Rich Pickings (7 page)

“I expect I will, Sir.” I draw a deep breath, thinking about what it means to be hurting in a good way. My butt clenches instinctively but my response is certain. “Yes, Sir, I would like to stay here with you. And squeal.”

“Excellent. First, though, we need more food. I suggest a Wetherspoon’s brunch. You up for that?”

Now this I hadn’t expected. I’d thought to find myself strapped to that cross in the bedroom before the last of the scented bubbles swirled down the plughole, so Dan’s sudden change of tack is unnerving. But encouraging too. It’s not all about the sex then. Not all about squealing. Not quite.

Chapter Four

In the end we decide against Wetherspoon’s. Dan left me in the bath to enjoy a last soak on my own while he got dressed and finished his perusal of yesterday’s racing news. By the time I eventually joined him in the living room he’d remembered a small, independent coffee shop in the ground floor of a mill conversion about ten minutes’ walk away—one of Nathan’s designs I gather—which he tells me does a fabulous Spanish omelet. Good enough for me. We descend in the lift, my face flaming as I recall vividly what happened in this same lift on our way up. Dan just smiles and pats my bottom.

“Later, sweetheart.”

He winks at me, and I’m convinced my face is about to spontaneously combust. Who’d have imagined I could still feel embarrassed?

Who would imagine I could be embarrassed at all, particularly given the way I lost my virginity? Or rather, after I let my mother sell it.

I stumble slightly as we exit the large glass doors to the outside, and Dan catches my elbow to steady me. I study my feet as we walk, shocked at my sudden recollection. I usually manage to bury that memory, all those memories. I never think of that time, in Barrow, back at my mother’s house. Well, almost never. It’s banished as though it never happened. But there’s something about being with Dan, some irresistible internal force that reawakens and resurrects those remembered images, forcing them back to the surface. Or would, if I let it.

I viciously suppress the recollection, and the sensations it evokes. I quash the shame and despair, as vivid now, today, as they were then. Even as I stroll along this dock in the pleasant autumn sunshine with a gorgeous man at my elbow, those feelings are as powerful as they were when I was sixteen. Back then I was just a defenseless pawn caught up in my mother’s desperate games of survival. I tell myself it wasn’t really her fault either, it was just how it was. For us, for her. Then. Not now, and not for me. I moved on. It’s gone. It needs to stay gone.

“Are you alright? Not having second thoughts are you?” Dan sounds concerned.

I turn to look at him, puzzled.

“Something’s upset you. You look really…distressed. Is it something I did?”

“No.
No!
I was just— It’s nothing. Really.”

“If you get scared, you’ve only to say. Your safe words are just that, they
will
keep you safe. And I’ll push you, but never too far. You can trust me.”

“I know.” I stop, turn to face him. I need to make him understand that I do want this—this whatever it is we’re doing. “I
do
know that. Really. I’m just being silly.” On impulse I push up onto my toes and kiss his lips, the first time I’ve done so without being prompted.

If he’s surprised he hides it well, enfolding me in his arms to deepen the kiss, his tongue spearing into my mouth to engage with mine. We snog like teenagers, oblivious to other Sunday morning strollers and anglers. Dan is first to break the kiss.

“My, my, Miss Jones. You do help me to work up an appetite, but delicious though you are I have my heart set on a cheese and ham toastie.”

“What about the omelet?”

“A man’s Sunday brunch is his own affair, Miss Jones. Now come on, before they run out of eggs.”

* * * *

“Do you remember that night, when we met? The second time, I mean. In Lancaster.”

“Vividly.” He stirs his coffee slowly, his eyes on me. No doubt wondering where this is leading. I’m not entirely sure myself, but plow on regardless.

“The couples we saw. Watched. In the dungeon.”

“Yes.” He sips, regarding me over the rim of his cup. He offers no additional encouragement.

“I noticed that most of the women, well, all of them pretty much, seemed to have shaved their…” I know my face is flushing, though Christ only knows why. I really should be beyond embarrassment by now. My words fall away.

“Removed their pubic hair, yes. That’s good grooming. Among submissives.” Dan has to help me out after all. How kind.

“I see. Is it…common?”

