Hard Lessons (18 page)

I trust this concludes matters to your satisfaction and I await your further instructions, if any.

Best regards

M. Furrowes

Good old Max. Always so efficient. I could hug him, though he’d probably hate that. He’s not given to displays of affection. Maybe I will anyway, next time I meet with him. My racehorse. My very own racehorse. I quickly type in my reply.

Max—thank you, that’s wonderful. And yes, I think Queenie will do very well left with her current stable and trainer. Please keep me informed of the costs and anything else I need to know or do. Am I allowed to go there and see her? Freya

Miss Stone,

The horse belongs to you. The trainer is working for you. Of course you’re entitled to view your property and discuss the horse’s needs and progress and whatever else you may find necessary. I daresay you could even ride on it if you so wish, though I couldn’t in good conscience recommend that unless you feel able to demonstrate some expertise I am as yet unaware of. I will provide you with the necessary contact details.

Best regards

M. Furrowes

I send him a final ‘thank you’ and scurry back to find Nick, just in time to see Diamond Geezer romp home at twenty-five to one, netting us a hundred and twenty-five quid and our stake back. Enough to cover our earlier losses, buy a bottle of Pimms, and maybe another couple of bottles of something nice for later.

We run into Nick’s friend Daniel in the Pimms tent. I last saw Daniel in the bar at the Collared and Tied club when I was trying to introduce myself to Nick, and I recall that he was quite nice to me then. Also, as far as I know, he was the last person to speak to Summer before she disappeared so I might be able to find out some clue as to where she shot off to after that night. I can’t help thinking that something may have happened between the two of them, but obviously I can’t ask him, and not just because he doesn’t understand my signing. What happens at the Collar, stays at the Collar. Daniel won’t discuss the details of what—if anything—took place, any more than Nick would talk about me.

Nick grabs an extra glass and Daniel sits down with us for a while. I learn that he’s a vet, and often covers race meetings. Happily today’s racing has passed without incident so his duties have been restricted to routine checks and basic animal welfare. My hopes of gaining more information regarding Summer are dashed when he asks me if I’ve heard from her recently. I shake my head and, through Nick, explain that I’m worried about her, that it isn’t like her to disappear like this, and does he have any idea why she might have gone? I stop short of asking if he did something to upset her, but I daresay my meaning is clear.

Nick passes on my question, though I know he doesn’t need to and wouldn’t have if he thought I was out of line. It does no good, though. Daniel just shrugs, says he’s sorry he can’t help me, and asks me to let Summer know he asked after her when I next see her. He downs his Pimms, wishes us a pleasant evening, and makes to leave.

“Wait, do you have a moment?” Nick grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and gets up. He turns to me and asks if I’ll excuse him for a minute, there’s something he needs to talk to Dan about.

I nod and nurse my Pimms as they stroll to the entrance of the marquee. I wonder if they might be talking about Summer because Dan glances across at me a couple of times during their conversation, before nodding briefly to Nick. Then with a wave in my direction he turns and leaves. Nick returns to our table and refills our glasses from the jug. He lifts his and clinks it against mine.

We finish our Pimms then Nick suggests we stop for a pizza to save cooking when we get home. We choose a nice little bistro in Cartmel’s market square and share a chicken diabolo, which we swill down with more white wine. The conversation is easy, relaxed, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m thinking of the general bloody obstinacy of Doms who can’t—or won’t—see what’s under their nose, or their spanking paddle. And of a rather beautiful horse called Queenie.

And now we’re almost back at Nick’s house, just strolling along the lane toward his gate. I can’t decide if I’m happy or not. It’s been another day of massive ups and downs—Nick’s crushing response to my inadvertent declaration, and my impulse buy of a racehorse. On balance, although I’m excited about Queenie, I’d rather have had my Dom. So I don’t really think I’m ahead.

Nick’s arm is across my shoulders and he pulls me close to nuzzle my hair. “Remember our deal?”

I look at him is surprise. “Our deal?” I sign the words.

He clarifies. “Our deal regarding your bra-less state. I get to fuck you senseless now. A deal’s a deal, after all…”

I nod. He’s right, of course.

