My Scottish Dom Read online

  My Scottish Dom

  Alexi Wakefield

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Alexi Wakefield. All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  He is here again. Yes.

  I suppress my smile and sip my whisky, a wonderfully smoky Islay malt, and watch him as he does the same. He’s stunning, a perfectly proportioned body with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Well-toned arms stick out of his rather formal short-sleeved shirt: Work wear, I’m guessing. His face is round and his hair dark, which with his gorgeous skin tone hints at Asian ancestry. I itch to tie that body down and run my hands all over it, exploring every corner of its perfection. It looks delicious, certainly a far cry from my skinny frame and pallid Scottish skin.

  Despite his beauty there’s something awkward about him; he’s hunched up and tense, limbs folded in on themselves as if he’d rather not be here. But here he is, and while this is not a BDSM bar, instinct tells me he’s waiting for someone to prise apart that ball of limbs and get them chained up out of the way so both he and his dom can enjoy the work of art that is his body.

  I swallow the last of my Whiskey and ignore the part of me that’s singing the he’s-out-of-your-league-so-forget-it song. As my ma would say ‘shy lads get nowt’ so I summon all my confidence and charm and walk up to him. I take a deep breath and say, “Excuse me for being so direct, but you look like you’d be the most amazing sub.” Then I hold my breath, and hope.

  He jolts. “A what?” but the way his eyes are shifting tells me he knows exactly what I mean.

  “A submissive.” I take the seat next to him. “It’s a BDSM term.”

  His cheeks flush. “Oh, I’m not into that.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Being tied up.” His cheeks flush.

  I smile. “So, you’ve tried it then?”

  “No. I don’t like the idea of being...restrained.” I study him closely, his words are dismissive but there’s fear in his eyes, and fear doesn’t exist without interest.

  “How about if you weren't actually restrained?”

  “Then it wouldn’t be BDSM… Would it?” Undisguised interest this time.

  “Well…” I smile. “I happen to own a pair of training cuffs.” He jolts again at the word ‘cuffs’. “They don’t lock,” I assure him, “so you could get out of them at any time…does that sound like something you'd maybe like to try?”

  “Oh,” he says, his eyes glued to the table. “I didn’t even know things like that existed.”

  Is he embarrassed, nervous, or just uncomfortable with the creepy scot insisting on tying him up? I’m beginning to suspect the latter. Trying to sound more confident than I feel, I continue, “It’s only natural to be nervous if it’s your first time as a sub, things like training cuffs exist to make it easier, you can try out being submissive without ever really making yourself vulnerable. It could be fun to see what it's like, huh?”

  “No thanks. It just sounds stupid to me.”

  Shit, I’m losing him. One last try. I think for a moment and then go fishing, “Is it just the cuffs you don’t like, or is it me?”

  “No. You’re an attractive man.” The blush is back, decorating the top of his cheeks.

  “So if I was into vanilla sex, you’d say yes and come home with me?”

  “No.”

  Intrigued I sit back in my chair, “I know I’m being rude…but do you mind if I ask why not?”

  I half expect him to tell me to get lost but after a pause he says, “because I don’t… you know… on the first date. Or the second. I have to know someone first.”

  Ah ha, he’s misunderstood me. “I didn’t mean for us to have sex, I just thought you might like to come over and try on the cuffs, see how they feel?”

  He frowns, “I don’t see the point.”

  “Of trying something new?” I’m pestering now but I just can’t let go.

  He looks sideways at me and says, “Look, I’m no good at this type of thing. I think you’d be better off with someone more adventurous like, well, anyone else in the world basically. I pretty much live for my work and just came here for a quiet drink is all.”

  A lively gay bar for a quiet drink? And his voice is tinged with pain…regret? Hmm.... The man is a puzzle, tangled up pieces that don’t make sense, like something out of a Christmas cracker. I watch him for a minute, his fingers are gripping his glass tightly, his shoulders tense, I long to reach over and massage the tension out of them. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m pressuring you, I don’t mean to but the fact is that I want you, not anyone else.” I wave my hand dismissively at the rest of the bar.

  His cheeks flush again, he’s gorgeous when he blushes. “I’m sorry, but I’m not what you’re looking for.”

  Oh I think you might be. In desperation I say, “OK, how about this; you're going to have another drink before you leave right?” He did last night.

  “Yes,” he nods.

  “Then come over and have that drink at my place and try on the cuffs. Stay for one hour max and keep all your clothes on. I promise I won’t ask you to do anything else or keep you longer than an hour but at least come and see what you might be missing out on?”

  He presses his lips together as he ponders, oh how I want to lean over and kiss them, he just doesn't seem to sense how amazing he is. I’m going to have to be so careful and so patient with him if he does say-

  “Yes.”

  It’s my turn to jolt.

  He nods. “One drink, then I need to go home.”

