Rich Pickings (11 page)

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to. Am I still counting?”

“It comes with practice. Try. And yes, you are still counting. Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” I drop my head, waiting for the first slap.

The sound is more severe than the sting though, as he delivers the first spank to my left buttock. He’s certainly taken my pleas for clemency to heart.

“One, Sir.”

He shifts his position slightly and lands the next slap to my right buttock.

“Two.” I don’t wait to be told what to do. I know the drill and open my legs as wide as I’m able, planting my knees as far apart as the width of the sofa allows.

“Turn around to face the back of the sofa. You can lean on that and spread your thighs wider.”

I comply, repositioning myself as instructed. The Ben Wa balls make their presence felt again. I squeeze them hard.

“Your pelvic floor muscles will be getting a decent workout by now I daresay. How are you liking our little ball game.”

“It’s very nice, Sir. I enjoyed playing with yours earlier too.”

“A shared pleasure, sweetheart. The best sort. Feel free to scream.”

He lands a sharp slap onto my exposed pussy, and at this angle he is able to catch my clit too. I do scream, as he clearly knew I would, but it’s more a cry of extreme emotional outpouring than of pain. This hurts, I have no illusions about that, but my level of arousal is off the scale. It’s a pleasure-filled, exciting, addictive sort of pain, and I’m nowhere near done yet.

I close my legs unbidden, and groan as Dan drops the next two slaps on my buttocks, first the right, then the left. I spread my thighs to receive the next spank, my pussy throbbing now in anticipation. I’m wet, hot, desperate as I wait for Dan’s palm to fall.

It does, but instead of the harsh slap I expected he draws a full-hand caress right across my swollen, sensitive cunt. His fingertips trail along the length of my clit, long, slow, seductive, and perfectly timed to cause maximum effect.

“Sir!” I scream, “I’m coming. Please, I have to…”

“Wait.” The single word is imbued with such authority I sob in frantic dismay. I can’t hold out, if he does that again I know I’ll…

He does do it again. His palm presses firmly on my pussy as he strokes me, the pads of his fingers rubbing my clit before sinking into me. He nudges the nearest ball with his finger, and my muscles clamp down around his hand and the little eggs.

“No more. Please, you have to stop now. I can’t…”

“Safe word or shut up. You know the rules, slut.”

No way am I safe wording, and in any case he extracts his fingers and steps back from me. I’m reprieved. Briefly.

“Close your legs, girl. Last three now. You can come on the third.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I clamp my thighs together, still shaking from the powerful sensations coursing through me. I hardly let out a groan when Dan lands the final two spanks, as hard as any that have gone before but by now the pain is immaterial, subservient to the overwhelming bliss of expectancy I’m feeling.

I spread my legs as far apart as I’m able, leaning on the back of the sofa, my bottom raised as high as I can. I want this—I’ve earned it, waited for it. It’s mine, all for me.

Dan does not disappoint. The last slap lands right across my clit and pussy, and sends shockwaves of pleasure tinged with agonizing pain shimmering through my body. I lurch forward, my orgasm surging up from deep in my cunt to pulsate sensuously, the sound of the slap still resonating as my body clenches and writhes in exquisite joy. Dan helps me, plunging his fingers inside me to stimulate and caress, drawing out the moment, extending the pleasure for me. He uses both hands, reaching one around to thrum my clit hard, the other plunging three fingers deep inside my pussy to roll and swirl the Ben Wa balls.

It’s so intense, so fierce, I may have passed out momentarily. As reality solidifies once more, I’m aware that Dan has his arm around my waist, and is holding me upright when I would without doubt have collapsed in a heap. He draws the balls out of me, his movements slow. I gasp again at the sweet pleasure of being cared for so tenderly when I’m at my most exposed, my most vulnerable. Then he pulls me to my side and deposits me on the sofa, arranging himself so my head is in his lap. He combs his fingers through my hair, and I lie there, conscious only of the sound of my breathing as I nestle into the soft fabric of his sweatpants. No more words are spoken, none are needed. I drift off into a contented sleep.

