Surefire (21 page)

I nod, my hand on his shoulder as with the other I frame his face, smile ruefully at him.

“If I hurt you, you’re to tell me. Right? No suffering in silence.”

“Right. Sir.”

He kisses my bare stomach. “Turn around, drop the rest.”

I obey swiftly, and soon I’m naked, his palms now smoothing the outer curves of my hips. “Your body is so beautiful, Ashley, so lovely…” He kisses the small of my back, the indent of my waist, as he reaches his hands around me to trail a soft path across my stomach and down to the apex of my thighs, the smooth mound there. “Open your legs, love, bend over for me.” His command is whispered, but he expects obedience.

And gets it.

“Put your hands on the table. I’m going to make you come. Hard and fast. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I place my palms on the coffee table and spread my legs for him. I gasp as he parts my delicate, sensitive folds and he slips two, then three fingers inside me. He thrusts hard, twisting his hand to insure my inner walls are stretched, that the friction is intense. The sound of my juices flowing against his fingers just heightens the sensation, my wetness, my own heat. I moan, drenched in pleasure immediately. My knees shake as I feel the tightening of my inner muscles gripping him. He continues to finger fuck me as he reaches around me with his other hand to firmly rub my clit.

“You’re so wet. Hot and wet and tight. Come for me, Ashley. Come now. Now.”

“I, aagh…” It’s over in moments. My orgasm grips me, I stagger under the onslaught, my hips pumping and gyrating furiously as the sensations seize me, overwhelm me. All my senses are centered on my core, and the wickedly delicious things he’s doing to me with his fingers. It’s only been seconds since he first touched me, and already I’m mindless with passion, dizzy, unsteady as the sensations crackle through me and out from my finger ends. I stiffen at the last, hold perfectly still suddenly as he takes over, holds me, carries me. Completes me.

The climax seems to go on, and on, and on, but eventually the feelings are stilled, the stimulation spent. He withdraws his fingers, once more kisses the small of my back. “That was good, Ashley. I’m impressed. You did well. You can sit down again now. It’s my move, I think.”

Still in something of a daze, I resume my seat and try to continue the game. He glances occasionally at me as he considers his moves. The play is unequal, I’ll never beat him at chess. He’s a master of this game as well as of me. We exchange moves, he takes a couple of my pawns, murmurs ‘check’ as he attacks my king, I parry, defend as best I can, until I suddenly spot another opening in the game. Another chance to place him in check. It’ll cost me a knight, but I do it anyway. Time’s not on my side.

Tom looks up at me, his slight nod and gesture with his eyes toward the door the only indication that I’ve passed the next part of my test. I stand quickly. Heedless of my nudity, I slip out of the room and head upstairs to find the tube of lubricant Tom usually leaves in the bathroom. It’s there, in the cabinet. I grab it and rush back downstairs, place it on the coffee table next to the chessboard. Tom acknowledges it with a cursory glance and moves his king out of check.

The next few moves are unremarkable. Tom may have allowed me the two checks I’ve achieved so far, but he’s clearly playing to win now. Forcing me to wait, to continue to play, all the time aware that the minutes are ticking past and those beads are slowly but surely freezing. My muscles tense defensively, the tight little opening squeezing shut in anticipation of the torment to come. I’m normally able to relax easily for this, allow Tom to penetrate me as he wishes, but I’m not sure this time. I’ll try, certainly. I won’t deliberately resist. But still…

“What are you thinking, Ashley. Tell me.” Tom’s tone is firm, not stern exactly, but he expects me to answer him. And to be honest.

Startled, I glance up at him, then drop my eyes again, stare at my hands. Then I answer. “I’m thinking I’m scared. Scared I won’t be able to, you know, keep still and let you do it.”

He pauses before responding, as though considering my concerns. “You know what’ll happen if you struggle, if you try to resist?”

I cringe inwardly, dreading what’s to come. Afraid I’ll disappoint him, I want him to know I
will
try. “Yes. I won’t do it on purpose though. But I just don’t think I’ll be able to help it. And then you’ll make me put them back in there, in the freezer. It’ll just get worse.”

“I’ll never punish you for something that’s not your fault. You know that. Look at me, Ashley.”

