Hard Choices (11 page)

“What, in the Dales?” This from Nick.

“No, West Yorkshire. Near Haworth. Rare breeds mainly, sheep and pigs. Some poultry. But he also does care farming.”

Three pairs of eyes now regard him in amazement.

“What’s care farming, for Christ’s sake?” Nick again.

Dan shrugs his jacket on. “Care farming. It’s where people, with disabilities mostly, spend time on the farm, learn new skills and enjoy a farming lifestyle. It’s therapeutic apparently. Tom does some of that, but he also has young offenders there a lot. Community service orders sometimes, or other Probation Service schemes. His fiancée calls it the Tom Shore School for ASBO ’As-beens. It seems to work quite well. Anyway, I reckon he might give you a job. You do look as if you might be useful around a farm. You might even get to drive a tractor.” He heads for the door. “I’ll ask him if you like.”

Nick turns to Callum. “ASBO ’As-beens. Sounds right up your street. Well, do you see yourself farming?”

Callum shrugs, but I can tell he does. He most definitely does. Still, he’s not giving in without making his dad work for it. “I’m not shoving my arm up a sheep’s arse, if that’s what you mean?”

Dan chuckles. “No, that’s my job.”

Callum looks suitably bemused. Nick steps in to clarify, “Dan’s a vet. As far as I can see, farmers usually stay at the other end. So, farming?”

Callum turns back to Dan. “Did you say tractors?”

Dan nods. “And a quad bike. Maybe a Land Rover in time. When you get your licence.”

“And he’d take me on? Without any GCSEs. And an ASBO?”

Dan nods. “Probably. It is a pity about the ASBO, but if you can convince him you’re determined to make an effort I reckon he’d give you a chance. And Freya obviously thinks you’re suitable so I don’t mind putting in a good word too. I don’t think you’d be able to avoid college, though. In fact, I seem to recall Tom teaches at one occasionally. So, you up for all that?”

Callum takes his time answering, but eventually bows to the inevitable. “I suppose.”

And so, the matter is settled.

“Right. I’ll give Tom a ring then and let you know. Bye, all.”

Nick walks him down the hall to see him out. “Thanks, Dan. I appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome. And that’s two you owe me.” He glances back at me and winks. I wink back. Dan is very definitely my second favourite Dom.

* * * *

Dan texts Nick two days later. It seems the enlightened Tom Shore has agreed in principle to take Callum on as some sort of apprentice. Mr Shore can provide accommodation, a wage, day release for college and on-the-job training. The final decision, though, rests with his farm manager, a man called Seth Appleyard. It’s Seth who does the hiring and firing, and it’s him who Callum needs to impress. So, Callum needs to be interviewed, and somehow convince this Seth that he has the makings of a model employee. Or at least a half decent one.

Dan is planning a trip down to Yorkshire next week, and suggests we all go. Callum can meet Seth and we can all get a look at this farm, a place called Greystones, apparently. Dan’s brother, Nathan, lives close by and he’s invited us all to dinner. So, a jolly family outing seems to be on the cards.

Nick texts back to say we’d love to go. Then he gives Callum two hundred quid. He borrows my car to drop him off in Kendal with strict instructions to get a haircut and some decent clothes.

Chapter Eight

A few days before our planned trip to Yorkshire, Nick asks me to go with him to the Collared and Tied club. We have matters to discuss with Ange regarding the new venture in Manchester, not least my elevated status as deputy manager. I’ve eventually agreed to give this new role a try, though I’m far from convinced that Nick’s confidence in my abilities is even remotely well founded. I’ve never managed anything in my life. And I’m distinctly nervous at the prospect of meeting Ange again, this time as her so-called new assistant.

As soon as we appear in her cramped office upstairs at the Collar she throws her arms around me and crushes me to her leather-clad chest in a bear hug. To say I’m relieved would be an understatement.

“Freya, how are you? It’s lovely to see you again. And how’s the training going? Is my brother shaping up?” She turns to Nick, plants a quick kiss on his cheek, then her attention is back on me.

“Nick tells me you’re a natural submissive, all the right instincts. I knew it. I knew you would be, given the chance. And the right instruction. I told him that. And now you’re to help me out with this Manchester gig he’s gone and got us into. Thank God for that.” She shakes her head as she returns to ease her frame into the chair behind her tiny desk.

