His House of Submission Page 9

  But I could have been dreaming.

  The summer came and it stayed, graciously for an English season.

  I would spend the hottest part of the day indoors with my cataloguing, but in the mornings I was often found in the overgrown gardens, wearing a tiny flirty near-transparent dress Jasper had bought online. The overblown roses brushed my thighs as I passed them and sometimes their thorns would prick. I would shut my eyes and breathe in, honeysuckle, jasmine, and a ripe lusciousness behind all the scents. Life, languor, summer, sex.

  I stopped putting my hair up and let it fall anyhow, spilling over my shoulders and flicking my breasts. My limbs went from alabaster to tan, and I seemed to follow in their wake, from academic to wood nymph.

  Jasper rarely accompanied me on these garden trips, and, besides, we were usually in recovery from some bout of epic kinky sex. As I wandered about the hollyhocks and foxgloves, he would be pounding around the perimeter of the estate, intent on maintaining his stamina. He had a lot of it.

  The birds would sing and the petals would fall and I would sit on the garden bench and dream. What did I dream about? I dreamed that this would never end.

  Once the artefacts were put back in their cabinets for the afternoon, it was time for the game. The game of master and servant, dominant and submissive. The best game in the world, infinite in its variety.

  Every day brought something different, a new twist or take. Jasper, as befitted a man who made stories real for a living, possessed a jewel of an imagination.

  One evening, I was a harem slave and he my prince, choosing me for the night, oiling me up, making me perform lewd acts for him while he lazed on a cushion, directing the action.

  Another day I found myself suspended by my wrists in chains from the cellar ceiling while he introduced me to the dubious pleasures of the clover clamp.

  I was a blindfolded prisoner brought up for punishment; a careless maid who needed to be made an example of; a proud lady blackmailed into humility by a wicked baronet. I was all of these and more. I’d never been one for drama, but Jasper drew these performances from me with ease. He was the consummate director.

  Afterwards he would bathe me, rub soothing ointment into my bottom (or wherever it was needed), hold me in his arms, let me sail into sleep with him.

  Nobody and nothing broke into our fantasy world.

  When he took calls, he never told me what they were about. Now and again he went to London for the day, but I didn’t question him about his business. We were in a bubble: a perfect, shiny, fragile but all-encompassing bubble. I could think of no better place to be.

  A humid July burnt off into a scratchy, thirsty August.

  The petals dried and the skies hurt my eyes. Everything was bleached and desiccated; the waters of the lake were low.

  On a day like this, I was ordered upstairs after lunch to change. He had bought me something, I surmised, and I was right. Laid out on my bed I found a set of riding gear. Jodhpurs, long-sleeved white top, hard hat, mouthwatering shiny boots.

  It looked like a ride was in prospect.

  This was odd, though, because, while the estate had stables, there were no horses. I had never ridden, being nervous of their size and their teeth.

  Nonetheless, I pulled on the jodhpurs, smiling in advance at how Jasper was going to like the way they clung to every curve and accentuated the shape of my arse. The top went on next, and now I really hoped the ride, if it happened, might be a slow and stately trot because the thought of my bra-less breasts bouncing about on horseback made me cringe.

  The boots fit precisely. The leather shone like twin mirrors. I watched myself put on the hard hat, looking down at my feet, then I saluted myself, took a final twirl and headed for Jasper.

  He stood in the hallway, smart as the whip he held, in a dark riding jacket with brass buttons. I thought it must surely be too hot for the breathless weather, but he didn’t seem concerned. His boots were even shinier than mine and he looked slick, ruthless and jodhpur-dampeningly sexy.

  ‘Are you ready to ride?’ he asked me, slapping the crop down in the palm of one hand.

  ‘I’m … not sure, Sir.’ We’d come to an arrangement whereby he was ‘Sir’ after four o’clock, ‘Jasper’ before.

  ‘Have you ridden before?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘What, not even a pony?’

  ‘Not even a seaside donkey.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to fix that. Come on.’

  He patted my bottom with the whip, gently but firmly, ushering me through the front door.

