Sure Thing (12 page)

Suddenly, it’s all over. I hear the soft thud as the strap lands on the floor beside me and realize Tom has tossed it where I can see it clearly for the first time. I shudder and feel thankful that he never let me get a clear view before he laid it across my body. I would never have found the courage to go through with it if I’d had a good look at that menacing, black monster, liberally decorated with gleaming, evil, studs. I glare at it now with something close to loathing.

“Why the studs? Don’t you have a plain one?”

“I have a wide selection, some plain, most with studs. I like that one. Next time, I’ll let you choose.” I hear his voice behind me but I can’t summon up the strength to twist my neck and shoulders to look at him.

Next time? Will there be a next time? Yes, perhaps. Possibly.

Definitely.

He goes on. “I wasn’t being deliberately cruel to you. The studs leave marks on your skin so I can see exactly where I’m placing the strap each time. It helps.”

Marks on my skin? My bottom feels lacerated. “Am I bleeding?” The question burst out before I had the chance to think about the absurdity of it.

“No, Ashley, you are
not
bleeding. You’ll never be bleeding from anything I do to you. I promise you that. No blood, no lasting damage. No scars.”

I yelp as something cool lands on my tender, abused bottom. What now?

“Hold still, wimp.” He’s chuckling now as he works the cream into my skin.

I wriggle, protesting, but the stuff soon does its work and the sting is subsiding quickly. Who’d have thought I could be in such intense pain, such agony, and minutes later it’s gone? He hadn’t been boasting when he’d said he was good at this stuff. And that I’d benefit from his years of practice.

His ministrations to my bottom completed, Tom deftly slides his fingers between my legs to remove the vibrator, still pulsing inside me. I moan softly, already regretting the loss of my friend. He then quickly goes around the bench undoing the restraints. He leaves the strap around my waist until last, knowing, I daresay, that if he’d loosened that too soon I’d have simply rolled to the floor. As it is, I have chance to flex my arms, lift my body slowly, experimentally, taking my own weight before I am finally free.

I wait, sprawled across the bench, expecting Tom to help me to my feet. Instead, he leaves me there, picks up the studded strap from the floor then strolls away toward the bed where he tosses the black leather onto the duvet before unhurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. He removes the shirt, drops it casually onto the floor alongside my own clothes, my sexy Next dress discarded at the beginning of this little escapade of ours. As I watch him, grimly hanging onto the spanking bench as my only anchor in a distinctly turbulent world, Tom unfastens his jeans, though he doesn’t pull down the zip. Well, not yet. His impressive erection is very, very evident. He grabs a couple of pillows from the bed and piles them against the headboard. He drops onto them, making himself comfortable. He’s barefoot, and I suppose he must have been throughout although I never noticed it previously.

He watches me silently as I openly admire him. He had his opportunity to study my body to his heart’s content earlier, and the rest, so now it must be my turn. And he really is a pleasure to look at, his bare chest finely sculpted, his biceps flexing as he reaches to clasp his hands behind his head. Once more I am struck by his sheer male beauty and by my own amazement that he’d even look twice at me. The combination of Tom’s sexy presence and the memory of those earth-moving orgasms earlier makes my mouth water, and he knows it. He bloody well knows what he’s doing, lying there, watching me, waiting.

Sure enough, he smiles slowly and beckons me with his fingers. “Come here, Ashley.”

The command was clear, obedience expected. And I really have no objection. I gingerly push myself to a standing position, taking care to find my balance before turning to shuffle toward him. He waits, never offering to help me but not hurrying me either. I need to find my own way to him, in my own time. And, after what seems like a marathon trek, I’m there, standing beside the bed, gazing down at him. Wordlessly, he slides along a couple of feet to make room for me and pats the duvet next to him to indicate I’m to climb onto the bed. I do so, stiffly. My body is sore, although the cream has done a fine job of taking the sting from my tender bottom. But I ache everywhere, probably from tensing and clenching my muscles as I clung to the bench. I kneel alongside him, never breaking his gaze though that superb erection is well within my peripheral vision and I feel justified in hoping for great things from it before much longer.

