The Big Book of Submission (20 page)

The expansive wooden door opened behind me and in came Sir. He latched the door behind him. I swallowed.
His full mouth had spread to a thin-lipped smile and his massive shoulders filled out the suit he was wearing for the evening. He removed his dark-gray jacket, hanging it on a coat hanger. His shock of black hair had mussed slightly; I had an urge to run my fingers through it, but I knew better until we were at home.

“I shouldn't have to discipline you here, my pet, but it seems you are woefully trying my patience this evening.” He rolled up the light blue sleeves of his dress shirt as he approached, moving like a caged tiger. “Lift your dress above your ass and bend over the counter.”

A shiver of alarm sent electric pulses of desire through my lower body. My nipples tightened. I eased the dress over my hips and leaned forward, ass out. Sir undid the belt from his pants.

“All right, kitten. Four lashes for coming before you were instructed. You will count with me.”

I nodded, afraid to speak.

He lifted his arm and brought the belt down over my ass.

Whack!

“One.” My voice wobbled as I blinked back the prickle of tears caused by the stinging heat.

He raised his arm again, aiming for the other cheek.
Whack!

“Two. Thank you, Sir.” My eyes met his, before I noted the tenting in his trousers.

“Good. Now again.”

Whack! Whack!
The belt singed my already tender
flesh with fire. I yelped as the last two cracked against my asscheeks in rapid succession.

“Three!” I panted. “Four!”

“Good.” Sir placed the belt on the counter. I could hear the sound of a zipper as he moved in close behind me. As I watched him in the mirror, his eyes crackled with heat when they bored into mine. His cock sprang free and rested in the crack of my ass.

“Arin,” he breathed as he found my entrance and mercilessly shoved himself inside of me. Thrusting deep, he stopped, our eyes never breaking contact in the mirror as he held me in place.

“Harder,” I whispered, moaning as he teased me with his length. “Please, Sir. Fuck me.”

“Yes,” he hissed. His hands dug into my hips, the fabric of his suit pants rubbing against my sore ass. His hips bucked, our bodies meeting in a frenzy of need.

My breasts swung with each movement; his fingers grazed over them as he embedded his cock deep inside me and thrust with short, almost violent bursts. Moaning his need into my hair, he fucked me hard. His finger brushed my clit. “Come now.” My pussy spasmed around his cock as he filled me with his essence.

“Lovely,” Sir whispered as he withdrew, sliding my dress down over my hips. He put himself back together and smoothed his hair, a devilish smile on his face. “Well, how about some chocolate mousse cake to go?”

I grinned. “Yes, Sir. I couldn't think of anything better.”

ROOM WITH A VIEW

Rose de Fer

I
bought the binoculars for bird-watching. Honest. But the wildlife is scarce on this row of terraced houses, and I always forgot to pack them when I went walking. I thought they'd just sit in their box forever. Then the new neighbors moved in.

The previous tenants took the curtains with them when they went, leaving the inside of the upstairs flat opposite mine quite exposed. At first I simply enjoyed watching through the window as the couple moved in. They arranged furniture, put books on shelves, sorted clothes into dressers. Seeing the details of these little domestic chores was surprisingly intimate. Most of all I liked watching them assemble the fancy iron bedstead with its scrolled rails at the head and foot. The rest of their furniture was rather plain but the bed was a
showpiece. It was what finally made me grab the binoculars.

It sat in the center of the room, dominating the space like a stage. They made it up with satin sheets and a silk duvet all in red and black, topping it with a scattering of pillows. And when they were done they did what all loving couples do on their first night in their new home: they fucked.

At first I felt guilty, and I put the binoculars down. But even without them my eye was drawn back to the naked window and the nakedness I could see through it. The man was slightly older. Older than her and older than me. Handsome and athletic. I couldn't have appreciated that piercing gaze without the binoculars. It was little wonder his lovely wife had fallen under his spell.

So I sat in the dark by my window, my left arm propped on the sill, the binoculars pressed to my eyes and my right hand pressed to my sex. Afterward, of course, I put the binoculars away and promised myself I wouldn't spy on them again.

Promises, promises.

A week later they had unpacked completely but the window was still bare of curtains. I wondered if they had any idea just how much I could see. I should have done the neighborly thing and told them. Gone over with some tea and biscuits and a casual, “Oh, by the way, you do know I can see absolutely everything from
across the road, don't you?” But of course I didn't.

One evening they looked dressed for the opera—he in an elegant dinner suit and she in a lovely, clingy red satin gown. They never left the flat. They had a long, intense conversation in the bedroom and even without the binoculars I could tell there was a strange dynamic. Their body language intrigued me. She hung her head, clasping her hands nervously behind her back while he frowned down at her. Then she knelt on the floor before him. Heat surged through my body as she lifted her arms, offering him her wrists. He tied them with a little silk scarf and suddenly I understood the scrolled iron bed frame.

My sex pulsed as he led her, not to the bed, but to the door. He pushed her back against it and looped her bound wrists up over the coat hook. Her face was flushed as she arched her back and rolled her hips invitingly. Then he tore open her dress at the front, exposing her breasts. I gasped at the sudden violence, as if the exposure were my own. With firm hands he traced the swell of her bare breasts, each dusky pink nipple stiffening beneath his touch. I pressed my legs together as he held up the riding crop.

I could actually hear the muffled slap of each stinging stroke as he brought the little leather flap down, first on one breast, then the other. She yelped and tossed her head, her face flushed, her expression full of lust. I lost count at twenty.

When he was done he piled the pillows high on the
bed and fucked her ass. Nothing could have torn my eyes away.

After that I watched them every night.

Tonight it's a new game.