  ‘I didn’t think you had a horse,’ I said, as he steered me around the side of the house towards the stables.

  ‘I don’t. This is on loan for the day, from a friend.’

  ‘Oh. Wow.’ On approaching the stables it became clear that a real horse was indeed in situ. I heard it snort, then saw it shake its head through the top of the half-door. ‘But there’s only one.’

  ‘Well spotted. Yes, there’s only one.’

  We stopped at the stable door. Jasper patted the horse’s nose and gave him half an apple he’d had in his pocket.

  ‘So … are we both going on the same horse? Or …?’

  ‘What’s going to happen, Sarah, is that you are my stable girl, and you’re going to saddle and bridle my horse. Of course, since you’re very inexperienced, I’ve no doubt you’ll make a horrible mess of it. Oh dear.’

  He waved at some harness-type stuff, hanging on pegs.

  ‘Give it your best shot,’ he said, retiring to sit cross-legged on a hay bale.

  ‘What if it kicks me?’ I asked dubiously.

  ‘Stay near his head. You’ll be fine.’

  I had all kinds of reservations about this, but I took the tack from the pegs, buckling slightly under its unexpected weight, and carried it into the stall.

  ‘Hi, horse,’ I said warily. ‘We’re going to be friends, aren’t we?’ I put my hand on his face, trying not to transmit waves of fear to him.

  Where to start? I picked up the saddle and sort of hoisted it over the horse’s back. He was surprisingly docile about it all and made no attempt to rear up and kick me in the eye. But I was supposed to fasten it underneath. It all seemed much too risky and complicated. I tried to reach for the straps, but with each attempt I found myself shying away at the last minute.

  Jasper, on his hay bale, laughed and tapped the crop against his calf.

  I thought perhaps I’d leave that until later, and picked up the bridle instead. Oh, God. This thing was way, way too complicated. How did it fit? How did one put it on? I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to slide it over the horse’s ears, but he wasn’t keen and kept tossing his head. After the fifth attempt, Jasper lost patience and came to join me.

  ‘They said you knew how to tack up a horse,’ he said, finishing off the job himself while I slumped against the stable door. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’

  ‘Sorry, Sir.’

  ‘I should think so. Your reference was good. Did you forge it?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’m going to call Mrs Horse-Whisperer and ask her over the phone.’

  ‘Oh, no, don’t do that,’ I said, cottoning on to the scene.

  ‘Why not?’ He paused in the straightening of the harness and gave me a hard stare.

  ‘Because … because … she’s on holiday.’

  ‘No, she isn’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ I mumbled.

  ‘So you did forge it?’

  I nodded, kicking my heel against the stable door.

  He finished with the bridle before saying, ‘I see. Why?’

  ‘Needed a job, Sir.’

  ‘A job you aren’t qualified to do.’

  ‘I can learn.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked up from fiddling with the saddle strap. ‘Yes, you can learn. And you will learn. You’ll learn what happens to little liars.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t sack me!’

  ‘I’m not
going to sack you. Like you said, you can learn. Do you want to learn?’

  ‘Y-yes, Sir.’ I pretended to have no idea what was coming but of course I did.

  ‘Good. So you can go and bend over those hay bales there.’

  ‘Bend over them?’

  ‘That’s right. I want you bent over with your bottom pushed right out in those nice tight jodhpurs.’

  ‘What are you … going to do?’

  ‘What does it sound like?’ He tapped the crop, with a light thwack, against his thigh.

  I quailed.

  ‘Are you going to use … that?’

  ‘Too many questions. There’s only one way to find out. Go and bend over.’

  What would be going through a girl’s head in this situation? Fear, bemusement, disbelief. I tried to replicate it all as I headed for the bales, highly conscious of how the jodhpurs clung to my backside.

  He’d stacked these bales to exactly the right height and put a horse blanket over the top so as not to prickle my skin, if the time came for it to be bared.

  I tipped myself forward, feeling the material stretch tight across my spreading cheeks. It wasn’t going to offer much protection, especially with no knickers underneath. He’d be able to see the outline of my pussy.