As we let ourselves into the house I’m expecting to be ordered to the dungeon to make myself ready for a little more bondage and discipline, but Nick’s adamant that after swigging wine and Pimms all day neither of us is in a fit state to go anywhere near a spanking paddle. I have to reluctantly agree, and wonder what he may have in mind as a suitably non-perilous alternative.

Nick takes my hand and leads me down the corridor to the dungeon. The door clicks shut behind us, and Nick starts by peeling my beautiful, long, black silk dress from my body. He folds the dress neatly and sets it down on the spanking bench.

“Would you mind removing the briefs please?” He’s not always so deliciously polite about asking me to strip—his gentle courtesy adds to the erotic ambience of the moment. I slide the silk briefs down my legs and hand them to him. He drops them on top of the dress then turns to me again.

“Please, make yourself comfortable on the floor. Can I get you a cushion, pillows perhaps?”

I shake my head, signing a polite “Thank you”, then I do as he’s asked. I stretch out on my side propped up on one elbow, watching with no small degree of interest as Nick also undresses. Seemingly oblivious to my rapt attention at his naked glory, he strolls off across the dungeon to pick up one of his small bottles of scented lubricating oil. Returning to me, he drops down beside me on the floor.

He usually stays at least partly dressed in our scenes, only removing all of his clothing when absolutely necessary. For him to be naked from the start is a departure from the norm, and I like it. I really like it. He has a superb body and I never get tired of admiring it, contoured chest, pecs that are firm but not overdone, a well-defined six pack, and long, long legs. His butt is absolutely bloody sublime—small, tight and firm. I’m itching to get my hands on it, to really explore, but opportunities are rare. Most of our sexual encounters see me restrained in some way, or on the receiving end of whatever delight he’s dreamed up. Tonight, though, he’s apparently in a mood to lie back and let me have my way.

He hands me the oil. “Is cinnamon scented all right with you, for a change?”

I take the bottle with a shrug and a smile, expecting to be ordered onto my front, or my back, or onto all fours. Instead, Nick rolls onto his stomach and asks me to give him a massage, and not to stint on the oil.

Christ, what a windfall! What an opportunity.
I don’t need asking twice as I straddle his waist. I pour some of the oil onto my right palm then set the bottle down as I rub the oil into my other palm too. Then I lean forward to carefully smear it across his shoulders. His muscles flex and relax under my hands, and using my palms I press harder, smoothing the oil into his skin in large circular movements. His face is turned to the side and his eyes drift closed, which I interpret as a sign I’m doing okay. So I continue. I help myself to more oil and this time start to work my way down his back, shuffling my bottom backwards as I go. I take my time, finding it necessary to return to the start more than once just in case I may have missed a bit. Nick’s eyes remain closed, his breathing even, though I’m sure he isn’t asleep. I wonder if he has an erection, but don’t like to disturb him to get him to roll over and let me look. On the other hand…

No, I stifle that thought for the time being, instead turning myself around so I now face his feet, and start the whole process again from the bottom up. Or more properly, from his toes up to his bottom. I oil his legs, carefully working the sweet scented stuff through the light dusting of dark hairs into his skin, paying particular attention to the sensitive spots behind his knees. His legs twitch, so I do it again. And I know for sure he isn’t asleep when he growls a warning about not taking liberties. I pat his thigh in silent apology before continuing on my way upwards. Eventually I find myself seated alongside him, gently massaging the oil into Nick’s firm, taut buttocks, and I wonder what I’ve done to deserve this. I also wonder what he’d do if I slid my fingers into the deep groove between his buttocks, as he’s done so many times to me. It may well have been the Pimms influence, but I decide to find out.

His response—he opens his legs. Only slightly, but enough for me to see his balls, and more importantly to reach them. I take that as an invitation, and help myself. Sliding my fingers between his balls and the soft padding of the floor, I gently cup them, exploring their contours with my hand as I love the rippled looseness of the skin. The roughness of the hairs there, curling and dark, and coarse against my lips as I bend in to nuzzle. He shifts slightly, raising one knee to allow me better access. Now I can slip my hand easily under him and squeeze his balls, before reaching farther to grasp the hard shaft of his cock. Yes, no doubt about that erection. One serious stiffie there.

