The Big Book of Submission: 69 Kinky Tales

by Rachel Bussel

  She donned the black corset—marvelous choice—and thigh-high stockings held by threadlike garter belts sprouting from her crotch. The silk lace skivvies did their best to rein in the sweeping curves of her superbly bulbous backside, as her breasts swelled against the décolletage, overflowing the bodice with warm, supple flesh.

  She was sporting the brunette look tonight, which meant she’d made a pretty little bugger of one of her regulars from the Upper East Side. She tossed the wig, and her long, golden tresses cascaded over her shoulders as she approached.

  “You’re ready for me, precious?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she tested the latches securing my hands to the headboard, then the cuffs on my ankles. She tugged on the intricate riggings lobbed through the ceiling rafters, thus towing my legs up until I was spread obscenely for her pleasure.

  She read my mind, purring, “Oh, I am quite pleased, precious.”

  Now I was strung up just as I’d found her, months ago, during the raid. Strapped to a bed, wonderfully and completely opened wide, her mouth gagged, chest pulsating with excitement.

  Two men had stood over her then, in that room off the west corridor of the club, one wielding a riding crop, the other an enormous black dildo that was grazing her pussy. They froze even before I spoke, jaws dropped, yet the sight of me, the pistol in my hand leveled on their pricks, didn’t quite register. She, on the other hand, took it in with mild amusement.

  Poor saps—once they sorted it—wet themselves.

  I hadn’t been able to stop gawking, not for one second, even then—on the job. I’d circled the bed, breathless, soaking her in as her eyes followed my every move, never blinking, never shifting.

  At first, I didn’t realize Ramirez had stopped in the doorway behind me. “Sir, building is secure, we’ve seized business records, the manager’s in custody…” He trailed off, processing the vision in front of him. “My, my—Lieutenant, what’ve we here?”

  I holstered my weapon. “Take the trash out, Sergeant. Leave her.”

  Once handcuffed, the johns were led from the room, and I shut the door. Then I moved back to the bed, lowering myself beside her. There wasn’t a trace of fear anywhere in her expression. Even as I reached over her naked body to release the gag, she gave only a tiny scoff and chuckle.

  “Am I to be the spoils of war?”

  I don’t remember how long I sat there, wordlessly staring, as she did the same, gazing unwaveringly back at me. She was as exposed as any human being could possibly be, yet she retained the power at all times, sure as anything.

  “It’ll be your pleasure, Lieutenant.”

  She caught me off guard, I’ll admit, when she broke the silence. “How’s that?”

  “This type of work—is unsavory. Oh, I don’t much mind the illusion, but it’s just not my role to play, you understand. Still, a girl’s got to make a living.” She trained her eyes on me, all at once mocking and penetrating my soul. “It is rare in this town to find an honest-to-god pet worth a damn.”

  “I couldn’t afford you.”

  “Serve me in other ways.” She’d knitted her brows together, smiling, tongue slithering like a serpent. “Release me this instant. My precious.”

  I obeyed. Against all judgment, I’d felt that immediate, consuming urge to collapse on my knees in prayer, to worship and relinquish control before that blessed altar betwixt her thighs. I’d unlatched the binds posthaste, and watched, transfixed, as she dressed her luscious body in front of me, never bashful. Pure, unbridled confidence.

  Then I watched, helpless, as she flounced out of the room.

  To this day, I don’t know how she managed to exit the building undetected.

  I met with the local police shrink recommended by a friend on the force. The hack spent nearly the whole afternoon going over my service record, family history, childhood, my brief marriage. All a waste—if he’d had a kernel of merit he would’ve seen my “condition” right away for what it was.

  Not two weeks after the raid, she woke me in my flat for the first time. I’d never given her my address, but I suspect in her work, it pays to be resourceful.

  That night changed everything for me.

  The long and short of it: I’d never met a woman who could dominate me. That desire had never materialized, but the moment I laid eyes on her, a trigger was pulled. Hers was a raw, unmistakable energy. I was paralyzed by the knowledge that she could strip me of everything…and that I wanted that.

