Re-Awakening Read online

Zack withdrew, right back to the very tip then slowly but powerfully filled her again. And again. His thrusts were long and slow and easy. He was acutely conscious that this was a first for her. He didn’t want it to be a last. He was careful not to frighten her or hurt her. She might find anal sex uncomfortable at first. Many subs did. Or strange, or even downright vulgar. He could live with any of that. But even if she had come to it rather late in her submissive career, he had no intention of leaving her determined never to venture this way again. As Imogen’s muffled sighs became moans, and grew into mewling cries of need, he knew he’d achieved his objective. Christ, she was tight. Tight and hot and gripping his dick as though she never wanted to let him go.

  Ramping up the pace, Zack fucked her harder, relentlessly, careful to keep his strokes long and even, the motion smooth. The friction was exquisite, and he knew she loved it too by the way her fingers dug into the duvet, grasping and opening in time with his thrusts. Her bottom lifted, her knees spread wide as she offered him access to all of her. Deciding to take her up on her silent offer, Zack reached for her, pulled her body upright, her back against his chest as she sat on his lap, her arse snugly impaled on his thick, hard cock.

  Glancing around the room, Zack spotted the full-length mirror on her wardrobe door and shifted them so they faced it. He nudged his knees between Imogen’s and spread her wider, watching in the mirror as her head dropped back to rest against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly apart.

  “Open your eyes, Gennie. Look at you.”

  She obeyed, totally at one with his softly whispered commands, and saw her body displayed, reflected in the mirror. As she watched, Zack reached around her to lay his palms softly on her breasts, parting his fingers to allow her still-tender nipples to poke between. He drew his hands possessively down her torso, pausing to tease her belly button with his left hand. He slid his right hand down into her pubic hair and held her in position as he purposely extended his middle finger, laying it firmly over her swollen clit, clearly visible in the mirror. Imogen’s eyes widened. Zack rubbed. Imogen whimpered her delight then cried out as she was once more plummeted into the frenzy of orgasm.

  When she would have closed her eyes Zack commanded her to open them. “Watch. Watch me. I want to see you unravel.”

  She raised her eyes, caught his deep blue in the mirror, and he held her there as her body convulsed around him. Only when her shudders and sighs had finally ceased did he allow her to fall forward to the bed for his final onslaught. Two more hard, smooth thrusts, a third, and he stiffened, held himself still as his balls tightened and drew up. Then with a muffled, “Fuck, Gennie…” he delivered two final piston-like strokes as his semen erupted into the condom.

  * * * *

  Imogen couldn’t sleep. By two-thirty she’d been tossing and turning for a couple of hours, her body painfully, acutely aware of her Dom asleep down the hallway. Why hadn’t she invited him to sleep with her? He would have, surely. They’d had an incredibly pleasant evening at the pub in Bainbridge, listening to nineties pop music on the old-fashioned jukebox. MP3 might arrive in the Dales eventually, but the old ways still die hard. Why, then, had they strolled back along the mile or so of country lane to her cottage and parted on the landing to go into their separate rooms? Why hadn’t he suggested it? Christ, he’d not been exactly reticent in any other respect.

  Not sure what she had in mind, Imogen got out of bed and padded across the room to the door. She didn’t bother to reach for her faithful kimono, just hurried along the landing in her loose pyjama bottoms and skinny vest. Without waiting to consider, she opened the door to her guest room and slipped inside. Then she stopped, wondered what the hell she was doing here, sneaking into a guest’s room in the middle of the night.

  Apparently, he wondered, too.

  “Did you get lost? Bathroom’s next door along.” His tone was dry, sardonic, and he rolled over onto his back to look at her in the dim moonlight. Imogen noticed that his chest was gloriously bare, and wondered about the rest. He was covered from the waist down by the duvet. As she pondered these mysteries, he reached out and flicked the switch on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room. Wordlessly he shuffled along to make room for her and patted the empty space in invitation.

  “Join me. But lose the PJs.”

  Needing no more urging, Imogen peeled off her top and pants then slipped naked into his bed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, her back against his chest. His semi-hard cock nudged her bottom. She snuggled against it and promptly fell asleep.

