Sure Thing (20 page)

I struggle to sit up, and Tom reaches for me, helps me to kneel on the bed. He leans back on the headboard, watching me, waiting for me to speak. He asked me a question, I know I have to answer him. I have to be honest. What do I remember?

“I remember it all. It was awful then wonderful. Awesome. Thank you. Sir.” Then, “What happened to me?”

“Some submissives manage to achieve a sort of relaxed state, pain and intense sensation sends them into it. I’m told it’s very, very good. Dom’s love it when their subs do that—shows we’re doing something right. A bit like the satisfaction a man gets when his woman has an orgasm. You found it just then. And from your reaction I’m guessing it was good for you, too. Yes?”

“Yes. I want to do it again. Please, Sir.”

“You will. Now that I know what does it for you I’ll make sure of it. But not straight away. I want to fuck you.”

“But I…”

“I intend to fuck you. End of discussion. Lean forward and open your legs.”

In true submission I do as I’m instructed. I turn from him, lower my face into the pillows, my bottom raised for him to access. No more words, he’s behind me. He uses his thumbs to part the lips of my pussy, easing me open, positioning the head of his cock at my entrance before sinking his length inside me, thrusting hard. I’m stretched, my inner walls clamping around him. It feels good, so good. I groan, my fingers clawing at the pillow. My orgasm starts to build immediately, and he slows, leans over to murmur in my ear, “You’ve had your fun, greedy little Ashley. Now you wait until I tell you it’s okay to come again.”

I whimper in protest, but he’s implacable.

“You’ll come when I say so. Not before. You need to learn obedience. And control.”

“But I can’t help it, I need to—”

His hand connects with my buttock, the slap not too hard but sharp enough to hurt. Especially on my already tender, abused skin.

“Ow!”

“When I say so. Now, keep still or I’ll tie you up.”

He withdraws his cock then slides it slowly back into me. Right in. He reaches down, takes hold of my right knee and lifts it upwards, outwards, penetrates me more deeply. I shudder, desperately fighting to suppress the building eruption gathering at my core. He reaches for my left knee, lifts that too so I am helplessly suspended in front of him as he pounds his cock into me. My climax is building, ready to overwhelm me despite my desperate attempts to hold it at bay.

“Please, I can’t stop it, I need to come. Please let me.”

“No.”

The one word is like a bucket of water, its effect powerful. But short-lived. He continues to fuck me hard and I’m caught up again in the swirling, wonderful sensations. My pussy is clenching wildly, I’m squeezing around him, the walls of my vagina rippling with the tension of restraint. I know I can’t resist much longer, and he’ll certainly punish me if I disobey him. I grasp the pillow, sob my desire and despair into it.

“Please, please, Sir…”

“Come now, Ashley.”

His words trigger my release, and my orgasm rips through me, turns me over and wrings me out in its intensity. I’m drowning, all conscious thought obliterated, all coherent consciousness gone. Once more I’m in that dreamy subspace zone, suspended between this world and God knows where. Tom’s cruelty transformed into sweet kindness as I appreciate, at last, that the impact of being made to wait only amplified the whole experience for me, made what would have been a decent orgasm unforgettable. The wet heat of his semen fills me as he growls, curses, shudders inside me, and the sense of satisfaction is total.

I have to acknowledge, and not for the first time, that he is very, very good at this.

After my excursion into subspace Tom left me to sleep for a couple of hours. I woke up at around nine in the evening to find myself in bed, naked, alone. I could hear the television in the living room so I went looking for Tom. He was sprawled on the sofa watching football on Sky Sports but switched it off when he saw me. I hadn’t bothered to dress.

“There was no need to turn it off.” I leaned over the back of the sofa, my loose hair trailing across the leather.

I reached to shove it back but he grabbed me and pulled me forward to tumble on top of him. He turned me, settled me on his lap and kissed me. And he meant it. His tongue was in my mouth, then he withdrew it only to suck on my bottom lip before biting on it softly. I reached up, combed my fingers through his hair to link my hands behind his head, and I clung on for the ride. His hands were on my breasts, teasing my nipples to pebbly hardness. He squeezed the swollen buds gently, then more firmly, just as I like it. I moaned, at first with pleasure, then disappointment as he stopped, lifted his head and grinned at me.

