A Hard Bargain (19 page)

We get out, and Nick doesn’t even try to lock the car. No need, it locks itself with a distinct and efficient clunk as we walk away. Instead he holds out his hand to me, and I take it without thinking. Together, our fingers linked, we stroll down to the pebbly lakeside to gaze across at the opposite shore. It’s even wilder over there, no road, just a steeply rising fell, layered in various shades of gray, brown and green as the rocks give way to shale, then bracken, then more luxuriant vegetation. Not the gentle rolling hills I can see over the rooftops from my balcony, this is the real Cumbria, the wild, rocky mountains and deep, dangerous lakes. Deceptively cold even in mid-summer, Wastwater is a magnet for hardy scuba divers with thick wetsuits rather than sailors, and the occasional angler. Mostly though, this is walking country, a place to come and simply absorb the bigness of the space, the emptiness, the silence. I adore it. This is why I live here, why I continue to live here.

The light is starting to fail, but we can still make out the sheep dotted around on the hillside across the lake, nimbly picking their way up and across the swell of the land in search of the best grazing. Nick pulls me closer, drapes his arm across my shoulders.

“Are you cold?”

His polite inquiry takes me by surprise, but I realize I have just shivered. I’m not cold though, definitely not. I shake my head, and he rubs his hand roughly up and down my bare arm.

“Good. Take your T-shirt off then, please.”

I gape at him then back at the road. It might be late, but someone could drive along at any time. Or some hiker might be ambling this way en route back to his car, keen to wrap himself around a hot meal and not expecting to be treated to an eyeful of me. Nick waits, patiently, but his gaze is level and serious, and I know he means it.

“You’re mine, Freya, for the time being. Remember? We have a deal. And you have gorgeous breasts, girl, so I want to look at them. And if it suits me to show them off to anyone else who happens to be around, I’ll do that too. Understood?”

I close my eyes, take a couple of slow breaths. Yes, I do understand. And I know this is not just a test of obedience, or of my modesty, or a way of testing my boundaries. It’s all of those things. And it’s also a sharp reminder that I’m in training already, and anything can happen, at any time. And that my Dom is in charge, absolutely, whenever he chooses to exert his authority. I take one more breath then hook my fingers under the hem of my T-shirt. I draw it over my head.

He nods his approval as I stand before him, my breasts now only covered by my low cut, lacy bra. Not for long though.

“The bra too, please. Take it off, and then place it with your T-shirt by the car. Then come back here and present your breasts to me.”

I do as I’m told, praying that no elderly couple out for a nice drive on this fine evening should come tootling around the bend in the road and catch sight of me strolling about the place topless. I’m no supermodel, but I could cause an accident. Well, maybe. I don’t though, and I arrive back in front of Nick Hardisty unobserved by anyone but him and an indeterminate number of sheep. I assume the required position, remembering how he taught me it in room nine back at the
Collared and Tied
club.

He just observes for a few moments, and I stand still, utterly self-conscious, my ears attuned for even the most distant engine noise. There is none, and he continues to look at me, to admire me, I hope. At last, he reaches out, trails the backs of his fingers lazily along the underside of my left breast. He draws his hand upwards, lightly grazing my nipple, which puckers and swells, hardening instantly under his touch and the slightly cool, still air. He appears to note the transformation, studying my breasts intently before lifting his gaze to mine.

“Very pretty, Miss Stone. You can relax now. And, I think you
are
cold.”

My hands now free, I make a see-saw gesture with my left hand to indicate maybe, and he smiles once more, slightly apologetic. But not so much so that he might allow me to put my clothes back on. “I’m sorry about that, but we’ll be a few minutes yet.”

We both glance up the road as the faint sound of an engine disturbs our solitude. My instinct is to turn around, turn my back to the intruders, or to step behind Nick, but he’s having none of that. He lifts one finger to indicate I am not to move, and steps aside to allow an unrestricted view to whoever might be driving past.

It’s an obedience test and a demonstration of his authority, his temporary ownership and right to display me if he chooses. And of the absolute requirement that I set aside my inhibitions at his command. I pass the test, never breaking eye contact with my Dom until the car, a little red Citroen, comes into view. In that moment Nick steps in front of me, close up, and pulls me in close to his chest, effectively hiding me from view until the Citroen cruises past and out of sight once more.

