Sure Thing (18 page)

I watch the bubbles build as the hot water foams up, the aromatic scent of vanilla and oranges wafting around the bathroom, and eventually I decide it’s time to go for it. I consider grappling hooks but manage to climb up the short flight of steps without mishap. There’s a long, solid chrome bar on the inside to help bathers keep their balance, and I’m glad of it as I maneuver myself down into the warm bubbles. I’ve seen stuff like this in interior design magazines but never in the flesh. It’s absolutely wonderful, especially when I discover the switch under the rim that activates the Jacuzzi. I sigh, lying back to float in the foaming water, absorbing the pungent, fruity aroma of the bath oil I liberated.

The tension floats from my body. I imagine my cares and fears fizzling away in the bubbling, frothy water. I’m light, weightless, drowsy, drifting…

* * * *

“Would you like me to wash your back?”

“Mmmm…?” I’m moving—strong hands lifting me—then sinking as I settle back into place in the now cooling water. Tom’s in the bath too, behind me, my back resting against his chest.

“Ashley, you’re getting all wrinkled…”

“What…? Oh, my God!” I wake up fully, splashing and spluttering, in a blind panic. I’m late, he’ll kill me…

“Whoa, love, you’ll drown us both.” Tom’s hands are on me, holding me steady as I thrash about trying to leap out of the bath.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I wail. “I just fell asleep.”

“Yes, I saw.”

“You told me to be ready for you. I’m sorry, I will be, I’ll just…”

“Ashley, I call this ready. Or near enough. Relax, you’re splashing water over the side.”

I’ll never understand Doms. Never. One minute he can be totally uncompromising, strict, downright scary in fact, taking issue with even the smallest thing, spanking me so hard that time in the barn that I couldn’t sit down for hours, just for being slightly cheeky. And another time so cool and tolerant when I screw up royally. Still, it’s the here and now that matters, and here and now I have my Dom in a playful mood. This is the Master I like best. I allow myself to relax back against his chest as he slips his hands around me to cup my breasts. He must have arrived back and let himself in, come looking for me, found me fast asleep in this swimming pool of a bath, and decided to join me. He’s undressed and slipped in behind me and seems to be in fine spirits. Very domestic, I try for some small talk.

“How did your lecture go?”

“Fine.” He massages my breasts and I groan contentedly. “And your shopping?”

“Great. I got some killer shoes. And a posh dress.”

“Yes, I saw the bags as I came in. Are you planning to go somewhere that you’ll need a posh dress for?”

“Well, yes, I thought, maybe we could, I don’t know, go out for a meal sometime. Or to a show. Or, well somewhere…”

“Sounds good. I like the theater. What about you?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a theater…”

“Well, we’ll have to put that right.”

I blurt out my next stupid question without thinking, “Do you usually take subs to the theater?”

He stiffens behind me, then, “Nope, that would be a first for me. I’ve never drowned one in a bath either, but I could be tempted.”

“I’m sorry, I just…”

I know he’s had more subs than I can count, and I know there’s only me now. But I can’t help my insecurities, they surface every so often ready to sabotage my best intentions. Suddenly miserable, I try to turn to him, to apologize properly. His hands close firmly around me, holding me still. He slides his hand up from my breast to cup my chin, tilting my head to the side to expose my neck. He nibbles it, playful again. He blows a raspberry of all things!

“Where’s all this coming from, babe? You know you’re not just a sub to me. You live with me, Ashley, you share everything. You’re not just a casual partner, a sub who I tie up and fuck occasionally. We’re twenty-four-seven. This is—different, between you and me. You must realize that.”

“I do, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s nothing to do with me what you’ve done before…”

“Ashley, we’ve both screwed other people, me more than you, I grant you that, but still…”

“Did you always make love to your subs? In the past I mean. It’s just that Abbie said…” It really is none of my business. But somehow, I just can’t help asking, piling on the misery.