  * * * *

  Sunday morning, Imogen woke, stretched, peeled her eyelids back and for one confused moment wondered what the hell she was doing in her best guest bedroom. Then her best guest stirred alongside her, and she remembered. Remembered vividly how he’d spanked her, clamped her nipples—which were still slightly sore, she noted—and gone on to fuck her virgin arse. Christ, what a weekend. What a gloriously awesome weekend. And it wasn’t even over yet.

  Lifting the duvet to peek beneath, she was delighted to see he was already semi-erect, and she silently thanked any deity who might still be listening to her for that convenient morning hard-on. What an excellent quirk of Creation. And not to be wasted. Kneeling alongside her sleeping prey, Imogen took the time to admire his cock. He was truly beautiful. Everywhere, but particularly here. She trailed her fingers along the length of his shaft, enjoying the veined contours, loving the silky softness and the hardening strength beneath. She ran her fingertips along the crease below the wide, flaring head, and was rewarded by a slight twitch. Then another, not so slight, and she glanced up. His eyes remained closed, but he was clearly responding. As his cock hardened and swelled before her eyes, Imogen leaned in, drew the tip of her tongue over the seeping slit. The pre-cum already starting to flow tasted salty, and she licked her lips before opening her mouth wider and taking just the head inside. She lapped her tongue around it, collecting more of that salty juice she loved. Zack surged to full size and stiffness, and she knew he was awake.

  Sure enough, “Fuck, Gennie, is this what Dales hospitality means by bed and breakfast? Does the Tourist Board know?”

  Imogen lifted her head, turned to grin at him. “I’m thinking of adding it to my entry on Yorkshire.com. Would it help trade, do you think?”

  He swore again, then, “Christ, yes. You’d have a queue as far as Skipton.”

  “Excellent. Maybe I should sell them ice cream as well.”

  His next expletive was muffled behind his forearm as he laid it across his face, and Imogen took that as her cue to pick up where she’d left off.

  * * * *

  One hour, one blow job, one slow, comfortable screw and two showers later, Zack and Imogen shared croissants and her Sunday paper across the kitchen table. Zack grabbed the sports section, Imogen the entertainment magazine and they took it in turns to brew coffee. Neither spoke, just the occasional light smile or squeeze of fingers to cement their easy companionship. And Imogen knew she was going to miss him when he left, in a way she’d never imagined missing anyone since Sean.

  The minutes rolled easily by, lengthened into half an hour, then an hour. Imogen was first to speak, “Can I show you something?”

  He glanced up. “Only if you promise to let me show you mine…”

  “Idiot.”

  “That’s no way to talk to your Dom, Miss Jakes. I really should spank you…”

  “Later, please. Sir.” She added the final respectful title as an afterthought, but even so it rolled remarkably easily off her tongue, especially given that he had to be twenty years younger than her. Who’d have thought it?

  Holding out her hand, she led him upstairs to her bedroom. He made no move to touch her, instead leaned against the door as she knelt in front of her large solid oak wardrobe and tugged open the drawer at the bottom. She beckoned him over, and he crouched beside her, letting out a low whistle at the dizzying array of whips, handcuffs, floggers and canes.

&nb
sp; “Your stuff? You should have said. I needn’t have improvised so much.”

  “I loved your improvising. And this stuff was Sean’s, really. I never thought of it as mine. Until now perhaps.”

  “And now?” He rested his hand lightly on the back of her neck, softly massaging.

  She turned her head to drop a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Now, I’d like to try these again. I remember I always liked these…” She reached in and rummaged around in the bottom of the drawer, before coming up with a small drawstring bag. Zack held out his hand, and Imogen opened the bag before tipping three small items not unlike hair grips into his palm.

  Zack studied his new treasures for a few moments, then, “Clit clips. Oh yes, I can see why you’d like these. Very pretty.” He closed his fist around the toys, and with a thumb he gestured towards the bed. “Lose the robe. And open wide.”

