Sure Thing (17 page)

True to his word, Tom’s fingers are on me, in me. The butt plug has kept my attention nicely and I’m wet, ready, hot with anticipation, with blistering need. It doesn’t take long, just a few firm caresses of my desperate, swollen clitoris and I’m lost, dazed almost by my powerful climax. This time my legs give way and I’m suspended by my arms. It hurts, but Tom quickly circles my waist with his arm, takes my weight until I can hold myself up once more. He waits until I’m steady again, well, steadyish, before he slides his cock into me. I scream again, this time with pure, intense pleasure. His fingers never away from my clit, from my hard, sensitive nipples, he fucks me beautifully, thoroughly. And I’m delighted that condoms are no longer needed due to the little pack of pills I now have on prescription. I squeeze my pussy hard around his cock, desperate to build the friction. I try to thrust back against him but it’s awkward, restrained as I am. Tom adjusts his angle, increases his rhythm, and it’s perfect. I flex my fingers against the smooth wood of the cross. My body convulsing around him, I come again, my hoarse cry of ecstasy ragged now, rasping. Tom curses, the sound muffled, guttural, then the hot, wet flush of his semen bursts into me, washing over my cervix. He leans over me, against me, his chin resting on the top of my head as he tenderly cups my breasts.

“God, you’re amazing. I could fuck you all night…”

“Do please, feel free.”

My whispered response earns me an affectionate pat on my bottom as he withdraws. The sound of his zip closing tells me he’s gearing up for the next round. And so am I. I square my shoulders once more, prepared.

There are no words, no checking if I’m ready this time. In my peripheral vision I see him pick up the whip again, see the wicked length of it unroll, hanging limply from his hands as he steps slightly away from me, regards my naked back. I should have asked him if I had any marks from last time, but I forgot, I actually forgot!

I hear the whistle. The whip flies through the air once more, and I flinch as the lash wraps itself around my shoulders again. No screams, but I jerk under the shock. I drag in a breath, imagine the white hot sting rippling through my body, cooling, evaporating. Again, the whistle, then the bitter sting. A small cry is forced from me, then the sense of heat rippling across me, dissipating quickly. The third stroke falls and I sigh, feeling almost lightheaded. I relax against the cross, smoothing the polished grain with my fingers. I hear the sound of the whip hitting the floor again, then Tom cups my face in his hands, tilting my chin up. My eyes are closed, I feel sleepy, almost drunkenly so.

“Can you open your eyes, love? Look at me.” Tom’s voice is soft, almost a whisper.

It’s an effort but I force my eyes to open, try to focus, but he’s hazy. There, but not there. As if I’m looking at him through a glass of water. After a few seconds my vision clears and I see his smile, calm and tender.

“You were in the zone there, baby. Did you feel that?”

“What? What zone?”

“I’ll explain later. For now, I promised you hot, sticky, dirty sex and I intend to deliver.”

His hands are on me again, I moan in delight, writhing as he slides three, then four fingers inside me, stretching me, expertly caressing my inner walls before he drops to his knees behind me. With his hands on my hips he pulls my bottom sharply backwards before turning to sit between my legs. He uses his thumbs to part my pussy lips and proceeds to tongue-fuck me, delicately, slowly, tantalizing me as he uses his tongue, lips and teeth to build my desire.

“Now, Christ, I need to come now. Please. Please Tom…” I am begging, pleading, desperately aroused, beyond coherent thought.

There’s nothing in my world now but this, his relentless tongue, his searching, exploring lips, his grazing teeth. He is heartless, taking his time, makes me wait until I’m close to fainting before, at last, he takes my clit in his mouth and sucks it sharply. I hang there, helpless, quivering, gripped by the most powerful orgasm yet, every nerve ending and muscle in my body dragged into it. I’m shaking—I forget to breathe, the intense shudders rolling through me. I may have even lost consciousness, would certainly have been in a puddle on the floor but for the restraints securing me to the cross. My orgasm starts to fade, only to be rocketed back up again by his insistent thrusting when he slides his fingers inside me. Obligingly, I come again, clenching around his fingers as he works me over with one hand, his thumb flicking my clit. Christ, I think to myself idly, he’s got some moves. He’s at my feet and still topping me so expertly and completely.

Finished, satisfied with his work, Tom comes back to his feet, lifts my hair to murmur into my ear, “Once more with the whip, then I want you on the bed. I’m going to fuck you until you faint again. Is that okay with you, Ashley?”