  Before her, my life had been a series of menial snapshots strung together like a cat-o’-nine-tails: wake, drink coffee, drive to work; evidence boxes, scene photographs, fingerprint analysis and blood reports; drive home, eat dinner and sleep. When she had me, really had me, she took that away—yet, inexplicably, gave my life purpose.

  After a decade of “protect and serve,” I was finally serving. Unconditionally.

  I didn’t notice the leather collar in her hand until she clasped it around my throat then took a step back, admiring her handiwork with a wicked grin. She pulled a two-tailed tawse—how perfectly old school—from beneath the mattress, and crawled on, drawing her exquisite legs on either side of my waist, nestling my cock between her thighs.

  Leaning forward, crushing her breasts against me, she hooked the belt behind my head to lift up my face. I parted my lips for a kiss, but she merely licked and bit, teasing my tongue until I was positively frantic. As if from a far distance, I heard my own pleas. Whimpering! The anticipation always got to me. She knew that, and relished it, I’m certain, more than anything else.

  With a mere roll of her hips, she had me, now fully engorged, flush against her cunt, slavering on our fusing honey. As soon as my cock brushed the slippery nub peeping through the curtains of her sex, she let out a gasp—that particular sort of gasp, stretching out like a dozen whispers, that turns a man’s brain to shit.

  “Are you ready to serve?” she said, already scaling my body.

  Moments before she covered my mouth with her pussy, I managed, fighting for each wisp of air, to promise her what she demanded—full obedience.

  MINE

  Roxanna Cross

  You have been a very naughty slut today. Don’t deny it. I saw you after the board meeting. With Jason. Did you like it when he hugged you? Squeezed that sweet little ass of yours? Dragged you over the bulge in his suit trousers? Tell me slut, did your pussy get wet?”

  I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t breathe. With each of his savage accusations his cock pounded inside of me with almost violent force. I moaned deep in my throat.

  Colt’s fingers tightened around my ponytail, sending shards of wicked pain straight to my skull and dancing along my nape and spine.

  “Answer me, slut,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, I liked it. Yes, my pussy dripped,” I breathed between heavy moans.

  He pushed my torso hard against the glass separating his plush office from the boardroom we had exited moments before. My already hard nipples extended and beaded even more at the cool touch.

  “You like being on display like this, don’t you? Your perky nipples begging to be sucked. Your swollen clit rubbing against the glass. It thrills you beyond words, doesn’t it?”

  Colt’s words heated a fire deep inside of me. He knew me so well—how I needed to be possessed, how I craved being watched while I come, how I liked to be called a naughty dirty slut, how I loved the feel of his nine-inch cock filling me until I thought he would rip me in two.

  He never disappointed me.

  Ours may not be the usual Dominant/submissive relationship, but he understands my need to be taken, claimed and branded, and I understand his need to control me with his cock, his touch—at times soft and tender, or, like now, hard and cruel.

  He never ceases to amaze me. He responds to my needs thoroughly, seeing to them one hundred percent. Even if I’m the one submitting to his control, I know I hold all the power. He’s proven it to me time after time by fulfilling any numb
er of my crazy fantasies, this one being the latest.

  I felt the orgasm build in my lower abdomen as he kept up the cruel rhythm of his punishing plunges.

  “Speak!” he commanded.

  “Yes, I love everything you said. My nipples are so hard they hurt. My clit is pulsing. You can tell better than me how hot and wet and tight my pussy is.”

  “And if Jason were to walk into the boardroom?”

  “I…I…” I closed my mouth, unwilling to express this part of my fantasy to him. What if I pushed too far? Revealed too much? Would he still want to possess me?

  “You’d rub that pussy of yours over that glass, beg him to come closer and lick you through the thin barrier. You’d grind your pussy on my cock and come in long trembling gushes.”

  Of course he knew. He always knew.

  “I should be angry with you for wanting another man to give you pleasure.” He slapped his open palm across my derrière. “But I’m not.” Another slap. “I love that you’re such a slut.” And another. “My slut.” His next slap reverberated all the way to my clit. “Mine,” he said savagely.

