Surefire (22 page)

A quick tilt of his head to indicate I should put the beads on the table now is all the reminder I get that Tom’s waiting, and it’s time. I put them down and stand awkwardly beside him, waiting for his next move. He places one foot—and I notice he still has his outdoor boots on—against the edge of the coffee table to push it away from him, hard up against the settee where I was sitting. He creates the space in front of him, and makes himself comfortable, his knees slightly apart. He looks up at me.

“You remember the rules? Once we start, you say nothing, make no sound. You don’t move, or make a fuss. You don’t wriggle, you don’t try to resist. I mean it, and I could tie you up, or gag you if that might help. Would it, Ashley?”

I shake my head, quite definite about that. “No, I don’t want to be gagged. Or tied up. I’ll keep still. Well… I’ll try. But…”

“That’s good. You might want to safe word so a gag could be awkward.” He pauses, watching me closely. “But what, Ashley?”

“What if it’s been too long since I— Since I…got ready? What if I’m tight again? That’ll hurt more, won’t it?”

“I’ll check before we start. Okay?”

I nod.

“Anything else?”

I shake my head this time.

He gestures to his thighs, his head tilted. “So…?”

No further words, he drops his eyes to indicate I should lie across his knees. No detailed instructions required—I’ve been here many, many times before. I step forward, right up to him, place my hands on his left thigh as I lean over from the right, lower myself into position. I let go, allow my upper body to drape, to relax across and over him. He allows me the moments I need to shift and squirm and make myself comfortable.

“Okay, Ashley?” His voice is low, seductive. He’s gently stroking and circling my buttocks with his fingers as he waits for me.

Despite everything the next few minutes are to bring, I do so love his touch on my body. He knows that, and he doesn’t hurry, continues to caress me lightly. I stiffen, instinctively start to brace myself as he gently parts my buttocks to place a probing finger end in my slick opening.

“Ashley, you’re tensing up. I know it’s hard, but the more you can relax the easier and quicker this’ll be. If you need a bit of time to collect yourself that’s fine. But the beads go back in the freezer.”

“No. Just do it. Please, do it now.” I consciously relax my clenched buttocks.

Obligingly, Tom he wastes no further time in slipping one, then two lubricated fingers into me. He slides them fully in, thrusts several times to assure me that I’m accessible.

“Okay, that do you?”

“Yes.” I hope he can’t hear the catch in my voice.
Christ, I’m scared.

Apparently not. “Yes what?”

Subdued, submissive, I give the desired response. “Yes, thank you. Sir.”

He withdraws his fingers, and his body leans over mine as he reaches for the beads. This is it. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, absolutely determined not to disgrace myself, or even worse finish up with the beads back in the freezer and it all to do again. He gently parts my buttocks again, and I concentrate on slackening my muscles, on becoming as pliable as I consciously can.

And despite all of that, despite all my good intentions I jerk sharply as the first cold bead slips into me, it feels positively glacial and I hiss with the shock. I grip Tom’s ankle, squeeze it hard, my hands shaking. He never said I couldn’t touch him, and I hang on like grim death.

“I’ll let that go, but no more moving. And not another sound, no sound at all. Understood?” His tone is hard, uncompromising.

I nod, uncertain if he can see me, but I don’t dare speak. But he hasn’t told me to let go of his ankle, so I hang onto it as the next bead enters me. And the next. Swallowing down my own sobs, catching them ruthlessly in my throat and choking on them, I force my body to remain still, rigid, as he gently but firmly slips the beads into me, one after the other. No hesitation, no cruel taunting. He just gets on, does it quickly. The intense cold burrows deeper and deeper, filling my core with its frigid, icy presence. I want to scream, I want to push myself up, push his hands away from me and grab the beads myself, or the nylon cord, and haul them out. But I just clench my fingers even more tightly around his ankle, bite down hard on the whimpers of pain surging from my throat as every fiber of my being screams for relief from the cruel, biting, freezing pain now filling me.

All I have to do is ask him. Just two words - Smithy’s Forge - and it’s all over. He’ll stop, remove the beads immediately, no doubt hold me and comfort me until I stop crying. He’ll tell me it’s all fine, doesn’t matter, because he loves me and he’ll never hurt me, never really hurt me. Then he’ll make love to me, and that’ll be wonderful, tender and caring and generous. But I’m not going to ask, not say those words. Because I love him, he’s my Master, my Dom, and I’ll obey him if I can. I’ll submit, surrender, trust him. And he’s right, I
can
do this. I want to do this. For him, and for me.

