To Obey Her

by Jillian Boyd

  I walk over to the bureau so I can retrieve the angora square I had knitted especially for him. In his fantasies, he comes with his cock lodged between Mrs Worthington’s angora-clad breasts, but there are some liberties I simply won’t allow.

  He takes it from me. Putting it to his nose, he breathes in the lingering aroma of Chanel. Hotwired to respond to the scent and feel of the wool, he lets out a tormented groan. This won’t take long.

  The angora square wrapped around his shaft, Timothy wanks himself with furious strokes, so fast his hand is practically a blur. He grunts and pants, his face a contorted grimace and the cords on his neck standing out.

  “That’s it, Timothy, come for me,” I say sweetly. “Come for Mrs Worthington.”

  He can’t ignore the command. Helpless, he chokes out a sob as his come gushes over the fine wool: creamy strings that mat the long strands of angora together. When it’s over, he sags to his knees, overcome with a strength of emotion even I can barely comprehend.

  “You’re all right, sweetie?” It’s the question Mrs Worthington would ask, but one I also need an answer to.

  Timothy nods. “Thank you,” he croaks.

  “You can get dressed now.” While he uses tissues to clean himself up, then begins to dress in his office drone outfit, I go to fetch him water. By the time I return, he looks thoroughly respectable once more.

  He takes the drink from me, swallowing most of the glass in a series of greedy gulps. “I won’t be able to see you for a couple of months,” he says, setting the glass on the table. “Amy and I are getting married in two weeks.”

  “Congratulations. Going anywhere nice on your honeymoon?”

  “Venice. We’ve both always wanted to visit the city.”

  “Very nice. Don’t forget to send me a postcard,” I quip. There’s no question that, once the first flush of wedded life has worn off, Timothy will be back. He’ll need his fix: the mixture of kind words, calculated cruelty and angora only I can provide.

  On the doorstep, he looks at me from under his fringe, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks for everything.”

  I think he’s about to hug me, but he seems to remember himself just in time. I watch him walk off in the direction of the Tube station, then shut the door. I have to get ready for my next client. David, my tame underwear slave. Meek and very obedient, he’s never happier than when he’s cleaning my worn panties with his tongue. And, after that scene with Timothy, I have an extra-juicy pair for him to launder. Who knows, I may even see if he’s up to the task of licking come from angora...

  The Writer’s Assistant

  Jim Lyon

  The ad on Craigslist was fairly nondescript - Live-in writer’s assistant needed - but it piqued my interest, because an opportunity to put my newly-minted journalism degree to good use and not have to pay rent sounded very attractive. Of course, even getting an interview was a long shot in Los Angeles, where it seemed that practically everyone who wasn’t an out-of-work actor was a wannabe writer. So I was pleasantly surprised when, the day after responding to the ad, I received an email requesting me to fill out and return an assessment, clearly designed to winnow the eager candidates to a manageable number. Miraculously, I made the first cut.

  I remember thinking that, as job interviews go, this one was somewhat unusual. For upwards of half an hour I had been chatting amicably with Linda in her home office, as if we were old friends getting together for a drink. Mostly at her direction, the conversation flitted from such things as current events and favourite Elmore Leonard novels to pet peeves and anecdotes about our parents’ idiosyncrasies. But not once was anything about the job mentioned.

  When the laughter died down from a story I shared about the attempts by my mother to hook me up with her friend’s recently divorced daughter, Linda switched gears slightly. She looked at me thoughtfully and said, “You do know, Paul, that you wouldn’t still be here talking to me if I didn’t think you could do this job, or that we will be compatible working together?”

  “I suppose I do, at that,” I replied. Indeed, I had begun to see our fluid interactions with an objective distance, and had become convinced that this was a pivotal moment in my life: that Linda and I would be linked in some way for a very long time. I couldn’t really explain why, but our apparent natural affinity for one another made that conclusion seem inevitable.