  His words got to me.

  His total possession of my body broke the dam. The orgasm I’d been holding at bay rocketed trough me.

  My breath came in ragged pulls.

  So did his.

  His cock moved in and out with primal need, force and speed.

  Colt’s fingers released my blue-black hair and dipped down my belly. They found my pulsing clit. Rolled it. Pinched it.

  “Mine!” he said again with one final, urging thrust.

  I cried in ecstasy as another wave of rolling bliss crashed over me.

  He grunted through gritted teeth.

  Both of us panted and trembled as our juices filled my pussy to the point of overflowing.

  “You. Are. My. Slut.” He whispered each word distinctly as he pulled out of my hot wet confines and zipped up.

  Not given the permission to move and rearrange my clothing, I stayed plastered against the glass.

  Nipples hard.

  Pussy dripping.

  Almost as if on cue, Jason walked in the boardroom. I bit down on my bottom lip and watched in silence as he deliberately scanned the floor-to-ceiling glass wall like someone had told him he would find something there. His eyes bugged out of their sockets when they noticed me—by this reaction I assumed I’d been wrong, and he hadn’t been told what to expect. The slick juice still oozing from my pussy perfumed Colt’s office; even though I knew it was crazy I swore from the look on his face that Jason could smell it through the glass. When I would have backed away to cover myself, Colt’s words froze me in place. “Let him watch you.”

  I watched Jason walk back to the door. He turned the bolt, locking himself inside. He slowly made his way toward the glass, then lifted his finger and traced my shape.

  Never before had I been so aroused.

  The man of my latest fantasy was on his knees before me, adoring me. The man who for the past eleven months had had full control over my body, had fulfilled my every carnal need, no matter how slutty, stood behind me, devouring me.

  My pussy constricted around a phantom cock. My pulse raced in my chest.

  “Colt,” I begged.

  He chuckled in my ear. “This is what you wanted?” His sultry voice caressed every inch of my skin as his slacks-covered pelvis rocked into me.

  “Colt,” I begged again. “I need to feel you inside.”

  I heard his zipper being pulled down. His pants hit the floor with the clunk of his belt buckle. His hands gripped my hips, and he plunged deep inside my sopping wet heat.

  Jason’s tongue licked my clit through the glass. His fingers reached up to close over my cherry-sized nipples. The illicit movements from the other side of the thin barrier separating our flesh were hauntingly erotic.

  “Don’t forget. You. Are. Mine.” His cock fiercely possessed my pussy. His hands, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, were everywhere on me: my throat, my earlobes, my shoulders, my breasts, my belly, my waist, my hips, my clit, my thighs, my ass. No part of me was left untouched. Unclaimed.

  I forgot about Jason on the other side of the glass.

  I was Colt’s.

  His alone.

  To brand and dominate.

  SECOND DATE

  Alice Gauntley

  Do you own any strap-ons?” Jamie asks, her engineer boots playing footsie with my worn Chuck Taylors.

  I shake my head. “I’m more of a bottom. As I’m sure you know.” This is only our second date, but our first was at a play party, so I feel like the normal rules of propriety don’t really apply.

  “A bottom in the kink sense, sure,” says Jamie, her leather-clad heel pressing so hard on my toe all of a sudden that I almost let out a whimper in the middle of this hipster-student café. “But I didn’t see you complaining when I shoved your fingers into my cunt last weekend. I seem to remember you were very…enthusiastic about it. Or were you just being obedient?”

  Jamie takes a sip of her soy chai latte. I love that she likes such fancy coffee—love it the same way I love that last time I unbuttoned her 501s, I found a lacy thong barely covering a thick growth of pubic hair. Jamie has so many layers, and I’m already dreaming of uncovering them all.

  “How about you?” I ask, deflecting.

  “Of course,” she says, “and I’d like to strap one on you and tie you to my bed and ride you as long and hard as I want.”

  I feel my nipples stiffen under my T-shirt. No one’s ever suggested that to me before. My lips part, and I try to hide my growing arousal by taking a big gulp of searingly hot black coffee.

