“Damn!” he cursed, his ass crashing to the bed in self-defense.
Then he smiled.
My attraction roared, heart pounding, body flushing, palms sweating; I wanted to kiss him, to taste him, to have him inside me. We hadn’t talked about sex, only the foreplay of bondage and toys. I had to stop.
“Should you come?” I wondered.
“Please,” came his strangled response.
Lifting his hand, I kissed the palm, then wrapped his fingers around his cock.
“For me,” I instructed, and his hand began to move.
KIMONO
Tess Danesi
I‘ve always thought of myself, affectionately, as a slut. At least I did before the big, life-altering move from New York City to the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Somehow, small-town life won me over. Instead of enjoying my big-city ways, with my beloved rotation of always younger, always dominant partners, I now spend my time creating art, cooking, walking country roads, and gazing at the spectacular skies. It might not sound exciting, but it suits this stage of my life.
The art part is how I met Sam and, as the saying goes, “got my groove back.” Right around the holidays, I found myself trying to sell my creations at a local art fair. Amid all the beautiful art, I was struck by the collection of vintage kimonos just a table away from mine. Between sales, my eye kept wandering back to the silky fabrics. They tempted me with both muted and vibrant tones, lush floral patterns, scenarios of nature—and the irresistible, to my magpie self, glint of metallic threads. I vowed, if I made enough money, one would be mine before the night was done.
Sam, though, was a complete surprise. Since I’d traded men in custom suits for those clad in camo or overalls, the entrance of Sam was reason for, if not celebration, salivation. This dark-haired, dark-eyed miracle brought his six-foot-two, trim and toned, late-twenties self into view as he casually strolled into the fair and headed for the kimonos.
He seemed to know Swallow, the kimono vendor, as they engaged in animated conversation while he removed his leather jacket, revealing a snug-fitting simple white T-shirt that hinted at six-pack abs beneath. I must have been staring; after all, I hadn’t seen a man this fine since I left New York three years ago. And, of course, he caught me, no doubt wide-eyed and slack jawed, midstare. Surprisingly, he turned on that brilliant smile and I, remembering who I used to be, smiled right back.
I got busy with a customer, and when I was done he was gone. Sighing, I went over to Swallow and decided to console myself with the purchase of a kimono. I fell in love with one made of somber black fabric woven with gold thread on the outside and a colorful nature scene inside. While Swallow packed my purchase, I asked her, “Who was that young guy and wherever did he come from?”
“That’s Sam, and, yes, he’s something of an oddity around here. I know him from when he was younger and used to babysit my sons. Now, he models on and off.”
“It’s not often that you see a man have the confidence to wear a kimono, is it?” I queried.
“That’s for sure,” said Swallow. “In all the time I’ve been doing this, I think it’s the third one I’ve sold to a man for himself. And I’ve been doing this for years.”
I sighed again. “Oh well, a girl can dream, can’t she?”
Back at my booth, I promptly got busy again, remaining cognizant of the tingle that had begun to awaken my somewhat dormant sexuality.
The night drew to a close and I began packing up and carrying boxes to my car. As I made my way out the door, burdened with too many boxes to see over, I was startled by a deep voice saying, “Here, let me help with that.” Never being one to turn down an offer for help with manual labor, I quickly peered over the tops of the boxes to see Sam and allowed him to take them from my suddenly sweaty little hands. We made a few trips, Sam carrying the heavy stuff and me schlepping a bag or two while I watched his butt.
“Thanks so much for helping me, by the way. I’m Regan.”
“Nice to meet you, Regan. I’m Sam. And you’re very welcome.”
In the crisp, cold moonlit night, his smile illuminated his face, one so strong and chiseled and everything that made my panties wet.
“Did you buy a kimono, Sam? I noticed you trying them on. I bought one.” I started to ramble like I often do when sexual tension with a stranger makes itself known.
“In fact, I did,” replied Sam. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Come on; let’s take a walk. The grounds here are really beautiful, especially by the river. Grab your bag; I really do want to see your kimono.”
And just like that, I let him take the lead. We walked down the path lit only by the moon and the stars, until we got to a weeping willow tree by the water.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back until the tree stopped me. I think I nodded or mumbled; whatever I did it was clear I was in agreement. His lips were firm and demanding and when he took my bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, I knew we were kindred spirits. I groaned and pressed my pelvis into his leg, reveling in the sensation that had started in my clit and was now lighting even my toes on fire.
Still kissing me, his hands slid my coat off my shoulders. I heard it softly hit the frigid ground. He pulled off my top and my bra and slid off my skirt as I shivered.
“I’m freezing, Sam, I can’t…”
He cut me off with another kiss, then removed his own jacket and T-shirt and brought my kimono out of the bag and helped me into it. The silken fabric rubbed erotically against my already hardened nipples, making them that much more erect. Then he slipped off his pants and shrugged into his kimono.
“I fully intend to keep you very warm tonight, beautiful Regan, especially if you’re a good girl and do exactly as I say. Now, feel what you do to me,” he said, guiding my hand to his erection. His cock felt rigid, pulsing, so alive and hungry that I sighed audibly at the thought of it sliding into my cunt and filling me.
