Rich Pickings (21 page)
“Me too. Did you bring rope?” I do hope so. My pussy is already starting to respond to his wicked suggestions
“Of course. I said I would. Have I ever not delivered on a promise? Red silk rope, as agreed. And peppermint oil.”
“Oh.”
“I think you mean, Oh,
Sir
…?”
“I do. I’m sorry, Sir. Will the oil sting?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Will I like it?”
He shrugs. “Perhaps. But you’ll like pleasing me, I think. And I’m going to love watching you wriggle around as I spread it on your clit.”
I glance up at him, in time to see his eyes narrow. He sucks in his breath on a mock sympathetic hiss and my pussy clenches again, this time in self-defense. Dan chuckles again.
“Keep on doing that, little slut, and we’ll never get out of here.” He lifts me from his cock, holding me until I lower my legs and get my balance again. “Now, stand still, and tilt your head back.”
The next couple of minutes are spent washing my hair, conditioning it and applying my best Body Shop mango scented shower gel to every part of me. Eva presented me with a gift set by way of celebrating my new home, and the matching talc is gracing my bathroom windowsill. I inhale the rich, fruity aroma, presenting my body on request, extending first one arm, then the other. I lift each leg in turn as Dan crouches beside me to wash my feet. He’s efficient, coolly matter-of-fact, as no inch of my skin is left untouched. He even instructs me to lean forward against the tiles and lift my bum up for him. He washes between my folds, rinsing away the semen and my own juices before gently inserting a slick finger into my anus.
I gasp, but say nothing. He pushes his finger all the way in, treats me to a couple of quick thrusts before pulling it out. I glance over my shoulder, uncertain what to expect next. He just smiles at me as he washes his hands, his actions slow and deliberate.
“Open your legs, girl.”
I do it, wrapping my hands around the pipework as he inserts two fingers into my pussy.
“Sir, I… Thank you.” I squeeze around him, lifting my bum higher.
“You like this?”
“Yes, yes, Sir. Very much.”
“Are you intending to come?”
“I’d like to, Sir.”
“Maybe later. For now, we’ll settle for rinsing this gunk away.” He withdraws his fingers and reaches for the shower head. He directs the spray right at my wide open pussy, swilling away any remaining semen. It would seem that my cunt is cleansed to his satisfaction as he turns his attention to my clit.
I grit my teeth, the recollection of his instructions not to climax still vivid. This is not easy. I groan as my pleasure builds.
“Ouch.” I flinch as a hard slap lands on my bum.
“Just to remind you to pay attention and not get carried away.”
“I apologise, Sir.”
“Apology accepted, little sub. Stand straight now while I finish rinsing you off.”
He directs the spray all over me, the last traces of shower gel and conditioner swirling in the bottom of the shower cubicle before disappearing. At last content, he replaces the shower head in its bracket.
“You’re done. Grab a towel and wait for me on the bed.” His tone is formal and rather clipped as he issues his instructions. He slides the door to the cubicle open to allow me to leave.
Obedient as always at these moments, I slip past him, reaching for one of the fluffy towels supplied by Grace and now warming on my towel rail. I wrap it around myself before replacing it with another from the bale stacked beside the vanity unit. I’m sure Dan will appreciate a nice warm towel too, and it’s the least I can do for my Dom.
His slight nod is his only acknowledgment of my gesture, but it’s enough to send a warm glow to my lower regions as I pad barefoot across my bedroom carpet. I grab another, smaller towel on my way and wrap that around my head turban-style. I should try to get at least some of the wetness from my hair before he arrives, and I doubt I have more than a couple of minutes.
I immediately spot the items scattered on the bed, but resist the temptation to investigate more closely. I need to prepare. I sit on the end of the bed and give my hair a vigorous rub to get the dripping water from it then I drag a comb quickly through. Another squeeze in the towel, and that will have to do. I lean down to dry my feet, then rub myself all over inside the thick bath sheet. I consider applying something nice and scented, but instinctively decide against it. Dan’s been very particular about testing for allergies and exploring my body’s sensitivity, and any additional chemicals might react with the oil. Dan can have my natural, unadorned self this evening. I rather think he’ll prefer that.
As ready as I can be, I drop the towel and clamber into the center of my bed. Now, I can examine Dan’s “gifts”.
The red silk rope is coiled neatly. It’s a bright scarlet color, very vivid. It’ll offer a strong contrast against my dark oak bedposts. The pack of condoms is obvious enough, though I’m not sure we’ll be using as many in the future, having broken our duck, so to speak, in the shower. The red silk blindfold looks quite nice, and will match the rope very prettily. I decide I’d much rather wear that than a gag. The oil itself is in a small glass bottle on my new bedside table, next to my gold clit clip. I wonder if he intends to use both on me this evening.
The final item bothers me. It’s a whip of some sort, more like a riding crop really. The handle is short, the lash made of braided leather. It doesn’t look to be new, and I speculate on how many submissives before me have enjoyed its attentions. I pick it up, turn it over in my hands. It’s light, very supple, but it looks mean. I lay it back on the bed, eying it with distaste. He’s brought it for a reason, though, and I shudder slightly. I trust Dan—I really do—but I suspect that trust could soon be seriously tested
“That’s a quirt. Originally from Spain, I believe, but I acquired it from an over-enthusiastic young jockey at York a couple of years ago.” Dan saunters through from the shower room, his towel knotted loosely at his waist.
About the Author
Ashe has been an avid reader of women’s fiction for many years—erotic, historical, contemporary, fantasy, romance—you name it, as long as it’s written by women, for women. Now, at last in control of her own time and working from her home in rural West Yorkshire, she has been able to realize her dream of writing erotic romance herself.
She likes to write about people, relationships, and the general cock-up and mayhem that is most of our lives. She often writes about places she’s known but her stories of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of her own imagination, with a hefty dose of kink to keep it interesting. We all need to have a hobby.
Ashe loves to craft strong, enigmatic men and bright, sassy women to give them a hard time—in every sense of the word.
When she’s not writing, Ashe’s time is divided between her role as resident taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises, and Colin the hamster.
Email:
[email protected]
Ashe loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
Also by Ashe Barker
The Hardest Word: A Hard Bargain
The Hardest Word: Hard Lessons
The Hardest Word: Hard Choices
A Richness of Swallows: Rich Tapestry
Jolly Rogered: Right of Salvage
What’s Her Secret?: The Three Rs
Totally Bound Publishing