I’m just contemplating giving him a shove to suggest he should roll onto his back, when another idea occurs to me. Would he let me? Would I dare?

Will I ever get another chance?

I reach for the oil again and this time pour a little of it into the crack of his bum. He starts, I see his bottom clenching and I think his eyes flicker open for a second, but then he relaxes again. So far so good. I oil my fingers then use them to follow the tracks of the dribbles I’ve just poured out. I slide my fingers down into that furrow and follow it right to that super-sensitive spot behind his balls. I linger there a little, encouraged by the groan of appreciation I hear, before reaching under him once more to caress his balls. This time it’s a two handed operation as I use my other hand to grip and gently pump his shaft again. Nick must be enjoying my efforts as he offers no additional guidance or instructions, just brings his other knee up so I can reach him more easily still.

Shifting to now kneel behind him as he allows me to continue my intimate exploration, I let go of his balls to reach for the oil once more. This time I use my finger as a stopper and upturn the bottle, coating my finger end in the lubricant. Then, I place the bottle safely on the floor before once more tracing the groove between his buttocks, but this time I work my way up from his balls to his anus. And stop there. I use just the end of my finger to carefully circle the entrance, waiting for that warning growl again.

It doesn’t come. He must know what I’m up to, must be as acutely aware as I am of just where this might be leading, but he makes no move to stop me. So, I press my fingertip against his opening. Just a little, not hard you understand. But enough that he’ll know what I’m trying to do. Enough that he can tell me to pack it in.

Nothing. He just remains in place. Waiting. So I press harder, and this time my finger end slips inside his anus. It’s tight. I’m no expert in these matters, at least not as far as anyone else’s anus might be concerned, but I’d say this is not a regular occurrence for Nick Hardisty. I suspect this is not entirely virgin territory for him either, just because I doubt that he’d be so keen to subject me to something he’s never experienced himself. Obviously, some of our ‘games’ he wouldn’t be able to try first, but this is not one of them. Still, I don’t think he’d allow many submissives to do this. Later, I know, I might need to think through why he made an exception for me, but that’s an issue for another time.

For now, I’m in the moment and concentrating fully on what I’m doing, carefully inching my finger deeper into him as he seems to be perfectly amenable to my continuing. So I do. I press and twist and wiggle until the entire length of my middle finger is sunk right inside, my palm now flat against his buttock. Then, not certain what to do next, I slowly withdraw it until just the tip remains penetrating him. And I drive it in again, deep and fast this time. Well, if he can…

My reward is a muffled groan, which I take to be a positive sign so I repeat the action. Several times. Then I decide to try a second finger too. This takes a bit of working, but soon I have my ring finger nestled in there alongside my middle finger, and I’m finding this gives me some extra options. I can splay my fingers inside him, deliberately stretching the tight channel. He seems to take that well, more groans. And I can twist my fingers against each other, create a sort of spiraling friction as well as the long smooth strokes he’s clearly not averse to either. Leaning around and under him I reach once more for his cock, this time stretching my arm to enable me to caress the sensitive, slick head, already dripping with pre-cum. I smooth that around the tip and down onto the shaft, alternately pumping and returning to collect more moisture. Then I start a regular rhythm, plunging my fingers deep into his arse at the same time as I run my fist up and down his cock. He’s groaning in earnest now, his body stiffening as I pick up the pace. He’s bearing down on my fingers, making my penetration easier. Instinctively I tighten my grip around his thick shaft and thrust harder into him. Then, working on pure instinct now, I lean in and lick his balls.

That does it. He swears, something remarkably obscene even for him. I feel his massive shudder, it shakes his entire body as he comes. He tightens around my fingers, but I don’t stop the deep thrusts. I feel the hot splash of his semen across the back of my hand, around my fingers, and it just keeps on coming. I continue to work his shaft and his arse, and his orgasm just seems to last forever.

I’m honestly not sure which of us enjoys that most. I’m so pleased with myself, and feel incredibly privileged to have been allowed to touch him, to penetrate him in this way. The whole thing is so intimate, so deeply personal. I’m glad to have pleased him, and I clearly have, very much.