As soon as we’re alone again, he releases me, smiling at my bewildered expression. “Excellent. You did well. You would have stayed in view as long as I instructed you to, no matter how embarrassed it made you feel. That’s what I required, and it’s enough for me to know that you intended to obey me.”

At my continued frown of bemusement he goes on to explain further, “But it’s all about consent, isn’t it. You and I have both volunteered to be here, but who knows what the folks in that little red car would have wanted. Or chosen. Might have been a family with young children, or an elderly couple on their way to church. They haven’t consented to anything, so we leave them out of it.” Then, his mood switching instantly to one of playfulness, he grins broadly. “Now, let’s see how you are at skimming stones. My best is seven bounces. What about you?”

I stare, shake my head in amazement as he turns away, stepping down to the water’s edge and selecting a handful of small, flat stones. He holds his collection in his left fist as he looks back up at me, the glint of challenge sparkling in his gray eyes now. “Come on, Miss Stone. Select your weapons. If you can manage four bounces I might even agree to fuck you again this evening. Across the bonnet of your beautiful car. Would you like that, my sexy little sub?”

I nod, but hesitantly. It’s the car thing. What if I dent it? But I don’t let that stop me entering into the spirit of this game as I step forward then crouch beside him to choose some stones for myself. Incredibly, as long as it’s only Nick Hardisty looking at me, I’m quite unconcerned about my state of semi-undress as I scour the shoreline for suitable stones and collect up a few likely candidates. I know exactly what I’m looking for, nice flat ones about the size of a fifty pence piece and upwards. I’ve done a lot of stone skimming over the years. Four bounces—piece of piss!

Well it would be, if not for Nick Hardisty’s interference. Happy with my first crop of missiles I square up to the lake, standing a few feet from Nick, my back to him as I curl my middle finger carefully and precisely around the edge of my first stone, ready to hurl it skimming across the surface of the water. I don’t hear his approach, and double up in self-defensive surprise as his hand snakes around me to catch my undefended nipple between his finger and thumb, just as I make my shot. He squeezes swiftly, the pain sharp and hard and over in a moment. The stone goes wide, clattering across the pebbled shoreline as I twist in his arms. He shrugs, releasing me, backing off, his hands spread wide in mocking apology.

“Sorry, beautiful. Force of habit. I’ll try to keep my hands to myself. Please, continue…”

I do, and of course, he doesn’t. The next ten minutes are spent with Nick laughing, groping me unashamedly, cheering and groaning at my stone-skimming efforts and their varied results. And I’m clapping and preening in smug delight as, despite his determined attempts at sabotage, I manage to score an astounding five bounces. Nick puts up a brave attempt, concentrating hard on the task as he realizes he’s not up against a mere novice, but the best he can manage is six. Eventually we decide to settle for what we’ve achieved and make our way back to my car. His right arm is draped over my shoulders, and he uses his fingertips to lightly stroke and flick my right nipple as we stroll across the springy grass. I eye my pristine, maroon red bonnet nervously as we draw near. Surely he wouldn’t? In more or less broad daylight?

He would. And it’s not really daylight by now anyway. Mercifully he had the foresight to park the car with its nose pointing away from the road. And the lay-by is cut into the contours of the surrounding hills so we’re unlikely to attract the attention of any more passing motorists. Still, his curt, “Drop your jeans and bend over the bonnet” causes me to gulp. But I do it. Of course I do it.

I kick off my pumps first. My jeans and briefs are soon beside them on the grassy banking in front of the car. Naked now, I lean forward to brace my hands on the low bonnet of the Vantage, my bottom conveniently raised for his perusal. He moves to stand behind me. “Spread your legs, Miss Stone. Open wide.”

I do as I’m instructed.

“Wider, please.” It seems I am not yet positioned to his satisfaction. He gently nudges my right foot with his to indicate I should widen my stance still further, then with no preamble, plunges three fingers deep into my pussy.

