Hard Lessons (16 page)

He’s very good at this, or maybe it’s just that I’ve had a lot of practice too, now, and my anus loosens instantly. I catch a faint whiff of vanilla as he works his finger in and out, and I lift my hips, bearing down to help him. I’ve been well trained. I flinch as something small, hard, round and very alien slides through the sphincter and nestle inside me. I try to turn my head to see what he’s doing but he has his back to me. I can feel that he’s using the fingers of one hand to part my buttocks, and with the other he’s now working a second object into my arse after the first.

The beads. Anal beads. I’ve heard of them, but not used them before. I gasp, the sensation is quite…overwhelming. Nick stops, circles my arse gently with a fingertip, tracing the outline of the third bead now lodged in the entrance. I relax, and he presses it home. Each bead is slightly larger than the one before, and he works the next one in too. The fifth and final bead puts up a fight. Or maybe it’s me. Whatever, Nick falls back on his customary solution to this problem and slides his hand around to take my clit between his finger and thumb, and gently rolls it. I quiver and immediately start to come. As my muscles relax, the final bead slips into place. I can’t help thinking that he really is very good at this.

And that’s my last coherent thought for the next minute or so as he works my clit with his fingers, drawing out every last tingle and shiver of my orgasm. My pussy, wet and hot and aching with need for him feels ridiculously empty. I need him inside me. Now.

“Soon, baby.” He knows, he can always tell, and now he’s gently turning me again.

Even as the final waves of sensual pleasure die away he’s laying me once more on my back. He takes my hands and lifts them, wrapping my fingers around the posts of the bed head again and without being told I realize that I’m to hang on and not let go.

Kneeling between my legs he opens my thighs, pushing my knees up toward my chest. I watch him watching me, can see the lust in his dark gray eyes as he admires my sensitive, wet folds and hot, needy pussy. And the end of the string of anal beads, which must be trailing from my arse. At one time, not so very long ago, I might have felt embarrassed. Humiliated even. Now, I feel completely exhilarated and quite beautiful. I smile at him and blow him another kiss.

He understands me perfectly. “Greedy girl. Are you never satisfied?”

I shrug.
Maybe. Not yet.
Again, that sexy, knowing smile. “I’ll have to try harder then. Maybe I’ll just suck your clit. Would you like that, do you think? Would that keep you going for a while?”

Again I shrug.
We’ll see.

He shakes his head, placing his hands on the backs of my thighs to push them higher, raising me up for him to taste me thoroughly. He draws his tongue slowly across my pussy, slipping the tip between the lips to tease me before circling my clit. He manages not to touch the sensitive, throbbing bud, not quite, despite my now frantic wriggling. In Dom mode, that would have earned me a slap maybe, or at least a sharp instruction to keep still. Now, he just goes with it, handling me perfectly.

“You’re going to come soon. When you feel it start, tap the bed head twice. Okay.”

I nod, ready to promise anything if he’ll just suck my clit. Please. “Don’t forget, two taps. I want to know when you start to come.”

Then, there are no more words. He lowers his head, takes my desperate, swollen clit into his mouth, holds it gently between his teeth while he flicks it with his tongue, then settles his lips around it and sucks. He’s gentle at first, and the sensation is exquisite. Then he sucks hard, and the top of my head feels like it’s coming off. I arch, my body stiffening as I manage to tap the bed head before I lose all control. And at that moment he reaches for the string dangling from my anus and pulls the beads out.

The sensation is totally overwhelming. This is without doubt the most powerful orgasm he’s ever provided me with, and I think maybe it’s the most powerful one ever recorded. This is what the Richter scale was invented for. My entire body is gripped and twisted, and I’m spinning. Weightless, but somehow grounded too. My hips are thrusting wildly and my pussy is convulsing around nothing. I want, need…

This!

He rams his cock balls deep inside me as my orgasm continues to ripple around him. Christ only knows how he manages not to come again instantly because I’m pretty much convulsing around his dick, but somehow he doesn’t. Instead, he fucks me, just fucks me beautifully. His strokes are long, even. He takes his time, filling me entirely. My pussy is very, very ready, but still, it’s tight. It’s always tight with Nick. Forgetting his instructions about holding on I let go of the headboard and instead grip his upper arms, my nails digging into his muscles as I shudder, gasping, hissing my pleasure.

