The Big Book of Submission (15 page)

Voices. They enter. A woman I don't know and Dashiell. The woman strides across the room, heels rapping on the boards, and stares at me as if I am an objet d'art. Only the faintest caress of breath lets me know she's inspecting my cunt. My hole opens as if to stare back at her. Moisture trickles. I worry I'm not pleasing her, not pleasing Dashiell. I want to weep. What if she finds fault?

She has covered shoes with towering, thin heels.
The patent leather shines. I try not to breathe and fog them. Her shapely legs are encased in dark smoke hose; a black dress skims beneath her knees. I'd only glimpsed her walking in; pale flesh, black hair, black dress, red lipstick.

“Of course.” Dashiell answers a question I have not heard. Muscles inside me tense, waiting. What has been asked? What must I do?

A crisp floral perfume weaves itself around me but before I can luxuriate in her scent, she strokes the inside of my thigh with her fingernail. Her gasp sucks air across my lips, so I know she's leaning, examining closely. My cunt clenches as I try not to squirm. The thick warmth of her breath brushes over my anus. She's staring intently at my hole. It pulls tight in protest. But a breeze blown hard on my clit has my body jerking, both holes relaxing and a wetness seeping through me. I shudder despite myself, losing the fight to remain still, to keep my reactions internal.

Footsteps patter across the room but they're background noise. I'm focused on my task. A
whoosh
and my attention is brought abruptly back. My cunt clenches just as the bamboo cane strikes across it, hard. I cry out. Pain, shock and a tiny fission of pleasure rip through me. My clit throbs. Nipples tighten. I bite back any other sound or reaction.
Oh dear lord.
Dashiell hasn't caned my open lips in so long. The sting pounds through my body, setting it on fire. My hole opens and closes, like my mouth wants to, weeping the tears I cannot.

A strong smell of candle wax comes to my attention just as a plop hits my anus. At first there's nothing; it lasts but a millisecond. Then the scalding burn forces the breath from me. A scream echoes in my head. A scream not just of pain but of pleasure, too. My clit throbs until I think it may burst. The pain vanishes as quickly as the wax dries. Only tension, in every tightly wound muscle of my body, remains.

“How exquisite.” The woman's voice is breathy and husky. The flick of her nail along my cunt lips almost has me twitching, but I stop myself. The nail—I imagine it long and gleaming red—picks the wax droplet from my anus. Spasms hit. Another mini-orgasm. I almost melt into the padded bench.

“She holds herself well, Dashiell.” The woman's voice softens as she walks away from me. I hear snatches of her conversation. “A credit to you…I'd like to show her…” I can't put the words together. My head is spinning with rapture, trying to fight not only the physical sensations she's elicited from me, but the mental ones, too. The sheer joy of knowing I've succeeded, knowing I'll be rewarded, knowing I've pleased, is more powerful than the cane, wax and tongue put together. I'm almost unconscious trying to fight the sweeping orgasm threatening me.

But I must wait.

Eyes scrunched in concentration, I count each breath until my body is under control. Under Dashiell's control.

UNANCHORED

Corrine Arundo

I
really want you, your sexy deviant mind slamming into mine and making me into more than and less than I am now.

Your last email, about what you think I am—Submissive Vixen you called me. Too headstrong to just submit like a good girl. Too wild at heart to simply control myself. You know me. You know that I need a strong hand. A strong man. I keep running through thoughts of you: your hands on me and your gravelly voice in my ear.

Tonight, I absentmindedly get myself ready for bed. Wearing faded old Bob Dylan T-shirt and Rainbow Brite panties, imagining your hands tracing the curve of my ass. Washing my face brings awareness of the cool rush of water across my skin, making me remember the feel of
ice melting on my cane-welted ass that last night before you left. Climbing into bed, I recall a thousand atrocities you visited on me there, at my insistence.