  Seconds later Imogen was lying on her back across her bed, her knees bent and her legs spread wide. Zack knelt on the floor alongside, smearing baby oil over the small clamps. Satisfied he’d lubed them up, he gently parted Imogen’s labia, coaxing her clit to swell and stiffen before drawing his tongue slowly across the quivering nub.

  “That’s you nicely lubed, too. Although perhaps a little more won’t hurt …” He leaned in and lapped the sensitive button again, taking his time, deliberately stopping to flick the end with the tip of his tongue.

  Imogen wriggled, lifting her hips.

  “That’s good, so good…”

  Her throaty murmur disappeared into a long sigh as Zack pressed his tongue between the lips of her pussy, circling the tip inside her now.

  “Oh, God…”

  Lifting his head and slipping two long fingers deep into her pussy, Zack reached for the clips.

  “Any preference which one?”

  “No, you choose…aah!” Imogen arched her back sharply as Zack gently squeezed her clit and slid his particular favourite clamp snugly around it, capturing the sensitive tip between the two arms. He leant back, his expression one of admiration.

  “Feel okay? Not too tight?”

  “It’s—wonderful. Quite, quite wonderful. Could you…?”

  “I could indeed.” And his head dipped again as he leaned in to tongue the tip of Imogen’s engorged nub, the sensitive nerve endings now tingling wildly as the blood trapped there heightened all sensation. It was extreme, sensual and superlatively erotic, and Imogen cried out an instant before her climax ripped through her. She simply shattered, her senses scrambling as her body convulsed and shook, and the waves of her ecstasy slid around and through her like a warm caress. Stunned by the sheer physical impact, and by the intensity of emotion overwhelming her, Imogen was unable to prevent the tears streaming down her cheeks. Zack glanced up, saw, and eased her back fully onto the bed before coming to lie alongside her.

  “That good, huh?”

  Imogen could only nod and turned to cling to him, burying her nose against his chest as she sobbed noisily.

  Zack said nothing. He seemed content to lie still and let her emotion spend itself. Only when she quietened and her sobs were reduced to occasional gulps did he unzip his jeans and roll her onto her back again. He reached into his front pocket for the condom before shoving his jeans down and kicking them off. He knelt between Imogen’s legs, splaying them so he could once more admire the pretty little toy still holding her clit proudly aloft. He reached for the oil beside the bed, squirting a generous helping onto his fingers before inserting one, then two into her arse.

  “Still good?” He glanced at her under his eyebrows, caught her brief nod before returning his attention to her unresisting arse. It didn’t take long, and moments later she was ready. Imogen lay still, glowing with anticipation as she listened to the now familiar snap of foil and latex. He positioned himself at her entrance, his hands on the backs of her legs pushing slightly to raise her bum up. He thrust hard, burying his cock right to the hilt. Imogen gasped, it was tight and she was fully stretched. Yesterday he took his time. Today he was quick and sure and demanding. He withdrew and plunged back deep, twice, to make sure he had her, then he pushed his knees under her hips and released her legs. Imogen found herself helplessly captured, her thighs spread wide, her clit lifted and displayed, his to play with. And play he did, teasing, stroking, trailing his fingertips across the tip, flicking, strumming, scratching lightly with his thumbnail, pressing hard, rubbing. And she came. Again and again and again, he drew one orgasm after another from her, until her body was limp, spent, utterly exhausted. At last, she could manage no more.

  “Red.” The safe word was more a breath than vocal, but he heard and responded. Leaning over her again, his weight on his forearms and legs, he dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  “My turn now. All right?”

  “Please. Be my guest.”

  Zack chuckled silently at the unintended pun, and proceeded to help himself to a sweet, tight fuck.

  Chapter Three

  A month. Four whole, endless weeks, and still no word. He’d promised to be in touch, at least to let her know how his interview went, maybe even come back if he was in the area again. But so far, nothing.

