Anything for You

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  The flesh jiggled a bit under the blow. God, that sensation would never grow old.

  She let out a surprised shriek. Then she sighed with pleasure as the sting softened into pleasure.

  “So yeah, the ‘Sir’ thing is playing a game. But a fun game. A hot game. It’s a way of saying you’re putting yourself into my hands for a little while, like the collar. Pretending you’re my slave or the damsel captured by the black knight or whatever.”

  She lifted her hair and let him fasten the collar. He wondered if she realized how she bowed her head as she did, or how beautiful she looked doing so.

  “I like the idea,” she whispered, “of putting myself into your hands for a while. I’ve always had a slave-girl fantasy.”

  His cock surged at the thought of Serena as his slave, under his command permanently. His cock didn’t have a firm grasp on reality, he figured—putting a permanent collar on someone on the first date would be about as smart as proposing on the first date—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the fantasy of owning this hot woman, as she would enjoy the fantasy of being owned.

  And damn, she looked good in that collar.

  He smacked her ass again. “Get moving before the power comes back on.”

  Two flights of stairs and they arrived. Jack used the key to open a stiff door and led Serena out onto the tiny roof deck. Serena must not have been able to see much in the darkness, but she looked around anyway, taking in what she could of small trees in big pots, planters full of flowers and vegetables, a clematis vine on a trellis. All the colors were faded to gray in the darkness, but maybe because of that, other senses seemed sharper. Scents of flowers, herbs and tomato plants hung thick in the air. They probably always did, but Jack rarely noticed them.

  “It’s beautiful,” Serena breathed. “I like the city like this, all dark and almost quiet, and glowing in the distance where they still have power. And something smells like a cherry pie. Heliotrope?”

  “Could be.” Jack shrugged. “Mr. Figueroa and Kate take care of it. I throw money in to the plant fund so I can take tomatoes and herbs. The grill”—he pointed as if she could actually see the small charcoal-burning Weber in the dark far corner—“is mine.”

  “You cook?”

  “I can’t always find slave girls to do it for me.”

  A second’s hesitation, and then Serena laughed. “And you haven’t found one this time, either. I’m a terrible cook.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘this time either, Sir?’” Jack gently touched the red collar still encircling her throat. “So forgetful—and so presumptuous.” He hoped his tone was conveying how completely and utterly not upset he was. That didn’t mean he might not punish her, or rather “punish” her with big air-quotes and a great deal of play melodrama, but he found the direct cheekiness refreshing.

  She glanced away, clasped her hands behind her back as he’d instructed her earlier. Even in the darkness, he swore he could see her blush. “Sorry about that, Sir. It’s not automatic yet. I expect that’ll take a while.” Her tone sounded just right to him: respectful, but not taking the whole thing too seriously, as if she knew it was a game. “As for cooking, seriously, you’d be better off at McDonald’s. And I hate McDonald’s.”

  “I can find better uses for you anyway.”

  The faint pearl of her skin in the dimness distracted him from distraction, reminded him that he hadn’t gotten Serena out of bed just to talk, pleasant as the talking was. The collar cut a dark line against the pale skin of her throat. She was his for now, and it might be a game, but it was a delightful game, one he should definitely take advantage of. He reached around her from behind, pulled her back against him, loving the feel of her curves, the slightly damp heat of her skin. He ran one hand down her torso. Her skin twitched like a nervous racehorse, and she pushed back against him.

  His hard-on had subsided as they’d chatted but he hardened almost instantly. He slipped his cock between her legs, rubbing along the slit that was already moistening, slicking up for him. She made a little choked noise, and Jack’s cock jumped.

  She was so excited already, and he hadn’t even gotten started yet.

  “Look up at the sky,” Jack whispered into her ear. Her hair smelled like sex-sweat and rosemary.

  “Stars. You can actually see stars tonight!” He felt rather than saw her smile. “I feel like I’m on vacation somewhere out of town.”

  She paused, then added quickly, “Sir,” and he nodded approvingly, taking advantage of the fact she was looking away to grin like a kid in glee that she was getting into the spirit of the game so well.

  “I’ll see what I can do to make you see stars in the city as often as possible.” While she gazed overhead, Jack fiddled with the small objects he’d palmed off the bedside table.

  Pincher-style nipple clips, with a chain connecting them.

  And she had the perfect breasts for them, neither tiny nor oversized, with plump, delicious nipples.