“Yes, very. Most Dom’s like it. Insist on it. Especially for their regular subs. It gives a whole new meaning to ‘naked’, sort of takes it up a notch.”

“Do
you
like it?” I ask the question, but drop my gaze immediately. I’m getting into dangerous territory here. This could end badly, with me being hurt. Or humiliated. Or both. But it would appear my rampant curiosity knows no boundaries and my common sense was swilled down the plughole when I emptied the Jacuzzi.

“I do.” His voice is soft, very quiet.

“Yet, you haven’t asked me to shave myself.” I’m muttering into my coffee now.

“Your hands are usually shaking so much, I’d be worried you might do irreparable damage.”

His gentle humor is lost on me, sadly. I stare at my hands, and lo and behold they
are
shaking. I twist my fingers together in a vain attempt to restore order. Dan watches me for a few moments, then, “Look at me, Summer. Please.”

I lift my gaze. His eyes are warm, that deep brandy richness glinting. My nervous stomach settles. Slightly. And my hands lie unmoving in my lap.

“And, you’re not my regular sub.”

He delivers the final killer line softly, and my stomach abandons its brief flirtation with anything resembling a settled state.
Oh God, why did I even start this?

Suddenly a horrific thought strikes me.
Christ, what if…?

“Do you have one? A regular sub, I mean?” I blurt out the question, staring at him, willing him to say no. This matters to me, really matters. I’ve no idea what I’ll do if the answer is yes. It’s rather late in the day to be raising this now, but it genuinely never occurred to me before.

Dan shakes his head, smiling kindly at me. And puts me out of my misery immediately. “No, Summer, I don’t. Not at the moment.” There’s a brief pause before he smiles at me. “There’s a vacancy, though, and I’m hoping you might consider the job.”

“Me? You want
me
?” I can’t keep the incredulous edge from my voice, my palm now splayed across the top of my chest to emphasize who we’re talking about here. Me. Summer Jones. Skinny, uptight, plain and boring Summer Jones.

“Yes you.”

“Me?” No harm in checking. Checking’s good. “For more than just the twenty-four hours we said.”

“You. And yes, more than just the twenty-four hours. I was intending to leave it until tomorrow before suggesting an extension. I thought I’d let you get used to my funny little ways a bit more, but since the issue has come up. Well?”

He looks amused now, leaning back in his chair to sip his coffee calmly while I continue to stare at him in disbelief.

“Would we have to go to the club again?” Again, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head.

“The Collar? Yes, probably. Sometimes. Is that a problem?”

“It’s just that I don’t want to do things in public. I mean, when it’s only you and me I feel… I mean it’s…”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand, turning it palm up to caress it with his fingertips. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want. I like to play in public from time to time, but I won’t insist on it if it makes you unhappy.”

“So, where then? I mean, I live with Freya in Kendal…” I’m not entirely sure of the relevance of that, but my brain is on overdrive, hurling random thoughts around. I’m working hard to see how this would play out between us. As usual, I’m locked on to the details when it’s the major principles I should be considering. Will I or won’t I? Can I? Should I? I know that Dan works at the zoo in Cumbria and at Cartmel racecourse, so maybe he does live somewhere near to me. Always it’s the practicalities I hone in on.

Dan chuckles. “Well, I suspect you’ll be living alone now. Freya’s moved in with Nick.”

“Yes, she told me. But even so…”

Dan squeezes my hand still lying between his palms. “Just say yes, love, and let me work out the kinks. Pun intended.”

I gaze at him, and the silence stretches between us. He tilts his head, questioning, wondering. Hoping? And it’s that that settles it for me.

“Yes. Yes please, Sir. I’d like that. I think.”

“I think so too. I know I will. So, about your pubic hair…?”

“My…?”

“Well you started this. I prefer it waxed rather than shaved though. Less bristles that way.”

“I’ve never… I mean, I don’t know how to…” I cross my legs instinctively.
Waxing? There? Ouch.

“It
is
possible to do a Brazilian wax yourself, but I think the first time it would be better to have it done professionally. That said, Nathan’s quite good at it.”

“No! I mean, you wouldn’t…” It occurs to me he could insist, and I’d have to obey him. I’ve learned enough already to understand that’s how this works.
Oh God, what have I done?