So I did lose consciousness back there. And he knew. Always, he knows.

He needn’t bother, fucking probably won’t be necessary, I’m almost fainting with anticipation just at the thought. My eyes closed, my whole body poised, tingling with desire, I whisper the one word he needs to hear, “Yes.”

The first whistling stroke of the whip sends my body jerking into spasm before I feel the rush of warmth as the heat radiates around my body, across my tender skin. Is it painful? Yes. No. I’m not sure what it is anymore. I wait for the next stroke, welcoming it, accepting it, I feel it wash across my back, across my shoulders. And again. And again. And again. Five strokes. And I
do
want more. I
could
do more. But true to his word, true to the limits agreed at the beginning of this, Tom drops the whip and quickly releases me. It’s too much effort to even open my eyes, and I trust him to take the weight of my boneless body as I fall from the cross. He lifts me, gently, carefully holding me so as not to hurt my tender skin, lays me face down on the bed. I don’t resist as he spreads my legs, bending my knees to improve his access. Moments later he thrusts into me, hard, fast, deep. I squeeze him, the only welcome I can muster at that moment, my body already sated, spent.

Except Tom knows better, and within the first couple of thrusts I am arching back toward him, reaching for fulfilment. And he does not disappoint. He uses my convenient position to remove the butt plug, replacing it with his finger, first just one, then two. With his other hand he works my clit hard, forcing me quickly to my climax before he pulls out of me sharply. Then, without warning, he penetrates my anus. It’s hard, unmerciful. I gasp, cry out, the intrusion unexpected. It’s painful, it’s too much.

Almost too much. But not quite. With his unerring instinct for my limits Tom has pushed me as far as I can go today, but not beyond. He presses home, filling me completely, then stops, waits for me to adjust and accept. My bottom thrust upwards, available for him, gives him his answer and at last he starts to move, slowly, gently, allowing me to become accustomed to this new form of dominance. He takes his time, pressing against my tight, resisting and most private place, allowing me no secrets now. And I submit, relaxing under him as he forces the issue. He knows the instant I relinquish control, and my reward is his gentle caress across my clitoris again, his tender, touch, feathering lightly across the engorged, hopelessly sensitive bud. He coaxes me once more toward orgasm, and of course he succeeds. Helpless, responsive as ever, I unravel one last time for him. He fucks me gently, owning my body completely.

Chapter Thirteen

“I’m going now, sweetheart. I’ll see you at about five.”

“No, what?” I roll over, shove my head back under the duvet, wince a little as my abused body protests at the motion. I ache. I ache everywhere. And I feel absolutely wonderful. I seem to recall hearing a phrase once, can’t remember where or who.
All my hormones the right way up.
That describes me perfectly. I wriggle in contentment, ready to drift back to sleep

“Ashley, I need to get off. My first lecture’s in forty minutes.” His voice in insistent, unrelenting.

I need to—what? I need to respond somehow. “What? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the college. I’ll be done by four, back by five or thereabouts, depends on traffic. I’m taking the car. If you want to go shopping the city center’s about two minutes away. In ten minutes you can be in Marks and Spencer…”

“Where? Why do I…?” I wearily force my eyes open, peer up at him from my warm cocoon.

Tom smiles back at me, drops a quick kiss on my lips. “Good morning, lovely Ashley. Did you sleep well?”

“I’m still sleeping well, if you’d just bugger off and leave me alone,” I mutter my grumpy greeting. Not a morning person, me.

He chuckles, moments before he snatches the cozy duvet away from me. I screech, grab for it, and suddenly we’re wrestling on the bed, me naked, him fully dressed. It’s a one-sided struggle and in no time I’m on my back, my wrists secured over my head and his lips around my left nipple. I lie still, not sure if I like this or not, then bow to the inevitable. He releases my wrists as I stop struggling. Then he turns his attention briefly to my other nipple. Just as it begins to get really good he stops, lifts his head, and carefully pulls my duvet over me again.

I try to sit up, to push the duvet away, but he’s having none of it.

“Be patient, Ashley. It’s bad enough if students are late for lectures, but unforgivable for the tutor to roll up at all hours. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish.” My tone is mutinous now.

“Ah, but we both know I can finish it. And I will. Later. I wanted your attention and I’ve found sucking your gorgeous little nipples always works. So, now I have your attention, here’s the plan. I’ll be back around five, and I’d like you to be here, naked, your hair up, ready to play. We’ll be using the cross again, as I promised you yesterday. Okay?”

