at the mill. I am naked, of course. Harry is fully dressed. This is how I’ve come to prefer our scenes. He leans against the door jamb, a glass of iced water in his hand. The cubes clink together. He catches my expression of mild alarm and grins.

“Not this time, my sexy little sub. You need something with a little more bite this evening. Would you agree?”

Not that my opinion will count, but actually, I would. My pussy is spasming, moistening at his casual words and relaxed perusal of my body. I turn to face the bed and bend over as instructed. Harry places his glass down and comes to stand beside me. He slips an arm under my stomach and lifts me up a little higher, his other hand on the back of my shoulder to push my upper body farther down. I bend my arms, my weight on my elbows as my arse is lifted as high as I can get it. The position is not comfortable, though I guess that won’t matter.

“Spread your legs a little, feet apart, please.”

Oh, I see.

I do as I’m asked. Harry is standing beside me, to my right. He turns so he is facing my arse and wraps his right arm around my waist to hold me still while he wipes the flat of his left hand right across my pussy from front to back. I’m wet already, embarrassingly so, but his attentions create more moisture, more decadent dampening. He smears my juices across my cunt and anus, caressing my folds as he rubs me. I groan, leaning farther forward to better present myself to him.

“Liking this, little slut?”

“Yes, Sir.” My answer is muffled as I try not to bite a hole in the duvet cover.

“Come if you want to.” He continues his sensual assault, sinking three fingers into my pussy on each alternate swipe. I try to grip him, squeezing my inner muscles around his digits, but each time he gives my G-spot a quick rub then pulls out. I attempt to wriggle but his arm around my waist holds me still. I gyrate my hips in a further attempt to increase the sensation, earning myself a sharp slap across my bottom.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” I surrender to the inevitable. This is Harry’s show and he will control it. Utterly.

The torment continues. Harry teases me, using his hand to stimulate, to penetrate. To massage until I’m gasping, groaning, pleading for the release he can provide. He told me I could come, but in reality, I can only orgasm if he decides I will. I widen my stance, silently begging to be finger-fucked—or to have him rub my clit. He steadfastly refuses my invitation, simply opting to drive me wild. My knees would give out but for Harry’s support. He is literally holding me up by the time he does, oh so delicately, lay the pad of his middle finger across my clit and drag it from side to side.

The impact is explosive. I quite simply detonate. The orgasm that has been building, gathering form and force deep in my cunt bursts, like a cork popping from a champagne bottle. The liquid heat of my climax floods everywhere, fizzing, effervescing, pouring into every corner of me. I stagger forward, would collapse onto the bed but for Harry’s arm wedged around my middle. He holds me in place and continues to caress my pussy, inside and out, dragging out the sheer carnal pleasure to the maximum degree.

Only when my body stops shaking, as the shudders subside, does he loosen his hold, but still he steadies me.

“Don’t get up. Take deep breaths, regain your balance. Now we’ve taken the edge off your appetite, we can have some real fun.”

I’m listening to him through my post-orgasmic haze, the semi-trance-like state he sometimes calls subspace. It’s as though a switch in my head has been flicked, and I’m now in a state where anything is fine, anything is good, as long as Harry is here and he’s doing it. I trust him. I won’t say no to him, to anything. I’m totally his. I lean into the bed, rub my cheek on the duvet as I turn to look at him through half-closed lids.

He’s taking off his belt.

A week ago, I would have whimpered. I might have pleaded. I sure as hell wouldn’t have remained still, perfectly trusting, waiting. Now I do. I watch, interested but not alarmed as he folds the belt in two, wrapping his hand around the buckle and the end, the loop hanging beside his knee. I’m not scared, but I am curious.

“May I ask why, Sir?”

“Why, slut? Why what?”

“What have I done to deserve your belt, Sir? I didn’t know I’d earned a punishment.”

“This isn’t discipline. This is just for fun.”

“But I thought…”

“Don’t you believe me? Have I taught you nothing?” Despite his words, his tone is warm, teasing almost. I’m no further forward as far as understanding the situation is concerned, but it’s clear his intention is not to hurt or upset me. And therefore, he won’t be doing either of those things.

“I do believe you, Sir. I apologize.”

“I’ll accept your apology, but your thrashing comes first.” He moves to stand behind me, the belt dangling from his right hand. The buckle trails on the floor now he is holding the leather end. He can’t mean to hit me with the buckle—surely?

I know better than to question him now. My eyelids close.

I flinch, the reaction quite involuntary as the leather connects with my bottom. It’s not a blow, though. He’s stroking me with it. I open my eyes and glance back to see that Harry is holding the belt taut between his hands and is drawing the leather across my buttocks. The caress is sensual, the strokes long and slow. The strokes shorten, and become more rapid, my bottom quivering under the gathering force. Then, suddenly, he brings his hands together and flings them apart, the belt looping and straightening sharply between his fists and slapping down across both my buttocks.