Chapter Six

I stretch lazily, waking slowly. I can hear music, something classical by the sound of it, vaguely familiar. I roll onto my back, wincing slightly as my bottom connects with the soft leather. I’m pleasantly sore, aware of my body in a way I don’t recall ever before. I’m still naked but a light quilt has been tossed over me, and I grasp it, snuggling back down. I feel wonderful. Better than wonderful. I feel alive, tingly and deliriously happy. Dan Riche is very good for my sense of well-being.

And talking of Dan, where is he? I crane my neck to peer round the room, or as much of it as I can see from here. He’s nowhere in sight. I wriggle into a sitting position and peep over the back of the sofa. He’s at the dining table, a mug of steaming coffee beside him. His smartphone is in his hand and he’s tapping the screen. Catching up with his emails perhaps. Facebook? He glances up, and smiles at me. He’s dazzling, quite stunning.

“You’re beautiful.” The words are out before I have an opportunity to censor them. A case of mouth slipping into gear before engaging brain. I clap my hand over my face, embarrassed.

Dan doesn’t seem especially fazed by my comment. Maybe grateful women tell him he’s beautiful every day. It wouldn’t surprise me. He puts his phone down and gets to his feet, a quirky, lopsided grin on his face as he ambles back across the living room. He’s still wearing just his sweatpants, his chest and feet bare. Prime male. My mouth waters.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Miss Jones. Nice nap?”

“Mmm, how long was I asleep for?” I lift my tangled hair from my neck with one hand whilst hanging on to my quilt with the other, and stretch again. I have visions of not being able to sleep tonight, though I daresay Dan will find some way to wear me out if I ask him.

“Not long. Half an hour or so.” He deposits his long body on the sofa by my feet, flicking back the corner of my quilt to make a space for himself. His hands encircling my ankles he lifts my feet into his lap and starts to massage my toes.

Christ!
I thought his fingers on my clit were magical, but this is a close second. He grins at me, all sexy and rumpled and relaxed, tugging and squeezing my feet, stretching the muscles there and pressing his fingers into the soles. It should tickle, but it doesn’t. It just feels simply divine. I’m wondering whether men like Dan Riche could perhaps be made available on prescription. It would save the health service a fortune in tranquilizers and sleeping pills.

I sigh and ease my body back against the sofa, stretching out and giving myself over to the hedonistic pleasure of a foot massage. Dan continues to work my feet, easing the kinks out of them just as he eases the kink into me, so to speak. Lovely.

At last, he breaks the contented silence. “Show me your arm.”

“What?”

“Your arm. The patch test. Show me.”

Ah, yes. The peppermint oil. I glance down at my arm, the skin unaffected by the liquid. Nothing to see at all. Dan nods in satisfaction.

“Excellent. Can you reach the dish? My hands are full.” He gives my toes an extra squeeze, at the same time nodding in the direction of the small porcelain saucer still sitting on the low table. I stretch out my hand and can just get my fingertips to it. “Dip your fingers in and spread a little on your lips, please.”

I do as he asked, my mouth flattening as the sharp, cool sensation seeps across my lips. It’s a bit like holding a polo mint between my teeth. The super strength variety.

“How’s that?” Dan lifts one eyebrow, watching my reaction with interest. I run my tongue over my lips, which are just starting to throb. Or should that be tingle? The sensation is one of heat and coolness at the same time, a curious combination. I explore with my tongue again, my eyes locked on Dan’s dark gaze as the feeling intensifies, two extremes warring with each other on my lips.

“It’s, oh, wow! That feels strange.” No longer the cool polo mint, more the warm glow of aromatic spices. I rub my lips together, seeking friction, then lick them again. I can taste the mint on my tongue, but only faintly. The impact on my lips where I smeared the oil is building though, and I press my fingers to them, expecting to feel heat, or a chill. There’s neither, but I rub anyway, only to find the sensation strengthens.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Dan is still watching me carefully as he continues to massage my feet. I glance up at him, wondering where this is leading, though I have a good idea.

“I want to lick my lips. All the time.”

“Imagine how it will feel on your pussy. And your clit. You can’t lick those lips. At least, not for yourself. Or maybe we could try it on your nipples…?”

I was right. I suppose now the only question remaining is ‘when?’

