Red Skye at Night (15 page)

“Right. We’re in lodge number seventeen. I’ve booked us a table for dinner at eight o’clock. There was a mini-market in there so I bought some dog food too. And a couple of dog bowls.” He holds up the plastic bag containing our little friend’s supper. He glances at the wire in my hand. “And I see I’m going to need to improvise another whip for you.”

My pussy dampens. A whip? I’d assumed he’d use the cable to tie me. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Sir.”

His expression is wry. “Indeed. You driving still?”

I decide against any further banter and slither back behind the wheel. Harry has a rough sketch map of the resort on his lap, and directs me to our accommodation for the night.

Our lodge is lovely. I’ve enjoyed the hotels, but the privacy afforded by the self-catering chalet is comforting, especially as I have some idea what Harry has in mind to amuse ourselves during the evening.

He carries our luggage in, placing the carrier bag from the boutique in Perth alongside my battered holdall.

“You go take a shower—or a bath if you prefer. I intend to fuck you before we go out, and I won’t be gentle. You’re going to know I was there, and every time you move, you’ll remember my cock filling you. Then, when we get back and you’ve been properly fed, I mean to fuck you again. And then, baby…then the fun really begins.”

He winks at me before setting one of the dog bowls on the floor. He fills it with some sort of dried food, before filling the other bowl with water from the tap.

“There you are, Daisy. How do you like your supper?”

“Daisy?” I was preoccupied by his description of his plans for the evening, but don’t miss this latest clue regarding the dog’s future.

Harry leans back against the worktop, watching the dog devouring her meal with an enthusiasm bordering on desperate. I wonder just how close she was to starvation when she happened to find our picnic.

“She needs a name. I thought she looks like a Daisy.”

I cock my head as I study the ravenous dog. She must have been famished but she’s been so patient, waiting to be fed. “Right. It suits her.” Daisy might well be visiting the vet tomorrow, but she’ll be going nowhere near the police station or the council. I leave them to it as I head for the bathroom.

Chapter Nine

“Come here, Hope.”

Harry’s tone is stern. I turn to look at him, lounging on the bed, a towel draped across his lap. His hair is still wet from his shower. I opted for the bath, enjoying a long soak in the scented water. I made good use of the complimentary toiletries—it’s rare that I have an opportunity to pamper myself. I think I’m going to need it, given what Harry has in mind for me. Starting now.

I’m perched on the end of the bed, brushing my hair. I don’t usually bother with a hairdryer, but this time I decided I would and my thick locks are sleek and soft, the clipped layers falling in perfect shape. I look good, I feel good.

I reach to place the hairbrush on the dressing table. It’s the one Harry bought in Boots.

“Bring that with you.”

I stand, the brush still in my hand. If he wants to brush my hair for me, that’s fine too. I walk toward him.

“Lose the towel.” His tone is rich, but with an edge of steel, the sound both intoxicating and compelling but slightly intimidating too. In his normal persona, Harry is cheerful, pleasant, generous, but as soon as he slips into Dom mode he takes on a dark, dangerous aura. He’s unpredictable, tough, demanding and utterly wonderful.

I drop the towel onto the bedroom floor and wait beside the bed for further instructions. I’m new to this, but instinctively I know that he’ll direct me. He’s in control here and that suits me fine. I love to obey the Dom in Harry. I’m already starting to recognize that he has discovered and unleashed the submissive in me, and having seen the light of day she’s not about to be buried again. I’m not sure what I’ll do after Harry leaves, but I’ll find something. Someone. Now I know what I’m looking for.

“Give me the brush, and lay yourself face down across my lap.”

“I thought— But you said…”

“I changed my mind. A paddling first, then I fuck you.” He taps the back of the hairbrush against his palm, the slap a deep, thudding sound. Realization dawns. My mouth dries instantly.

I don’t hesitate, though. Harry knows what he’s doing. I trust him and despite our brief acquaintance, I know he cares about me. A little. Certainly enough for this. I position myself across him, my bare bottom poised to receive the paddle.

“Ten strokes. On each side. That’s twenty in total. Quite a lot but I’ll keep it light. This first time. I’d like you to count these, if you would.”

“Yes, Sir.” I wriggle, trying to make myself comfortable.

“Fold your arms and lay your forehead on them. Just let your muscles relax. Breathe in before the stroke, and out afterwards. Accept the pain, let it soak through you. You can do this, Hope. You know how good this feels, right?”

