Big Book of Submission Volume 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Kramer Bussel.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson St, Suite 3705, Jersey City, NJ 07302.

  Printed in the United States.

  Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

  Cover photograph: iStock

  Text design: Frank Wiedemann

  First Edition.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-222-7

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-223-4

  Contents

  Introduction: So Many Ways to Be Submissive

  Words

  The Assistant

  Switching Struggles

  Flagged for Revision

  Grocery Run

  Conference Call

  Listening to Her

  The Back Room at the Saloon

  Winter Games

  Private Message

  Metamorphoses

  Way of Life

  Symphony of Submission

  Twelve

  Around the Block

  The Old-Fashioned Way

  The Gift

  Bottega Louie

  Lashed

  What She Wanted

  Lightning Strike

  Imago

  Her Turn

  Making Him Mine

  Roped In

  One Word Leads to Another

  The Broken Dam

  Chased by the Wolf

  The Amazing Lucinda

  His

  Cari's Recital

  Beautiful

  My Girl, My Boy, My Enby

  A Jamaican Affair

  Playing with a Beast

  We Are Magic

  Room 253

  Oktoberfest Addiction

  This Time

  His Wife's Wonderful Cocks

  Good Girl

  Kintsukuroi

  Building Something New

  Plug Play

  Sidetracked

  My Gemini Twin

  Choker

  The Framework of Fantasy

  More

  Cinnamon

  1,000 Words

  The Sound of Silence

  Warning

  Power Surge

  Kimono

  The Eunuch

  Goombay Lover

  Dixie Cup

  Mum

  Twenty-Nine

  Sing

  A Testing Time

  Trading Places

  Viscera

  Apprendimento

  First Slap

  Continuing Education

  Becoming

  Submissive-in-Chief

  About the Editor

  INTRODUCTION: SO MANY WAYS TO BE SUBMISSIVE

  When I approached the process of editing sixty-nine more BDSM erotica stories for The Big Book of Submission, Volume 2, a small part of me wondered: How many ways are there to be submissive?

  I knew from personal experience and reading and editing lots of kinky sex stories that there were numerous approaches to submission, but still, this question lingered in my mind: Could this volume hold up to the hotness of the first?

  Well, I’m here to tell you that I learned a lot about the thrill subs get from taking orders, absorbing pain, giving service, playing with power, getting spanked, being bound, and so much more by editing this book. These authors, who hail from around the world, have unlocked the beauty of submission in so many of its forms.

  With an anthology of very short fiction (each story that follows is 1,200 words or less), writers have to do many things at once: take us into the minds of the characters, give context for the BDSM relationship, and turn readers on.

  You should know before you start reading that this book puts a premium on variety—there’s not one type of Dominant or one type of submissive in these pages. There are men, women, and nonbinary characters. There are 24/7 lifestyle couples and newcomers to kink. There are those who get off on being stuffed with two cocks at once, those who enjoy being given orders—some easy, some close to impossible—and those who simply want a respite from decision making. Some live for bondage, for being bound and “helpless,” while others put a premium on the rush of pain delivered by the person they trust the most to deliver it.

  Others like to live on the edge of public humiliation, of being “found out,” such as the protagonist of “Grocery Run,” in which Rose P. Lethe writes, “Jess did hide her face this time, covering it with her free hand while humiliation and—god help her—the stirrings of arousal poured over her like hot wax. Squeezing her thighs was how she liked to come.”

  In a more private but no less delicious form of being humiliated, the narrator of “Way of Life,” by Selena Kitt, experiences a “surge of shame,” the kind that for some submissives provides the ultimate arousal. They may protest that they don’t want the shame, but deep inside they know they do, know it turns them on like nothing else. Kitt writes, “I didn’t stop sucking as he reached into his shirt pocket but I did cry out when he attached a clamp to my throbbing nipples, first one, then the other. They bit into my flesh, a sharp sting that built to a slow, steady burn. He watched me writhe on the machine.” It’s the physical acts, the body’s reactions to that throb and sting, expertly combined with the reason she’s submitting in the first place. In other words, the mental aspect of submission and all it symbolizes is just as meaningful to her as the “punishments” he provides.

  Other stories take ritual acts and turn them into sexual wonderlands. In “ Twelve,” R. A. Buckley takes the act of counting and turns it into one that’s undeniably erotic as the narrator recounts a hard spanking. “He makes my body sing and react in ways that I never thought would be possible. I’ve orgasmed from His bare-handed spankings many times in the past, and other ways as well. It’s part of our dynamic and why I love Him so.”

  While there are numerous committed kinky couples here, there are also strangers who meet and instantly connect, finding their counterpart who will say those words that are music to their ears, that put them into a mind-set that makes them want to obey (or deliberately disobey, brat style). I welcome readers who’ve known for a long time about their kinks, as well as those who, like some of these characters, are exploring them for the first time.