For the twenty-seventh night in a row now, I will get my vibrator out, buzz against my clit, building the tingling and the hurricane of sensation. Building up to the edge—then stopping because you aren't here and it doesn't feel as good without you. I miss you. And I'm mad at you. The tears come, not surprisingly, like they have for twenty-seven nights now. I am empty, wanting you to make me full again. I am aching and waiting. I am unanchored without you to pull me back to earth, back to where I belong, back under you. Missing you and missing my pleasure is too much. I can't do it. Not anymore.

I send you a short text message, knowing you won't respond:
It feels like cheating, but I can't wait anymore. I need to come. Sorry.

Somewhere, you'll get this message and probably laugh, knowing that I am melting without you. But tears won't stop me now. I shimmy my silly panties off and slip my fingers over my skin, into my wet and too-long-empty pussy. I'm slick with missing you, easily coating my fingers. Spreading my legs wide for the imagined you in my mind, I slide my fingers up to my clit and pinch and push and pulse.

I can feel you over me, dark eyes glowering down at my behavior.

“Such a bad girl.” Your voice echoes in my mind as
tears spill from the corners of my eyes, dripping cold into my ear.

“I can't help myself. I miss you so much.” I hesitate a moment.

“Well, if you're going to do this, do it right, bitch.” A chill runs through my skin at the thought of your harsh words, holding my brain back from thinking too hard.

“Show me how you like to fuck yourself. Show me how you delight your little cunt.” I love the words, like sharp pokes into my cerebral cortex, tricking me into forgetting everything else but this moment.

I spread my legs wider, opening myself for my phantom you. The moisture builds more for me, until my snatch feels like a bowl of warm pudding, all gooey goodness, almost liquid, warm and sweet.

“Not good enough. You need a little pain, don't you?” You know me so well. Of course, I need pain. I'd always come so much harder for you when you hurt me, too. I remember being tied tight, legs and arms stretched and you making me come over and over and over for hours, until I felt raw, in my pussy, in my throat, my brain, through my entire self.

“Nipple clamps, clothespins, ball gag, at a minimum. What else do you want?” I know that's what you'd say. I can't think of anything else, just the pain and pleasure and what you would want me to do for you.

I clip my clover clamps onto myself and hold the chain in my mouth, pushing it back when I work the ball gag between my teeth. Another rush of sweetness
as the chain pulls tight on my nipples, stretching them up toward my face. The clothespins were always your favorite. Three on each side of my pussy. That last time, you fucked me from behind while I had them on and when I'd get close to coming, you'd pause and squeeze down on one, or pull it off altogether. Your mind is so good for me.

Now, they press down on me, relentless and burning. My fingers trace down in between the clothespins, finding my wetness and my hardness surrounded by my softness, and stroke. Liquid flows down my asscheeks, so sticky and wonderful. I'm remembering your cock filling my throat, cutting off my air until my vision would haze. Your perfect piece in my ass, stroking and stretching, never enough lube that it was completely pain free. But that pain, that special sensation of almost being torn, would shoot right through to my clit, paralyzing me.

I close my eyes, and see your face in all those moments. All the times you bent me over your knee and punished my ass. The first time. I remember the first time, and my pleasure starts to stir more. We had been together for almost three years when we figured out that we'd stop fighting about sex so much if you just threw me down and made me take it. And the glimmer in your eye that first time, when I knew that I was either pushing you so far that it would end us, or you'd find the way to meet me there in the depths of my defiance and make me surrender. Remembering how you grabbed my throat and pulled me to you.

“Just one time, you are going to give me what I want and stop being such a fucking cunt about all this.” My shock hadn't even processed before you flipped me around and pushed me facedown onto the kitchen table, flipping up my Easter Sunday dress and tearing my panties off, just the slightest touch of your fingers on my pussy as your laugh echoed through the old apartment.

“You are completely soaked.” You laughed and speared your cock into me, no preamble. And that fuck—that fuck, when you planted your elbows in my back and pulled my hair, simultaneously pinning me down and arching me, pulling me backward.

