Rich Pickings (8 page)

“You’re angry, and that scares me. I want to please you, but I seem to irritate you without intending to.” I can hear the catch in my voice, the wavering that usually precedes tears. I don’t want to cry, not again, not now.

He says nothing, appears to be waiting for me to finish. I can’t see him, but I feel his breath on my neck. I consciously raise my chin and stiffen my shoulders before continuing, “I don’t feel to be in control…”

“You’re not in control. I am.”

“But of me, of what I feel, what I do…”

“You handed control to me. All of it. You can get it back with your safe words, but until you do, unless you do, I’m running this show and you just accept it. Take it. Don’t try to fight me, you’ve no need to. I’ll hurt you, because that’s what you need from me, some of the time at least, but I won’t harm you. Ever. You
can
trust me.”

His fingers are on my shoulders, both his hands so he must have put the flogger down. He massages my shoulders firmly. “Relax, Summer. Just relax and let yourself feel. Just be, and stop fretting.”

I roll my head, my neck muscles stretching and releasing, and with that the crippling tension of a few minutes ago dissipates. My body loosens and melts under his probing, demanding caress, as though he’s drawing all my pent-up anxieties out through his fingers. He keeps up the motion for a few minutes, working his way down my spine to my buttocks. He slips one hand between my legs, probing through my wet folds to rub my clit before plunging two fingers inside me.

“I think you’re enjoying yourself a little more now, Summer. Am I right?”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice is a hushed murmur, but all trace of distress is gone. “That feels so good, Sir.”

“Hot and tight. Your perfect little pussy, just waiting to be fucked. Am I right about that too?”

“You are, Sir.”

He withdraws his fingers, and I moan slightly as he steps away, the intimate, soothing contact broken.

“All in good time. First, I have plans for you. Ten strokes I think. I’ll count, you concentrate on breathing. Breathe in before each stroke, and out afterwards. Clear?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll try.”

“Summer?” Trying isn’t enough this time.

“Yes, Sir, perfectly clear. I’m ready.”

There’s a slight rustle of clothing, and I assume he’s bent to retrieve the flogger. It’s to be now then. The talking’s over at last. I remember my instructions and draw in a deep breath, wondering how long I’ll have to hold it for. Not long at all. A breath of air, just the merest whisper as the suede strands fly. I gasp as they connect with the tender skin across my shoulder blades. The beads sting, each one its own pinprick of pain, sharp and vivid but not too intense. I arch instinctively, but don’t cry out.

“One. Breathe out now, Summer.”

I do, releasing the air trapped in my lungs. Dan waits patiently while I refill them. The air shifts and whistles again as Dan aims the flogger, this time at a spot just below my shoulder blades. The sharp bite of the beads causes me to wince, but the strands themselves are gentle, soft on my skin. I hadn’t expected that. I sigh as I exhale, sagging into the large V space between the arms of the cross, relying on just the restraints to hold me up.

“Two.”

I breathe in, and hold, waiting for the swish of the flogger. Dan lays the strands across my lower back this time, slightly harder than before. I do cry out, but softly. He hasn’t hurt me, yet. Soon.

“Three.”

I let out my breath, draw in the next in calm anticipation.

“Four. Five. Six.”

I’m settled, comfortable in my rhythm. Dan’s increasing the intensity, but only marginally, maybe. I’m not entirely sure.

“Seven.”

I squeal, now I am sure. That was hard. That hurt.

“Just wanted to make sure you were still awake.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Was that more sarcasm, Summer?” His tone is deceptively mild.

“No, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Breathe in again, girl.”

I do, and scream as the next stroke lands across my shoulders, the pain now sharp and burning as he flogs my tender, sensitized skin. I’m gasping, my body tensing, listening for the telltale whoosh that signals the next stroke.

I hear it the merest moment before the pain explodes across my back.

“Eight. The last two will be harder still. Ready?”

I nod, unable to get any words out just in this moment. My skin is smarting and burning, each tiny point where the beads have struck me now tingling and throbbing
. Two left? Only two? I can do this. I want this.

The air shifts again as the flogger whistles its descent. I jerk, my head flying back. My eyes are wide open as I stare at the ceiling, but I don’t scream. That was harder, but the pain was less. I feel strangely welcoming of the next and final blow, wishing it wasn’t the last. Just as I’m beginning to love the sharp intensity of the beads striking my back and shoulders, to crave it, he’s about to stop.