“No, I wouldn’t. I doubt if he would either. Eva’d have his nuts in a vice if he so much as considered it. No, I suggest you ask Freya where she goes and book an appointment.”

Thank God for that.
“I see. Right, I will. Next week, when I’m back in Kendal.”

“Good. So, little subbie, have you finished your coffee? Ready to go back to Nathan’s apartment and experiment a little more?”

I nod, pushing my empty cup away. We stroll back out into the crisp morning. Dan takes my hand as we make our unhurried way along Clarence Dock.

“Will you tie me to the cross? The one in the bedroom?”
Now where did that come from?

He glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “Would you like that?”

I nod, hoping he’ll settle for that and not press me to elaborate. No such luck.

“Front or back?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want me to whip your front, your breasts, your clit, or your back. I prefer the front, but that can be a little intense. And you are just a beginner…”

I glance up, startled, my head again spinning as the vivid imagery unfurls. He winks at me, his expression amused, wicked, lustful. Despite my nervousness, I grin back. My pussy is moistening already. This ‘regular sub’ business could really turn out to be rather nice.

* * * *

“Is that comfortable? Not too tight?”

“I’m fine. I think.” I tug experimentally on the leather restraints securing my wrists to the two upper extremes of the St Andrew’s Cross. No give there. Dan crouches beside me to tighten the straps around my ankles. My legs are spread wide, the intent obvious. A good sign, I’m minded to think.

Dan ordered me to strip as soon as we arrived back at the apartment. I complied, naturally. I was equally acquiescent when he instructed me to lean on the cross, facing it, and position myself in the restraints. Satisfied now that I am in place and ready, Dan pats me on the bum before turning away to open the chest at the foot of the bed. Craning my neck to see, I watch as he leans in to pick something up. He straightens, and I see he’s selected a suede flogger. It’s made up of a bunch of separate strands, each one tipped with a small bead. They click ominously against each other as he returns to my side, the flogger dangling from his hand.

“Do you want me to tell you what’s going to happen? Or would you prefer me to just get on with it? In the future I’m not likely to offer you a choice, but I’m making allowances right now, in view of your inexperience.”

How generous.
I consider my options for a few moments. “Just do it please.”

“Good choice. I will want to talk to you after, though. Now, I’m going to blindfold you.”

It’s a statement rather than a question. He’s not asking permission, but even so I have just enough time to nod my agreement before he slips the blindfold over my eyes and my world goes black.

“Safe words. Are they still red, amber and green?” He’s close up behind me, his breath brushing my neck as he talks to me.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Fine. Use them if you need to. Especially don’t hesitate to use amber. I’ll be happy to slow down, or explain. This is meant to be edgy, you’re meant to squirm a bit. But if you get scared, or it’s too intense for you, I want to know. Got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“God, I like you, Summer. You and your pretty little swallows.” I jump as he touches my bottom with, I think, the handle of the flogger. It feels hard, cool. He trails it up the edge of my right buttock, across my tattoos. “You still have faint stripes from yesterday. Very pretty, but I think we’ll avoid them today. I want your skin to heal properly before I spank you again.

“That’s very kind of you, Sir. Very considerate.”

“I’ll tolerate a little sarcasm from my subs, but not too much. You’re at your limit now, Summer. Remember that before you let your cheeky mouth get you in bother.”

I detect the subtle shift in his tone, a cool hardness. His Dom voice. I know when to keep a low profile—learned that a long time ago.

“I apologize, Sir. It won’t happen again.” I drop my head, slumping in my restraints. He said he’d just get on with it, yet here we are, still talking. Every time I open my mouth I seem to stick my foot in it. And he scares me far more with his words than with his whip.

“Summer? You seem unhappy suddenly. Is something wrong?”

“No, Sir. Please, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re not fine and I want to know why.” His tone is harder now, all Dom, all demanding. Stern and intolerant. He believes I’m lying to him, or deliberately evading his questions and either is unacceptable. Either will earn me a punishment.

The situation is spiraling away from me and my heart continues to sink. How has this happened? Where did my easy confidence of a few moments ago disappear to? In the face of his implacable insistence I have no choice but to attempt to explain.