“Right, Sir.” And it does. I know it does. I have no notion how or why, but the pain is exquisite, my arousal total. I’m already disgustingly wet, and he hasn’t laid a hand or anything else on me yet. I concentrate on obeying his instructions, allowing my body to drape bonelessly across his. I purr softly as he caresses my soon-to-be-paddled buttocks, opening my legs as he slips his hand between them to stroke my clit.

“So wet, and not even started yet. What am I to do with you, my slut?”

“Spank me, Sir, then fuck me. Please.”

“Ah, Hope, when you ask me so nicely…”

I let out a startled gasp as the first stroke lands across my unresisting bottom.

“Hope, are you counting?”

“Yes, Sir.” I clench my bum, my equanimity wavering.

“Out loud, please.”

“Oh, sorry. That was one, Sir.”

“Ready for the next one?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He’s clever, he knows just how to play me. By making me talk to him, count out loud, he keeps me here, in the moment, with him. I can’t retreat into my own pain.

The next stroke lands immediately below the first one, as does the next. He’s concentrating on one cheek first. I say the numbers out loud.

“Two. Three. Four.”

After the fifth he stops then lays the paddle beside him on the bed. His palm on my smarting buttock is cool. He massages me, his fingers firm. I squirm under his hand.

“Keep still. You are not to move during a spanking. I’ll tell you when it’s okay to get up.” His voice isn’t harsh, it never is, but there’s a steeliness there that demands obedience. I go still instantly. “Good girl. You’re doing well.”

I love it when he praises me, his words more effective than any amount of pain relief. As long as Harry approves of me, I’ll do anything he asks. This is true submission, I suppose. I sigh in contentment, my body softening further as he reaches for the hairbrush again.

The next five strokes are laid across my other buttock, starting at the top and working down toward my thigh.

“I’m avoiding your sit spots because I want you to enjoy your dinner. And because I have something more—intense—planned for later. You okay so far, Hope?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m fine.” My bum is smarting now, really feeling the burn, but I turn my head to smile at Harry. My pussy is so wet I swear there’s a puddle forming, but he’s instructed me not to move so I can’t check.

“By fine, do you mean you’re managing to put up with this, or do you mean you’re desperate for me to fuck you? Or something in between?”

No point in coyness. “I’m desperate for you to fuck me, Sir. After the next ten, of course.”

“I thought so. We’d best get on with it then.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

He resumes his relentless paddling, dropping the blows along the tracks of his first batch. Maybe he’s ramping up the pressure, or perhaps my bottom is just more tender now. In any case, this second round hurts a lot more than the first. I manage to hiss the numbers, but I’m clenching my buttocks defensively with each blow.

“Thirteen. Ow. Fourteen, Sir, ouch. Oh Christ, fifteen.” I’m shivering now, struggling to hold back my tears. Harry lays the hairbrush down again, then proceeds to caress my burning bum.

“Oh, Sir, that hurts. Don’t press on, ooh!”

Harry just chuckles, the bastard. “Your ass is a truly lovely shade of red, Hope. I bet that’s sore.”

“It is, Sir. Very.”

“Would you like to thank me, then, for helping you to become so aroused?”

“I-I’m not sure, Sir. Please, don’t do that.” He’s tapping his fingertips smartly on my sore buttock. “It hurts like crazy.”

“What are you not sure of, Hope?” There’s an edge to his voice, a timbre of Dom menace.

My stomach lurches. “Please, Sir, I don’t know what you’re driving at. Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, Hope, you’re doing fine. Open your legs, please.”

His tone has softened, and this I do like. I spread my thighs willingly. Harry plunges three fingers into my pussy, no preamble, no preparation. They slide in without difficulty, my slickness audible as he thrusts hard.

“Ah, so hot. So wet. So ready. We’re very nearly there, don’t you agree, Hope?”

“Yes, Sir, please, I want…”

“Yes, Hope?” He thrusts again, my G-spot humming under his expert attention. I need his cock, and I’ll do anything, say anything, to get it.

“I want the last five slaps, Sir.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Happy to oblige. Then I’ll fuck you. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes, it is. Please, Sir, I can’t wait.”

“Last five then. Hard this time. Remember to count.” He withdraws his fingers.