  Imogen thought back to that last morning, that grey, drizzling Monday when she’d set her alarm to be awake by five to make sure she had time to get Zack’s breakfast. They’d had a deal, he’d paid good money for his breakfasts and she intended to offer the best value. He’d pulled her back into bed as she’d tried to leave and told her he preferred cereal as he reached for a condom from the packet he’d dumped on her bedside table. Imogen couldn’t help thinking it was fortunate the landlady at the Fleece in Bainbridge had re-stocked on Saturday, though she was probably wondering who had emptied her vending machine in the Ladies and where all the action had been.

  No action here, now, that was for certain. Apart from an elderly couple celebrating their wedding anniversary, she’d had no more guests since Zack. She suspected her more recent visitors would not deplete her stock of remaining condoms though she’d decided to leave them in the bedside drawer in what she now thought of as Zack’s room. Her finances were stretched to breaking. She needed a job. Desperately.

  So the one bright spot on her horizon had been the phone call yesterday from the employment agency she’d registered with asking her to attend for an interview later this afternoon in Hawes. It sounded like a decent job, too, interesting even. Personal assistant and admin officer to support the new director of a rural business support network that was just starting up. The agency felt that her admin qualifications were right for this, but her background as a rural business owner herself was the icing on the cake. She’d be front of house, reception duties, answering the phone, greeting visitors, setting up networking events, running the office. At first. They were offering training in leisure and tourism, this could be the start of a new career for her. And it was only thirty hours a week—she’d still have time to run her guest house as well. It sounded ideal, and Imogen was cautiously optimistic although she kept telling herself not to get too excited. She’d yet to land the job, and she’d had no interview practice in God knows how long. But she needed this—she really, really needed this. Her bank balance needed this. And so did her self-esteem.

  At five to four she presented herself at the newly opened Rural Business Development Centre in Hawes. A cheerful woman of around fifty with greying wavy hair greeted her and invited her to come straight through. Imogen followed her through the door, and stopped dead.

  Zack. Zack was there. Her Zack. Sitting at the interview table, a middle-aged and somewhat weather-beaten man on one side of him, and an empty chair on the other, obviously just vacated by she of the greying wavy hair. The candidate’s chair was positioned opposite Zack, a glass of sparkling water helpfully to hand. Imogen reflected that she was definitely going to need that.

  “Imogen, I’m glad you could make it today. It’s lovely to see you again. Let me introduce everyone.” Zack stood, leaned across the table and sho
ok her hand.

  Shook her hand! Imogen was dumbstruck. What was he doing here, looking as though he owned the place? He was a farmer, for God’s sake…?

  Ignoring her obvious confusion, Zack proceeded with his introductions. “You’ve just met Claire. Claire Montgomery works for our accountants and she’s been temporarily seconded to us to head up finance and HR. She’ll be overseeing us today, to ensure the interviews are conducted correctly.”

  Ms Grey and Wavy nodded politely and offered her hand. Imogen took it, managed to murmur something about being pleased to meet her.

  Zack continued, “And Jack Barraclough is chair of the management board. He runs a farm near Askrigg. You’ll remember I mentioned. He interviewed me when I was up here last month.”

  Farmer Jack leaned over and offered his hand. Imogen politely took it, her head whirling.

  She vaguely recalled that Zack had told her the interviewer had been taken ill, which was why he found himself stuck in the Dales over the weekend. And that he had to get up and be off early because his interview was scheduled for some ungodly ‘farming’ hour. She’d assumed he was an agricultural worker. Clearly he was not. Somehow the subject had never come up between them.

  Well, it wouldn’t would it? The thought flittered uselessly through her head. We were too busy with makeshift nipple clamps and finding unhygienic things to do in my dining room.

  “And of course, you know me. I’ve been explaining to Jack and Claire how well you looked after me when I was here last month.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet… Imogen couldn’t help thinking he’d probably not shared all the finer details with his colleagues. Christ, she hoped not!

  Her head still reeling, uncertain if this was some sort of wind-up, Imogen took her time settling herself in the vacant chair opposite Zack. She straightened her skirt, flicked off an imaginary cat hair—she didn’t even own a cat—and helped herself to a small sip of water. Then she faced Zack, smiled serenely, and agreed how nice it was, how very nice indeed, to see him again.