After he’d spread his discarded jacket on the ground between us, his words weren’t necessary to convey his next desire, but he spoke them anyway. “I want to feel your lips on my cock now, Regan. On your knees, pretty little bitch.”
I must have tried not to seem as eager as I felt or maybe my bratty sub-slut self was returning; whichever, I wanted the electricity created by his hands as he gripped my head by the roots of my long hair, guiding me to that perfect cock.
Lifting me up from my kneeling position, he pushed my breasts into the rough bark of the willow tree, his chest hard against my back as the wind fluttered the soft silken fabric of our kimonos. His hands found my wetness, pinching my clit to the point of painful pleasure, as his erection teased at my cunt.
Even before his cock entered me, I knew my life had once again changed for the best.
THE EUNUCH
Regina Kammer
Relinquishing his body in service to the king had not been his choice. Arashis tugged on the twisted silk that slid across his palms, the slick, soft cords wrapped around his wrists binding him to the carved and gilded ebony bedposts. Holding him securely.
No. Relinquishing his body in service to the king had been necessary for survival.
He relaxed his eyelids under the velvety lambskin blindfold, giving in to the quietude of the dark and the euphoria of anticipation.
Chaos had reigned after the legions of Rome had invaded Parthia. He had been but a boy, the third son of wealthy merchants. Expendable—an offering to the new client king.
Submission meant surrendering his body to royal butchers. They spared his manhood.
Arashis shuddered at the memory, his unbound legs squirming against the feather mattress.
Yet such submission and mutilation meant freedom. A freedom most did not enjoy.
Through the occupation, Arashis had made himself indispensable to the royal household. He walked the halls of power, administering counsel. He guarded the women’s domain where scarred men such as he and the prepubescent sons of
princesses were the only males allowed.
By the time Parthia had won back its independence, Arashis had achieved a measure of power.
What had he given up? Leading caravans along the Silk Route. Marriage to one in the merchant class. Children. His stones.
He filled his lungs with the sultry air and let out a sigh.
But what had a life of submission opened up to him?
Power in the throne room as an advisor to kings.
Power in the bedroom as the lover of a princess.
The pop and sputter of a candle signaled movement in the air. Someone had entered the bedchamber.
He chuckled. Not someone. Her. The princess. His princess.
Relinquishing his body in service to the king had not been his choice. But giving his body in service to the princess had been very much his choice.
The honeyed scent of burning wax mingled with the delicate fragrance of exotic floral perfume. She was watching him from the other side of the sheer draperies separating her bedchamber from her dressing room.
Her unmet gaze lay heavy and wanton across his flesh, prickling his nipples. She would be smiling at his nude body stretched against the fine linen sheets, at the effects of the magus’s elixir on his male potency.
She loved to observe him like this, his vulnerable state a reflection of her own helplessness. By outward appearances, his princess commanded a bevy of attendants and lesser royals. But at any moment, her maidservants could be sent away to the bed of a prince. Or a rival king could descend upon the palace and slaughter her children.
Her hold on her power was tenuous. And she clung to a memory of when she held sway over the world.
A balmy breeze from an open window danced over him. The freshness of spring was fading on the cusp of summer.
Rome had invaded when her father was king, her mother queen, she a young girl. She had hid in the tower as her family was seized by the Roman guard, and reemerged to an empty palace. She sat upon the throne, holding the seat for her father. For one glorious moment, this little princess had been Shah of the Parthian Empire.
The moment had been too brief.
She endured captivity in Rome for a dozen years, then was returned to Parthia and married to a neglectful prince. She performed her duty as wife and mother while her husband dallied with concubines.
Never once did the princess reclaim her moment of glory. Until she and Arashis became lovers.
As they explored the possibilities of lovemaking, she discovered she craved the heady experience of taking control, of dominating another.
He discovered he did not mind being dominated by her. In fact, he found it quite thrilling.
His submission to the princess brought them both great joy.
A flowery scent flared his nostrils, swirling arousal to the root of his cock. She had finally entered the bedchamber. She glided softly along the mosaic floor, tugging carelessly on the bedsheet, the soft linen suddenly abrasive under his flushed skin.
She grazed a fingernail down his arm, eliciting tingling shivers across his flesh. When she scratched the hollow under his shoulder, he flinched with a gasp.
“You will pleasure me.” Her command was edged with agitation.
“Yes, my queen.”
She always smiled when he called her that.
The mattress dipped as she clambered up to straddle his head, her calves at his ears. No hem fluttered around his face. His princess was nude.
He breathed her in, his mouth watering. He clenched his fists against the silk and swallowed.
She brushed her depilated quim over his nose down to his chin. Then she settled herself, his lips her throne.
He tasted slowly, tantalizing her with mouth and tongue, pleasuring her. Or was it himself he pleasured as he savored her?
He teased the pearl with the tip of his tongue, flicking gently, steadily.
She leaned over, her tremulous breaths hot and moist on the tip of his shaft. “More.”
