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
Now 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 eage
rly, 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?”
“Yes, Ma’am. All I am is your fucktoy,” he answered.
She adjusted the hood over his face and head, then pulled him close to her mouth so there was no mistaking he could hear her through the hood. She spoke directly into his covered ear. “Fuck me, bitch, but no making your own mess.”
As he started fucking her, she knew he’d heard her. She reached around and grabbed his ass with both hands. A loud groan erupted from him, but he never stopped his momentum as he fucked his Mistress. His ass had to be sore from the punishment she’d administered earlier—and the plug. While he was thrusting, she reached up and started pinching and twisting his nipples. It was a very sensitive area for him and any sort of stimulation of his chest always caused his dick to become rock hard, a turn-on of his she’d discovered early in their relationship—and taken full advantage of every chance she could.
As soon as she came around him, she’d order him to stop fucking without letting him make his mess. She’d announce to him she was done with him and remove the hood and the plug from his ass. Then she would let him choose which strap-on cock she would fuck him with that night. She still wasn’t sure if she’d let him make his mess at all, even though he’d be begging for some kind of release. But whatever she decided, it was her choice and not his. He never had a choice. He never had a say in any part of their relationship. That wasn’t how their relationship worked. He was her submissive, her slave, her most beloved and owned boy. And on nights like these he was her personal fucktoy. She smiled and felt the first wave of her orgasm start to wash over her. It was good to be the domme.
CARAMEL
Kathleen Tudor
He’s wanted me since the first day he saw me, but I held him off. That’s the power of a submissive—she decides when and where and how to give herself over. The dom is in control, but only after she says he is. And even though I wanted him right back, I waited…
It was the dungeon’s kinky Christmas party, and even though there was no drinking on the premises, it was pretty clear that some people had spiked the eggnog before they’d shown up. Julia was on her hands and knees in the lounge and her Master was behind her, fucking her slowly with a candy cane and pausing every so often to give it a good lick. She was just asking for a yeast infection, if you ask me.
One of the party hosts was circulating with a challenge: name the reindeer in alphabetical order and win a prize. And he was taking on the challenge. Thomas. A big man, muscled all over, with arms like a superhero, and those tight leather pants showed something else at heroic proportions as well.
“Blitzen, Comet, Cupid…”
I set down my paper cup full of punch and moved behind him as he went through the list, breathing deeply enough to make my breasts swell over the top of my corset, even though the effect was wasted for the moment.
“…Prancer…”
I leaned forward until my breasts just brushed his back, and breathed, “Vixen.” The room seemed to stop, and even silly Julia choked back her exaggerated sounds of pleasure to see what we would do. I’d ruined the game and finished for him; would he win? Would he be angry? What would our esteemed host, Blaggard, do?
Thomas turned to glance over his shoulder at me, and his smile was sharp. “So you are,” he said. Then he turned back to Blaggard, and whatever was in his expression made our host grin.
“Well, since you two shared an answer, I guess you can share the prize. An hour’s reservation in the blue room. You can have it now if you want it.”
“We’ll take it. Come on, then, Vixen, if you’re brave enough…”
He held out his hand in invitation, waiting for me to give him the power. Mine still, until the moment my palm touched his. Then his hand closed over mine, his feral smile overwhelmed me and the room burst back into the sounds of several conversations, Julia’s breathy sighs and a few knowing chuckles as Thomas led me away.
The blue room. It was closed to regular dungeon guests, open by reservation only. There were real sheets on a real bed with a nice, heavy frame for bondage and a selection of toys and implements for borrowing. And there was the bag, which Thomas had stopped to grab from his locker, teasing me with its mystery. I didn’t have to wonder for long.
The bag was full of rope in a rainbow of colors and a variety of lengths. My skin flushed and my breath grew shallow as he guided me to the bed and positioned me how he wanted me. My skirt and panties were taken away. My corset and heels were left. Soft, intractable knots were formed, sealing me in place with ribbons of pink and green and white. I shivered as each one breathed over my skin, immobilizing me by degrees.
“I’ve wanted to tie you up like this for months,” he said, finishing the final knot and stepping back to admire me, trussed up on the bed, helpless before his desires.
“I know.”
“What will you say if you want me to stop?” he asked, moving around the bed. The formerly heroic bulge in his pants was absolutely titanic now. I shuddered and felt tingles growing between my legs; the man hadn’t even touched me yet, except to impersonally position me for the ropes.
My regular safeword was red, but it seemed so ordinary. Thomas deserved something special, something as sweet and heady as he was. “Caramel.” It reminded me of the color of his skin.
He smiled. “Caramel.” He drew the word out like he was tasting it, and my mouth watered. “All right, Vixen. You’ve been teasing me long enough. Tonight, as payment, I’m going to take your virginity.”
I laughed. “I’m not—” But my breath caught as he pressed one slender finger to the exposed pucker of my ass. Oh.
“Or you could say it…” Caramel. I wouldn’t. I’d offered him this power. I wasn’t ready to take it back.
He smiled at my silence and fetched an XL condom and lube from the bag of rope. I whimpered. What a first date!
/> But my mouth was watering again by the time he had peeled the leather away and slid the rubber on over that intimidating pole.
He didn’t kiss me, or tease me, or run a finger through the pool of liquid heat that was already dripping down my crack. He just smoothed some lube onto his cock, and used what was left to ease the entry of one thick finger. I moaned as he penetrated my virgin hole, and strained against my bonds, wanting to play back.
He didn’t finger-fuck me for long, though. I gasped when he shifted, bringing his cock in line with my tight bud. “Already?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“You could always make me stop.”
I moaned. He thrust. I screamed. It was like a lightning strike, sparking and painful and exciting, electrifying my entire body, tearing me in two. I gasped for air, and he laughed.
“That was only the tip. You ready to give up, Vixen?”
“Never!”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He rocked against me and I cried out with each thrust, feeling him sink into me, so huge, so deep, it was as if part of me must have been displaced. It was a desperate feeling—ecstatic and agonizing and even a little empowering. After all, I could make it stop whenever I wanted. I held the power.
Finally, he was rooted in me, so deep I could feel the tickle of his hairs against my ass. He thrust slowly at first, picking up speed as he began to reach for my pleasure, teasing his fingers across my clit as he took me.
I soared toward climax, but Thomas watched me closely, moving his fingers away every time I came too close. I was nearly weeping with frustration as he brought me to the edge again. “Say it. Say it and you can come.”
He plunged into my ass, and I clenched around him, taking my power back as I forced him over the edge with me, crying out as I did so, “Caramel!”
THE BULLDOG BREED
Lisette Ashton
Dani whistled in soft horror. The door was left open. Someone would pay.
The Big Book of Submission Page 11