Rich Pickings (3 page)

“A few things I asked Eva to pack for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? I’m struck again by his attention to detail, and to my comfort. It never occurred to me to ask to go and collect my things from Black Combe. “No, of course not. Thank you. I must thank Eva too, when we get back.”

He shrugs and gestures for me to precede him to the lift. Dan punches a series of numbers into the keypad by the door, and within seconds a whirring sound heralds the imminent arrival of the lift. The doors glide apart, and I step inside. Dan follows, dropping my bag to the floor as he punches in another short series of numbers. The lift starts upwards, the motion smooth but it feels as though our ascent is rapid. I lean back against the wall of the lift, idly considering my reflection in the mirrored wall opposite. Dan is lounging alongside me, infinitely at ease. We’re both still wearing our wedding finery, though Dan has long since discarded the tie, and his collar is unbuttoned. If anything, he looks even more attractive for being ever so slightly disheveled. My dress is creased across the front, so I smooth it out with my hands. Our eyes meet, reflected in the shiny metallic wall in front of us. The sardonic quirk to Dan’s lips suggests he considers my attempts to restore order somewhat optimistic, but old habits die hard and I can do no other.

“Nice dress. Very sexy.”

“Thank you, Sir. You look very nice too.”

He smiles slightly, the only acknowledgment of my compliment. “Tell me, Miss Jones. How do you avoid a panty line in a dress so tight?”

I see my eyes widen in my reflected image, but I’m pleased to note my voice remains steady as I reply, “I’m wearing a thong, Sir.”

“Ah yes, I thought so. May I have it please?” He holds out his hand, palm up.

I don’t move. Forget to breathe.

“The thong, please. It would be better not to exacerbate your predicament by having me need to ask you a third time.” His hand is still outstretched, waiting, but his tone now has an impatient edge to it, a subtle nuance but it makes me shiver.

And I know better than to waste any more time. I bend, lift the front of my skirt above my knees, and reach under to grab the front of my thong. I pull it down and step out of it, before handing the underwear to Dan. He thanks me politely and shoves the scrap of lace into his pocket before turning to the keypad again. This time the code he taps in causes the lift to shudder and stop.

He folds his arms across his chest, regarding my slightly startled expression in the mirrored wall. His eyes narrow, hardening to a deep, stone gray.

“You’ll need to shimmy a little I imagine, but I want you to work that sexy little skirt way up high above your waist. Then I want you to turn and face the wall.”

I gasp. “Here? In the lift?”

“Yes, Miss Jones. Here, in the lift. Get on with it please.” He steps away from the wall, and reaches for the buckle on his belt. He unfastens it and starts to slide it through the loops in his dress trousers.

“Your belt? You mean to hit me with your belt?” I blurt out the obvious.

“I do, Miss Jones. Any objections?”

Yes! Plenty.

“No, Sir.” I start to raise my skirt.

He’s right about the shimmying, but the alternative is to remove my dress entirely, which I’d prefer not to do in a semi-public environment. A couple of minutes’ wriggling and tugging see the silky fabric bunched around my waist and under my breasts. I’m naked from the waist down. Unless you count my thigh-high stockings and shoes of course, which Dan instructs me to leave in place. With an imperious whirl of his finger he instructs me to turn to the wall, baring my unprotected bottom.

“Lean on the wall—brace yourself against it. Now, arch your back and lift your bum up for me. Spread your legs a little more. Show me that pretty cunt of yours.”

I adjust my position conscious of his eyes on me as I present myself for his punishment.

“Shoulders lower and back arched a little more, if you would please. Your body is beautiful, you can be proud of it. Show it off to me, girl.”

His words have the desired effect. Far from feeling scared and humiliated, I do indeed know a sense of pride. I feel beautiful, desirable. Sexy and hot, and very, very wet now. I lean farther forward, consciously raising my bottom a little higher for his viewing.

“Turn your head—look at yourself in the mirror. See how gorgeous you are. You make me hard just looking at you, my sweet little fucktoy.”

I do as I’m told, studying my body now reflected from the side, my naked bottom tilted upwards, my thighs parted. Dan is standing behind me, maybe three feet away, his belt now dangling from his hand. He’s folded it, the buckle and other end grasped in his fist.

“How many stripes should I give you, do you think? How many have you deserved?”