  ‘What do you have to say to me?’ he asked, looming behind me.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Sir,’ I said. ‘Please … do you have to?’

  ‘It’s for your own good, young lady,’ he said, words which always unleashed the flood down below. ‘If I let you off, I won’t be doing you any favours. You need to understand the importance of honesty.’

  There was nothing to be said. Instead of framing useless words, I let my mouth concentrate on pinching my lips together while the rest of my body went into preparation mode.

  I had learned, over these weeks, not to tense up too much. It had been a hard road, but Jasper didn’t tolerate the clenching of buttocks during a spanking, and I had finally found the knack of keeping myself loose and breathing through it all.

  It would be all right, I told myself. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t last long, and then I would have the glorious after-effects to enjoy. But the glorious after-effects only came with a fairly severe thrashing, so I had to pace myself and take as much as I could.

  I was expecting the whip, but he started with his hand. The sound his palm made on my taut clothed bottom was like a series of pistol shots. The horse whinnied, perhaps wondering what the hell was going on. Or maybe he’d seen it all before.

  Jasper kept the pressure up, spanking hard and resolutely, covering every inch of my bottom and then down to mid-thigh. I was already hot and my clothes were tight and it didn’t take long for me to feel uncomfortably roasted. I fretted that my jodhpurs would have to be peeled down, stuck to my bum by the adhesive heat of the spanking and my own juices. Besides that, my cunt was prickling, my clit swollen, pushing against the fabric. I pictured it, a fat round shape visible through the stretch-cotton.

  Perhaps if I wiggled my hips just a bit, I could get a bit of friction going …

  But I didn’t dare. Jasper would know, and he’d punish me.

  He stayed his hand at last and I was able to try and steady myself.

  ‘My hand’s sore,’ he remarked. ‘Which isn’t really the idea. I think it’s time for something a little stronger.’

  This would be the crop, for sure.

  Unsurprisingly, it was an antique number, one of several in his possession. This particular one was closer to a whip than the others, having a silver cap with a wrist strap attached, a grip of braided leather, a shaft of slender, flexible cane and a heavy leather loop at the end.

  Jasper had educated me on the uses of horsewhips. Apparently, the loop was to keep hounds from jumping up at the horses during a hunt. It also made the most diabolical cracking sound when he swished it through the air. And it was very painful to be struck with, although not quite as painful as the shaft of the whip, which I had also experienced.

  I felt the loop drift down the cleft of my bottom, which the jodhpurs made rudely apparent, and rub lazily against my hot pussy. I gasped and rotated my hips. Gently as he did it, it would not take much of that to send me over the edge.

  He tutted and retracted it.

  ‘You’ll stain those jodhpurs,’ he reproved.

  Then there was a whoosh and I almost clenched, but remembered myself just in time to feel the blazing splat full on the centre of my backside, a heavy kind of sting that penetrated my flesh.

  ‘Twenty of these to start,’ he said. ‘Keep that arse high.’

  I pushed it back out and waited for more. I got it. The leather loop fell full-force another nineteen times, burning my tight trousers on to my skin. I was made to push myself out and spread my cheeks wide until I was sure the fabric would split, but it never did, just stretched and stretched while the whip was plied over and over.

  After the twenty strokes were laid, he pulled down the jodhpurs, easing them slowly over my sore bottom, right down to the tops of my boots.

  ‘Good and red all over,’ he applauded himself, feeling the heat with both palms. ‘But I haven’t finished with you yet. Twenty more on your bare bottom. Nice and high, please.’

  I felt these more acutely, each hard stroke searing and welting my skin so I knew my arse would be dark red and swollen before too long. That antique leather, although supple, had a particular weight that made it one of the worst weapons in Jasper’s armoury. I was yelling out and pleading (though not safewording) by the sixth stroke.

  By twenty, I had tears in my eyes and my pussy was awash in my juices. The fire consumed me, its flames licking every part of my body.

  ‘Are you learning your lesson?’ asked Jasper. ‘That looks very sore.’ He sucked in a breath and tutted, running his fingers around the ridges and bumps he had wrought.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ I moaned.

