The Big Book of Submission (8 page)

“Are you sorry?” he asks me, as he brings his stinging assault on my bottom to a halt. I wish I could see my cheeks; they're hot and tender, and they must be stained a vivid crimson, but unless he permits me a visit to the ladies' room, I won't have the chance to admire them. And he won't be doing that, not yet; it would give me the perfect opportunity to sneakily relieve my maddening
need to come, and that only happens when my Master permits it.

So it'll be a sore, frustrated brat who follows her husband round the Pre-Raphaelites room, all too aware of the throbbing in her ass and the itching in her pussy. But it means the reward for taking my spanking without complaint will be all the sweeter when it finally comes.

George understands my needs so well, just as I do his, and that's why we complement each other perfectly. When I finally get to come, with his cock buried deep in my ass, it will be with a silent thank-you to whoever decreed this willful, bratty submissive should find the man who really knows how to tame her—if only for a little while.

Next weekend, it's my turn to choose our Sunday outing. I think I'll suggest the science museum. I hate going there, and I'll never be able to still my bored fidgeting. George will need to do whatever it takes to see that I do. What fun we'll have…

THE THIRD PLUG

Nick Mamatas

T
he third plug wasn't the hardest, as you thought it would be. After two weeks of training, it slides in easily…almost. The first plug felt so big. Now, with Sir's palm warm on your ass, cool lube flowing like a snake down your bottom and the largest plug your man owns wedged tight inside you, you can't help but giggle, and giggle again at the swat you get for giggling.

“Put on some panties,” Sir says, his voice close and hollow in your ear. “Those lace boy shorts this time.” He usually likes thongs, but they tend to look a little ridiculous on a plugged rear. You wiggle your butt at him and stand up from over the bed. “Yes, Sir,” you say and try to saunter to the bureau to get dressed. The plug makes walking a bit hard, but you can feel it flaring out your hips, forcing you to move like a whore, the way the
heels Sir has you wear sometimes do.

“How do you feel, slut?” he asks.

“Is this it, Sir?” you ask as you slide on your panties. “It feels…big. It makes me want a cock in there, but—”

“Wait,” he says and you know the conversation is over. The schoolgirl skirt and camisole go on next, and then you're out for the day, just another couple, except that you have to very quietly ask permission to give him a kiss on the cheek or leave his presence. He keeps his hand on your ass as you walk around the mall and whenever you sit he slides his hand up your skirt to massage your thighs. You're distracted, squirming in your seat—but not by that. His words were what did that: “You tell me when you understand,” he said, after approving the way you put your hair up to show off the back of your neck. “Today, you tell me when you get it, slut.”
Get what?

You're in the food court at the mall, drinking almost comically oversized sodas. Sir's picking at some awful glop he calls “automatic curry.” It's so strange—you never go to the mall. Neither does he, ever. He had even printed out directions, which you'd spotted on his bureau when he took the belt to your ass for being five minutes late to his home. Sure, you call him “Sir” and sometimes, when your sweaty back is on wrinkled sheets and you catch a glimpse of gray chest hair, come out with “Daddy”—but he doesn't shop at the mall. You're pretty sure most of the furniture in his apartment came right from the curb, or was there when he moved in. At
least he lives by himself, and off-campus, so you put up with the socks—hell, one time you found a sock, along with half an onion and a jar of mayonnaise, and nothing else, in his fridge—for your get-togethers.

Your mind wanders, and really, so does his. He's not looking very dom-like at the moment, eating as he is with a plastic fork out of a Styrofoam clamshell, just like everyone else. You're still feeling somewhat hot—you like showing off your cleavage, though you worry that the flesh over your thighs is forming a visible roll, and your shoulders feel a little fat, too. You wish he'd look up at you. You squirm in the plastic bum-mold of your own chair and slurp from your straw, feel the plug between your thick cheeks and a bit of wet comes back to your thighs. You wish you could run off to the restroom to finger yourself, but dare not ask Sir for permission.