“Lie still for a few minutes, get used to the feel of them inside you. Then I’ll help you up, sweetheart.”

The worst of my ordeal apparently over, Tom’s voice is soft now, tender. I lie still across his thighs as his palm gently caresses my bottom. My teeth are chattering, whether from cold of fear I’m not entirely certain.

“Ready to get up now?”

I nod, murmur my response, and he slides his arm under me to gently raise my upper body, help me to straighten. I wince as the icy balls move inside me, the chill once more asserting itself. I bite my lip to keep from making any sound as he very gently turns me in his arms to seat me on his lap. He lifts the hair from my face, frames my cheeks in his palms. He kisses my forehead.

“You can speak now, love. And if you want to swear. I’ll understand. Just this once.”

Too miserable even for that I just shake my head, conscious now, for the first time, of the tears on my cheeks. It’s been hard, so hard. The challenge of accepting, without making a sound, without moving, much more painful, in fact, than the icy chill of the beads. Even now, only moments later, my body heat has taken the edge off the cold. The beads are settled deep within me, with every movement they shift and roll, stimulating me in ways that are now both curious and erotic, an incredible sensation.

“You’re crying, love. Your punishment’s over so no more tears now. Please.” And he’s kissing my face, kissing my tears away. I lift my hand, stroke his cheek and his lips find mine. My mouth opens under his and his tongue reaches inside, probing, tasting, exploring. Mine tangles with his, and as we shift again, as he angles his head to deepen the kiss, the beads caress me internally. And it feels absolutely wonderful, the slight chill just adding to the sensation now as they roll against my sensitive inner walls, filling that forbidden inner space. He catches my startled gasp in his mouth, lifts his head to chuckle.

“I guess they’re warming up?” He nudges my nose with his, playful, teasing.

“Oh, God, what’s that…? How are they doing that? That feels… Oh, my.” My head falls back as I moan my delight and pleasure. Tom takes the opportunity to reach down, between my legs, spread wide in instinctive invitation.

He tugs lightly on the cord and the balls jerk, shift again, rolling against each other and against me.

“Oh, sweet Christ…” I thrust my hips upwards.

He tugs again, this time drawing the cord across my clit.

I wriggle, frantic now, and he spreads his hand across my sensitive flesh, his middle finger just entering my anus. He presses on the balls there, at the same time using the pad of his thumb to rub my clit. I absolutely come apart in his arms, totally unravel as the sensation builds, explodes and overwhelms me. He increases the pressure, continues to stroke me even after the first frenzied climax starts to subside, and he whips it up again, now finding another finger to circle and tease the entrance to my vagina, dipping in there ever so slightly before taking my clit and rolling it between his finger and thumb. I’m writhing on his lap, and he gently lowers my upper body again so I’m lying down, my hair once more pooling on the floor as he brings his other hand into the action. I open my eyes, briefly glance up at him, but his eyes are no longer on me, on my face. Instead he’s intent on watching what’s happening between my widespread legs. He leans over, examining me closely as he teases and strokes me with his fingers, rubbing, easing me open, entering. He leaves the beads to do their job, to tantalize and torment me as he finger fucks me, hard and fast, his thumb never leaving my hungry, greedy clit. I shatter again, crying out now, frantic as the release claims me again, flings me around and spits me out to tumble, disoriented, back to earth.

As I start to calm, to recover some semblance of coherent thought, he glances back at me, smiles briefly before slipping both arms under me to lift me. He turns, places me on the settee and kneels on the floor in front of me. He positions me carefully, my bent knees toward him, as he slides his hands between them to push them apart. He spreads me wide again, angles his head to admire the cord still trailing from my anus, tugs it gently to get my full attention, then lowers his head. He nibbles his way along my inner thigh, first the right, then the left. He slides his palms under my bottom to lift me slightly, and trails the tip of his tongue around the lips of my pussy before dipping inside, tasting me. He lifts his head again, raises his eyes to catch mine, holds my gaze. I smile, tentative, fully satisfied already but still hoping there might be more.