My cunt feels empty, bereft. I moan in frustration. “Aagh! Sixteen.” It is only with a supreme effort of will that I’m managing to lie still now. “Seventeen. Oh, sweet Jesus… Aagh, eighteen.”

I’m sobbing in earnest now, gripping the duvet under my hands. “Nineteen. Shit! Twenty. Oh, Christ, Sir. That fucking hurts.”

“So glad to be of service.” He taps my throbbing buttock, and I scream again. “I’d best fuck you from behind, I think. Bend your knees and lift your ass up. Spread wide, please.”

Despite the agony coursing through my smarting arse, I do as he instructed, dragging my abused body into the required position. I lean forward, my arms and forehead on the bed, my bum up high. I set my knees as far apart as I can. And I wait for his cock. I’ve earned this.

He doesn’t disappoint. Neither does he hang about. He parts my buttocks with his fingers, avoiding the sore places now, and places the tip of his cock between my pussy lips. Instinctively I try to push backwards, onto it. His hands on my hips prevent that for a moment, then he lunges forward at the same time hauling me back hard against him. He fills me with his cock, sinking balls deep inside my cunt.

“Oh God, yes! Harry, Sir.”

“Just Sir is fine, honey.” He withdraws then slams his cock into me again.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he would not be gentle, but this is exactly what I want right now. The discomfort of the paddling has brought out my latent aggression, and I’m thrusting back to meet him, adding my momentum to his, squeezing hard. Harry allows this for a few strokes, then he takes my hips between his palms again and holds me still.

“My show, baby.”

He murmurs the words, but I understand a Dom command when I hear one. I hold still, gasping as he shortens his thrusts. Each stroke is shallow, but he uses his hand to swirl his cock inside me, circling my entrance, stretching me, tormenting me. I’m panting, my need almost palpable.

“Please, Sir, don’t tease me. I need this. I need you.”

“You have me, baby.”

“More, I need more.”

“You want it hard? You want fast? And deep?”

“Yes,
yes!”

He rams the full length of his cock into me again, and my climax overwhelms me. Waves of pure pleasure shoot through me, pulsating through my body. I’m shaking, my pussy convulsing wildly around his cock. He doesn’t let up, increasing the tempo as my orgasm grips me, and him. I’m clawing at the bedding, my moans of delight filling the room. As my release subsides, the aftershocks are almost as heavenly as the main event, continuing to shimmer and tingle as my nervous system returns to normal. Harry’s own climax follows seconds later. He grasps my hips hard, pulling me back against his body as he drives forward with one last powerful thrust. I gasp. He holds still, tensing as his semen fills me to overflowing.

Neither of us moves for a moment. Then I hear Harry’s breath beside my ear as he leans forward to kiss my neck. “Christ, girl, that was good. So fucking good.”

“Yes.” I can only whisper my agreement, sighing in genuine loss as he pulls out of me. I roll to lie on my side, still panting. Harry settles himself behind me, pulling my body into the curve of his. I nestle there, my sore bum pressed now against his softening cock. I am utterly content.

Long minutes pass in which neither of us speaks. Eventually Harry pushes himself up on one elbow to look at the time on his watch, which he has left on the bedside table.

“Twenty to eight. Do you still feel like eating?”

“Too right I do. I’ve worked up an appetite. I want double helpings and you’re paying.”

“Sounds fair. In that case, you need to slip that gorgeous blue dress of yours on and we’ll go see what this place has to offer. You might like to visit the bathroom first. We were bareback, and it would be a pity to leave stains.”

“Of course, Sir. Thank you for your kind advice.”

“You’re welcome.”

I ease myself from the bed, careful to avoid putting my weight on my still smarting bottom. Harry grins at me. “You might prefer to leave off the underwear this evening. I know I’d prefer that.”

* * * *

Our meal is delicious, as everything has been on this trip. Maybe it’s my imagination, or perhaps being around Harry has heightened all my senses, brought out the hedonist in me. Whatever—a simple chicken and bacon pasta never tasted so good. The dessert of chocolate mousse is light, fluffy, absolutely to die for. My sweet tooth is drooling. Harry declined the dessert menu himself, settling for just a black coffee. He watches me across the table as I spoon my pudding into my mouth, closing my eyes to savor each mouthful. His eyes are crinkling at the edges in that gorgeous way he has, his smile lighting up his entire face. I shift in my seat, the discomfort from my well-paddled bum fading now.