  From rope to role-playing, exhibitionism and multiple partners, sex toys and spankings, and so much more, these characters meet their naughtiest fantasies head on, with some help from the Dominants who give them a push (or in some cases, a not-so-gentle shove) in the right direction. They highlight the symbiotic relationship between top and bottom, where one needs to control and the other thrives on surrendering.

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Atlantic City, New Jersey

  WORDS

  Jo Henny Wolf

  Words are enough to start a fire between her pelvic bones.

  She never dares to speak them out loud, but she thinks them over and over, and sometimes mouths them to herself. They lie on her tongue, soft as rosebuds, and fill her skull with their taste. Gerard has to know this. He smiles as if he does when he whispers into her ear before he leaves that morning.

  “I want you to write down exactly how you want me to fuck you tonight, darling.”

  For the rest of her day off, Audrey’s veins surge with heat. A constant flutter tugs at her loins. She presses her thighs together and rolls her hips when she sits
down to write, after a morning spent doing chores while her thoughts circled around this task. It’s the most important one, the one she dreaded and thirsted for at the same time. Her writing slants more than usual on the page, the words an almost unintelligible scribble. She isn’t forbidden to touch herself, and she longs to take the edge off, longs to quell the dread and want. She doesn’t. Audrey tasks herself to stay chaste and let the words do their wicked magic inside her.

  Her palms are damp, and the page crumples with the humidity of her skin. Maybe it’s cringing from the crudeness of her words. Her fingertips prickle as she takes a wooden ruler to underline the title: How I want you to fuck me.

  Audrey slides her fingertips along the edge of the ruler, feeling the little incisions that mark the distance. Centimeters, millimeters. A throb between her legs answers her imagination as she thinks of the ruler in use against her skin.

  She cannot look at her words once she’s done writing. The thought of reading them to her husband has her short of breath.

  Gerard kisses her temple when she opens the door for him that night. A fleeting touch of his lips against her skin, hardly a touch at all, and yet it sows anticipation inside her. Will he ask her to undo his shoes for him? Audrey waits with bated breath and pounding heart, longing to sink to her knees to pull at the laces of his smooth Oxfords.

  “Want to help me with the shoes?”

  Audrey wishes he wouldn’t ask. She wishes he would order and demand. As she kneels, pink tints her cheeks and her heart swells. She longs for more. When she pulls at the bow that ties his Oxfords, she wishes he would order her to bend low and pull the laces open with her mouth. She wishes he would let her kiss the tip of his shoe. Her mouth floods with saliva and her tongue turns heavy. She doesn’t dare to voice this longing that dwells between her ribs and chokes her.

  “Hungry?” she asks. Gerard takes her hand and helps her to her feet again.

  “For you, yes. Did you do what I asked of you?”

  Her cheeks grow even warmer. “Yes,” she whispers. For a word so little, it feels big in her mouth, like a cotton ball that tickles her palate and slips fuzzy tendrils down her throat.

  “Then read it to me.”

  Audrey’s hands tremble and she chokes on her shyness. Gerard leans against his desk and watches her, his gaze hot and heavy on her, caressing her inside and out as she sits before him, her back straight and not touching her chair. She wets her lips. Clears her throat.

  “How I want you to fuck me.” Her voice breaks around the last two words. They roll around in her mouth like pebbles.

  “Go on,” Gerard rasps when the pause stretches on. His own voice is hoarse. Its promise ripples through her and pools between her hips.

  “I want you to ask a list of me. ‘Write down what you want to be for me; write what you want me to make of you.’ I besmirch the page for you with the filthiest words I know.” Audrey has to lick her lips again. They’re parched. And how short of breath she is!

  “More. Read on.” There’s urgency in his voice now. He waits for her words like a starved beast in a cage. Audrey longs to open the door and let it out to devour her.

  “You make me bend over the desk; you order me to spread my legs apart; you lift my skirt and bare my panties. And you make me read my list. You wait, your wooden ruler in your hand. For every word I say, you slap my…crotch.”

  He notices the pause. “Is that what you wrote there? Be honest.”

  Audrey lowers her head, cheeks aflame. Her scribbles could say crotch, with a mighty portion of goodwill. “Cunt,” she whispers.

  “Ah.” Gerard curls his hands around the edge of his desk for a moment. The wooden ruler lies close to his hand, and he picks it up, turning it between his fingers.

  “Go on.”

  “For every crude word I say, you give me another slap, until all I feel is my cunt. My panties are soaked through, and I keep reading until I can take no more. I want to be your…”

  Oh, it’s hard. Her voice cracks.

  “My what?” Gerard asks, and Audrey groans in shame.

  “Your bitch. Your pussy. Slut. Come slut.” Her heart beats like a drum.

  Gerard doesn’t laugh. His gaze turns heavy lidded, lewd in a way that makes it hard to look at yet at the same time breathtaking and exciting. Her skin tingles.

  “Read on.”

  “At last, when I can’t keep going, you stop, and you pull down my panties and make me step out of them. I’m still bent over the desk, now exposed to you, and you drag your fingers through my dripping cunt. Then you pull at my shirt and expose my tits. You squeeze them, and pinch my nipples, and when I squirm and moan, you stuff my panties into my mouth and gag me.”