  My heart soars, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

  ***

  I follow the smart looking but not-very-new car owned by the man from the bar back to his house, realising half way over that I haven't even asked his name. Stupid, the whole thing’s stupid, not to mention dangerous. I know better than to go to strange men’s homes, I’ve never so much as taken a sweet from a stranger, so why am I trusting this guy? I’ve honestly no idea other than that his confidence and persistence separated him from others who I’ve brushed off easily. But now that I’m here I just want to run. In fact I would do, but he’s holding the door open for me and I’m going to look stupid if I bolt so I follow him inside.

  He takes my jacket and introduces himself as Duncan. I mumble my name but it’s hard to focus. His house is warm which feels welcoming until I start thinking that maybe it’s this way because he gets naked often. I look around the hallway, it’s all so neat and normal, so why is my heart racing? Because I’m having a panic attack, that’s why. Oh fucking shit not now. I try and repress it but of course that just makes it worse; I do know better than to try and hold back the tide, but I just can’t deal with this now. My head swims and I close my eyes.

  “Ashley, are you OK?” Duncan’s soft Scottish accent sharpens with alarm. “I’m sorry, I pushed you into this didn’t I? It was just that I…” His self-assurance is all gone now and I miss it. “I was lonely and you… You don’t look at all well, come and sit down a minute and then go home, OK? I’ll drive you if you don’t feel up
to it.”

  ‘Go home’ are the words I latch onto: I’m being rejected, why do I even try? I must look awful now, and the confidence that attracted me to him has vanished, he’s no magical prince charming, just a confused man who has no idea what’s wrong with me. Luckily, at least I do, “I’ll be fine,” I gasp. Breathing, concentrate on your breathing.

  He indicates for me to follow him into the lounge which I do. I sit on his sofa and drop my head into my hands, staring at his carpet while I focus on slowing my breathing. Oh, why does my fucking body have to let me down now? I hate it, truly hate it sometimes. After a few minutes my heart rate and breathing return to normal and I’ve no choice but to look past my embarrassment and up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey you don’t need to apologize, was that a panic attack or something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you get them often?”

  “No.” Not really.

  “I’m sorry, I’m being nosy.”

  You are.

  “Would you still like that drink or would you rather go home?”

  I’m being offered the choice? Surprised I say, “The drink please.” I’m still a bit too shaky to drive.

  He pours out a shot of a fine looking twelve-year-old single malt: I made the right choice there.

  I lift the glass and breathe it in before taking a sip.

  “You like?”

  “I do,” I say returning the glass to the table.

  “I thought you might, I don’t break that out for everyone.”

  Oh. The others.

  I think he caught my expression because he says, “Not that there are others, not in that sense. I don’t normally pick guys up, it’s my brother and I that like a drop of the good stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you sure you’re OK now? You still look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” It’s embarrassing to be reminded of my weakness. I take another sip of the wonderful drink to take my mind off it.

  Duncan is silent for a while. Then he says, “Is it OK if I show you the training cuffs? It’s just I’m not sure you believed me when I said such a thing existed.”

  “OK,” I nod. I believed him, I just couldn't see the point of cuffs that didn’t cuff.

  He disappears and I look round his room. It’s neat but lived in, with reassuring hints of clutter, a tangled cable peeks out of a drawer and a stack of business magazines are tucked in the corner. I wonder what he’d think of my subscription to Baking Bliss.

  When he reappears his face is flushed, perhaps he ran back, worried that I’d bolt if left on my own. I find his fear strangely charming.

  “Here they are,” he dangles the fake cuffs in front of me as he joins me on the sofa. I touch them, they look realistic from a distance but are made of plastic.

  “Let me demonstrate them for you.” He clips them onto his wrists and yanks his hands apart to show he’s being restrained by them, then he moves his hands inwards and pushes on the clips which open outwards, the cuffs slide off easily. “It’s as simple as that, there's no trick to them, would you like a try?”

  “Yes,” I surprise myself by reaching for them. I clip one wrist in first then release myself. I repeat the process a couple of times just to confirm it always does what he says it will, then I clip both wrists in. My heart rate picks up again as I stare at my restrained wrists. Don't be silly, they're not real.

  He asks, “How do you feel?”

  “Fine, I'm fine. Honestly.” I want them off of me. I manage a weak grin. “Just a little anxious is all. Stupid huh? I don’t know what I'd do if I ever got arrested. I mean not that I'd ever do anything wrong…”

  Luckily he interrupts my babble fest, “Have you ever fantasized about being arrested?”

  “No.” What I do fantasize about is armed robbers breaking in at work, but I’m not telling him that. The way it normally pans out is that I hide in a store cupboard but one of them finds me, he promises not to tell the others if I keep quiet while he does as he wishes with me. His hands are so soft and warm as he pins me down...

  Duncan is looking at me with a smile on his lips and in his eyes. My cheeks heat and I reach for my drink. It feels so strange to do such an everyday thing as lifting a glass to my mouth while wearing cuffs. I take my time over swallowing a draft and lower it carefully back down to the table. Now what do I do with my hands? I place them on my lap and look at them.