There is. He smiles back at me, his gaze warm now, and tender.

“I love you. You are so beautiful, so very, very beautiful. Are you mine, Ashley? Are you really all mine?”

The wonder in his voice is almost my undoing. Is it possible to come just from words alone? Maybe. Maybe if I’d kept my mouth shut I’d have found out. But instead I respond.

“Yours, Master. All for you.”

My reward? He dips his head and takes my clitoris once more between his lips, holding the engorged nub prisoner as he flicks it with his tongue, soft at first then hard as I rake his hair with my fingers, as I hold his head against me, thrusting my hips under his wicked mouth until I come again.

Long minutes later, he’s lying beside me on the rug, naked too, leaning up on one elbow to smile gently into my eyes. I’m tired, but so, so happy. I reach for him, stroke his cheek with my fingertips, exploring the slightly abrasive contours there, wanting to feel, to know every part of this beloved face.

“I love you. God, the more you do to me, the more I love you. Is that normal?” I can’t believe the way he makes me feel, the intensity—of pain and pleasure—and the bone-deep satiation of the aftermath. The now.

He smiles back at me, his eyes raking my body, as he lightly traces his fingers along my lines and contours.

“Normal? Who knows? All I know right now is I want to fuck you. Hard and fast at first, that’s unavoidable. You’re so hot and sexy and my balls are about to self-combust. You may not be able to keep up. But afterwards, it’ll be long and slow and very, very thorough. Is that all right with you, babe?”

My smile is slow, sensual, welcoming. “Of course. How would you like me? For the hard, fast fuck?”

“On your knees. Turnover. Now.”

I do, and with one hard thrust he fills me. I hear his “Fuck, baby, you’re hot. So hot, and tight.”

Then I can only feel as he pounds me, merciless, relentless as he pumps into me. He’s not gentle, and the furious pounding causes the anal beads to spin and roll, the chaos of sensation once more exploding, ricocheting around my inner core. But he’s right, I can’t keep up. God knows how many orgasms have taken the edge of my desire, whilst his has been on hold, firmly reined in while he dealt with me. There’s no reining in now as he climaxes, the hot gush of his orgasm filling me as he mutters his muffled curse of satisfaction, of male pleasure fulfilled and driven home. He leans over me, almost collapses on top of me, then he takes his weight on his arms, pushes himself up and swiftly withdraws.

“Now, on your back.” His command is soft, murmured, accompanied by a light kisses feathering down my spine. I arch, sigh contentedly as I rearrange my limbs, ease my body over. He shifts, places his knees between mine, and I open my legs wide for him. He smiles at me as he positions himself at my entrance, his cock still hard, still ready. He lowers his head to kiss me, gently, but forcing my lips to part, to allow him access, a prelude to what’s still to come. I can feel the tip of his penis slip between the lips of my pussy as his tongue plunges deep. He tongue fucks my mouth, leisurely, taking his time, as I gyrate under him, pressing forward, seeking more.

At last, he takes pity. He slides fully inside, hooking his arms under my knees to lift and open me even more. He penetrates me fully, his body stretching mine, the tip of his cock bumping against my cervix. I gasp my pleasure, my approval, my welcome, and he withdraws. Completely withdraws. Then he enters me again, does it all again, once more pulling out for the sheer pleasure of entering me again. I close my eyes, lie back, relaxed, totally accepting. He lowers his mouth to gently taste my nipple, and I moan, the aching sensitivity there, the fullness and tenderness induced by my pregnancy making me quiver with excitement as he so softly teases the tight, hard little bud. He turns his attention to the other nipple, careful not to hurt me, knowing my sensitivity there is exquisite to the point of painful. His mouth is on my neck, kissing me, tracing my jaw, the lobes of my ears. He releases my legs to lace his fingers between mine and draw my hands over my head. And taking his weight on his elbows, he thrusts, slow and deep. He angles his entry to hit my sensitive inner spot, attuned to my response as I gasp and sigh under him. This time we climb together, I squeeze, cling to him, tighten around him. He groans his appreciation, whispers to me that he loves me, and I manage to gasp out my own frenzied response.

“Yes, God, yes. I love you. Please, Tom, I need you to—oh, oh, God.”

“Just ‘Sir’ will do, sweetheart. ‘Master’ if you insist.”