Hard Choices (4 page)

Can I have a bath please?

He smiles at me as he reads my request. “Yes, of course. You’ll have to use the main bathroom, my en suite only has a shower. Will you need any help?”

I think so. I won’t be able to wash my hair. And the doctor said I might slip.

He smiles. “Right. I’ll go turn the taps on then and find you some towels.”

A few minutes later I present myself in the bathroom to find the bath three-quarters full and smelling fabulous, sort of spicy and lemony. It’s a fresh scent, not at all girly but not overly masculine either. Nick appears in the room behind me, a low stool from the bedroom in his hands.

“You can rest your arm on this, keep it out of the water. And it won’t ache as much if it’s supported. How’s it feeling today, by the way? Do you need any more painkillers? I keep some fairly strong stuff to hand.”

Now he tells me. There was no talk of strong painkillers when he was caning and whipping me. Still, he’s the very epitome of kindness and consideration now, when I need it, and I’m grateful. I shake my head to the medication, and make to pull the T-shirt off. It’s awkward with just one arm, and Nick sees, steps forward to assist.

“Here. Let me help.” He slips the shirt off, sliding it carefully down my injured arm. And to his credit he manages not to ogle me too openly as he offers me his hand to help me into the bath. I find that vaguely disappointing, but settle down to enjoy the glorious warmth of the scented water as Nick solicitously places my left arm on the stool.

The bath is a free-standing, claw foot type, and Nick is able to settle himself behind me on another low stool. The taps are by my feet.

“I found some shampoo you left behind. Conditioner too. Tip your head back and close your eyes so I can wet your hair, then let me do the rest.”

Obedient as ever, I do as I’m told while he uses the shower attachment to spray water over my head. I lie perfectly still as he massages the creamy lather through my hair, using the shower again to rinse it, then repeats the whole process. Finally he finger combs the conditioner through, and I’m wondering how many other wannabe submissives he might have done this for. Not many, I suspect.

At last he asks me if I want to leave the conditioner to soak in for a while, rinse it out later, after I’m finished washing. I nod, but make no attempt to reach for the soap. Eventually Nick leans forward, his lips beside my ear.

“I’ve managed to keep my hands off you so far. That won’t last much longer. And when I touch you, it won’t be just about helping you in and out of the bath. You do understand that, don’t you?”

These are the words I’ve been waiting for. My response—I arch my back to shove my breasts above the layer of soapy suds floating on the surface of the water, my wordless invitation as plain as I can make it.

He gets my message and leans in to nuzzle my neck as he trails the fingers of his left hand across my shoulder then down towards my breast. He uses his middle finger to make a circular pattern in the soapy water on the underside of the soft mound before slowly tracing the outline of my areola. I gasp and stiffen as the familiar tingle connects my breasts to my groin, then I relax as he takes my nipple in his fingers and caresses it lightly. His touch is all about arousal, almost a form of worship as he strokes my breasts reverentially. His right hand joins in the fun, and he presses my breasts together, the nipples now swollen and stiff, pebbling under his careful ministrations.

“How long is it since you had an orgasm, Freya?” His words are soft, murmured into my ear.

I shrug, although I know exactly how long. It was that morning, the horrible day he asked me to scene with Dan and eventually ejected me from his house. That day, which started so beautifully—if you discount my failed attempt to master caning. That day that started with a lovely, erotic spanking then an intense orgasm, and ended in total disaster for me. So yes, I do remember. It might as well be tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids, the image is so vivid.

“By my reckoning it’s about two weeks. Unless you’ve been playing any games of your own while you’ve been away from here. Have you, Freya?”

Current Dom or not, I know I can’t evade a direct question from Nick. I shake my head.

“But you were at the club. No one there take your fancy? I know you had offers.”

Christ, he would. And if he’s been monitoring my movements he must know that I didn’t scene with anyone. Still, I shake my head.

“What about a little DIY action at home? I know you’re a randy little slut, I can’t believe you’ve been going without for a fortnight.”