I raise my eyes, he holds my nervous gaze with his calm, green eyes, waits for me to steady. “And I’ll never push you further than you can manage to go. You can do this. You will do it. Trust me. And after, I’ll give you such a good time, babe. You’ll feel so damned good, I promise you. Do we have a deal?”

I gaze at him, see the sincerity there, the generosity and the caring. All for me. A deal? Indeed so. I murmur my response. “Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Sir.”

His eyes gesture once more toward the board. “Your move, love. Make it count.”

I, too, focus once more on the game, consider the moves available. I reach out for my remaining knight, intending to close in on his queen. His sharp hiss stops me, warns me to think again, look again. I do, and see that I could move my bishop and put him in check for a third time. I glance sharply up, his eyes are smiling at me, his eyebrows raised. I smile my thanks and make the right move.

Tom nods, satisfied, and hands me the tube of lube.

I look at it, at him, back at the tube. “How should I…?”

“I want to watch, so I’d like you to kneel on the settee, facing away from me. You should be able to reach okay. You’ll need to work it in well, inside as well as outside.”

I continue to look at the tube in my hand, considering how best to manage this.

Tom’s deadpan “Tick tock, tick tock” spurs me into action. Still another check to score before I can take those damn beads out of the freezer, no time to waste sitting around staring at tubes of lubricant. I unscrew the cap, and turn around on the settee. Oddly, I do feel embarrassed doing this in front of Tom. I’ve assumed the position and allowed him to work lube into my anus so many times now it should be second nature, but this is different. This is harder, much harder. Tom says nothing, just settles back to enjoy the show.

I squeeze a generous blob onto the fingers of my right hand, and reach carefully behind me to smear it over my anus. With a gulp, I gingerly insert one finger, just the tip, to test the opening there, try out the tension. The lube’s good, my finger slides in easily. I stir it around, spread the stuff liberally before withdrawing my hand to reload. This time I try to put the lube just on my finger end, thinking to push it farther inside. I’m sure that the better I do this job, the easier my next ordeal will be. I intend to make a decent effort, and, determined, I continue my task. I press harder, push my finger farther inside, the first knuckle, then the second, gently pressing until it’s fully inserted.

“Now two fingers. You need to make sure the entrance is open, ready for the beads. It’ll be much easier for you.”

I obey, heeding Tom’s advice. I slide two lubricated fingers easily into place, and with my shoulder stretched and bent awkwardly to reach behind me I work them in and out, all the time acutely conscious of his gaze on me, watching this most intimate act, enjoying my humiliation, my submission to his will. Eventually, my fingers still buried deep within my bum, I look back at him, over my shoulder. “I think I’m ready. But would you check? Make sure I’ve done it right? Please?”

He gets to his feet, comes to stand behind me. I remove my fingers and drop my head onto my hands, kneeling in front of him, exposed and presented for his scrutiny. His approval. Wordlessly he pulls the cheeks of my bum apart, examines me with his eyes, then explores with his fingers. He’s gentle, but firm. One finger, then a second, turning his hand to thoroughly explore my inner space. I groan, my clit twitching for attention in spite of my nerves, in spite of my humiliation. He knows, he knows how I’m feeling, is aware of my arousal and works it, builds it. I’m shifting, squirming, lifting my bum higher for him, silently pleading for another orgasm.

“Touch yourself if you want to. Use your other hand.” His murmur is soft, the permission sweet.

I need no further urging and eagerly slide my fingers between my legs, rub my throbbing clit, soft at first, then hard, fast, the friction delicious as Tom continues to thrust his fingers in and out of my anus, his intention now clearly to arouse and satisfy. It works, it works quickly, and I climax again fast. My empty vagina clenches sharply, the ripples reaching his probing fingers. I hear his satisfied chuckle as he continues the inner massage and I finish my task, rubbing my fingertips furiously against my engorged, sensitive, greedy clit until the last surges of orgasm are pumped from me. Satiated at last, I relax. My fingers are still, although I’m still touching myself, tempted to slide them into my neglected vagina, see what I might achieve there.

Tom gently withdraws his fingers, pats the right cheek of my bum softly as he leans around me to pick up the tube of lubricant. “Hold still, I’m going to put more, directly inside.”