I try for nonchalance, but privately I’m squirming at the prospect. My lips are throbbing now, the sensation not quite painful, but nowhere near comfortable either. The compulsion to rub, to lick, to stroke is becoming irresistible. “Well, I suppose you’d have to make yourself useful then…”

“Mmm, yes, I might. I’ll tie you up I think. Your legs spread wide. Now that I know you’re not allergic to the oil, and I’ve got the dilution about right, we can have some fun. Well, I can. I’ll be interested to know what you think. Afterwards.”

He lifts my feet from his lap and tucks them back under the duvet as he stands up. I’m expecting to be instructed to lie back and open my legs immediately, so I’m a little nonplussed to see him pick up the dish of oil and take it over to the kitchen worktop. He leaves it there, to return with a glass of water in one hand and my phone in the other.

“Here, rinse your lips. It won’t make a lot of difference as that stuff’s oil-based, but may help to soothe them a little. You have a text.” He hands me the glass and waits while I take a few sips, using my tongue to splash water against my lips. He’s right, the effect is minimal. The irritation, if that’s the right term for it, is not increasing any more though, and I’m finding it quite bearable now I’m accustomed to it. Maybe my pussy will react in a similar manner.

Yeah, right. Dream on.

Dan takes the glass and passes me my phone. The blue light on the top is flashing, indicating a message is waiting for me. I tap in the unlock code and see it’s from Ashley.

Hi Summer. Sorry to interrupt but I want to offer you a job? We need someone to organize things here, deal with admin, paperwork, company secretary, that sort of thing. Interested? If you are just let me know and we can discuss details when you’re back. I’d like to get it tied up before Tom and I go away though. Please say yes. A xxx

I stare at the screen and read the message twice. Then once more, just in case I’ve somehow misunderstood. Then again, for good measure. Eventually I raise my eyes to Dan’s. His head is cocked to one side, waiting.

“Wow.”

My comment is not sufficiently illuminating. He frowns in puzzlement, though he doesn’t say anything as he settles down by my feet and starts the massage again. I re-examine my phone, just in case the words have somehow rearranged themselves. They haven’t. I’m still on the receiving end of a job offer.

“It’s from Ashley. She’s offering me a job.” I look at the tiny screen again. Yes. A job. Me.
Shit!

“A job?” Dan’s tone is unruffled, he doesn’t seem unduly surprised.

An insidious thought occurs to me. “Did you know about this? Have you put her up to it?” I don’t mind him organizing my emotional and sexual well-being, but I don’t want Dan sorting out my employment for me.

“Me? Not guilty, yer honor. But I did hear Ashley and Tom talking to Nathan and Eva so I knew it was a possibility. What
is
the job?”

“Sort of secretary by the look of it. Office manager. Organizing things.”

“Sounds right up your street. Will you take it then?”

My head’s reeling with possibilities. I like Ashley, and took to Tom straight away. Same with Eva. Nathan’s scary, but so far he’s been pleasant enough. The prospect of working with them all is appealing. I wonder where I’d be based. Ashley’s text says she wants someone to organize things here so that suggests Black Combe, or Greystones. It’s a lovely location, I could certainly get used to living in Yorkshire.

But what about Freya? My heart sinks in unexpected disappointment as I realize I can’t just up sticks and move to Yorkshire. Only two days ago I promised her I was on my way home. And Dan lives in Cumbria too. Now that we’re an item—well, I think we are. I look up at him, his gaze still on me as he manipulates my feet firmly.

“So? Will you be taking the job?”

“I can’t. I can’t just leave Freya. And what about…?”
Us? Is there an ‘us’?

“Freya’s moved in with Nick, you’d be on your own anyway. She might decide to sell the apartment, or sublet it.”

Dan’s right, though I doubt that Freya would dispose of the property while I was still staying there. That wouldn’t be fair, though, and I know that if she were not living in Kendal I wouldn’t be either. I won’t be homeless. I have my flat in Margaret’s old house in Ulverston. Freya had the place converted into four holiday flats, but she gave me the ground-floor one as a present for my twenty-first birthday. My bolthole she called it, because she knew how much I disliked returning to my mother’s house. I’ve not used it much because I’ve mostly lived at Freya’s, or in Bristol, but it’s there if I need it.

I’m turning over the not especially welcome prospect of setting up home alone in Ulverston when Dan interrupts my thoughts again. “In any case, I think it was Freya’s suggestion. She put the idea in Ashley’s head, though from what I heard she didn’t take a lot of persuading.”