  Under the table, she reaches a hand up my skirt to pinch my thigh. “Would you like that, being my fucktoy, my slutty little piece of ass?” she asks, raising her own mug oh-so-casually to her lips. I mutely nod, parting my legs to give her better access.

  “God, I’ve been imagining that all day,” confesses Jamie. “You really want to?” For a minute I see through her bravado dominance to the horny girl underneath, nervous that her new date won’t be into her fantasies. Then I nod and smile, and she digs her nails into my leg and I lose myself once again in this world we like creating, where I give her power and she spins it into something terrible and glorious for us both.

  “Finish your coffee then,” she says, withdrawing her hand. Obediently, I drain my mug. She does the same.

  “My house is a block away from here,” ventures Jamie.

  “And you’d like to take me there and fuck me?”

  Jamie nods. I smile. “Lead the way.”

  Ten minutes later, Jamie has me pinned on her bed, her fingers in my hair, my clothes scattered around us. Her bed is the kind I’ve been circling in IKEA catalogs for the past five years: sturdy metal, it seems to be made entirely of tie-down points. She’s affixed leather cuffs to the four corners, and I wonder if she leaves them on all the time or if they’re especially for my benefit.

  Jamie’s hands roam over my breasts, twisting and pinching. I whimper. “You like that?” she asks. I can tell she really wants to know, worried, despite the beating she gave me last weekend, that I’m not actually into this stuff. At the party she reminded me of my safeword three times. She’s cute, this one. Very gentlemanly.

  “Fuck, yes, I like it when you hurt me,” I assure her. “I like seeing that look in your eyes when you—ah!” She slaps my tits, needing no further encouragement. I can feel my flesh growing red under her eager palms. I grind against her leg, and she pulls off her shirt and slams into me, hands taking temporary ownership of every inch of my body, mouth tight on my lips, legs clamped together over my thigh.

  I’m wondering if we’ll just end up making out, quick and dirty, when she abruptly pulls herself off me, opens a drawer in her bedside table and takes out a harness. She slips it up my legs and tightens the straps, securing a medium-sized purple dildo into place. I’ve never worn a cock before. I try to imagine having a dick, being so visibl
y aroused. It feels so much more vulnerable than the discreet wetness and fullness of my pussy, a whole different kind of bondage, of submission.

  Jamie is working on my wrists and ankles now, strapping me down so I’m spread-eagled on her mattress. She looks at me, her face gleeful. Her hands grab at my tits, and I strain against my bonds. She pinches my nipples so hard I cry out.

  “You really like that, eh, slut?” she asks, still gripping the hard buds firmly between her fingers.

  “Mmph, yes,” I manage to moan.

  “Then can I put these on those sweet tits of yours?” she asks, rummaging around in her magic drawer and holding up a pair of clamps connected by a chain.

  I nod eagerly, and she affixes them to my already sore nipples. She kisses me again, her tongue invading my mouth, then slips the chain between my lips. I clamp down without having to be told, sending a shock of pain to my breasts and a wave of pleasure to my cunt.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” Jamie informs me, and I moan as she pulls off her jeans. This time, her panties are plain and white, but they’re still incongruously femme. She pulls those off too, and I see that her pubic hair is matted with wetness.

  She slowly rolls a condom down over my cock, then squirts lube into her hand and milks me as though she’s giving me a hand job. I move my hips to meet her, but she takes her hand away and straddles me instead.

  I gasp at her solid weight. She begins to ride my cock, her movements fast and rough, a hand once more in my hair, the other rubbing her clit. I watch that hand, the way it dances with practiced fingers, and start thrusting back at her, wanting nothing but to help her get off, to let her use me just the way she promised she would.

  Her fingers in my hair are clenched so tightly I can feel tears coming to my eyes. She thrusts hard against my tender clit, and then, so soon, she’s coming, her face titled back, her mouth open in one long, wordless cry. I think she comes twice, or maybe her orgasm just keeps going and going, but finally she collapses onto me, panting and grinning.