Moments pass, and inevitably I give in first, sliding my eyes away to look at my hands clasped in front of me. I notice idly that they are twisting nervously. Although the worst is over, it must be, I find this mood of his terrifying and intimidating, his Dom side clearly on full display for me now. And that menacing leather strap is still there, beside him on the bed.

He reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb grazing my lips until I look up again. His head is cocked to one side as he watches me carefully, looking for—what? Eventually, “How are you, Ashley?”

“I, I’m fine. Sir. A little stiff, but…”

“Not your body, love. I know exactly how that’s feeling, and I’m thinking you’d like me to give it some serious attention very, very soon. Yes?” His lips quirk in a cheeky, lustful grin.

It’s not quite so funny from where I’m sitting, or rather, kneeling. I frown, just wishing he’d get on with it. Please.

“All in good time, my sweet Ashley. I won’t disappoint you.”

A mutinous thought concerning arrogant pigs flashes across my mind but I stifle the urge to say anything unwise. I just want him to shove something between my legs. Fingers, mouth, cock, I’m not at all fussy at this stage, just as long as he does it now!

Instead, “Kiss me, Ashley.”

“What? Why, but…?”

“Please, kiss me, Ashley.” His eyes are serious, soft. He waits.

I’m not averse to this—I absolutely love kissing Tom Shore. I reach up, take his face between my palms and lean in. I kiss his mouth, hesitant at first then with more confidence as his lips move under mine. I run my tongue along the seam of his lips and he parts them. I slip my tongue inside, pulling myself in closer as I do so, as I deepen the kiss. My arms are around his neck, my breasts pressed against his chest. It occurs to me I could simply straddle him, satisfy my increasingly desperate urges by rubbing my throbbing clit on his erection, which is still encased in his jeans but threatening to find freedom at any moment.

Realizing my intent, he breaks the kiss, quickly rolling me onto my back and leaning over me. “Uh uh, baby. This is still my show. You get to be fucked when I decide, not before.”

I gaze up at him uncertain how to respond, and not at all sure I’m liking Tom the Master all that much. Perceptive, he sees. He understands me.

“You’re not meant to like me, love. You’re supposed to obey and just want me anyway. And you’re supposed to trust me. Your kiss tells me you do trust me, and your eyes say you want me. Is that right, little Ashley?”

“Yes,” I whisper my response, make no attempt to play hard to get. There’s absolutely no fight, no resistance in me. Maybe this is total submission, who knows?

“Put your hands above your head.” The Dom tone is clear, unmistakable. Demanding obedience.

I’m finding there’s a refreshingly simple quality to just handing control over to someone else. I do as I’m told, and he reaches for that evil strap again. I flinch, but this time he uses it to fasten my hands together before threading it around the bars of the headboard, securing me in place once more. He drops a brief kiss onto my lips then starts making his way down my body. Slowly. He nuzzles my breasts, opening his mouth wide around the plump fullness before nibbling my sensitive, hard nipples. I gasp, arching upwards into his mouth. He lightly bites first one engorged tip then the other, increasing the pressure until I squeal with pain. Or pleasure.

“Perfect for nipple clamps, maybe next time…” he murmurs before moving farther south.

He stops briefly at my belly button to tease it with the tip of his tongue then firmly spreads my thighs with his hands. He stops for a moment to gaze at me, at my most intimate places laid wide open for his inspection. Then his mouth is on me. All over me. He circles the entrance to my pussy with his tongue as a prelude to spearing it inside. I scream my pleasure as he tongue-fucks me swiftly, my body thrashing under his hands as he holds me firmly in place. He withdraws his tongue to replace it with one finger.

He slides that in and out, fast and deep, then he looks up and meets my eyes. “More?”

“Yes, yes please.”

“Then ask me for more, Ashley.”

Beyond anything even vaguely resembling dignity now I’m ready to plead. The slut in me completely unleashed, I beg, “Please, Tom. I need more. Please, more…”

“How much more, Ashley? One more finger? Two more?”

“Two!” I scream at him, twisting desperately, my inner muscles clenching as I try to force the pace. I have no chance, there’s no way he’s letting me influence events now.

