The Three Rs (17 page)

I have a better idea though. “I could, but I’d rather wash your back for you…”

His eyes narrow, but he nods. “Or there is that approach. Give me a couple of minutes to get the thick off though…” He starts up the stairs, but pauses halfway. “Oh, and, Abbie, would you mind bringing some strawberry jam with you? You’ll find it in the fridge.”

Chapter Ten

Strawberry jam?

Cain is inventive, I’ll allow him that. After a leisurely half an hour spent under the streaming jets, caressing each other, smoothing soap into some very sensitive places, shampooing, rinsing and generally working each other into a frenzy of lust, we’re at last back in the bedroom. In the shower Cain brought me repeatedly to the brink of orgasm, then back again, and now I’m quivering wildly each time he lays so much as a fingertip on me. Draped loosely in a large bath sheet, I kneel in the center of his huge bed, waiting for whatever he decides is to come next. I sincerely hope it’s to be me, but with Cain there’s no telling.

I’m right. His own towel looped tightly around his hips, Cain instructs me to lose mine and to lie down on my back. Naturally, I obey. Picking up the strawberry jam from the bedside table where I left it, he unscrews the top of the jar.

“Put your hands behind your head and keep really still. I’m going to coat your nipples in jam, then lick it off. That sound like fun to you?”

He stands beside the bed, his eyes are running up and down my nude body admiringly, but he’s clearly waiting for an answer. I nod slowly. It does sound like fun. It also sounds like it’s going to tickle and I seriously doubt I’ll be keeping still for very long. I say as much to Cain.

“My jam, my bed, my rules. I want you to keep still, and if you don’t think you can, I’m happy to help. Would you object if I were to tie you up?”

I look at him, stunned. I hadn’t anticipated this. But as I reflect on the idea, a wisp of delighted anticipation curls inside me. It grows, and I know I want to try it. This might be very nice indeed.

I try not to sound too eager though. “I, well, maybe. If you’d like to. Here?”

“Yes, here. I want to tie your wrists to the bed head.”

“But why? I mean, what then?”

“I think you know what then. I’ll tie your ankles too, your legs spread nice and wide. Then, you’re mine. I’ll touch you, play with you, spread jam anywhere on your body I like and lick it off. Then I’ll do it all again. And make you come as I feel like it. And I’ll fuck you. How does all that sound?”

It sounds quite delightful, but he really has no need to tie me to the bed. If that’s the deal, I’m going nowhere. I say as much.

Cain smiles. “Ah, but helplessness is such a powerful aphrodisiac. Just think of it. Naked. Spread out on the bed. Mine. Can you hand over control to me, sweetheart? Will you let me have your body to do as I like with it?”

I consider, but only for a moment. “Yes, I think so. I trust you. Would you untie me if I ask you to?”

He doesn’t answer that question at first. Instead, he places the jar of jam back on the bedside table then he stretches out alongside me. He’s still wearing his towel, while I’m completely nude, but somehow the dynamic doesn’t feel too imbalanced. He kisses me, lightly at first, then deepening as he slips his tongue into my mouth. I’ve completely forgotten my question by the time he finally lifts his mouth from mine, but he hasn’t.

“Yes, I would untie you. But we do need to talk about safe words.”

“About what?” This sounds heavy, dangerous even.

He nuzzles my nose with his, to lighten the mood perhaps, but I know that this is a serious conversation. His tone betrayed that much. I was able to detect that subtle but certain shift I’m coming to recognize, that thread of steel in his voice that tells me to listen, to concentrate, to make sure I understand him. He props himself up on one elbow, caressing my face with his other hand. He doesn’t intend to intimidate me just now, but he does mean for me to pay attention. I give it. Undivided.

“If you and I are going to play these games together, and, sweetheart, it’s clear to me that we are, then I need to make sure you know how to protect yourself. You remember the other day when I spanked you, I told you what to say to make me stop. I even asked you to count, and when you stopped counting, I knew you’d had enough. As a submissive, you need to be able to call a halt if something happens that you can’t tolerate, or if you’ve simply had enough. You need to be able to tell your Dom how you’re feeling.”