He sees you squirming and looks up. “Do you get it yet?” he asks, with the air of boredom that you always read as a challenge. You fail this time though; you don't get it, whatever
it
may be. You blush and lower your eyes and wonder if he'll let you come tonight.

He takes you onto the T headed back to Harvard Square, where everyone is silent and resting their chins on their chests. You keep your legs open, just a touch, just enough to let every man in the carriage know that you are a whore who is ready to be fucked at any time, throughout the whole ride. Nobody notices, or if they do, there are no leers from the men or scowls from the dowdy old women in their industrial pantsuits.

Sir leans in close and commands you: “Watch them sit. Watch them stand.”

Out of the T and back on the street, you feel a bit more cheery. Sir lets you hold his hand for a bit, and after you ask properly, lets you kiss him on the cheek and on the side of his neck. He's standing tall, a dom again, his hand sliding up your arm and cupping your breast while a few of the kids sitting in the pit by the T entrance hoot at you. You watch them closely, making eye contact and smiling, encouraging and inviting them, all for Sir. One drops his monkey-like glare for a second, shocked, and you march on proudly, even as the plug in your ass starts to chafe at the skin.

At the pub, Sir wants a drink and has you pay for it with the notes in your cleavage. He's leaning back, arms draped over the top edge of the booth, enjoying the sharp intake of breath and the stilted “Right!” that the waitress barks as she takes your money. He watches her walk back to the bar, and you stare at her flat bum as well. Then you notice something about the way she moves. About how everyone, men and women both, sit in their stools or lean over the trivia machines. You remember the T; the passengers weren't frowning, they were…satisfied.

Sir sips his beer. “Get it yet, slut?”

“I do, Sir,” you say, not caring who might hear you call him Sir.

“Oh yeah? What do you get?”

“I can't stop thinking about it,” you tell him. “Whenever
I see someone sitting down a little tenderly, or working behind a counter, or walking slowly, I…”

“Go on.”

“I just think of them all wearing plugs. Everyone's a dirty little whore wearing an ass plug for his or her Master. The whole town is sex.” You lick your lips at the thought of how wonderfully hard you're going to get fucked tonight.

Sir squirms in his seat, almost a little uncomfortable.

OTHERS

Jade A. Waters

O
n her thirty-fifth birthday, Carley found herself ass-up in the Kink Club.

Jeremy took her here for any big celebration—her birthday or his, a promotion and even the time they made it safely through a pregnancy scare. He was a masterful lover, and though she would love him til death did them part, sometimes things just needed a little extra kick.

At the Kink, Jeremy became a different man. He wasn't her tender, lovemaking husband; here he was a passionate commander. Carley always followed his instructions, losing herself in the orders to touch him, suck him or even spread her lips wide as he fucked her senseless in front of the other attendees. And of course there was the time on his birthday three months ago, when he chose another woman and told Carley if she
had any hope of him sticking his cock deep inside her, she better make out with that woman.

And she had.

So before Jeremy had left her here—tenderly caressing her cheek, then slamming his hand against her bottom to demand that she bend until her skirt crept high over her ass and the cold air tickled her damp, hot cunt—she thought the next natural step would be for him to ask her to
really
play with a woman. And while she wasn't much into girls, the way Jeremy would pump her for hours after made compliance an easy option.

But now she waited, wanting to scream in embarrassment and longing, unable to see much at this angle except the legs of couples who stopped to stare, some of them silent, others whispering as her legs quaked beneath her. They wouldn't dare touch her, but as the minutes passed slowly by—an eternity with her nakedness exposed—her sex pulsed for them to do just that. When Jeremy returned, Carley was well on the path to an orgasm built solely out of desperation.

“That's my girl,” he whispered. She could feel him staring over her in approval, and she wanted to taste him, feel him—anything to ease her maddening excitement. He thrust one finger into her but drew it out as fast as it had come. “You're already drenched, I see. I love how much you adore an audience. Do you want to feel my touch again?”