Remembering that now, I feel my orgasm building, so close, so close. Twenty-seven days of frustration and misery lift off of me and I arch my head back again, pulling the clamps tight as I come. Screaming against the gag. Sobbing in the bed, missing you. Missing you. Missing you. And knowing that you're never coming back. Everyone has left now. The funeral is done. You are cremated. I'll spread your ashes when the snow melts. Your parents are back in Jersey. Mine are back in Ohio. Our friends don't know what to say to me now. I am utterly alone and I miss you, in every way.

FUCKTOY

Lady Lucretia

N
ow stay in that position and don't you move,” she instructed him in a firm voice. He nodded while looking up at her and gave some kind of garbled response. She wasn't sure what he said because of the ball gag in his mouth. No matter. There was a chance that even without the ball gag he wouldn't be forming coherent sentences. She'd just given him a punishment like he'd never had before—but he
did
have it coming. Rules were made for a reason, and if they weren't enforced, what was the point of having them?

She went through the bag and found the plug she was looking for, lubing it up before going back to where he waited on all fours. She noticed a puddle of drool on the hardwood floor. “Look at you drooling all over the floor,” she commented, knowing that her mentioning
it would make him feel even more humiliated than he already did. She made a mental note to make sure he cleaned the puddle up when she was finished with him.

“There you go,” she purred as she gently inserted the weighted silver plug into his ass. It took a little time to work it in since it was bigger than the one he was used to. He moaned and she had no doubt he was sore as he adjusted to the fully inserted plug. The shiny silver loop stuck out of his puckered hole. Both sides of his asscheeks were bright red from the wooden hairbrush she'd used on him as punishment earlier. Beautiful. She smiled and removed the ball gag, letting it fall to the floor into his spittle.

“I want you to keep that plug in your ass. If you feel like it's coming out, you let me know.” He nodded, still unable to speak. It didn't surprise her since she knew that while his body was present for the punishment he'd endured, his mind had gone to some other place. Climbing onto the bed, she motioned for him to come near her. “Get over here and eat my pussy.” Lying down, she watched him climb onto the bed at her feet. She opened her legs wide and he practically dove into her pussy, licking, sucking and eating her in the same submissive way he always used when he went down on her.

She pushed his head into her pussy and he drank her juices eagerly, making noises as he concentrated on his task. He moved his hand and inserted a finger into her. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she pulled his face away
from her. “Did I tell you I wanted you to finger-fuck me, bitch?” she demanded. “Did I?”

“No, no, Ma'am,” he stammered back. “I just thought you might like it.”

“I don't need you thinking for me. I tell you what I want you to do and you do it. I said eat my pussy. How hard is that? Follow my fucking directions.”

“Yes, Ma'am. I apologize,” he said before she shoved his head back in between her legs. He was so good at eating pussy. He would suck her clit and run his tongue along her pussy. She knew if she let him keep going she would come right in his mouth. But that wasn't what she wanted. Not this time.

“Stop and go get a condom out of the bag on the table. I want to use your cock to fuck,” she instructed him. He got up quickly and found a condom, putting it on fast so she wouldn't have to wait for him. He knew from past experience never to make Mistress wait. “Bring me the hood, too.” She noticed his slight hesitation before he went into the bag and pulled out the black hood. He was familiar with it, having worn it during other playtime sessions with her. The hood was made of shiny Lycra, with only a mouth hole. She knew wearing it cut off his sense of sight and caused him to lose his sense of self, making him feel like a thing.

He walked back to the bed holding the hood. “Once your cock is in me I'm going to put the hood on you and then I'm going to use you to get off.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he answered as he got back on the
bed and positioned himself over her. “May I enter you now, Mistress?”

“Yes, you may.” She couldn't help but moan a little when she felt his cock penetrate her. If she loved his eating her pussy, she loved his cock inside her even more. God had given him the gift of being fantastic at fucking. “I want this on you now,” she explained as she pulled the hood over his head. She adjusted it so the mouth hole was in the correct place, allowing him to breathe freely. “Right now, you're not you. You're not even a person anymore. All you are is my fucktoy. All I want is your cock to get me to come. Do you understand me, bitch?”