“Ashley Mcallister, you are one seriously lovely little sub. So sexy, so fuckable…”

“So fuck me then.”

He laughed at my cheeky response, before observing that I have a dirty mouth and needed to be punished. In the next instant I found myself face down over his knee and he proceeded to spank me. It was absolutely wonderful, especially the orgasm afterwards as he held me in that position and slid his fingers into my slick, hot pussy. It was slower this time, building gently while he finger-fucked me, at the same time tugging lightly, then more firmly on my clit. I unraveled, eventually sighing against his jeans clad leg as the sensation overwhelmed me.

After, he pulled me up to sit astride his legs, and holding my face between his palms he kissed me again.

“Did you like that, Ashley?” he asked me innocently.

“Yes, thank you, Sir,” was my perfectly polite response.

His answering smile was slow, lazy, very sexy. “Next time I finger-fuck you I think I’ll use a clip on your clitoris. How does that sound?”

“It sounds painful, Sir.”

I couldn’t resist the impulse to close my legs, but it was impossible. He reached down to take my unresisting, unsuspecting clitoris between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it thoughtfully.

“Allow me to demonstrate. Put your hands behind your back, Ashley. Don’t move, don’t try to wriggle.”

I obeyed, closing my eyes as he proceeded to squeeze and pull my clit. It hurt, nearly. I chewed on my bottom lip, reminding myself that he’d never hurt me, not really. But he did promise to stretch my limits and he was certainly doing that now. He increased the pressure and it did hurt. I squealed, couldn’t help but jerk on his knees.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir.” He squeezed hard, twisted, and I screamed. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Oh, God, Tom, please…”

“Sir.” His Dom voice was stern, demanding respect, demanding obedience. “Ashley, do you want me to stop?”

“No, Sir…” I moaned, breathy, trembling, my whole body stiff as he centered my entire consciousness on that tiny button of throbbing arousal, quivering between his unrelenting fingers.

“That’s good. Next time, my lovely, sexy Ashley, I’m going to use the spreader straps under the bed to hold your legs wide open. Your hands will be tied behind your back, and then I’ll slide a clip onto your sweet little clit, just here,” he murmured, his fingers and thumbs—both hands now—indicating where I was to be tortured. “Will that work, do you think, Ashley, will you scream for me before you come?”

“Yes, Sir, I’m sure I will.” I ground out the words, rigid with tension now as he manipulated my sensitive flesh cruelly. I managed to keep still by sheer force of will alone, his rather than mine. And although the pressure on my clit was unrelenting, the pain was less…emphatic now, the sizzling undercurrent of pleasure perversely reasserting itself. I found at that moment I wanted nothing more than to spread my legs and have Tom touch me, however he liked.

“Mmm, and when you’re clit’s beautifully under my control, and you’re screaming for me to stop, or maybe screaming for more—who knows? Then I’ll flick the top of your clit with my tongue, and you’ll come. Maybe I’ll slide a vibrator inside you as well, a large, powerful one, to stretch you, increase the pressure on your clit even more. Would you like that, Ashley?”

“I’m not sure, maybe.”

“Not sure? Now, Ashley, have I ever disappointed you?”

“No. No, Sir, I
will
like it…”

“Something to look forward to then, for later.” He relaxed the pressure on my throbbing clit slowly, gently stroking me to bring the blood flow back to normal, and softly tipped me over the edge to tumble into an achingly gentle climax. As my vision refocused he was looking back into my eyes, holding my startled gaze. “Kiss me, Ashley,” he murmured softly.

“Can I move my hands now, Sir?” I asked, still nervous, shaken, afraid of the consequences if I moved without permission.

“Yes, you can.” I took his face between my palms, and never breaking eye contact, I smiled before placing my lips on his.

Again, I submitted.

Chapter Fifteen

“The place we’re going to is called The Hermitage. It’s well run, safe. You’ll like it. Maybe… If you don’t, if you’re not comfortable we won’t stay.”

We’re in the car, heading out of the city center toward the posh end of town, out to leafy north Leeds. It’s my car, Tom’s Land Rover is a bit big and clumsy for city living so we left that behind at Greystones and used my snazzy little Clio. So I’m insisting on driving, seems only right. Tom’s directions have brought us out to the well-heeled suburbs, large gates protecting sprawling detached homes, glimpses of expansive lawned gardens, conservatories, summer houses. I’m intimidated already, no need for whips and spanking benches. And that’s without the positively obscene costume Tom’s made me wear.