“Yes, please.” Carley could see between her legs that more people had gathered to watch her lover's movements.
She clenched her inner walls tight, aching to know what he plotted, trembling with their eyes on her. “Please, Master.”

“In front of you is a surprise, my love. If you treat it as well as you treat me, you will feel me again. Keep your body low and lift only your head—then suck.”

Carley quivered at his words, and she raised her head as ordered, expecting to find a naked woman in front of her.

Instead, she found the largest cock she'd ever seen, an uncut rod whose owner waggled it back and forth, nearly brushing himself against her lips. Carley started to lift her head, but Jeremy clapped his hand over her bottom so hard the viewers gasped.

“No.”

She whimpered and stared at the cock, its length sheathed in a purple condom and making her blood spike hotter. She'd told Jeremy she had a fantasy of two men at once, but this…

He rubbed her ass again. “I want to see you suck him, Carley. I want you to come while everyone here watches you swallow another man.” He leaned close to her ear, sliding his hand over her wetness. “You have an audience of at least twenty. Now keep your hands on your knees and
blow him.
”

The stranger groaned.

Carley lifted her lips to the anonymous shaft. It was beautiful—one she would have admired anyway—but to have Jeremy order her to do it made her feel like a
slave. She wanted so badly to despise the feeling, but as he dipped his fingers inside her dripping cunt, she cried with longing.

She drew the man into her mouth, letting her lips rub every inch of his tremendous length, until he reached the back of her throat. There were more inches to go, and her eyes watered as she tried to take him farther without using her hands.

“Oh yes,” he said. Carley reared back to swallow him again, and Jeremy snapped his hand on her in another smack. This one made contact with her pussy, sending the sweet cupping sound of dry flesh against wetness around the room.

“Fuck him with your throat. Make him come like you do me, and I will shove myself inside of you as a reward. Do you want that, love?”

She moaned, her pussy so wet she knew she must be dribbling over his fingers. Jeremy spanked her and caressed her as she ran her lips along the cock's ridge, and the man wrapped his hands around her head.

“Yes. She loves that. She's so wet, please continue.”

He began to pump Carley's throat, making her excitement build. She loved pleasing Jeremy this way, and as the man thrust against her mouth, she countered with a hum that drove him faster. He grunted, tangling his fingers in her hair and fucking her throat. Waves of pleasure began to course through her. She ached to grab him, to use both her hands and mouth to enjoy him more thoroughly, but to do so might stop Jeremy's touch.

“You are so good, sucking this man down!”

“I'm…I'm going to come,” the man growled, and Carley heard in his words that he was gritting his teeth, could feel him convulse along her tongue. She arched against Jeremy's hand and slammed her mouth over the stranger.

From behind her, Jeremy said, “Excellent. Carley, you've been so good, it's your turn.”

In an instant, he rubbed the head of his rod along her sopping lips. She cried out against the cock in her mouth, and Jeremy slid right inside, burying himself deep. A tear slipped from her eye as the stranger rocked, then bucked hard with a grunt that told her he'd come. And once he did, pulling himself out of her mouth and away with a sigh, the pleasure rolled through her harder than ever before. Jeremy drove himself all the way into her.

“Yes, my love,” he moaned. “Come!”

A wail poured from her lips and clapping sounded behind them. The wave swept over her, spreading tingles through her limbs while Jeremy lost himself in the contractions of her pussy. He came with her, grabbing her breasts and folding over her back with a breathy grunt. For several minutes they panted like this, the others in the room cheering, some shrieking their own satiated moans.

Jeremy withdrew his withered shaft, then told Carley to stand. He rubbed his fingers on her tender inner lips while she squirmed. Her cheeks burned red with humiliation,
and though she still hadn't seen the owner of the cock she'd swallowed moments before, she felt the heat return.