I nod, fully awake now. Again?
Yes!

“You’ll find a selection of whips in the chest at the bottom of the bed. I want you to choose one, any one, it’s up to you. Afterwards, if you like, we can go out. Maybe take in a club if you’re still interested. Or not. You might prefer to just crawl back into bed. I do intend to stretch your limits of endurance a little today, love. I’ll understand if you’re exhausted by the time we’ve finished. In fact I guarantee you will be. I’m just not sure yet what your powers of recovery are.”

I stare at him then shrug. Powers of recovery indeed! If it bloody kills me I’m going out clubbing tonight. “Fine, I’ll be ready. Don’t be late!” Then, “Which way into town?”

“There’s a doorman by the front entrance, he’ll point you in the right direction. I’ll leave the key card on the table by the door, you’ll need to use it, and the key code, to get back in. That’s on a Post-it note with the card. Don’t lose it. Any problems, Nathan’s office is downstairs. He’ll be there all day as far as I know, or one of his staff will help you out.”

“Nathan’s here?” I start to leap out of bed, not wanting to be caught without my clothes on. Well, not by anyone but Tom.

He grabs me around the waist. “Relax, he’s at work. His company offices are on the eighth floor. He knows we’re here and he won’t disturb us. I’m just letting you know he’s nearby if you need anything. Or you can text me.”

“Won’t he need his apartment? I mean, I know he stays here mid-week sometimes…”

Tom grins. “This is Nathan’s fuck pad, not his home. It’s convenient sometimes for him to stay over but he’ll manage without it for a day or two.” He kisses me briefly, stands up. “Right, I’m off. Have a nice day, and I’ll see you later.”

I lounge around in bed until about eleven, drinking coffee and eating toast—the extent, pretty much, of my culinary capability. And Nathan Darke’s toaster is perfectly well-behaved. No lumps of charcoal in his pristine kitchen, they wouldn’t dare.

Eventually I get up, shower then get dressed. By twelve I’m in the lobby getting directions from a very polite elderly gentleman in smart gray livery. He offers to call me a taxi but I’d prefer to walk. He points out the footbridge across the river Aire, and the waterside path leading right into the city center, and I set off in the brisk chill of an early spring day.

Marks and Spencer is indeed only a ten minute walk, Harvey Nichols another five or so on top. I’m not particularly a shopaholic—I do need to be in the mood. But today I am. I buy a pair of shoes from Schuh, lovely white and cream strappy sandals with a four-inch spike for a heel, and a really nice dress from Planet. Silk, knee length, a low back and prim neckline, sex kitten from the back, Sunday school from the front, in a gorgeous chocolate brown color. Not clubbing gear, but who knows, we may find ourselves at a nice restaurant and I want to look the part.

Not clubbing gear!
Christ, what is? What on earth do people wear to places like that? Black leather? A corset? Nothing at all? I grab my phone from my pocket and text Tom in a blind panic.

Where can I buy kinky club gear?

His reply comes back almost immediately.

No need. Sorted already. Check top drawer.

I should have known.

I arrive back at the apartment by four o’clock, dump my carrier bags and dive straight in the shower. I want to pamper myself before my next encounter with Tom’s whip hand. I’m looking forward to it, I think. Yes, yes I am. But still, a bit of TLC is called for, my body’s taken a battering and there’s more to come.

Eleven strokes yesterday—if I counted right. In Nathan Darke’s luxurious bathroom I wriggle around in front of the floor-length mirror trying to see how badly marked my back and shoulders are. I needn’t have bothered, the whole room is lined subtly with tinted mirrors, carefully positioned to reflect me from every direction and angle. And there’s not a mark on me as far as I can see. Possibly a slight reddening across my shoulders, no more than that. Abbie said Tom was a whip man, he’s certainly perfected his art.

I nip in the shower first to wash my hair. It’s so long it always takes ages to rinse and a bath is no good at all for that. I shampoo and condition it quickly then wrap it in a fluffy white towel. I clean my teeth whilst the bath is running, and cheekily help myself to a generous dollop of bath oil I find in the cabinet. It’s a truly magnificent bath, made of polished teak and occupying pride of place right in the middle of the huge bathroom. It’s at least four feet high on the outside, maybe three feet deep inside and has three steps leading up to it. Even then I suspect it’ll be a stretch to climb in. I’m determined to make it, though.