The Big Book of Submission (18 page)

A further reality was that obeying him, even in something as embarrassing as this, turned her on. She could smell her own excitement wafting up to her already, could feel the slickness between her thighs, and a glance over at both men's trousers revealed that neither of them was unaffected either.

She slid her hand down her blouse and slipped it under the waistband of her skirt, which, she acknowledged, was a little ridiculous, since her legs were spread and anyone looking their way could see exactly what she was doing. But it gave her the illusion of invisibility.

Her pussy was indeed wet, her copious juices smearing her thighs. Her lips were swollen, and when she stroked her fingers across her clit she couldn't stop the gasp of pleasure.

Around them, the party continued; people drank and talked and pretended not to see her, but she caught their covert glances.

“Do it,” Van growled in her ear as she hesitated. “Make yourself come.”

Cara moaned, laid her head back and began to stroke herself in earnest.

Her fingers pumped, circled and rubbed the sensitive nub at her center as the orgasm began to build. She panted and closed her eyes, knowing that they were watching her—Frank and Van and the others. Embarrassment flooded her but she couldn't deny the tension, the tightness, the building, blinding ache between her legs. Her belly and cunt clenched as she fucked her
fingers into herself faster and faster, until the orgasm finally crashed over her and she turned her head in to Van's chest to stifle the scream that tore from her.

Moments later she lifted her eyes to see every head in the room turned her way.

She turned to look up at Frank, who smiled widely at her. “I could get to like giving orders,” Frank said. And she could definitely get used to following them.

WRITER'S BLOCK

Kitten Boheme

C
laire stared at her laptop, fingers drumming on the keyboard. As usual, she was the last patron left. The shop was closing soon and she was still no further in her writing than she'd been when she'd sat down.

“I need an idea,” she sighed, beating her forehead against the keyboard. She suffered a chronic case of writer's block. “Any idea…” Her computer typed gibberish each time she smashed her head into the keys. It wasn't productive, but it was more writing than she had done all day.

“How's it going?”

Claire whimpered.

“That good, huh?”

She looked up. It was Alex, the barista. She smiled sheepishly, always startled by how attractive he was.

“Anything I can help with?” Alex asked.

“Are you a creative genius who only moonlights as a barista?”

“Sorry.”

“Then just more coffee,” Claire sighed, holding out her empty mug.

“You need a distraction,” Alex suggested, returning with a full mug. “When you stub your toe you forget all about the pain in your hand.”

She looked at him quizzically, not really sure that stubbing her toe could help.

“Watch.” He took Claire's hand, laying it palm down on the table and holding the cup above it. Intrigued, Claire gasped as it poured over the back of her hand. She couldn't move from the table, instead riveted as she watched coffee pool around her fingertips. It wasn't hot enough to burn, only warm enough to make her skin blush. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed the momentary pain.

“You've forgotten your writer's block, haven't you?”

“I suppose.” She looked at her hand. “More?” Claire surprised herself with her eagerness.

“I'm closing up shop. Stay as long as you want, so long as you listen and do what I say. If you don't want this say, ‘Starbucks is better,' and walk out the door.” Alex grabbed her by the face, his thumb and forefinger straddling her chin, pulling her gaze up to his. “Understand?”

Claire nervously agreed.

Alex released her. “Good girl.” He slid a hand up the nape of her neck, grabbing a fistful of long hair as he pulled her out of her chair and up on her feet. “Let's go lock the door.”

Claire didn't move, unsure what he wanted from her.

“I don't repeat myself,” Alex growled. Taking his free hand and running it down her thigh, he delivered a sharp slap to the back of her knee. She lurched forward, her skin tingling, her knees weak. She walked, almost automatically.

“I'll show you how the door works.” Alex locked the door, giving it a push; it opened a crack. “It's locked from the outside. No one gets in, but you are free to go.”

Smiling, Claire flipped the sign on the door to
CLOSED
. The shop may have been closed, but she was open for something new.

“Good.” His breath was hot against her goose-pimpled flesh.

“Follow,” Alex ordered. She followed, surrendering to him. When they reached her table, she sat. “No!” Pulling her up by her hair, he swept the chair away deftly with his foot. “Bend over, and put
these
on the table,” he said, slapping her forearms.

Claire obeyed. She turned to watch Alex remove his apron. He put a hand on either side of her face, directing her gaze straight ahead; he positioned the makeshift blindfold over her eyes, tying it tight. Taking her hands, he guided her fingers to the home row of the keyboard.

“Write,” Alex said, grabbing the hem of Claire's skirt and flipping it up over her back. From under the blindfold, Claire tried to envision everything he was doing. She felt him take hold of her panty hose, pulling until they ripped from waistband to crotch.

“Type!” Alex gave her a sharp spank.

She began, writing furiously, revealing every thought and sensation—the stinging pain from his hard slaps; the way she could feel his eyes on her body, admiring her like a trophy. The more she typed, the wetter she got; she could feel her pussy dripping. She wanted to plead for his cock. She turned to look back at him. Her fingers slipped off the keyboard.

“Put your hands back.” The punishing slap was hard. Claire whimpered, scrambling to replace her fingers on the keys.

He was silent as he pulled away. She realized just how cold and vulnerable she was without his firm hands against her near-naked skin.

“Panties off.”

She hesitated. His hand was on the back of her head, closing around another fistful of hair, pulling her ear to his mouth. “You will do what I say or you will get out.”