She gripped his hips, her nails digging into the sides of his buttocks, her ragged moans limned with despair. Droplets of warm water slithered onto his legs, tickling his inner thighs.
Sweat?
No.
Tears.
He sucked her pearl into his mouth, working it relentlessly, cruelly, her calves squeezing his cheeks as her purring moans crumbled into clipped yelps.
She tensed, muscles taut and strained, and let out a mournful wail.
She came, drenching him with her sweet essence, until the acrid taste of male emission slid over his tongue, filling his mouth. And then he understood the source of her anguish.
Her husband had demanded her presence in his bed. She had no choice but to comply.
She slumped over, shaking, sobbing, rolling onto the mattress. She curled up against him. “Hold me.”
“Release me.”
She loosened the silk cords, relief easing his muscles as he bent and flexed his arms, then removed his blindfold and slid to his side.
The gold of lamplight and candles burnished the dusky ivory of her skin. He traced her luscious saffron-red lips with a fingertip, then tucked a strand of hair black as obsidian behind her ear.
She lowered her lashes. “I fear I did not act the queen tonight.”
Arashis offered a consoling smile and kissed her damp cheek. He pulled the sheet over them and enveloped her in his arms. He nuzzled his nose in her tresses, his unsatisfied erection prodding her cleft.
“I will always be here for you, my princess.”
Giving his body in service to the princess had granted Arashis more power and pleasure than any king could have bestowed.
GOOMBAY LOVER
Zodian Gray
I lit a cigarette and stood naked in front of the large windows of my luxurious bedroom on the fifth floor of the most expensive condo complex on the island. The sun was just creeping across the sky like a lazy bitch nursing a hangover.
I watched the spectacle of colors and forced my body to wait, prolonging the sweet agony of hunger for my baby in the other bedroom. All I had to do was walk across the hall, dick swinging like it didn’t have a care in the world. My baby had come to my little island in the sun for me to take care of him, like he usually did about once or twice a month when running his multi-billion-dollar portfolio of companies became too overwhelming.
I knew he’d had his shower, and had washed away the person he was to become the person he could be only with me. I wanted to rush over and tell him how much I loved and missed him. I wanted to kiss him and hold him like I would never let him go. But he didn’t want my tenderness or my love. He wanted—no, needed—me to fuck him like he was a whore in purgatory in need of repentance.
My dick twitched at the thought of that beautiful part of him, doing time in the little silver cage. He always waited for me in my music room, which was soundproof, so no one would hear him scream.
I walked into the adjoining bath and washed away the night’s funk from playing at the jazz club. My baby had come straight from the airport to the club to watch me perform. He’d watched me with hungry eyes; the rest of my audience had faded away and I’d sung only to him.
I heard my voice when I entered the room carrying a bottle of lube and the key to the cage. I’d recorded the songs just for him; nasty songs about fucking him deep and tender songs about loving him just as profoundly. The room vibrated with music. He had his back to the door, but I knew he sensed my presence when his head snapped up. I imagined his pale-blue eyes danced with excitement and his pale skin looked flushed. He had a beautiful ass and nice long legs. I loved him, not just because he afforded me a lifestyle where I spent my days making music with my band. I loved him because I knew he was more than the hard-nosed businessman everyone thought he was. I knew he’d had to take care of six younger brothers and sisters after his parents died. I knew his unrelenting drive to succeed came from his need to take care of the people he loved. But sometimes it became too much and he had to let go of that damn co
ntrol. I would do anything for him, including beat his ass until he went crazy.
“Hello, Carl,” I said, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. I just had to say his name.
As if he heard me, my Carl fell to his knees. I walked around in front of him and cupped my dick. Yes, when it was this big it had to be called dick, because cock was far too tame. Carl called it his Mandingo dick.
He lifted his head and took that dick into his mouth.
“Welcome home, baby,” I purred.
I grabbed Carl’s ponytail. Some people thought it obnoxious that a man in his forties should still have a ponytail but Carl kept it for one reason only. I wound his beautiful brown hair around my hand and shoved his mouth farther down my dick. I used that ponytail to dictate how fast he should suck. I liked it wet and slow, while he suffered silently.
“Yeah, it hurts to keep him confined, doesn’t it? Maybe if you’re a good boy and take your punishment, I’ll let him come out to play.”
Carl looked up at me with glazed eyes. He was so happy to have my dick in his mouth. He already looked better than he had last night. The stress lines looked softer in the morning light when his only thought was to please me.
I yanked his head away from my dick and threw him over my piano.
“You came to my room last night, after I told you you’d have to wait until morning.”
“I just wanted to see you, Reggie,” Carl confessed.
“Did you touch yourself?” I asked.
“No, you locked him away, remember?”
“Did you touch any other part of yourself?”
When he didn’t answer, I know that he had. He had been in an intense state of pleasure for hours now. Carl liked pushing himself to his limits, edging himself toward pleasure but never going over. And I was about to take him further.
“I have to punish you for your disobedience.”
“Yes, Sir.”
His voice trembled with excitement.
Big Book of Submission Volume 2 Page 20