But suddenly I have no need to. He slides two more fingers obligingly inside me and starts to thrust, angling them to increase the delicious pressure inside me. And as he does that he dips his head again, this time to take my clitoris between his lips. He flicks it with his tongue, once, twice, then closes his lips around it and sucks.

I come. It’s powerful and it’s swift, my consciousness shattering as the orgasm grips me, tosses me around and drops me back to earth again. Whilst I’m still reeling, before the ripples have even started to fade, he’s pulled his fingers from my pussy only to insert one, then two into my anus. Stretched, forced almost, I gasp with shock then calmly accept. I didn’t expect this, not so soon, but Christ, this does feel so good. I lie still, my legs spread wide as he gently works his fingers inside me, making sure of my full submission to this latest indignity before he uses his other hand to slowly insert two fingers back inside my pussy.

Near to exhaustion but helplessly content, I lie still, conscious now only of the tender, delicate caresses in my most private places. He angles his hand so his thumb is on my clit again, rubbing firmly, demanding one more orgasm. I have no option, the now familiar churning and clenching starting up again. This time, though, the peak seems to last longer, endlessly circling around me as I climax again and again. It seems as though any will, any resistance at all has now gone and I am his, to play with and control. And that’s absolutely fine by me.

I’m not sure, but I think I may have started to drift in and out of consciousness by the time he eventually slides his gentle, probing fingers from my body. But still he’s not done. Kneeling over me he unzips his jeans, and his huge erection is there for me to see, to touch if only my hands were free. With a wry smile he sees me straining against the heavy black leather around my wrists but he doesn’t release me. Instead he leans across me to grab a condom from the bedside table. He swiftly, expertly, rips the packet and unrolls the latex over his hard, thick cock then positions himself at my entrance, ready to fill me.

“Now you get fucked, baby. Very thoroughly. I’ve been waiting for this, it’ll be hard, and fast, and deep. Scream if you want to. Faint if you must.”

With no further ado he thrusts, and I jerk as my completely ready and extensively prepared body accepts him. He buries himself to the hilt, his balls swinging against my bottom as the head of his penis surges against my cervix. And I do scream, but not in pain. I scream because the sensation, the fullness is so intense, so all-consuming. As far as I can tell I don’t faint. I bring my knees up to open my legs wider, then hook my ankles together behind his back as he thrusts into me, relentless, hard, fast. I realize that this is for him now, for his pleasure rather than for mine but I don’t mind. I have a desperate, almost pathetic need to give him something, and he can take all of me.

Despite having already come more times than I’ve been able to count, I can hear my frantic sobs as I strain once more, unbelievably, toward orgasm, reaching for that peak just as his shout of pleasure drowns out my voice. I tumble over the cliff moments after he does, and we plummet back to the ground together.

Chapter Eight

“What are your plans for today?”

“Not sure. I suppose I should really go home, make sure everything’s okay at my cottage and get on with some work. And it’s about time I introduced Fred and Wilma to their new home…”

“Fred and Wilma?”

“The kittens.”

“Ah, right.”

We’re seated once more at Tom’s huge oak table in the farm kitchen. He’s been up since dawn, or even earlier for all I know, whilst I only dragged myself out of bed half an hour ago. I took a shower, still aching in newly discovered places after yesterday’s incredible experience in Tom’s bedroom, before ambling downstairs in search of coffee. No doubt attracted by the aroma, Tom strolled through the door just as I was pouring my first cup. I poured him one too, and we sat down companionably together.

Despite the intensity of our relationship, everything around Tom is easy, relaxed. Well, almost everything. The Dom stuff is anything but. Then he’s stern, intimidating. Downright scary. I find myself wondering which Tom is the real one.

“What are you thinking, Ashley?”

“What? What do you mean? Nothing.”

“What’s the puzzled look for? You were lost in thought just then, and not altogether happy thoughts, I’m guessing.”

God, how does he always know? “It was just, well, I was wondering…” I’m not sure how to explain or what it is I want to ask.

“You were wondering… What?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Really.”

“We’ll come back to it then. Now, how are your bruises from yesterday? Do you need me to rub in any more cream?”

He has a distinctly lascivious emerald glint in his eye and I can’t help giggling. Except, I never giggle. Or I never used to.

“No, I’m fine. No bruises.” And there aren’t.