She stands before him in a pleated tartan miniskirt, a generous expanse of thigh on show between her black stockings and the hem of the skirt. Her tight white blouse is knotted together beneath her breasts, flaunting even more skin. He crosses his arms with frowning disapproval and shakes his head. I can guess what's coming next.

He seats himself on the side of the bed, facing the window. The authority in his expression makes me squirm. It makes her squirm too as she moves to his side and places herself across his lap. He strokes her back, running his hand down the curve of her spine, making her shudder. Then he lifts her skirt. Her girlish white knickers are a contrast with the rest of her sexy outfit, but he doesn't let her keep them. He peels them down over her cheeks, baring the peach of her bottom. She's trembling. So am I.

When he starts to spank her I slip my hand down inside my own knickers, not at all surprised by the wetness I find there. It's all I can do to hold the binoculars steady.

She kicks her long legs and struggles as his hand comes down again and again on her bare bottom. Even in profile I can see her pale skin blushing to a rosy pink,
then shading into red. The slaps ring out in the room but I'm not sure if I'm really hearing them or just imagining it. The binoculars make me feel as though I'm right there with them, nervously waiting my turn. I can almost feel a sympathetic sting in my own bottom.

When he is satisfied that she's been punished enough he lets her up and sits her on his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck, wriggling her bottom against his legs. No doubt she can feel the bulge growing in his trousers. After a moment she leans her head in and whispers something in his ear. She is smiling. He nods. Then he looks up, toward the window. Straight at me.

I jump and almost drop the binoculars. I'm completely in shadow, hidden from view. How is it possible…?

Quickly, I raise the binoculars again, convinced I'm imagining things. But no. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he meets my eyes through the magnified lenses. He points directly at me, emphasizing what I already know. They've always known I was watching. I blush to the roots of my hair, embarrassed, terrified, exhilarated. He crooks his finger, summoning me. I don't dare disobey.

FITTING ASSIGNMENT

Marie Rebelle

C
laire walked into the huge branch of a well-known lingerie store. She felt as if everyone in the shop was keeping an eye on her and knew the real reason for her visit to this store. An assignment. To calm her nerves and try to blend in, she wandered between the racks filled with lingerie, women's wear and other sexy things. She pretended to be interested in several items. When she walked to the back of the shop toward the fitting rooms, she had two dresses, two nightdresses and two sweaters to try on.

A friendly young woman took the items from her as she got to the counter at the entrance to the fitting rooms.

“You can take four items into the cubicle with you, miss,” the friendly woman said. Claire nodded.

“I'll bring the other two items once you're done trying these on,” the woman added. This remark increased Claire's nervousness. She did not want to be disturbed. She needed to be left alone. Claire did not care to try on those last two items—information she could not share with the fitting-room assistant.

She smiled at the woman just before the cubicle's curtain fell into place. The two black dresses and the sweaters hung on hooks inside the cubicle. Claire had no intention of seeing how they looked on her. Against the back wall was a narrow bench. She unzipped her bag and took out her smartphone. Claire rummaged through her bag to find the special cradle that she'd bought earlier. She put the cradle in the corner of the narrow bench, switched the phone on, entered her PIN and activated the camera function. The phone had two camera lenses, one each in the front and back. Claire activated the lens in the front. When she put the phone in the cradle, she saw herself—no, she saw her skirt.

With a nervous glance at the curtain, she double-checked that no one could see her from the other side. Claire pulled her skirt up as she looked back at the screen of the phone. Image by image, she appeared on the telephone screen: her stockings, the garter belt, her naked pussy. Claire had one more thing to check before she could continue with her task. She took a small step closer to the phone and put her left foot on the bench. Yes! The image on the screen was what she had in mind. The lighting in the cubicle was perfect. Light from the
ceiling reflected in the mirror and back at her. The image was without shadows. Every detail of the folds of her pussy was visible on the screen.

Claire took the phone from the cradle and changed it to
RECORD VIDEO
. When the phone was back in the cradle, she put her foot back up on the bench and started to stroke her pussy. His voice was inside her head:
Do it slow. The images must be clear. If the image is blurred, there will be consequences.
She pinched her outer labia, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger. The inside pink of her pussy appeared on the screen in the cradle as she pulled her labia.
Pinch those cunt lips. Pull them. Hard.
With her fingers spread, she pushed her pussy lips aside and watched as more of her wet pinkness appeared.
Spread your lips. Show me your lust.
The sexy images on the screen caused her nipples to harden in reaction.

It took every inch of her self-control to move her fingers over her clitoris at a slow pace. The intimate images made her horny. The adrenaline coursing through her body made her itch to move quicker. She spread her fingers once more, opening her lips, looking at the glistening of her soft flesh. Claire pushed her fingers into her wetness and smeared her fluids to her clitoris.
Push your fingers in deep.
Her clitoris ached under her fingers. Her body begged for more. She breathed harder. The assignment was clear:
You will masturbate in the fitting room and film your climax. I want proof that you have executed my orders.
As nervous as she was, she'd
thought it would take long to reach her climax. She'd been wrong. The familiar tingling of an orgasm building and her increased breathing told her different. Just a few seconds more…

“Are you succeeding in there, miss?” she heard the voice of the fitting-room assistant call out to her as she approached.

Damn! For the love of…! Why now? Why hadn't the woman waited just two more minutes?

“Um…” she faltered, “um, yes, everything is fine.” Her voice was husky with lust.

Her skirt had just dropped into place when the curtain opened. She took the clothes from the hook and gave them to the woman. The woman had questions in her eyes. Claire was sure that her body obscured the view on the telephone. The assistant looked surprised when Claire almost grabbed the two nightdresses from her hands.