“I don’t know, Sir. Whatever you think…” But I hope it’s not much. That belt looks as though it might sting a bit.

“You attacked me. I’m thinking ten, possibly twelve.” His tone is dispassionate. He shifts his stance, swinging the belt as if he’s about to start.

“No!” I blurt out my response, driven part by fear, but also by a sense of injustice. Yes, I hit him. But I didn’t hurt him, and I have already apologized.

“No? No not at all, or no, not twelve?”

“I— Not twelve. Please.”

“Ten?”

I whimper, my buttocks clenching pathetically.

“Eight?”

I drag in a deep breath and nod. “Yes, Sir, if you think so. Eight.”

“You could accept eight, I know that. But we’ll settle for six today. Three on each side. Are you ready for this?”

I nod again. “Yes, Sir. And, thank you.” I am genuinely grateful for his consideration. He could have insisted on twelve strokes, I wouldn’t have protested, though I might have been screaming ‘red’ well before the end.

“After each stroke I’ll wait until you tell me you’re ready, then I’ll deliver the next one. So, the quicker you recover each time, the faster we’ll be done with this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“No questions? No more negotiations?”

“No, Sir. Please, just do it.”

“My pleasure, Miss Jones.”

The soft whistle of the belt whizzing through the air is the only warning I get before the pain explodes across my left buttock. I scream, staggering under the shock, even though I know he didn’t hit me especially hard. I’m shaking as I regain my balance, my arms braced against the cool metal wall.

“Miss Jones? Are you ready for me to continue?”

“Yes, Sir.” I manage to force the words out through gritted teeth.

The belt whistles again, and this time my right buttock takes the hit. I scream, I can’t help that, but the shock is less. This hurts like hell, but it
is
bearable. So far.

He waits patiently as I concentrate on breathing. He doesn’t prompt me this time, and I manage to gather my wits enough to ask him to proceed.

“I’m ready. Aagh!”

He wastes no time in applying the belt again, the second blow to my left buttock, just below the previous one. I know the tears are now streaming down my face, but I’m half way there and not giving in now. I stiffen my legs, lock my knees under me.

“Please continue, Sir.” I manage to gasp out the words.

“Thank you, Miss Jones. You’re doing very well, by the way.”

My polite acknowledgment of his compliment is lost as the fourth stroke connects with my right buttock, the sharp crack resounding around the small lift car. I scream, of course, but manage not to move. Or I think I haven’t.

“I’m going to lay the last two across your upper thighs. You’ll find it painful to sit for a day or two, which is intentional. This is a punishment, after all, Miss Jones, and I want you to remember it. So, drop your shoulders please and lift your bottom up. I want a clear shot.”

I moan softly, but follow his instructions, leaning farther down and deliberately raising my bottom up to give him ready access to the backs of my legs.

“Say when, Miss Jones.” His voice is low, but quite implacable. Something tells me these last two will really hurt.

“Now. Please, just do it, do both and let me get up.” I’ve given up trying to sound brave. I can hear the tremor in my voice, so he must too. Now, I just want this to be over. I need it to be over.

“Happy to oblige. You can thank me afterwards.”

The sound of the belt whooshing through the air warns me, and I clench up solid in anticipation of the blow. I am not disappointed, and scream in real agony as my left thigh feels to be on fire.

“Oh, God. Please, that hurts…”

“Last one, Summer. Accept it, then we’re done.”

I don’t answer, can’t verbalize anything in this moment. Instead I nod frantically. It’s enough. I open my eyes in time to see his feet reflected in the mirrored wall. He shifts his stance, the belt whistles one last time before landing across my right thigh. The pain explodes, my knees buckle, and I would have been on the floor but for Dan’s arm suddenly encircling my waist and holding me upright.

“Steady. Lean on the wall and don’t move yet.”

“Please, can I stand up? We’ve finished.” I’m whimpering, I know it. But I don’t care.

“We have finished, but I want you to stay there a little longer please.”

Obedient, I lay my forehead against the cool metal in front of me, heaving great, noisy sighs as my body adjusts to this latest turn of events.
What now?

Dan allows me a few moments to recover. Then, “Open your eyes, Summer. Look at me.”