He sighs, exasperated, but answers anyway, “Make love? Interesting choice of word. But the answer’s yes, pretty much, as far as I can remember. Dom/sub relationships are usually about sex—well, they always are for me. I want sexual submission, but you must have noticed things are much more equal otherwise, in every other way. I’m not looking for a slave, I find all that a bit—uncomfortable. But I always want my sub to be naked when I top her, so that pretty much guarantees she’ll get fucked. That goes for you too. And remember, baby, it’s not who we fucked before that matters, is it, Ashley? It’s who we’re fucking now that counts. And who we fuck last. And speaking of which…”

He shifts, his large erection pressing against my bottom. It occurs to me that it might be nice to…

Ah, yes. He lifts me effortlessly in the water, positions his cock at my entrance, and places me down again firmly. He slides inside, I sigh. This is so good, so bloody good. He lies still, using his hands to ease me up and down on his huge shaft. The angle seems strange at first, not quite what I want, but I shift slightly to get it right, to make sure he hits that spot each time. I’d like him to stroke my clit too, but realize he doesn’t have a hand free. But I do. I wonder if I could, if he’d mind if I…

Only one way to find out. I lower my hand, slide it between my legs and carefully take my clit between my thumb and finger. Nervously I look back over my shoulder to see if he’s noticed. Idiot girl, nothing goes on that Tom doesn’t know about.

He winks at me and mouths one word. “Enjoy.”

I do enjoy, several times. It’s a good half an hour later that I finally clamber from the bath, leaving Tom soaking in the last of the bubbles whilst I go and do what I should have done earlier. Prepare myself to be whipped.

When Tom emerges fifteen minutes later I’m dried, my hair still slightly damp but fastened securely on top of my head. I’m naked, standing obediently beside the St Andrew’s cross, waiting to be strapped to it. I’ve chosen a whip from the chest and placed it on the bed, neatly coiled. This one’s black, made of leather, with six strands. Each one has a small metal bead on the end. It looks—cruel, but I’m confident Tom will manage it expertly, keep it under control.

Tom strolls across the room, a towel tied around his hips. He glances at the whip coiled on the bed then looks wryly at me. His doubtful expression suggests I may have made a poor choice but what do I know? Still without a word to me he drops the towel and picks up his jeans. He pulls them on, no underwear, and zips them up. He leaves the button open, picks up a bottle of water from the bedside table—he must have dumped it there when he first came in—and I recall his insistence that I sip water frequently during our scenes together. He offers the bottle to me but I shake my head swiftly. He shrugs and walks slowly to me.

He stands close to me, towering over me, and I’m intimidated by his nearness, his height. I often forget the difference in our sizes but I’m left in no doubt at this moment. Intentional? Yes, certainly. I resist the urge to step back as I suspect that would earn me some retribution. Despite his words on the subject, though, when he’s in Dom mode, in practice Tom doesn’t seem especially big on punishment and obedience. Not always anyway, but I’m not risking it today.

“Looking good, my beautiful Ashley,” he murmurs and smiles swiftly at me.

I’m intensely relieved. I want him in a good mood when he’s whipping me. I wait for him to make it clear what I’m to do next. I expect him to position me on the cross, secure my wrists and ankles, but instead he takes my hand, draws me across to the bed. He sits on the edge and tugs me onto his lap. His hands are in my hair, and I have visions of having to fasten it up all over again before long. He’s in charge, though, so I turn in to him, nuzzle my lips against his chest, enjoying this rare opportunity in one of our scenes to actually touch him.

“I made a mistake. I told you to choose a whip. I shouldn’t have.” His words, which are gently murmured into my ear, come as a surprise.

“What do you mean? I did choose. I did as you asked.” My heart rate is increasing. Just the suggestion I may not have pleased him is enough to distress me, not through fear, but because I so desperately want his approval. I don’t want to disappoint him.

His hands are soothing, caressing my back. I start to relax—if he was displeased with me he’d say so. Tom doesn’t play mind games. So now I’m puzzled, confused.

“I shouldn’t have left the choice to you, because you don’t have the experience, the knowledge, to be able to anticipate what each whip can do. What it’s like, what it’s meant for. The one you’ve chosen, sweetheart, would crush you.”

“Would it? I mean…”

He places a finger over my lips to silence me, gentle but firm. He’s not about to accept any argument, I am under no illusions that this will not be up for debate. He does, however, seem inclined to offer more explanation.