Well, I have. And even if I hadn’t I’m not sure that makes me a slut. But this conversation is getting beyond what I can manage with one hand or nods and shakes of my head. I try to sit up, intending to get out of the bath, but his arm tightens around me.

“Stay there. I intend to end your little self-imposed famine now, Freya, if you want me to. Do you? Do you want me to make you come, my sexy little slut?”

I may not be his submissive, or so he says, but he’s giving a fair imitation of a Dom right now. I decide I must be a slut after all, and go with it. I nod as I relax back into his arms. He kisses my ear before reaching down with his left hand to slip it between my legs. He eases his way through my folds to find my entrance then circles slowly, his fingertip just inside my pussy. I turn my face towards his, subconsciously seeking his lips. He brushes his mouth over mine then deepens the kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth at the same time as he thrusts two fingers deep into my cunt. I thrust my hips upwards out of the water to meet his hand, gyrating my body to increase the friction. He adds a third finger, and the motion of his hand quickens as he sets up an insistent rhythm.

For a moment I recall the ‘rules’ of our most recent such encounters, but surely none of that applies now. He said he’d make me come, and I’m taking him up on that offer. Now. It doesn’t take long before my pussy starts to clench around his fingers, and I reach up behind my head to tunnel my fingers through his hair. I’m writhing in the water, squeezing my inner muscles hard as I hurtle towards my climax. It hits me hard, and I jerk violently, knocking my sore arm in the process. I feel it, it hurts, but nothing’s going to derail this fabulous experience. I seem to have waited so long to feel his hands on me, in me again, as I shiver and tingle and soar through my orgasm.

As the tremors recede I sink back into the bath, before lying motionless at last but his hands are still on me. His fingers remain buried deep inside me, the other hand caressing my swollen nipples. He lifts his head, breaking the kiss at last, and I’m looking into his deep grey eyes. I smile, nervous suddenly. Have I done something wrong? I’m not certain of our ground rules anymore.

His answering smile dispels any concerns. “Christ, Freya, your orgasms are so fucking beautiful. I really will need to do that again sometime very soon. Will that be all right with you?”

I nod, and he smiles again, straightening now as he finally slides his fingers from my pussy, trailing them across my clit as he watches the reaction in my eyes.

He winks at me. “Ah yes, very soon. Now, your water’s going cold. Let’s finish rinsing your hair and get you dried off.”

I’m glad of Nick’s help in getting dressed—I have no chance of fastening buttons right now, and even getting my left arm into a sleeve is a delicate operation. I daresay I’ll be spending a lot of time in T-shirts over the coming weeks.

The groceries turn up about half an hour later, and we decide on an early lunch of grilled fish and salad, and under my careful direction Nick manages to make my much acclaimed sugar-free rice pudding. I’m half expecting Nick’s ‘Serious Talk’ to take place over lunch, but he seems content to just enjoy the food. And after we’ve eaten we just slob around in the lounge as I watch television and Nick idles his way through a pile of Sunday papers, also deposited as part of the Tesco haul.

Nick seems no more inclined to move matters on during the evening either, so I settle down on the settee to read the latest Dan Brown on Nick’s Kindle. I manage to prop the reader on the arm of the sofa so I can flick through the pages one-handed. Nick has paperwork to deal with, but instead of taking it into the kitchen he spreads his stuff out on the coffee table and we spend the evening in companionable silence. I’ve no idea what’s going on in his head, but I have a feeling his attitude towards me is softening. It must be, surely, if he intends to give me lots of beautiful orgasms.

Speaking of which, at around eleven he shuts down his laptop and turns to me.

“Bedtime, sweetheart. Are you joining me again tonight?”

I smile my answer and reach out my good hand to squeeze his. Maybe the promised orgasms start here.

Sure enough, as I climb into bed, still wearing nothing but his waist chain, Nick stops me from pulling the duvet over the top of me. “Lie on top of the quilt, love. And open your legs.”