I’m not sure what I fear for most—the tight leather pants stretched to splitting point across her bottom as she bends, or her state-of-the-art laptop perched perilously on top of a teetering column of files and papers. It’s all I can do to resist grabbing it—the laptop, not the pants—but Ange is unconcerned.

And she’s not done complaining yet. “I could do with him buying bloody clubs left, right and centre if he was prepared to run them himself. But no, someone else has to up sticks and go charging down there to knock it all into shape…”

She stops to draw breath, flashes him a look of mock irritation, then launches in again, “So, Nick thinks you’d be good at the member services aspect. I gather we’ve got a dungeon master already, possibly. Sorry, mistress. What do you make of her?”

I look at Ange, perplexed. Not only do I have to find a way of explaining my opinion on our staffing situation when as far as I know Ange understands no BSL, but I also need to get my head around the fact that I appear to have an opinion worth hearing. I glance at her, then at Nick, not sure how to proceed. Then Nick steps in.

“Just sign, love. I’ll do the rest. Unless you’d rather write?”

I shake my head as he turns to Ange. “And I can give you the name of a good BSL tutor. You’ll need a crash course.”

“Right, right. Email me the details. So, Freya, tell me about our in-house dominatrix.”

“She’s scary, but I think that’s a good thing.” Hesitant at first but gaining confidence as neither of them interrupts or contradicts me I start to outline my impressions of the formidable Portia. “The staff obviously respect her, and she’s on top of things, knows what goes on in her dungeon. We watched her intervene when a scene was going slightly wrong. Nothing too heavy, but she was on it.”

Nick’s simultaneous translation is impressive—he certainly has a natural aptitude. Or maybe he is highly motivated—I like to think so.

I hesitate in my account. Despite her obvious skills and suitability for her role, I was quite unable to warm to Portia. And I doubt she’ll welcome me. “She was all over your brother, though, and I found that a bit wearing. I think she might be surprised to see me back as her boss. She’d be much happier working for Nick.”

Ange shrugs, dismissing Portia’s concerns. “Her choice, but I reckon she’ll learn to live with it. If she wants to keep her job.”

Ange is decisive, certain of her authority and now mine, it would seem. And there’s no doubt where her loyalties lie. Portia, along with all the rest of the staff at The Glory Hole, will be toeing our line. And I realise, with a start of surprise, that it is indeed ‘our’ line. Somewhere between getting out of the car, nervous about how I’d be received by Ange, and arriving at this conversation, I’ve become part of the Hardisty empire. Who would have thought it?

“Okay, our management style. I think you’re familiar with it to some extent. Emphasis on supervision, safety, consent. That’s why the dungeon is so vital, sort of sets the tone for the rest. Did Nick mention we’d be sending Frank down there?”

I nod, and she continues, “Apart from having Frank on site all the time for the first two or three months I’d like one of us to be there quite often as well, say two nights each a week. It’ll involve commuting—are you okay to drive?” She gestures at my plastered wrist.

I nod. The stiffness has largely gone and I think I probably could manage to drive if pushed, though I’m not sure about my insurance situation. Nevertheless, I mention an idea I’ve been hatching, “Yes. But I’ve been thinking I’d hire an automatic for a month or so… Or maybe a driver.” I glance up at Nick, suddenly wondering if I should have mentioned this to him first. Apparently not.

He beams at me. “Hey, excellent idea. I should have thought of that. Your own personal chauffeur—when I’m not driving you around, that is. Would you like me to…?”

I interrupt, “No, no, I can do it. Online.” By which I mean I can email the wonderful Max Fellowes, or more probably his PA for this. A few months after he started handling my affairs, and when he’d come to appreciate my specific difficulties in some matters, he told me that I was to feel free to use the services of his office staff. I think he envisaged that I’d eventually appoint my own. I can’t somehow see me with a private secretary, but I do find it handy to be able to make use of his whenever Summer’s not around.

Ange gets to her feet again, and the laptop dances dangerously. This time I do grab it, and place it carefully on a smaller, more stable pile of filing. If ever a place cried out for Summer’s attentions, it was this chaotic little office. She’d have a field day. Ange seems oblivious to all the mayhem around her, gliding effortlessly towards the door despite her teetering four inch heels. “Time to do the rounds, keep everyone on their toes. Coming?” She glances back at the pair of us.