I shiver as he slips the nozzle of the tube inside my entrance, now loose and receptive, and squeezes lightly. I feel the cool gel penetrate me, and Tom slides his finger gently in to smooth it all the way through. Business like, satisfied that I’m fully prepared, he withdraws, pats my bum again and steps away, returns to his settee on his side of the coffee table.

“Hopefully now you’ve had a bit of fun, you’ll be able to concentrate on the game. You need to finish this, Ashley. And soon.”

So the anticipation’s getting to him too. Good. Maybe he’ll help me again.

I turn around, acutely aware of the wetness, the lube oozing within and around me. I’m surely going to make a mess, ruin the settee. Tom grins, stands then leaves the room. He comes back a few moments later with a towel. He tosses it to me as he passes, on his way back to his seat. “Here, you might like to sit on that. Is it my move?”

I nod as I arrange the towel under my wet and very thoroughly prepared bottom. My words, when I manage to force them out, are remarkably calm, considering, “Yes. Yes I believe it is, Sir.”

The next few minutes tick by slowly. We exchange moves, nothing spectacular. I lose my bishop, manage to threaten Tom’s queen, he puts me in check, chases my king around the board for a few moves. I begin to panic a little.
What if this takes too long, what if my opening becomes tight again, closes up before he, before
… As ever, acutely attuned to me, Tom smiles at me, reassuring. “If you need to, if you ask me very politely, I’ll allow you to prepare yourself one last time, just before you take the beads from the freezer. Will that help, do you think?”

My tight little smile back is answer enough, he nods, and we continue.

In silence we exchange a few more nondescript moves, then I see it. He must have done it on purpose, exposed his queen again. I can take it with my remaining knight
and
get him in check. It’s a killer move.
Christ!
Has the invincible master of chess made a mistake? I look up, questioning. His green eyes are inscrutable, no clues there. He watches me as I look once more at the board, examine the pieces carefully for any chink in my plan, any sign I may be mistaken. No, it’s there. I can do it, the move’s legal.

Deliberately, I pick up my knight, catch his gaze once more, and place my piece carefully and purposefully on the same space as the black queen. “Check. Sir.”

His smile is slow, satisfied. Full of promise and anticipation. And gentle, playful menace. “Well done, Ashley. So, do you want a moment to prepare yourself, or can we proceed?”

“A moment, please, Sir.”

He nods, and I reach once more for the tube of lubricant. “May I?”

He nods. “Of course.”

I turn on the settee, my back to him as before and lean forward. I take another generous helping of lube on my fingers and reach around again to place it where it needs to be. I’m relieved to find that my entrance is still receptive, still open. Without hesitation I work two fingers inside, taking comfort from the recollection that the anal beads are much smaller than the width of my two fingers. And Tom’s fingers are even wider than mine, maybe he’ll oblige me by shoving them in first, just to make sure. Maybe if I ask him nicely…

“It’s time, Ashley. Go and get the beads.” Tom’s tone is all Dom. Stern, obedience expected. Immediate obedience.

I withdraw my fingers, place the tube of lubricant carefully back on the coffee table, the cap firmly screwed back on, and I get to my feet. Not entirely steady, I walk over to the drinks fridge and open the door. I slide open the ice making drawer. The pretty little beads are still nestled among the ice cubes, sparkling, shiny. And very very cold. Chewing hard on my bottom lip I pick them up, testing their temperature in my palm as I close my hand around them.

Christ, so cold. So bloody cold.
I turn back to Tom, my hand curled tight around the beads, thinking to play for a bit of time to warm them up as much as I can in the few moments I have. A risky strategy, he won’t tolerate much in the way of time wasting or prevarication, I know that. I make my way back to him, in no hurry, but not so much as to cause comment, attract further retribution. He has the lube in his hand, he’s removed the cap again. He holds it out to me.

“Lube them up. Put plenty on, then place them there, on the table. He indicates the spot with a tilt of his head, then leans back to watch me do as he’s instructed.

I manage to strike a balance of unhurried efficiency as I smear lube all over the beads, I count ten of them, graduating in size from one end of the thread to the other. They’re heavier than I remembered, and very smooth. That should be helpful. There’s a length of nylon cord extending from the narrow end and a small metal ring attached to the end of that. Obviously intended to facilitate easy removal. Idly, I note that the lube’s warm, the coating will protect me. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.