I was right, this
is
heavy. And he does keep on using that same word. “Submissive? Is that really what I am? I thought we were just—having fun. Maybe some of the things I asked you to do to me were a bit unusual, but…” My voice trails away. I’m not sure what I ought to be asking, or what I actually want to know. If he gives it—this thing between us, this kinky fun—a name, it makes it all so much more real. I appreciate that, for me at least, this has already gone beyond light-hearted, no strings bed-romping. A fuck-fest as he likes to call it. I’m not trying to kid myself that none of it really matters. Cain certainly seems to have other ideas now, and I really should be pleased about that. I am.

His expression is kind, patient, he’s ready to explain, to help me understand, but I know our relationship is shifting. Solidifying. That gives me a warm feeling. This is more than just my pussy responding, though heaven knows that’s happening too.

“If you let me spank you, tie you up and maybe do other things to you as well, then, sweetheart, that’s you submitting. So you are a submissive. And I know full well that I’m a Dom. And we
do
need safe words.”

I concede that, but I’m still inclined to think he might be over-complicating this. “I could just say no. Or stop. Will that do?”

“Yes, up to a point. We made do with that the other day. But that was just a mild spanking. And this morning it was all about pleasure. It was intense, I know that, and I did offer to stop. I went very slowly with you, and did a lot of checking. And when I spanked you before, I did add in the counting thing, which worked well. Whether you realized it or not at the time, that got you out of trouble. The problem is, you might say words like no and stop anyway, when you really mean the exact opposite. Indeed, I’m pretty sure you will be in the next few minutes. And especially if you’re feeling something really intense. It’s possible to be misunderstood. I prefer you to have a safe word that you’d never normally say. Then, if I hear it, I know you mean it.”

He rolls onto his back, pulling me up onto his chest. He holds my gaze as he continues this amazing discussion. “Actually, I want you to have two safe words. One will be your signal for me to stop, no questions, just stop immediately. Sort of like a red traffic light. The second safe word will be your amber light, a signal for me to slow down, that you need me to check, to be careful. It will tell me you’re struggling, upset, not sure, that you’re close to your limit. Maybe that you need to talk, or ask me something. Does this make sense?”

Yes. No.

“What? What sorts of things might you do to me? What could you do that would be so awful that I’d need to…” My voice trails away as I try to imagine the sorts of activities he might be planning. I have a sudden mental image of Cain looming over me with a whip in his hand. I’m not at all convinced I entirely like that notion, though it does hold a certain…allure. And if he
is
contemplating something like that, what on earth does he see in me—recognize in me—that I never knew was there?

I can only stare, bewildered, as he continues to hold my gaze.

Then he continues, “I can see you’re scared now, but you’ve no need to be, Abbie, I’ll never, ever do anything to you without your consent. I haven’t so far, have I?”

I shake my head, still unable to find any words.

“And I won’t. This isn’t about me attacking you, hurting and scaring you. This isn’t about helpless victims and violence. This is kinky fun, with a bit of an edge. So, if you let me tie you to the bed, as I want you to, you have my promise I’ll untie you if you use a safe word. No question. Is that good enough?”

Is it?
Yes, possibly. Probably. I lie still, our eyes locked together, and I see honesty in his. And gentleness, despite the unwelcome image of the whip. I see caring, maybe even tenderness. He’ll take care of me, give me what I want and keep me safe too. So I really think his promise
is
good enough. Better than good, even. I find myself nodding, slowly, but with a growing degree of certainty. I trust Cain Parrish, in this matter, definitely.

He smiles at me again. “Right. So, unless you have something else in mind, what about we use the traffic lights then. Red means stop, amber means slow down. Will that do?”

Again I nod. Then, “What will you use? To tie me up, I mean? I don’t want to be handcuffed.”

His smile broadens, and now it’s tinged with a truly wicked glint. My pussy clenches in response.

“No handcuffs then. How about silk rope?”