Nick makes to follow her. I take advantage of the newly vacated seat.

“I’ll catch up. I’d like to sort out my transport first.”

Nick smiles at me over his shoulder as he leaves. “If you do hire a car get them to drop it off at my house. We’ll be in the dungeon. Don’t be long—I have plans for you.”

Plans!
My stomach clenches in delighted anticipation as I tug my phone from my pocket and tap the screen to bring up my email account. I quickly type in my requirements, remember to say please and thank you in advance, then hit send. I have no doubt that there will be a nice automatic hire car waiting for me in Cartmel by the time I get back. And details of a driver whose services have been retained on my behalf should I decide, after all, to use my Vanquish.

* * * *

Nick’s plans include a delightful all-over tingling massage with a suede flogger, followed by a long, slow over-the-knee spanking. He’s reluctant to use the normal restraints even though my wrist is no longer painful, so the experience is perhaps slightly muted. But what it lacks in psychological edge he more than makes up for in exquisite accuracy and adroitness. My Master knows his craft, and I spend a glorious hour becoming transformed from efficient deputy manager to a quivering tangle of electrified nerve endings—expectant, anticipating, desperate. At last I’m begging him to let me orgasm, but each time he nudges me delicately to the brink and dangles me over the edge before drawing me back.

I’m draped face down over the spanking bench, naked, my legs spread wide, his fingers and tongue working their magic. He traces the outline of my pussy carefully, using his thumbs to open me before plunging his tongue deep. His slick fingers are in my arse too, soon to be replaced by a vibrating butt plug helpfully supplied by Frank.

Both hands now free to attend to me, my pussy and clit are teased mercilessly, his fingers feathering lightly across the throbbing bud, then rubbing swiftly before abandoning me completely as I teeter on the brink once more. Standing behind me, his hips holding my legs apart, Nick leans over me to whisper in my ear, “Be still. Don’t move, let yourself calm down. Then, we can start all over again.”

I do, we do, and I lose count of how many times he coaxes me right to the edge then steps away, leaving me to collect my shattered wits before he repeats the sensual journey but never arriving at the eventual destination. Each time, I’m sure this must be it. He’ll slip up, nudge me past the point of no return then he won’t be able to stop my headlong fall. Maybe if I don’t let him know how close I am…

Not a chance. He’s so closely attuned to me that he’s aware of every heartbeat, every ragged breath, every desperate clench deep inside my pussy. He knows exactly what’s happening, how I’m feeling, how every touch and lick and exquisite stroke affects me.

I’m so aroused I’m almost beyond rational thought when he, at last, decides to put me out of my misery.

“Room nine?”

Thank God! Oh, please, please, please!
I manage to nod, and I’m quickly scooped up in his arms. The butt plug is still in situ, whirring away inside me. Oblivious to the fact that I’m being carried, naked, through the public areas of the club I cling to his neck. I’m conscious of nothing other than that I need to come, and I need to be fucked. Not necessarily in that order. Moments later I hear the door of room nine click shut behind us, and I’m on the bed. I watch through half-closed eyelids as Nick swiftly undresses, then he stretches out alongside me.

“Okay, Freya, your instructions. Are you listening?”

He’s slipped his fingers between my legs again, sliding between the sensitive folds to dip the tip of his middle finger into my pussy. I gasp, my body starting to shudder with impending release. He withdraws his finger, and I grind my teeth in frustration.

“I’m going to fuck you now, hard and fast, and you’re going to come as soon as I put my cock inside you. You’ll come immediately, and you’ll do it very thoroughly. Is that clear?”

I don’t answer, so he flicks my clit to get my attention. It works. I open my eyes, nod briefly, and pray silently for him to get on with it and quit the preamble. What is it with Doms and all this bloody talking? It appears, though, that he’s not finished yet.

“And then, when you calm down again, there’ll be no more fussing and fidgeting. You’ll keep still and accept what I’m doing. And you won’t come a second time without my permission. Is that clear?”

I nod again, desperate to convince him that he just needs to get on with it. Now!

“One last thing. If I hurt you, so much as a twinge, you fucking tell me. Is that clear?”