  “Well, then,” she continued, “now we need to determine whether you really want to be my live-in assistant. Since there are certain features of the position that are, shall we say, out of the ordinary, and could possibly put you off.”

  Intrigued, I listened to her carefully-worded preamble before asking playfully, “There’s nothing illegal or immoral involved, is there?”

  Linda shook her head, waving her hand in protest.

  “No, nothing like that. To begin with, I am the queen of erotica. I have written roughly fifty books, across every imaginable erotica genre, under a variety of pen names. So, part of your job will be researching and proofreading for three or four erotic novels a year.”

  I laughed at the last revelation.

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re actually going to pay me to help you write smut?” I asked.

  “High-quality smut,” she replied with a wink.

  Affecting a jocular tone, I responded, “I would expect no less. In answer to your implied question, yes. Despite it being shameful and onerous, I think I can steel myself to the task. I am prepared to help you churn out the best possible erotica you’re capable of writing.”

  She continued, smiling but sounding serious. “I hoped you would have that reaction. But there’s another issue that needs to be addressed. My personal sexual appetites are not exactly mainstream, as you might imagine with an erotica queen. I am a femdom aficionado and a practicing domme.”

  I processed what she’d said, a slight smile creeping onto my face. “Why should I care what sort of kinks you indulge in?”

  “Because the ideal assistant I’m looking for will also be my full-time bottom.”

  “Oh,” I managed, after several beats of silence.

  As I sat there pondering the implications of her statement, Linda reminded me of the assessment that I had completed, prior to being invited for the interview. She told me that it was similar to the type used by dating services, but with an extra component added to measure the degrees of yin-yang in a person’s sexuality. Apparently, in addition to having a high degree of compatibility to Linda’s overall sensibilities, it indicated that I had an elevated predisposition to sexual submission and masochism. Her final reveal was that gradually I would become immersed in a very intense submissive BDSM lifestyle that likely would alter my sexuality forever - a spectre that, to me, was equally enticing and frightening.

  I wasn’t shocked but I was rather caught off guard by the prospect of entering into a 24/7 D/s relationship. I had dabbled in femdom but so far had not had an opportunity to indulge in it full time. Linda studied me while I contemplated her proposal. My face is hard to read, yet she might have detected a little sparkle in my eyes, which definitely would have been an encouraging sign. Although I had been acutely aware of Linda’s considerable feminine charms and strong personality since arriving, given the purpose of my visit, I hadn’t entertained any ideas of becoming romantically or sexually involved with her. I closed my eyes and tried to picture us in a femdom relationship: the images that swam around in my head were breathtaking.

  “When do you want me to start?” I said, finally, at once exhilarated and terrified.

  With a radiant smile, she replied, “Unless you have other plans for the rest of the day, how about right now?”

  ***

  Explaining that, as her bottom, I was to remain naked while at home unless otherwise instructed, Linda eased my sports coat off from behind and then placed it on the back of a nearby
chair. Next, she came around to my front and deftly unbuttoned my shirt, revealing my torso. She stroked me gently, before instructing me to finish disrobing myself. It was clear that this simple command subtly signalled the transition to our new relationship.

  Silently, I leaned over to untie my shoelaces and remove my shoes. I experienced a heady mix of excitement and arousal - along with a slight tinge of sexual humiliation - as I peeled off my remaining garments, finally standing nude while Linda, fully dressed, eyed me appraisingly and grinned broadly. She appeared to be extremely pleased at the outcome of the interview, and eagerly looking forward to the fun that lay ahead.

  When I left home that morning, the last thing I imagined would happen was for me to become a willing, collared submissive to someone I had yet to even meet. So it was a pretty strange experience to have Linda lock a narrow, stainless steel collar around my neck and attach a leash to it, only a few hours later. But I felt a pleasurable wave of surrender wash over me as it happened, and my entire body was atwitter with anticipation.