  She has to close her eyes for a long moment when she imagines this. She presses her thighs together and swallows heavily. Gerard’s knuckles are white, so hard is his grip around the ruler, and his pants bulge at the front. Audrey forces herself to look away and read on.

  “You grab my hair and fuck me from behind, bent over your desk, hard and merciless, until we both scream. And after you’ve come, you take my panties out of my mouth, make me kneel, then make me clean you with my mouth.”

  Audrey lets the page sink down and forces herself to look up. Her blood sings with want. Gerard bites his lip, extends his hand for her to take. Audrey’s knees are weak as he pulls her to her feet.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and his tone sends a shiver down her spine. “And now, bend over the desk.”

  With a needy groan swelling up in her throat, Audrey obeys.

  THE ASSISTANT

  Malin James

  You have ten minutes. Make me come.”

  Her tone is flat. Matter-of-fact. The man inclines his head.

  “Of course, Ms. Page. This way.”

  She sets the timer on her phone and puts it away as her assistant precedes her through the lobby. She is due to meet a client at the bistro next door, and it is, quite frankly, the last thing she wants to do. She is suffocating beneath good fortune and success, not that anyone can tell. Nor will she let it show. Only Sterling knows. Discreet, intelligent Sterling. She trusts Sterling to know.

  They move through the lobby to a set of adjacent halls. As they walk, he drops back to escort her. His deference is quiet but as real as the ground beneath her feet. She feels his hand at her back—close but not touching. Never touching. He never would. Not until she says.

  “Turn left here, Ms. Page.”

  Sterling rarely comes to the courts, but he moves them through the halls as if there’s a map in his head. She smiles, enjoying his competence. Competence is an intensely attractive trait.

  “Will this do, Ms. Page?”

  They’ve stopped at an alcove deep within the maze of halls. It’s quiet. Private. As private as one can expect.

  “Yes. This will do.”

  “May I, Ms. Page?”

  She nods, impassive.

  “Yes, Sterling. You may.”

  She turns and presses the tips of her fingers into the pale blue wall as he comes up behind her, shielding her from view. She checks her watch.

  “Now you have eight minutes.”

  He nods, but does not rush as he draws her skirt up over her hips with his lovely, long-fingered hands. She loves his hands, loves the way they look when he grasps his cock and when he makes her tea. They’re the distillation of him—sensitive, competent, and intensely discreet. She knows his hands will do precisely what she needs.

  He rests one on the swell of her hip as she leans back, pressing the length of her spine into the wall of his chest. His other hand reaches into the hollow of her thighs. Then he allows the fabric to drape back down over his wrist. She sighs, soothed by the hard-on pressed against her ass, while he strokes her through the panties she knew she shouldn’t have worn.

  “More.”

  He knows his role. He knows it well enough to know that this moment isn’t precious. She doesn’t want emotion and she doesn’t need roman
ce. Those are for other times. Right now, his function is to make her come.

  He nods and pushes the lace aside.

  Her hips rise to meet his fingers as they slip past the damp fabric and into the folds of her cunt. She’s plump and ready. Not in the mood for games.

  “Sterling, there’s no time.”

  “Yes, Ms. Page.”

  His hand withdraws but she doesn’t notice. She hears his belt and a zipper and then his cock is in her hard. Sterling is often hard. He knows she wants him that way.

  She moans, low and soft, as her body opens up, coating his cock with a well of arousal. His breathing hitches but he fills her. He hasn’t come in over a week. He struggles but he does it. He sinks himself into her, slow and deep, so she can feel every inch.

  “Don’t fucking come.”

  She knows she doesn’t have to say it. She knows what he’ll say.

  Of course, Ms. Page.

  “Of course, Ms. Page.”

  He reaches around again and touches her clit as she pushes back. Then he holds himself still so she can fuck herself on him.

  His touch is light. Just enough. He moves with her, as she rolls her hips. The orgasm swallows her, hard and gritty, as his knuckles turn white against the wall.

  “Feel better, Ms. Page?”

  His voice is husky in her ear. Her entire body feels clean as she slowly opens her eyes.

  “Yes. Much better, thanks.”

  Mindful of the time, he withdraws though she knows how hard it is for him. Then he gently replaces her panties and straightens out her skirt. After a moment’s hesitation, he presses his cheek to hers.

  Mallory knows that he wants to kiss her. The hard-on that he sports says he wants much, much more. But she knows he won’t ask. He would never ask. He is a very disciplined man. She strokes his cheek. An acknowledgment. Then she straightens and turns around.

  “Go home and wait for me, Sterling. I’m going to make this meeting short,” she says, allowing her lips to drift past his mouth, just a whisper from his skin. “And Sterling. I’m going to want your cock. Don’t come until I return.”

  “Yes, Ms. Page. Of course.”

  He smiles. She can practically taste the curve of his mouth as she slips her hand between them and squeezes his rigid shaft. “Excellent,” she murmurs. “Then I’ll see you very soon.”