With some effort I pry open my eyelids, turning my head to see Dan crouching beside me. His face is below mine, his eyes beautiful in the harsh strip lights, his expression soft and infinitely caring. He smiles, and I’m amazed to realize I’m smiling back. It’s a watery effort, but surely it’s the thought that counts. Dan seems to think so, at least as he reaches up to stroke my wet cheek.

There’s a sharp snap, then, “Here, take a drink.” He places an opened bottle of mineral water against my lips, tilting it for me to drink. The cool liquid is wonderful, refreshing in my dry mouth. I gulp it gratefully, wrapping my hand around his to hold the bottle in place.

“There’s plenty more inside. I just want you to see this. Look at your reflection.”

“How? I mean, where…?”

He stands, places his hands on my shoulders to ease me away from the wall. “Look up. Look at you.”

I lift my chin to see my own tear-stained face looking back at me. Then, as I gaze at my reflection, I see more. Reflected in the opposite wall I see my own bum, perfectly poised still as if for the spanking, but now sporting vivid red stripes, two on each cheek and one across each of my thighs just above the top of my stockings. The contrast is sharp, painful against my pale skin. My beautiful swallows complete the tableau, soaring gracefully up the edge of my right buttock as if about to alight on their new perches.

“Oh.” I can only gasp.

“Tell me.” Dan clearly wants more. His tone is insistent, Dom style.

“I look— It looks…sore. And sexy. Very sexy.”

“Yes, both those things. Anything else?”

“I want you to fuck me. Please. Now, Sir.”

He slips his fingers between my buttocks, and seems to be taking care to avoid the sore places as he slides down to plunge two slick digits deep inside me. The sound of wet and ready pussy is sensual, adding to my arousal. I groan, gripping his fingers tightly.

“Yes, oh yes. That feels good. More please, could you…?”

He withdraws his fingers, and this time does lightly pat my sore bum. I shriek, as much in frustration as pain.

“Soon, my gorgeous little fucktoy. Inside. Where I can take a bit more time and trouble over you. Be patient, stand up now and straighten your clothes.”

“But…” My protest dies on my lips as his expression brooks no argument.

He keys in another code on the keypad, and the lift whirs back into life. It takes me by surprise—I’d actually forgotten where we are. Moments later the doors are gliding silently open, and I’m still struggling to right my dress as he picks up my holdall and steps out. I stumble after him, my bottom rubbing painfully against the tight fabric of my skirt. Dan turns, takes my arm to steady me. I cling onto him as we cross the thickly carpeted foyer toward the one door that seems to open off this landing. I glance around, curious. Freya’s place is grand, but this is on another scale entirely.

The knee-deep shag-pile is just the beginning. The walls are lined in what looks to me like marble paneling, and there are pieces of expensive looking art strategically displayed on small pedestal tables. I spot an alabaster bowl, backlit to better display its translucent beauty, and a carved wooden bird, an eagle maybe, is perching majestically in the center of the space.

“Do these things belong to Nathan? Is he a collector?”

Dan turns to me as he slides a key card into the slot on the door opposite the lift. “Nathan? No. This stuff started appearing when Eva moved in. It’s her influence at work. Nathan likes pretty things, but he prefers them to have a pulse. I tend to agree.” He opens the door, then stands aside to gesture me to go in.

The apartment is stunning too, but in a much more austere and utilitarian way. Sleek, gleaming, functional. I suspect Eva’s influence has its limits, or maybe she just doesn’t want to bother with interior decor. Not that the place needs it. The space is open-plan, a huge living area in the center with a dining zone at one end, near the kitchen. The large dining table seats eight easily, and I wonder if Nathan does much entertaining here. Apart from the obvious.

As I turn slowly, taking in my surroundings, Dan dumps my bag on a sofa.

“You can look round later—I’ll do you the grand tour. Now, though, lose the dress. And the rest. I want you naked, and on your knees.”

I snap out of my silent appraisal and reach for my zipper. “Yes, Sir.”

He watches me struggle for a few moments before stepping behind me to slide the zip down. Then he steps back to watch as I peel the pale blue fabric gingerly down over my sore bum to lay it neatly on the sofa next to my bag. That dress cost me a lot of money, I intend to wear it again. I reach behind me to unclasp my bra and remove that too before stepping out of my spiky black shoes. They also cost a fortune. I really pushed the boat out for Ashley’s big day.