Silk rope? Now that does sound rather acceptable. So I tell him that will do very nicely indeed. He smiles and suggests I make myself comfortable on the bed.

The rope is black and very soft. Supple. Cain produces it, two long pieces from the innocuous-looking blanket chest under the window. Except I’m now perfectly clear that it’s not a blanket chest—well, not entirely. He keeps a few other interesting bits and pieces in there too. I’m relieved that there are no whips or chains or anything terribly frightening. Just toys. Toys he promises to share with me, if I like.

I might like. I might indeed.

“I want you on your back, I think, this time. I did promise you a spanking, though, and you should have had it yesterday, but you were indisposed. So maybe we’ll start with that.”

As I stand beside the blanket chest, still pondering the mysteries within, Cain tosses the lengths of rope casually onto the bed and sits on the edge. His curt hand gesture is clear—get over here, now, and lay yourself across my knees. Moisture is gathering between my legs just at the thought, and my bottom clenches in anticipation. To lie across his lap, both of us naked, seems so much more intimate, more connected somehow, than the table did. Still, I move slowly. I take my time positioning myself, and he seems to be in no hurry either.

I place my hands on his thigh to steady myself as I lean forward. He doesn’t offer assistance, and I’m glad of that. Neither of us has said as much, but it’s an intrinsic part of this, a core part of our deal if you like, that I place myself here willingly. That this is by my own choice. At last I’m comfortable—my head close to his ankles, my hands resting on the carpeted floor. My hair is trailing on the carpet and my bottom is presented perkily for his attention. Only now does he touch me.

His caress is light as he trails his palm across my buttocks, tracing the lower curve with his fingertips. He slides his hand along the deep groove between my arse cheeks, continuing down to ease through my now very wet folds.

“Ah, yes, little Abbie. Anticipation is everything…” he murmurs as he slowly circles my now dripping pussy. “Open your legs, love.”

I spread my thighs, and my reward for compliance is swift and certain. He takes my clit between his fingers and squeezes it. I gasp, caught between pain and pleasure. He releases me, only to rub the sensitized nub firmly with the pad of his thumb. Now the pleasure is pure, intense and unambiguous. My orgasm is there, rushing through me before I take my next breath. I’m shaking and shuddering under his skilled caresses while he continues to roll my clit between his fingers, my nerve endings all standing to attention. He takes his time, drawing every last ripple and surge of delight from me. He’s hardly started, and already I’m dissolving. I feel as though I could just melt into a puddle at his feet, a warm pool of delight soaking into his knee-deep shag pile.

At last I’m back, my body my own again, in a manner of speaking. In truth, I’m his to do with as he will—we’ve pretty much agreed that. I’m utterly relaxed, absolutely content. I lie still now, my bottom quivering while I wait for him to deliver the first swat.

I hiss sharply when the first spank lands across my right buttock. It’s hard, sharp. More intense than my first experience of this, downstairs in the kitchen. But I need that, want more. I wait for the next one, but instead I hear his low, sexy voice.

“Count, please, Abbie.”

“One.” My voice is clear, strong. Why I should feel at my most powerful when I’m really at my most vulnerable is another mystery to address later, along with the contents of the blanket chest perhaps. But for now I’m just going to absorb what this moment has to offer.

“Hard enough?”

“Harder, please.”
Now, where did that come from?

I give a small yelp as the next slap catches my left buttock. My arse clenches wildly now, and the heat starts to radiate.

“Two. Harder still, if you could.”
Amazing!

“Oh, I certainly could, Abbie.”

And he’s not wrong. I yelp again when he swats my right buttock once more, right in the same spot as he did previously.

“Three. Thank you. Four. Five.”

I continue to count while he continues to land the blows, each one unerringly hitting the same spot on each buttock, alternating between them. He’s accurate and consistent, each spank is just the right intensity to hurt me, to push my limits, but not quite enough to make it really unpleasant. It’s almost unpleasant, almost too much, but not quite. Just enough. My bottom is hot, burning up, the tender skin absorbing the slaps as he delivers one after the other.