I expected something suggestive, a bit on the skimpy side even. But this! I’m decked out in a pair of micro tiny black leather shorts with a split crotch, a bright red satin corset, tightly laced and stopping just under my breasts. And that’s it, apart from my collar! I recall mention of submissives wearing a collar to denote subservience to their Dom or Master when I did the internet research which Tom suggested all those weeks ago, but it’s never come up in any of our conversations. I pull down the sun visor in front of me and flick the cover off the mirror concealed there to once more stare in astonishment at the collar he insists I wear this evening. It is strangely beautiful in soft, buttery leather and sporting an intricate glittering trace of small metal studs. It looks like the sort of thing a pampered poodle might be seen around town in, but I’m not impressed.

It’s already much too late, we’re almost at the club, but I turn to him to make one last appeal. “You can’t be serious. I look like a bloody dog.”

“Hardly, love.” He looks me up and down, the lust in his gaze quite apparent. “You don’t look even vaguely canine to me. I like dogs well enough, as you must have noticed, but I’ve never experienced even the slightest inclination to tie one up and whip it. Even less shag it. So, no, love,
your
collar is very different.”

Reluctantly I face the fact that, at least for this evening, I’m going to have to put up with the weird neck gear and the rest of this totally indecent costume. To all intents and purposes I’m topless, and if I so much as bend slightly my crotch is exposed. And—most disturbing of all—Tom insisted on shaving off my pubic hair. He explained that Doms invariably insist on submissives being smooth, all body hair removed. It makes us more naked, more vulnerable, apparently. I don’t mind, well, not much, although the indignity of lying still while he shaved me was a tall order, especially given the activity immediately before my little grooming session.

The Hermitage is a large detached house set in heavily wooded grounds. At Tom’s direction I slow down to drive through a large double gate and cruise slowly up the block-paved drive to a forecourt in front of a large Georgian-style house. It’s very grand, very imposing. There are maybe a dozen cars already parked out front, and lights seem to be blazing in every window. All the curtains and blinds are open, even though it’s now past eleven o’clock at night and pitch black outside. I peer through the windscreen and can see figures moving inside the building, shadowy silhouettes. And some of them—mainly female—look to be nude.

I glance at Tom, wide-eyed. He just grins and gets out of the car, walks round to open my driver’s door. I reach behind me for my light raincoat, intending to cover myself up, at least at first.

He stops me, his hand on my wrist. “No coat.” His words are simple, but he intends me to obey.

I chew my lip again, a habit I’ve indulged in rather a lot today.

My inhibitions around nudity with Tom are now faded to a distant memory, but this is not going to be just the two of us. I’m naturally a shy person, modest. Or at least I like to think so. There are men in there as well as women. And I’m as good as naked. I look up at him from my hiding place in the driver’s seat, pleading wordlessly.

He shakes his head. “You won’t feel out of place. All the women in there will be dressed like you, apart from those who are totally naked, depends on what their Dom’s have instructed. The house subs will definitely be naked. Come on. When we’re inside, walk behind me. And don’t talk to anyone unless they address you first, and then only with my permission.”

I’m incredulous, outraged really, and can’t help expressing it. “What? That’s ridiculous. It’s like something out of the Dark Ages.”

He smiles, inclines his head to suggest he might agree with my assessment, but doesn’t offer any further comment. Instead he holds out his hand, clearly intending me to get out of the car. Now. I’m distinctly uneasy but after the last few weeks I’ve become accustomed to obeying Tom when he’s in Dom mode, so I take his hand and climb out to stand alongside him, shivering in the distinctly chilly late February evening. Neither of us are dressed for the weather—we must be mad. He puts his arm around my shoulders, hugs me briefly before stepping away, expecting me to follow. His words are tossed back over his retreating shoulder at me. I have to scramble to keep up, to hear his instructions.

“At Greystones we make our own rules, but here the strict Dom/sub protocols apply. You’ll feel more comfortable going along with it. If you don’t, I’ll be expected to punish you for insubordination. And neither of us really wants that, do we?” He glances back at me, my silence apparently no longer acceptable. He wants an answer. He wants my agreement to this bizarre arrangement.