I don’t need asking twice, and I’m shivering with delighted anticipation as he kneels at the end of the bed, pulling me gently towards him so my pussy is inches from the edge. He uses his thumbs to open me carefully before trailing the tip of his tongue from my anus right up to my clit. He does it slowly, taking his time as he tastes me thoroughly. Then he does it all again. On the third pass, he stops to dip his tongue into my pussy, and I almost come off the bed as my body responds. It feels so good, so absolutely fabulous, I could come right here and now. I try to fight the response, wanting to make it last. Nick knows instantly what I’m about.

“Don’t hold back, love. I’m going to carry on doing this until you’ve had enough. I think you might lose count of how many times you’re going to come. Would you like that, do you think?”

Christ!
I nod, and spread my legs wider to give him all the access he needs.

“Mmm, thought so. And that’s good—I expect orgasms are therapeutic, good for broken bones. Shall we get on with your treatment, then?”

* * * *

I counted five, but may have missed one or two. Nick was absolutely superb, at his most artful best. He used his tongue, his fingers and a rather lovely vibrating bullet that he laid against my clit before sliding it into my arse. Paracetamol did the trick for me yesterday, but that wonderful little gizmo was just what I needed today. And I just lay there, accepting his touch, loving everything he did for me. I’m convinced I can feel the bones in my wrist knitting together, and I trembled as he flicked the tip of my engorged clit delicately to tumble me once more into oblivion.

It seems like hours later that I’m finally completely sated. I may have had to manage without this for a fortnight, but I’ve made up for it now. Or, more accurately, Nick has. I lie on the bed, convinced that even the most determined fucking will not coax another climax from me. Even so, I know he hasn’t come yet, despite having been sporting the most awesome erection since the moment he first laid me out on his duvet and started to feast on my pussy. So I’m waiting for Nick to finally fuck me, but although he’s been naked throughout he makes no move to do so. Instead he pulls back the duvet and slips into bed, his arm outstretched for me to cuddle up next to him.

I frown, puzzled, but snuggle in. He tips my chin up with his fingertips and drops a light kiss on my mouth.

“You are truly gorgeous, and my self-control is close to snapping. But you’re too fragile for what I have in mind. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I can’t repress the look of scorn that this comment evokes. He’s never exhibited any such squeamishness before. He can read my meaning in my expression—he really is very, very good at that. He smiles, his slate-grey gaze glittering with menace.

“That’s different and you know it, Miss Stone. I don’t want to hurt you inadvertently, either physically or emotionally.”

Emotionally? Where’s that bloody phone when I need it?

Again, he’s on it, passing me the phone, which had been on the floor on his side of the bed. I type in my question.

Why would you hurt me? You can be gentle when you want to.

He looks at my note and smiles again. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

Right.
I start tapping out words again.

What do you mean, hurt me emotionally?

He waits a full minute before answering, all the time trailing his fingers through my hair. Eventually he sighs then makes a start, “I mean, fucking’s personal. Really personal. If I stick my dick in you again, then that means something. Or it ought to. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I like you, I like having you here. I love seeing you unravel like you did just now—again and again. But you want more. That’s obvious by the fact that you’re still wearing my chain around your waist, and whether you’ll admit it or not that chain’s the reason you didn’t scene with any other Dom at the Collar and Tied club last week. Isn’t it?”

I do my signature shrug, but he’s not buying that.

“Isn’t it, Freya?”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. I nod reluctantly, wishing he didn’t see straight through me quite so easily.

He continues, brutal in his honesty, “I know what you’re looking for from me, you’ve made it plain enough. And the simple truth is I’m not sure I can give it. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but for now it’s all I’ve got. So, snuggle in, let me take care of you, let me feed you, and let me keep you warm at nights. Settle for that, Freya, please.”

Despite his words, it seems to me that he’s considerably less happy than I am about our current ‘arrangement’. I can wait, but by the look of his cock I’m not so sure that he can. I stretch up to kiss his cheek before snuggling down alongside him. Soon I’m in my customary position, my bum tucked up against his still impressive erection. And I can’t help thinking, whatever impression it might create, it’s no more than a matter of time before he fucks me again. Definitely.

Chapter Four