“More please.” Is that my voice, my breathy whisper?

“One more, then we stop. With the flogger at least. I have lots more planned for you, though, greedy little sub. Breathe.” His voice is all Dom, stern and unrelenting. There will be no extending this experience, no point asking again.

Obedient, I draw in a long, deep breath. The final stroke is excruciating. And wondrous, and uplifting. Liberating. I scream, but whether in pain or mindless joy I have no idea. I’m aware only of pure sensation, clean, sharp white-hot pain, an agony of pleasure.

I’m hanging on the cross, my body suspended between pain and something else, something only now starting to unfurl. Something deeply satisfying, cleansing, almost spiritual. Even as I’m trying to process what’s happening, what I’m feeling, I sigh as Dan slides his fingers between my wide-spread legs. He strokes my slick, hot pussy tenderly. My wetness is smeared across his fingertips, and he spreads it everywhere. He slides upwards, backwards, between my buttocks to my arsehole. Without uttering a word he slips the tip of his finger inside, working the hole as he did yesterday. My resistance is non-existent, and in moments his entire finger is deep inside my arse.

“Good girl. Now two.”

I nod, though my consent is obvious. I’m groaning my pleasure, my delight at his gentle but insistent probing, and soon my arse is stretched to accommodate two fingers. He thrusts, and twists his hand to work me even looser before easing a third finger in. Now it’s hard, really difficult. I moan, he’s hurting me. He knows it, and his movements are slow, giving me time to adjust and to accept. I don’t ask him to stop. I want this. I know where this is leading, and I want all of it.

The discomfort recedes as my arsehole relaxes, the muscles there loosening to accommodate Dan’s fingers. He leans in close to me, his body resting against my smarting, inflamed back as he reaches around me to caress my clit. It’s enough, more than enough. I orgasm instantly, shaking and quivering in the restraints as my body convulses. Dan thrusts his fingers deep, my arse now totally conquered and accepting the intrusion. He finger fucks me hard and sharp, and I’m astonished at how sweet it feels, how erotic. Intimate, profoundly personal, his connection to me emphasized, his possession assured, every other sensation intensified by the deep and unfamiliar penetration.

My orgasm seems to go on and on, wave after wave of sensual pleasure thrumming through my veins. I shift, seeking more friction, harder, faster, deeper. Dan delivers, and my release soars again, shaking my core and blossoming through my outstretched arms and legs. Even my fingers and toes are tingling with pure delight. It’s carnal, animalistic almost. And the most intensely satisfying experience I have ever encountered. Sex with Dan has always been good, always left me purring, but this is on a different plane. Now, I’m flying.

At last, at long last, the sensations fade, start to recede. I’m dimly aware that he’s withdrawn his fingers and is unfastening my restraints. His arm around my waist prevents me from collapsing in a heap at his feet. He bends to release my ankles, then lifts me. He places me on the bed, rolling me over onto my stomach. A sharp pat on my bum tells me to stay there. I’m going nowhere in any case.

The sound of running water from the en suite tells me that Dan’s attention to hygiene is very much to the fore, and I’m grateful for it. He cares, takes responsibility for me. I’m beginning to understand why. This power transfer he talks about means he’s accountable. And I can simply abandon myself to him. I do. I have.

Moments later he’s back. I turn my head, watch him quickly undress. His cock is huge, his erection solid and thick, and proudly pointing straight up. I’m eying it appreciatively as Dan snaps the foil on a condom and unrolls it along his length. Next he takes a tube of lubricant from the bedside table and quickly squeezes a generous blob into his palm. He smears it over the length of his cock, coating the smooth latex before coming to kneel on the bed alongside me.

“I want you on your hands and knees, legs spread wide.”

I say nothing, just bend my knees to push myself up from the duvet.

“If it’s more comfortable you can drop your shoulders down, as long as your bum’s in the air for me. Arch your back as I’ve taught you. Present your arse, girl.” Again, that stern, uncompromising Dom tone. But without menace.