“That whip is heavy, six strands which means six times as painful. Every stroke would land on you in six different places. And those beads would leave bruises. A lot of bruises. That’s a punishment whip, and even then it’s intended to discipline a much more experienced sub, one who’s earned a seriously harsh punishment. Or a male submissive possibly. It’s not what I want for you, Ashley, not today. Probably not ever.”

“I could safe word…”

“Baby, you’d have to. But not before you were really hurting, really beaten. If I did that to you and tried to call it fun, you’d hate me. You’d never be able to trust me again. And you’d be right. So I’m going to choose for you, something with a sting, but sweet too. Something you’ll like. Okay?”

I gulp, only now starting to realize how dependent I am on my Dom to keep our play safe and sane. Christ, I’m not fit to be let out. I nod gratefully, my face still pressed against his hard chest. In no hurry to proceed yet, he just tightens his arms around me, holding me as I regain my equilibrium. Eventually he tips my chin up with his fingers, and I see real tenderness in his eyes as he holds my gaze.

“I know you want to push your limits, Ashley, set big goals and meet them. You will, I promise you. I’ll push you to more amber from now on, force the pace more than I have. You
will
be using that safe word. It’s what I want too. You know how much I love to hear you scream…” His smile is mischievous but not entirely so.

I know he’s upping the ante, but he’ll do it safely. It will be informed, consensual. And it’ll bloody well hurt, a lot, from here on in. I see that promise too, in his eyes, just before he kisses me.

Chapter Fourteen

I wait, cradled in Tom’s lap, for further instructions. My patience is soon rewarded as he stands, places me back on my feet and gestures for me to turn to face the cross. He wastes no time in fastening the straps around my wrists and ankles, my arms and legs spread wide as they were yesterday. He steps back, regards me coldly. Then he moves away. I expect him to select a whip, his choice this time, and return to take up his position behind me, but instead he stretches out on the bed. He makes himself comfortable, propping pillows behind him to lean casually against the headboard. I twist my neck to watch him over my left shoulder, puzzled and unnerved by this shift in procedure. I thought I knew what to expect from this. It seems I don’t.

“What are you waiting for?” I demand, nerves making my tone sharper than I intend.

He looks across at me, frowns darkly. This does not look good.

“Enough questions, enough explaining. I want you to wait there, think about what I’ve just been saying. About how we’re going to start pushing your limits. Really pushing. And think about being patient—I’ll get around to you when I’m ready.” His tone is brusque, curt, every inch the Dom.

“But I… Please, Tom…” My voice is quivering, my earlier confidence evaporating. I can do this stuff, it seems, but not without some help, some warmth from my Dom. I contemplate safe wording right here and now but dismiss that thought. I want to try. I want to please him. I fall silent, turn my face to lean my forehead on the cross, and wait.

“Face the cross, don’t look at me. Use this time to think. And to anticipate. I may have decided to use a lighter whip, but be under no illusions, little Ashley, you’re going to feel this. Really feel this.”

I know better than to continue. I obey him, dropping my brow against the wood to contemplate what’s coming. I estimate it’s maybe fifteen long, slow, silent minutes later when I hear him shift, stand up. I cringe inwardly, listening to his soft footsteps, move around the bed, halting by the chest. The lid opens, then closes again softly. Then his footsteps, coming to a halt behind me. I flinch. Something is stroking my back, drawing a line between my shoulder blades and down to my bottom, then between the cheeks of my bum. I stiffen, afraid to ask what he’s doing to me, what he’s touching me with. It’s not his hand, too cool, too hard. The whip, his chosen whip, it must be. The handle maybe. I stand there, my shoulders already stiff from my long wait in this unnatural position, and I whimper as he draws the whip back up my body. This time he trails it up my side. He uses it to stroke the side of my right breast, lingering there. Fear can do strange things, I’m finding, and I fight back the urge to cry even though he’s not laid a finger on me yet, let alone a whip.

“Do you trust me?”

I hesitate, hold my breath as he draws the whip down my left side, reaching around me this time to nudge my nipple with it.

“Yes. No. I don’t know…” My response is a breathy whisper, my vocal chords more or less paralyzed. Those fifteen minutes were devastating, shattering my self-confidence, as he knew they would. The bastard.

“It’s yes or no, Ashley. Which? And please, don’t curse at me, even in your head.”