  “Try to relax Ashley, just take them off if you’re not a hundred percent happy.”

  “Just Ash is fine, and I'm OK, it’s just weird sitting on a guy’s sofa like this,” I tug my hands apart to demonstrate.

  His mouth twitches upwards. “How does it feel when you do that?”

  I pull my hands apart again and hold them there to feel the cuffs pressing into my wrists. A soft tingling runs up my spine, I don't know how to describe it so I just smile at him.

  He reaches over and holds one of my hands, running his thumb over the inside of my wrist. Wow, I had no idea the skin was so sensitive there. With both hands, he runs his fingers up and down both my forearms and I just sit there and watch, transfixed as such a previously mundane part of me is transformed. His thumbs brush my arm hairs upright before smoothing them back down, then his long fingers encircle my forearms. He presses both middle fingers into the underside of each of my arms and runs his hands from my wrists to my elbows and back down again in a soothing motion. I look up at him expecting he’ll want some sort of affection in return but he just leans forwards and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling back.

  His touch is so repetitive and calming that I lean back into the sofa, still watching my bound arms receive his attention. I’ve no desire to remove the cuffs now.

  After a few minutes, his hands still. He leans back into the sofa and wraps one arm around me, I settle against him.

  “I’m glad you’re finally relaxing.” He squeezes me.

  “Mmm hmm.” I’m getting sleepy now. It can’t hurt to rest my eyes for a moment….

  “Wake up,” Duncan shakes me gently and I jolt upright. “Our hour’s up.” He points to the clock.

  “Oh?” In confusion I struggle to my feet and he helps me into the hall. I thought you like this. Liked me?

  He passes me my jacket and in answer to my unvoiced question says, “It’s important we stick to your predefined limits, so that next time you’ll trust me right from the start, I will never do anything we haven't agreed to beforehand, do you understand that?”

  “I do.” One drink and one hour, was that all I allowed myself? It's not enough. I clutch my jacket, my fingers digging into the collar, “Can we make it two hour’s next time?” Stupid. That won’t be enough either.

  “Of course. And…well, I'd like to unbutton your shirt next time. If I may?”

  “Yes of course.” I can’t refuse such a reasonable request, especially when the thought makes my heart flutter, what will it feel like to have his hands wandering all over my torso? My cock is stirring so I make a move for the door before it can embarrass me with an erection.

  Then I realise I still have the plastic cuffs on. “Oh.” I unclip them and hand them back.

  He grins. “I’m glad you're becoming so comfortable with them already.”

  I wonder if I should ask where all this is leading, what he wants from me in the long term, but I decide the answer will only put me off getting my chest fondled so I just stand there stupidly in his kitchen.

  He places the cuffs on the table and tilts his head to one side. “Can you come back tomorrow? Or is that too soon?”

  “No, I’m free tomorrow evening,” I say as if I ever have plans.

  He smiles and points to the cuffs, “I’ll have these ready and waiting for you.”

  Before I can stop it, my mouth says, “Can I try real ones next time?”

  He beams, and he really is very handsome when he smiles. “Of course, but only if you feel ready, I need you to be comfortable and relaxed at all times, th
is doesn't work otherwise.”

  “I’ll try.” I will. I have to.

  Chapter Two

  The following evening I’m standing on Duncan’s doorstep, wondering if I should ring the doorbell or not. I’m not what he needs, I know that, and it will hurt to be rejected, I know that too. Duncan probably thinks I’m a shy closeted sub with a hidden but voracious sexual appetite. Unfortunately, the truth is I’m a socially awkward virgin, a virgin prone to random panic attacks and terrified of penetration. He’s going to become very bored very quickly, just like my first two boyfriends did. I’m setting myself up to get hurt, again, and I’ve had enough pain in my life to last a lifetime as it is. And yet…the skin on my chest is practically humming with a desire to be touched by him. My forearms still felt great this morning after last night, a buzz that didn’t fade until the early afternoon, and my body is hungry, starving, for more: I’m such a pathetic, contradicted mess.

  As my heart rate picks up I decide to turn away and deny myself a little joy rather than risk all that pain but then Duncan opens the door on me.

  He smiles kindly but I’ve started shaking, oh shit not again. He must think I’m like this all the time.

  He draws me into his home and pulls me into a hug. My human contact starved body shakes uncontrollably and I collapse against him. He rubs my back and for some reason I let out a sob. Embarrassing. I get my breathing under control quickly and pull away from him. “Sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m not normally such a drama queen.”

  “Please let yourself go when you're with me, I’d like to meet the real you, Ashley.”

  “This is the real me.”

  He smiles but I know he doesn't believe me; he’s still waiting for the sex mad slave to emerge, well the next ice age is going to be sooner.

  He leads me into the lounge and pours me another shot of that fine single malt. I settle into the sofa and look at the two pairs of handcuffs side by side on the coffee table, metal and plastic together, “Most people would put the magazines there,” I say, relieved to hear my voice sounding normal.