He rides me, continues to plunge his cock into me until at last I’m spent. Or so I think. Withdrawing from me, Nick lifts my bottom up onto his knees, my legs still spread on either side of his hips. He leans across me and picks up the odd little horseshoe-shaped gadget. He uses his fingers to open my pussy again and slips one slim arm of the horseshoe inside. The other arm rests against my clit. He flicks the switch, and it explodes into life. Calmly, deliberately holding the slim vibrator in place, Nick adjusts his position and slips his huge cock back inside me, behind the tiny vibrator. Then he settles in to watch me unravel.

I don’t disappoint. His cock stretches and fills me, totally satisfying, as the cute little gizmo hums and buzzes and brings my clit to quivering attention all over again. My first orgasm is gentle, a mere hiccup compared to what’s gone before. Still nice, though. The next is bigger, better, and the next one better still.

I’m tired. Incredibly, given that I slept for almost six hours earlier in the evening. I’m totally exhausted. Nick sees, he knows when my eyelids at last start to droop, and I’ve really, truly, had enough. He leans forward, taking his weight on his forearms as he starts to fuck me in earnest. No more playful lover, no more drawing things out. This is the final act, and he goes for it.

His cock is hard and solid, wide and long, and each powerful stroke bumps against my cervix. Despite my exhaustion I arch into it, instinct taking over, and I shiver as Nick takes my right breast in his hand, palming the soft mound and gently caressing the nipple before taking it in his mouth. I climax again, a slow, rippling shimmer of delight. He relaxes his strokes, leisurely now but still just as deep, just as commanding. Dominant, but tender too. He shivers slightly as he plunges deep one last time and holds that position moments before the hot swill of his semen again fills my channel.

Chapter Eight

“Where’s your stuff? Still in the car?”

“What stuff?” I place my half empty tea cup on the bedside table to sign my reply.

Nick clarifies, helpful as ever. “Your posh frock. For going to the races. The stuff you went home to collect yesterday.” His face crinkles in laughter as he sees my horrified expression. “Right, I guess not. Christ, girl, you were gone all day. How come you didn’t manage to come back with your glad rags?

“I forgot. I was thinking, and upset. And…I just fell asleep. When I woke up I panicked and…”

“Whoah, too fast. I got ‘forgot’ and ‘panic’. Go again, slowly.”

I sign it all again for him. He shakes his head, announces that I’m an idiot. Lovely, but still an idiot. I decide to live with that, but I’m bitterly disappointed not to be able to go to the racing. There’s no way I’m going along there in my tat, and I can’t expect another trip home.

“Right then. I’m assuming you’re still keen to go to the races?” Not so. Apparently I can.

I nod vigorously. Nick continues, “Okay, here’s the plan. It’s what, nearly half past ten now, and the first race goes off at one fifty-five. That leaves us plenty of time for me to fuck you thoroughly to make sure you’re properly awake, then we can shower. I’ll get my smarts on, and drive you—tatty though you’ll be—back to your lovely apartment so you can get dressed up as well. Then, when we’re both presentable, we’ll come back to Cartmel and still have time for a nice spot of lunch at the racecourse. Now, how does that sound?”

I stare at him for a few moments, thinking it all through. Then, “How thoroughly?”

“What? Again.” He gestures for me to repeat the sign.

“How thoroughly?”

“How…?”

“How thoroughly do you intend to fuck me? I don’t want any half measures.” I try for a prim expression but suspect it falls some way short.

Nick places his coffee cup carefully on the side table before lunging for me. He turns me, wriggling and squirming, across his knee and delivers several sharp, stinging slaps before shoving me face down on the bed and ramming his cock deep inside me. No preamble, no preparation, nothing much in the way of foreplay unless you count the spanking.

* * * *

Later, as I reflect on the morning’s activities on the drive back to Cartmel from my apartment, I have to agree that he was very, very thorough indeed. And now I’m looking forward to a lovely day out at the races.

My excitement is growing as we make our way, with the rest of the race day crowd, along Cartmel’s market street toward the main entrance. We arrive just after one o’clock, having decided to park my car back at Nick’s and walk the mile or so down to the course. I’m wearing a plain, long sheath dress, black, shimmering silk. I don’t spend that much on other luxuries, but I do like nice clothes. This little number left me with almost no change from a thousand pounds, and is, in my view at least, very cleverly cut to flow sensually around the hips and ankles. I opted to leave my bra off, preferring no marks or visible straps to spoil the perfectly arranged lines of the plunging neckline. Nick spotted my state of semi-undress as soon as I emerged from my bedroom in Kendall, and observed that I was perfectly free to parade around half naked all day, as long as I understood that he intended to fuck me senseless when we got back. I agreed to those terms.