I flinch, but in surprise not pain. I’d expected, anticipated, more in the way of preparation. Even so, his slick, easy entry is evidence enough of my readiness for this. His other hand is resting lightly on my naked bum as he withdraws his fingers, then thrusts them sharply into me again. A couple of more quick thrusts then he slides them out, only to immediately replace his fingers with his cock. I arch my back in delight at the full, stretching feeling, the sensuality of containing him, being filled by him. I clench around his length, all concern for my paintwork now abandoned as I give myself over to the waves of lust now coursing wildly through my body. He sets a brisk, demanding rhythm, and my first orgasm ripples easily and quickly through me, delighting but not quite satisfying me. Not yet. I want more, need more.

And there is more. Slowing, he leans over me, reaching around and under me to caress my clit, his fingers gliding easily and smoothly past my inner lips to roll the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as the tumult of sensation starts up again, this time concentrating and coalescing under his fingers as he increases the pressure. He withdraws his cock until only the head remains inside my entrance, then he thrusts once more, deep and hard. I clench in response, seizing and gripping him as my own pleasure builds, heightened by his deep penetration as I soar once more toward release.

He straightens, his wonderful, skilled fingers leaving my clit, and I feel cheated, abandoned. I swivel my hips, clench my inner muscles in protest, and he immediately slaps my bottom. Hard enough to hurt. And to excite. I drop my head, utterly accepting, greedy for more, hopeful, for anything and everything. He knows it, he’s picked his moment.

“I’m going to explore your sweet little virgin arse now. Okay, girl?”

I don’t think, don’t hesitate. I’m totally his. I just nod, not even sure he can see me. I guess he can, because he gently parts my buttocks with his palms, opening my anus for his examination. He continues to fuck me, his long strokes now slow, steady, solid and reassuring as I feel his gaze on my most intimate opening, my only remaining secret place.

“Just one finger, and I won’t hurt you. I promise.” His tone is soft, but with that thread of steel in it which I’m sure all Doms cultivate, but Nick Hardisty has polished to a fine art.

I believe him though, if he was going to hurt me he would have said that. So I relax, ready to let him do what he wants with me. To me.

It feels strange at first, the slight pressure as he inserts just the tip of one thoroughly slick and well-lubricated finger into my anus, my own juices serving their purpose as he gently but firmly pushes past the sphincter. My instinct is to resist, but I consciously fight that urge, responding to his deep but gentle penetration and the firm caress of his other palm on my buttock, smoothing away the slight sting of his slap a few moments ago.

The whole experience is intensely erotic, arousing, incredibly personal and intimate, and I feel tears threatening. Emotional, joyful tears—my connection to him, my absolute faith in him so overwhelming in that moment. He increases the pressure, working his finger farther into me, and I accept him, welcome him. I know when he’s reached his full extent. His finger is now fully inserted and he starts to withdraw, only to ease slowly and surely back in again. He repeats the careful, deliberate movement, once more, twice, increasing his speed only slightly. Just enough to pick up the same rhythm as that set by his cock, fucking my pussy leisurely, at the same time finger-fucking my now totally receptive arse.

The unfamiliar sensations excite and intrigue, and the familiar warms and calms. It’s enough, more than enough. Shivering and shuddering toward my climax, I’m intensely aware of his presence in me, everywhere, and of nothing else. In that moment I think a whole army of hikers could have ambled past and I’d not have known they were there.

Nick eases me tenderly and surely over the cliff and I’m tumbling, weightless and spinning as my release finally washes through me. It’s fabulous, other-worldly, and I’m struck by how different it seems to be each time he does this to me, sometimes so powerful it takes my breath away, other times, like this, so achingly sweet I want to cry. Before, he made me sizzle, now I’m melting, soft and pliable and yielding. And totally fulfilled.

His finger leaves me as I regain my senses, and he snakes his other arm around my waist to hold me upright as my knees buckle. With a couple of swift, hard strokes, he finds his own climax. There’s a muffled “Holy fuck, Freya” as his semen spurts out to fill the condom he somehow managed to bring into the mix without me even being aware of it.

We’re breathing heavily as he at last straightens, withdrawing from me and quickly doing the necessary with the condom before reaching for me once more. He lifts and turns me, still helping me to stay upright as he lowers his head, intending to kiss me. Instead though, he sees the tears I was only dimly aware of, now flowing freely across my face. He stops, framing my face with his hands as he uses his thumbs to smooth them away.