“Ooh, ooh, Sir…” I’m shivering—it was so unexpected, the sharp pain mingled with the heady ecstasy of his earlier teasing.

“Again?”

“Christ, yes. Please. Sir.”

Harry chuckles and starts to draw the length of his belt across my bottom again. Both my cheeks are trembling as he prepares me for the next blow, my anticipation building as he once again starts slow, then narrows and speeds up as he prepares me. The snap of his belt connecting with my butt cheeks is fabulous. I gasp, burying my face in the bedding as I lift my bottom higher.

“Don’t stop. More, please.”

“Open your legs as wide as you can. This one lands on your pussy.”

I obey, almost orgasming again on the spot as he draws the rough side of the leather back and forth across my swollen clit. He takes his time, deliberately building and stoking my response until I’m thrusting back hard against the belt. The crack of leather hitting flesh and the sudden pain shooting through my pussy sends me into a brief but intense climax, the waves of delight reverberating through me.

Tears prick my closed eyelids, threatening to spill. I don’t care. I’m not crying from pain, or unhappiness. This is joy—sheer, unadulterated joy at the pleasure he gives me and keeps on providing. He hurts me when he chooses to, or when he decides I’ve deserved it. He has my absolute obedience at a word, but he also knows my body better than I do myself.

He’s already started to drag the leather across my buttocks again, even as the final aftershocks of my orgasm continue to tingle and ripple through me. I re-gather my shattered senses and concentrate, focus on the sensation again. He’s changed the angle, now drawing the belt diagonally across my bum from upper left to lower right. The strokes shorten then they speed up. There’s a brief pause before the leather whips across my sensitized skin.

“Oh Lord. Harry…”

He chuckles, doesn’t correct my form of address. I’m grateful for his leniency even as I sink into the sensual bliss again. This time the angle is from lower left to upper right. I start to imagine the pattern he’s creating across my tingling buttocks, and wonder if he’ll allow me to look. He usually does. I let out a scream as the leather connects again.

“Sir! Oh…”

“Getting sore now?”

“Mmm, a little, Sir.” I clench my buttocks, acutely conscious of the moisture that I’m sure must be glistening across my pussy.

Harry turns to face away from me again, taking up his earlier position and looping his arm around my waist again. I note it’s the arm holding the belt, which now dangles harmlessly below me. He takes my weight and applies his free hand to my cunt and arse, spreading my moisture from my pussy across my butt cheeks now. The pressure of his hand is abrasive, rubbing my tender flesh. He scratches the most sore places with his fingernails, causing me to groan and writhe but he doesn’t let up.

“If you want me to finger-fuck you, you have only to ask.”

“Would you? Please, I’d like that, Sir.”

“Mmm, I know you would. Cunt or ass?”

I hesitate for just a moment. “Arse, please.”

“Good choice. When we get back to civilization, I’m going to buy you a selection of butt plugs. I might make you wear them all day.” As he casually remarks on a future I can’t imagine we could even have together, he’s working his middle finger into my unresisting arse.

I groan, my arousal building as the tight muscle slackens and he sinks his finger the full length inside me. He thrusts hard, working another in alongside to stretch my opening. I’m conscious that in this position he has a perfect view, but this makes the whole experience even more delightful, more intimate.

I squeal in pure joy as he reaches his other hand a little farther to part my pussy lips. He maneuvers the belt buckle to lay it against my clit then presses and rotates it gently. The cool metal is hard against my sensitive swollen bud, the conflicting sensations heightening the intensity of all that is happening to me.

I last mere moments before I shatter again, my orgasm pulsing through my nervous system in rapid bursts of pleasure. I scream now, unable to contain my emotional as well as physical response to the sensory overload. Harry never lets up, his fingers working my body, his arm supporting my now dead weight as a series of mini-orgasms rack my body.

At last it’s over and the final shivers dissipate. Harry lowers me face first to lie in a collapsed, sated heap on the bed. I hear the splash of water, the rustle of fabric against skin. I know Harry is rinsing his hands, then undressing. This means he intends to fuck me. I am utterly content.

“Scuttle up the bed, please, hands above your head.” The Dom tone is back, the command slicing through my orgasmic happy-haze. Despite my aching limbs and tender bottom, I know I have to obey him. Now.

Seconds later I am lying on my back, my head propped on a pillow, reaching for the oak bar connecting the two bedposts. I smile as Harry crawls alongside me, the belt still clutched in his hand. He uses it this time to loop around my wrists and secure my hands to the bar.