Rich Tapestry by Ashe Barker Page A

me. Again, he gets the benefit of an honest response.
    “Because I’m a mess.”
    “A mess?” His voice is quiet, his head cocked quizzically to one side as he waits for me to elaborate.
    “Yes. I get…I get stressed out. Easily. I need things to be nice and neat and tidy. This isn’t tidy. I don’t do this sort of thing. Never.”
    “By ‘this’, am I to understand you mean coming to a BDSM club and agreeing to let a Dom spank you?”
    “Exactly. Yes.” I nod, feeling stronger already for having given voice to at least some of my confusion.
    He takes a moment, looks to be considering my babblings. At least he hasn’t thrown me out into the corridor, my clothes behind me. “And tell me, Summer, is curiosity tidy?” He asks the question seriously, his expression cool, assessing.
    “What? What do you mean?” I’m frowning in confusion, groping to find meaning in this.
    “I mean, you’re here because you were curious. We already established that. Downstairs.” Dan seems to have decided to help me out. He continues, “If you leave now, which you are completely free to do, by the way, you’ll still be curious. Whereas if you decide to stay and try this out, you will at least know what submission feels like. You’ll know what it feels like to be spanked. You’ll know if you liked it or hated it. You might even know if you want to do it again. Your curiosity will have been satisfied, at least a little bit. You’ll be able to file the experience away, nice and tidy, in a drawer marked ‘things I know about’. How would that be?”
    I stare at him, wonderstruck. That would be amazing. Truly fucking amazing. How did he do that? How the hell did he do that? In just a few moments he broke right through my defenses and anxieties and went to the heart of my internal dilemma. He got it. He got me. And he gave me a reason, a reason on my terms, a reason to stay.
    I smile, a thin and watery attempt, but I suspect recognizable even so. “That would be very nice. Very tidy. Thank you.”
    Now it’s his turn to grin. “You’re most welcome, Summer. So, I assume we are continuing?”
    I nod, more certain now. My reward is a subtle but sure hardening of his gaze, a glint in the dark, brandy-colored irises. A signal that this brief but intimate interlude is passed.
    “So, Summer, will you do as I asked you, please? Naked. Kneel. Now.”
    I give a brief nod then step away from him, reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. I draw in a deep breath as I lean forward a little to tip the cups into my hands, baring my breasts. I drop the bra into his outstretched hand, steadfastly resisting the impulse to fold my arms across my chest. Instead I stand still, concentrate on holding my shoulders back, and I meet his eyes. I’m looking for some sign of approval, some signal of male appreciation. If he does entertain any such reaction, he is not sharing it with me. His expression is inscrutable as he waits for me to complete my task.
    I hook my thumbs in the elastic of my pants and slip them down my legs before I have a chance to think better of it. I step out and pick my knickers up, handing them to him. He offers me a slight nod in acknowledgment and strides past me to place my underwear on the couch behind me with the rest of my clothing. I stand still, feeling distinctly tall, gangly, and more than a little lanky. Nervous, I wait for his reaction when he catches sight of my naked bottom. I don’t need to wait long.
    “Well now, Miss Jones. Aren’t you full of surprises? Now that…that is truly lovely.”
    “Thank you.” I force myself to remain still, conscious of his warm breath on my shoulder as he studies my bum—or more accurately I should imagine, the artwork decorating my bum.
    “Swallows, Summer? Is there some significance to that?”
    I can answer this. I did my research before allowing the body artist anywhere near me with ink and a needle “Yes, sort of. Sailors in the old days used to have swallow tattoos