Quickly removing the ruined panty hose, Clare shimmied out of her panties and presented them, craving his approval.

Alex took the wet panties from her hand. “Mouth open.”

She parted her lips, and he slipped her panties in, gagging her. Soon Alex's hand was on her back, forcing her back down over the keyboard, forearms on the table, fingers on the keys. She cleared her mind, ready to type.

His zipper rasped. Anticipating a hard cock bumping up against her, Claire moaned, the sound muffled by her gag. Alex thrust himself into her. She bit down hard on the panties, thrilled by the pain of his sudden entrance. She concentrated on his every motion, transcribing it moment by moment.

All too soon, Alex pulled the panties from her mouth. “Read.”

“
He entered me from behind, his hard cock filling me up. Each thrust methodical, his hands on my backside, spreading my cheeks apart for a better view as he slipped his cock all the way in and all the way out, enjoying complete control of my pussy. Another hard, stinging slap against my thigh, and my knees buckled. I righted myself, ready for him again. He gripped my hips and started to thrust harder and wilder. He stopped, commanding me to turn my head. I obediently turned. I could soon feel him standing next to me. He seized my face and pried my mouth open, slipping his cock in; I gagged as he pushed it deep into my throat, forcing me to swallow it. I struggled to keep my fingers on the keys, to keep typing. Grabbing my hair, he forced my head up and down, barely allowing me a breath between strokes. There was a hard crack against my face as he slapped
me; I was terrified and wanted more. He slapped again, his cock still working deep inside my throat. He held my face against him, his come hitting the back of my throat. Finished, he pushed me away. I swallowed, wishing I could see him.”

Claire stopped reading and waited.

Alex removed the blindfold. She could tell her makeup was smeared and runny, her hair tangled and knotted. Claire beamed at him, grateful she'd given him what he wanted.

“I've cured your writer's block,” he said.

Another wave of wetness hit as she looked at her screen. She watched as Alex disappeared into the back room. She selected the whole document and hit
DELETE
. The page went blank. She smiled, knowing she would be back tomorrow. With writer's block, of course.

HELP! MY WIFE'S A FORMER DOMINATRIX!

Angela R. Sargenti

N
ever marry a former dominatrix.

Unless you like to be beaten, of course, and then it's pretty fun.

Painful, but fun.

Usually.

This time, it wasn't so fun.

It was just a normal Sunday evening, where we cap off the weekend with my weekly punishment. My wife takes my discipline very seriously, and as usual, she made me take a shower and put on my pajamas.

After that, I had to meet her in the living room, where she let me watch TV until she was ready to spank me.

There she sat on the couch, quietly doing her needlepoint. Something seemed to be bothering her, since she was quieter than usual, and she made me sit there on the
floor with my teddy bear for a very long time.

Finally, she set her needlework aside and said the words I was dying to hear.

“Shut the TV off and come here, Dave.”

“But, Ma'am…”

“Now, young man. Or do you want to go to bed directly after your spanking?”

I shook my head and turned off the TV, and then I dragged myself over to stand beside her.

“Pants off, Dave. And I mean all the way off.”

“Even my undies?”

“Yes. Those, too.”

Well, this was something new. She normally starts my spankings over the top of them, and once I'm warmed up, she pulls them down for the real thing.

The most she's ever done before is make me take them down at the same time as my pants.

My heart pounded fiercely as I watched her spread a clean towel across her lap. When she glanced up at me again, her eyes bored into me.

I tried to hide behind my teddy bear, but she yanked it out of my hand and flung it to the floor.

“Go get me that hand lotion over there,” she ordered.

“What for, Ma'am?”

“Just never you mind. Go get it and get your ass down here before I really get mad.”

I obeyed her immediately, and once she had me over her lap, she let me have my bear back. I clutched it to my
chest and positioned myself with one hand on the floor, up on my tiptoes.

It's amazing how my wife's hands can be so hard and yet so soft at the same time. She sensually worked the lotion into my ass. It felt pretty nice having my butt massaged like that, but all of a sudden, she smacked me hard.

“Well, Dave. What've you been doing with your week? Anything special? Like ditching work and going to the ballgame with Bob?”

How the hell she found out about that, I'll never know, but I swallowed hard, wondering why my mouth was so dry.

“That's right, Dave. I know all about it. I know how you lied to me and let me think you were going to work, when all you did was call in sick and jeopardize your career. Didn't you?”

“Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry, Ma'am.”

“Yeah, I know, Dave. You're always sorry. But this time, sorry doesn't cut it. You
lied
to me, Dave. Do you know how much that hurts?”

And she
did
sound hurt, which almost made me want to cry myself.

“A lot?”

“That's right, Dave. It hurt a lot. And that's why I've decided
you
should hurt, too. A lot. Now shut up and hand me the bath brush.”

“Oh, Ma'am, not the bath brush. Please?”

“Let's go, Dave,” she told me. “I have things to do.”

So I obeyed and reached down for the bath brush, which lay on the floor in front of me. It's heavy and solid and one of the worst implements we own.

“Hmm,” she said.

I pictured her sitting there admiring it, turning it over and examining it from all angles. My calves were starting to ache, and I wished she'd get on with it.

“Very nice, Dave. I'm pleased with your obedience.”

“Thanks, Ma'am.”

For a moment, my wife remained silent, and then she placed the nice, cool wood upon my skin, rubbing it against my soon-to-be roasting ass.

“So tell me, Dave. How many runs did your team score?”