Nick looks pretty decent himself in a light gray business suit and pale pink shirt. His tie is the color of wet slate with a delicate pink stripe, and I can’t help thinking it would make a nice blindfold, possibly as part of the fucking senseless scenario later on. Maybe I should suggest it.

Cartmel is only a small racecourse, and we have to walk across the course to reach the viewing areas. There’s a funfair and various stalls, mainly with an equestrian or generally rural flavor. I stop to admire some carved wooden animals at one, and I’m tempted to buy a sleek horse modeled at full gallop. Might be a good omen. Whatever, it’ll be a nice souvenir so I nod at the stallholder and hand over my much abused bank card. My teeth marks are still clearly visible, and Nick’s wry grin tells me he sees them too. My nipples tingle beneath the black silk, but this time not in a particularly good way.

We amble on, my lovely wooden racehorse swinging gaily in the stallholder’s promotional carrier bag as we make our way over to the food stalls. We settle for a delicious smoked salmon salad and crisp white wine, and I just know I’m grinning like an absolute fool. This is going to be such a good day, and I’m bubbling with excitement. Nick’s attitude toward me, both last night and again this morning, has gone beyond just that of trainer.

Surely. It must have. Please.

Our most recent sexual encounters have had nothing of the educational about them and have all been about fun, about sensuality and about enjoying each other. About loving each other. Maybe. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that I love Nick Hardisty. He’s my Master, whether he knows it yet or not. And I’m thinking that perhaps he
is
beginning to realize it too. Our easy intimacy, our companionship, not to mention red-hot lust—the evidence is clear, m’Lud.

And now, a wonderful day out at the races. Oh yes, my cup runneth over indeed.

“The salmon’s good, but not that good. What’s got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?” Nick crumples up his napkin and tosses it onto his empty plate as he leans back on the lightweight chair in the restaurant marquee.

I just shrug, and carry on beaming. Nick leans across the small table to frame my face in one palm. He strokes my cheek and I turn my face into his hand and kiss his palm.

He regards me steadily for a few moments, obviously considering what to say next. Then, “I remember when I first saw you, in the bar at Collared and Tied. You were so tiny, all big eyes and a mane of dark brown hair, and you looked so scared. You had reason to be, back then. But now look at you. You are a lovely woman, little Freya, and a truly exquisite submissive. Some Dom’s going to be very lucky. And I’m proud of you.”

I stare at him for a few moments, lost for words. The phrase ‘struck dumb’ seems somewhat inappropriate for me, but whatever my equivalent might be, I’m it. Nothing he might have said could have surprised me more. Or delighted me more. Or scared me more. ‘Some Dom’? No way, no other Dom.

“Why not you?” I sign my response, simple enough.

“Why what?”

“Why. Not. You?” I sign it again, very slowly. Then, “You’re my Dom. I love you. Why not you?”

He gets it that time. And from his expression it’s clear that this was not what he expected. Or wanted. I’m baffled. How could he not have known? How could he make love to me like he did last night, and again this morning, and not know?

“Freya—you don’t love me. Like me, yes. I hope. Enjoy the things I do to you—mostly, I hope. But love, that’s different. That’s—long term. And you’ll be gone from here, from me, in just a week or two…” His face is serious and saddened. His tone even more so. Chilling me, despite the warmth of the summer day, the stuffiness of this marquee.

It’s two and a half weeks, actually, until our ‘contracted’ month is up. But I’d already stopped thinking in those terms. How can he still be? I make to respond, to protest, but he catches both my hands in his, his grip firm as he effectively silences me.

“This is a contractual arrangement we have here, Freya, a business deal of sorts but without any money changing hands. You asked me to train you, and I agreed. When the training program is finished, well, it’s finished. You’ll go back to your apartment, I get my dining room back and my bed to myself again. We might meet from time to time at the club—I hope we do, and we might well scene together. I’d love to. But that’s not love. That’s just…playing. You must see that. Don’t build this up into anything more. Into something it’s not.”