  ‘Good,’ he said. His fingers prodded between my lower lips. ‘Christ, you’re wet, girl. Very wet.’

  I pushed myself back on them, desperate for stimulation.

  ‘I don’t know if I should,’ he whispered. ‘But …’

  I heard him pull down his own jodhpurs, and then his cock head swirled around in my wetness. (We had had tests done, at his insistence, in a local private clinic and there was no further need for condoms.)

  ‘Oh, please,’ I begged, my voice quivering.

  He entered, an inch, then stopped.

  ‘Oh, more, please.’

  He did this several times, moving further in then waiting for me to beg, until he was all the way in.

  I sighed with relief, more than ready for my punishment fuck.

  But he thrust no more than three times before pulling out again and saying, ‘No, not yet. You need more whipping first.’

  ‘Oh, but, Sir,’ I almost screamed.

  ‘Ten more. And I’m taking off the loop.’

  My boiling blood froze. This would really, really hurt. Without the loop, the crop was as bad as the cane, if not more so.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I whimpered.

  ‘You’ll count these,’ he said. ‘And every stroke will teach you to be truthful with me. Because if I catch you in any more lies, this will seem like a gentle caress.’

  I summoned up all my spirit, all my will, all my courage. I would live through this. I could always safeword but, if I did, I wouldn’t have quite the quality of afterburn and exquisite soreness I wanted. I would think of that, and of the frantic sex afterwards, Jasper’s pelvis slapping against my welts, the sweat adding more sweet sting.

  I concentrated hard on these thoughts, and each eye-watering stroke of the whip handle was bearable, even welcome. I let the shock shudder through me, let the fire burn pure and bright, then lessen by degrees, until ten bright red lines were written on my backside. Jasper’s signature, marks of ownership I bore with pride and love.

  ‘Ten, Sir,’ I whispered, my voice shaky and cracked but still there somehow.

  ‘Truth
, Sarah,’ he said, bending over me to speak low in my ear. ‘How do you feel?’

  I felt disconnected from the earth, floating happily inside my pain and submission.

  ‘Amazing,’ I sighed.

  He kissed my neck.

  ‘Spread your legs as wide as you can, love.’

  I was grateful of the hay bale to lean on or I would have fallen over. My legs were in no fit state to support my weight now. Jasper grabbed hold of my hips and slid in to the hilt without ceremony, holding me fast against the haystack so that my legs were prickled by straw. He began a hard, fast slamming, slapping into my burning bum, bringing his own extra heat and sting to proceedings.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘This wasn’t in the reference either but you can do it, can’t you? I’ll put that in your next one. Sarah might not be able to saddle a horse but she can take a good hard fucking. She can spread her legs and take it, even when her arse has been whipped.’

  I shut my eyes and flew into space. The full force of my orgasm hit me a minute or so later, but I was too weak to do anything but let it take me, lying like a rag doll while Jasper pounded into me then filled my cunt with his spunk.

  The front of his body moulded to the curve of my spine while he lay, spent, his face beside mine on the blanket.

  ‘Sarah,’ he whispered.

  He had clasped his hands together in front of my face and I laid my chin on them and turned to meet him in a kiss.

  We were both too tired to speak, but the kiss took what breath we had and turned it into something more eloquent than words. I sent him my love and he sent it back, by way of skin on skin and tongue against tongue.

  ‘Stay with me,’ he said softly, breaking apart.

  I didn’t want to ask what he meant by that, in case it wasn’t what I wanted him to mean. I just shut my eyes and nodded and laid my cheek on the blanket again.

  ‘You make me cruel,’ he said. ‘You make me want to do the worst things to you.’

  ‘I know.’

  He pulled out of me and sorted out his clothes then, somewhat to my horror, he reached down to pull up my jodhpurs.

  Oh, they were far too tight and uncomfortable to wear now!

  But he ignored my squirming legs and pulled them up my damp thighs, over the two cane strokes that lay upon them, and then set the subsiding heat in my bum right back up to the top of the dial by yanking them up high and tight over the welts.