  Initially, I was in a daze as Linda began leading me on a tour of the house and grounds. En route to the backyard, we passed through her living room, whose floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows offered a panoramic view of the San Fernando Valley. Stepping outside to the pool area, I felt completely exposed and vulnerable, as if I was on stage naked in a crowded auditorium.

  “Here are your living quarters,” Linda announced, cheerily, as we entered her well-appointed guest studio alongside the pool. The cottage was light and airy, with wraparound windows that allowed generous amounts of sunlight to splash onto the off-white wall-to-wall carpeting and stylish rattan furniture. The main room’s elegant ambience was enhanced by carved wood decorations and colourful watercolour paintings.

  I wandered around my new abode, pausing to sit at the computer desk to familiarize myself with the cluster of electronic equipment on it, before continuing on to inspect the king-size bed, walk-in closet and roomy full bathroom, which featured all the standard appliances plus a Jacuzzi and a double shower.

  “Well, this is certainly trading up from my current digs,” I remarked. “I can hardly wait to see the rest of The House That Erotica Built.”

  “My home does have some very nice amenities,” Linda agreed, “Not the least of which is total privacy.”

  We continued the grand tour, meandering through Linda’s den, dining room, kitchen and several spare bedrooms before arriving at the master suite. Linda’s boudoir was quite spacious and included a small alcove with a loveseat and several chairs positioned to face a jumbo plasma TV mounted on the opposing wall. At the far end of the bedroom proper was an oversized four-poster bed, with discreetly-placed rings attached to the base of each post to facilitate bondage play. To one side of the bed were a vast walk-in closet and an opulent en-suite bathroom, complete with every conceivable amenity.

  I had assumed that the tour was finished, but that proved to be incorrect when Linda opened a door on the other side of the bed and gestured for me to follow her.

  “Welcome to my lair,” she said, provocatively, as she turned on the lights to reveal a sizable playroom outfitted with an impressive selection of bondage and discipline accoutrements. Mirrored walls on all sides made the room seem much bigger than it actually was, adding an almost surreal quality to the space. Images of a forty-something athletic black woman leading a considerably younger, naked white guy by a leash stared at me from every direction. My imagination began conjuring scenarios featuring me in some form of bondage while Linda indulged a penchant for administering corporal punishment, all being reflected to infinity by the mirrored walls. I found the inevitability of those flights of fancy becoming a reality to be both thrilling and terrifying.

  “Considering that you are a relative newbie, we’ll save this room for another time. I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Linda told me. She then tugged my leash and led me back to the bedroom, where I was directed to lie on the bed, face up, spread-eagle fashion while she secured me to the bedposts with soft leather cuffs. Subsequently she stepped out of her sandals, climbed onto the bed and stood over her new writer’s assistant-cum-bottom, obviously enjoying the view of my naked and vulnerable body. Slowly and seductively, Linda began removing her clothes until at last she, too, was completely bare, her long black hair cascading over her mahogany shoulders and breasts, while her neatly-trimmed delta glistened with dew.

  Linda’s eyes were locked on mine as she dropped to her knees and lowered her pussy within inches of my face to tantalize me with the scent of her arousal. The pungent aroma from her sex caused me to lick my lips, reflexively, in anticipation of pleasuring my new mistress for the first time. Finally, she eased her moist pussy onto my mouth to initiate the rite-de-passage.

  Immediately, I began lapping from Linda’s font, and nuzzling my nose against her engorged clitoris. She sighed, contentedly, as pleasurable sensations radiated through her southern hemisphere in response to my attentions. As our lust ignited, the hunger grew more urgent and Linda began grinding herself on my face while I thrust my tongue deep inside her pink canal. Before long, I shifted my attentions to Linda’s clitoris, first nibbling it delicately, then sucking it energetically and passionately. The longer I concentrated on pleasuring her, the more her vocalizations escalated from sensual moans to guttural growls. Our progressively more frantic coupling ultimately triggered a climax that caused Linda to quiver violently and drench my face with her nectar.