He knows what he’s doing. I trust him. His intent is obvious, and I have no hesitation in doing as he says. I’m beyond embarrassment. Humiliation is just a memory. I trust him to take care of me. As I lower my shoulders to the bed and lay my cheek against the pillow he takes the tube again and helps himself to another large dollop.

“You’re already wet, but this is your first time. I intend to take good care of your sweet little virgin arse.” He spreads the slick, cool gel around my now loose and welcoming arsehole, then works it inside. Two fingers, then the third. It’s not painful this time, just pleasantly tight. I gyrate my hips in enthusiastic contentment.

“Entering into the spirit. That’s what we like to see.” He pulls his fingers from my arse and moves to kneel behind me. “I’m going to go slow, and I’ll stop and wait whenever you need me to. You have your safe words. There’s no hurry. But I
am
going to be inside you. All, the way. You
can
take all of me, and you will. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” If he says so, though I already know he’s huge. This is not going to be easy. Despite all my good intentions I start to tense up.

He knows straight away, his palms caressing my buttocks.

“Trust me, love.” His words are soft, his fingers tracing the edge of my arsehole, teasing, arousing. Tantalizing.

My body relaxes again, and he places the head of his cock inside my arse. Just the head, no more, the sphincter stretched tight around it. Three fingers felt large, this is more. Much more. He pushes forward, slow and smooth. Inch by careful inch he enters me.

It hurts, and I’m scared. My fingers are like claws, grasping at the pillow beneath my head. I’m gnawing on my lower lip as he pushes again, my arse opening wide to accept his unrelenting entry. He stops, slides his fingertips through the slick lube coating the delicate, sensitive skin around my anus, circling the shaft of his cock now embedded deep but not fully inside me. Despite my nervousness and my discomfort it does feel good. Sort of. His touch is soothing and reassuring, his concentration focused on me.

The pressure starts again, his cock slips deeper in. And deeper still. I’m whimpering, whether in fear or pain I’m not certain, but it never occurs to me to say amber. He’s going slow, as he promised he would, allowing me ample time to respond. I do, by raising my bum a little higher, welcoming him, urging him on. His palm against my buttock is his acknowledgment, a gentle caress as he stretches his thumb to reach between my folds to dip the tip of it in my wet pussy. It’s the reminder I need of how aroused I am, of the exciting intensity I’m discovering on this voyage of sensual discovery.

My whimpers become moans of pleasure as he reaches around me with his other hand to place the pad of his middle finger over my clit.

“Will this help, little slut?”

I nod in near desperation. “Yes, Sir. Please. Now, please…”

He presses and rubs, at the same time somehow manipulating his thumb to hit my G-spot. I melt into an orgasmic haze as he slides his cock fully home, no longer tense, any vestige of lingering, subconscious resistance gone.

He doesn’t thrust, doesn’t move inside me at all. Just remains there, continuing to use his fingers to caress me until I stop coming. Although he’s unmoving, my arse is clenching around him, tighter with each delightful wave of ecstasy. I’m full, more than I could ever have imagined and stretched to my limit, but it’s fine. I’m fine, as he said I would be. As the tingles of my release ebb away they’re replaced by a wave of intense gratitude. He kept his word. I trusted him, and he’s taking care of me.

“Summer?” His voice is low and soft, a warm, rich murmur, seeking confirmation that I’m alright.

I don’t think I could manage to speak at this moment, my emotions are much too close to the surface. Instead I stretch out my hand to close around his, now resting on the duvet on either side of my shoulders. I squeeze. It seems to be enough, because he leans in to kiss that sensitive spot between my shoulder blades, still warm from the flogging.

“That’s all of me. You’ve done well. Am I hurting you?”

I shake my head.

“Good. I’ll be gentle, and I want you to tell me if I
do
hurt you. Yes?”

Again, I can’t manage words, but I nod. He starts to move. Slow at first, he withdraws his cock maybe halfway before sliding it back in again. He waits a moment before doing it again. And once more. I groan, my fingers opening and closing around handfuls of duvet. Dan stops.

“Summer, is this too hard, too fast?”

“No, I’m fine. I am, really. It just feels so, so…”

He chuckles. “I get the picture. And did I mention, little slut, how very beautiful you are?”

“No, Sir. Not that I can recall.”

He gives the side of my bum a playful tap. “Liar. Now stop distracting me. I’m trying to concentrate here.”