  While Linda luxuriated in the afterglow of her orgasm, I soothed her pussy with delicate kisses and licks, unintentionally nearly bringing about a second climax. Her sensitivity slowly subsided, and eventually she extricated herself from my oral attentions in order to retrieve a face dildo and strap it in place on my head. I felt a sublime submissiveness envelope me as I watched Linda mount the dildo and slide down its shaft, her rear orifice resting at the base of my nose. Enthralled, I enthusiastically inhaled the intoxicating bouquet of fragrances emanating from her loins.

  Gradually Linda began riding up and down on the dildo, thoroughly enjoying the pleasure that it provided. As she picked up speed she began slapping my testicles and penis, with her open hand, on the down strokes, the blows becoming increasingly intense in proportion to the vigour of her activity on the dildo. Linda barely paused, after the first glorious orgasm arrived, before resuming her lustful ride to several more.

  “Welcome to my world, Paul,” Linda said while unbuckling the face dildo’s harness. “Even though you’ve probably never had a domme ride you like that before, I’m pretty sure you’ll develop a taste for it. I’ve been told by many subs that it’s an extremely intimate way to serve a mistress.”

  After the face dildo was removed, I savoured the residual flavour of Linda’s arousal and the throbbing in my bruised genitals, reflecting on what she had just said. It was indeed a wonderfully intimate experience, but it had been so much more than that. This exquisite descent into sexual submission was transformational. I knew without any question that there was no going back; I was on a one-way trip to life as a full-time bottom.

  ***

  On the following day, Linda handed me the first few pages of her latest manuscript, still warm from the laser printer. As I glanced at them, she said, “The format for this book will be a departure from my normal style, sort of artsy, if you will. I want it to parallel more or less what we’re doing right now: a story that chronicles the entrée of a fairly inexperienced sub - you - into mainstream BDSM life. What I have in mind is to write the action as I usually do, then have you read it and give me additional observations from your vantage point, which I can use to edit what I’ve written. Please read those pages over and give me your feedback.”

  After cogitating on her words I opined, “So it’s autobiographical fiction, but the reader doesn’t know it? A story within a story yet not really. An interesting concept.”

  Linda respo
nded, a little defensively, “I hope it doesn’t end up being too much high concept and not enough erotica. After fifty books, it’s hard not to be formulaic. You know what I mean; where a character is a dominant or submissive, blah blah, and in situation A, he/she does B. I’m trying to keep it fresh, for me as well as for my readers.”

  Trying to be helpful, I suggested, “Well, you won’t know unless you try. If it doesn’t work out like you want it to, you can always tweak it.”

  “My thinking exactly,” was her final comment on the matter.

  ***

  We were lounging sans clothing, waist-deep on the steps in the shallow end of the pool, the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon. I was becoming acclimatized to my new job and lifestyle, and ruminating on the text Linda had asked me to look over. Since I had been unaware that she was a prolific erotica writer until the previous afternoon, this was the first writing of hers that I had read.

  In actuality, I was favourably impressed. There was a nice flow to her prose and I liked that it was primarily written in the now, without a lot of tiresome back-story, almost like a movie. I appreciated that information about the characters was slowly introduced into the narrative rather than force-fed in large doses.

  My thoughts rose to the surface and prompted me to follow up on Linda’s earlier request. Breaking the companionable silence, I said, “I’ve been thinking about the stuff you wrote this morning. I think you covered it very well. If anything, you could add a hint of some of my physical characteristics, or my attraction to you. Like when you were standing over me on the bed - damn you looked hot! Even during the interview, I was trying to be professional, but there was an undercurrent of attraction that wouldn’t quit.”

  Linda smiled appreciatively before replying.

  “Those are good points. I’ll see what I can do on the rewrite. At the very least, I can touch on them in future scenes.”

  ***