  While she was distracted, he cupped her breast. She all but purred.

  The metal had picked up the heat of his body as he held it, but the slickness of it elicited a puzzled noise from her as he drew it across her breast to her nipple. “Don’t look,” he whispered, putting all the authority he could muster into the soft tone.

  He tightened it. Not too tight yet, just enough to pinch interestingly and let her feel the weight of it dangling from her nipple. If she liked that sensation, he’d tighten it more. Some women liked far stronger clamps on their nipples or ones with heavy weights attached to make the sensation more painful, more challenging. These clips didn’t pinch as hard as determined fingers might, but they were steely and wouldn’t let go and the very fact they weren’t fingers made them interesting. “Now you can look.”

  An indrawn breath. “Wow,” she said softly. “Wow…Sir.”

  Oh, yeah, that was what he liked to hear. He’d spent so long playing with women who knew exactly what they wanted he’d almost forgotten the way the sounds a woman made when she was on a voyage of discovery made him feel powerful.

  And power surged directly to his cock—the power of administering a judicious taste of pain. It didn’t have to be lots of pain, either. Sexy as it was to play with an experienced bottom who craved canes and single-tails and heavy paddles and wanted to end up looking like her ass and tits got run over by a bus, the turn-on wasn’t so much giving the pain as being trusted to give just the right amount of pain.

  And inexperienced Serena, who was still finding her own line between erotic pain and “Stop that now or I’m calling the cops,” was showing him a tremendous amount of trust.

  He clamped the other one into place, then tightened them farther.

  She repeated, “Wow,” her voice melting, somewhere between a gasp and a giggle. “That’s…that’s…” She shook her head, as if trying to jar the words loose. Her hair tickled his skin. “Amazing. I think I could go a little tighter, Sir.”

  With a grin, he complied. “Now lean forward and put your hands on the railing. It’s good and sturdy.”

  Serena obeyed, sticking her ass out and wiggling it provocatively.

  Not that he needed provocation.

  Covered by the darkness and Serena’s interest in her surroundings, he’d dropped the other objects he’d collected from the bedside table on a little round glass-topped table. Now, he groped until he found the leather slapper, a tongue-shaped sandwich of two pieces of thick burgundy leather with a handle of leather-wrapped hardwood.

  He took a step backward, ran one hand over the inviting moon of Serena’s ass. God, it was gorgeous—heart shaped, well padded, but proportional. Pale enough that it reddened nicely and would show the results of his handiwork for a while. The perfect female butt from the point of view of a dominant guy who liked spanking.

  He stroked a few more times, memorizing the contours. She shivered. “It’s a little tender, Sir,” she said, her voice gleeful. “And it feels really good.”

  “Tender
? Excellent!” He pinched a spot that had been a recipient of much attention earlier in the evening, and was rewarded with a squeal, half indignant, half delighted.

  The perfume of her arousal was mingling with the rich smell of herbs, the honeyed flowers, the sharp smell of tomatoes, and it was making him wild.

  He stopped what he was doing and pressed his cock between her legs, enjoying her slick heat on his hardness, teasing her clit with the head of his cock. She writhed against him.

  So tempting to push in now, to sheathe himself inside her without further preliminaries. He knew she’d let him, and he’d get the pleasure of feeling her body’s slight resistance at first as it tried to catch up with her mind’s arousal, and then feel her opening fully to him, getting slicker and wetter and more accommodating, then tightening again as he drove her to orgasm.

  But he wouldn’t. Not yet, no matter how tempting it was, no matter how the memory of her sex gripping and clutching at him earlier burned through him.

  He had someplace he wanted to lead her first.

  He’d promised her stars in the city. The studded sky above the rooftop garden was pretty, but those weren’t the stars he meant.

  Not the ones he figured she was craving. And certainly not the ones he craved to give her.

  Another pinch, this time on the spot. Then he drew his other hand back and delivered a swat with the slapper.

  He knew this toy well, had tested it on himself when he first bought it and had used it on others often. The blow wasn’t particularly hard; it should be pleasantly thumpy, with a little sting that others had described as delicious.

  The sound, though, was astonishing: a loud, emphatic crack that seemed to echo in the quiet of the night.

  She jumped, yelped, flinched away…

  Then stuck her delightful butt out for more.

  “Ask for it,” he said. “Ask me nicely.”

  She caught her breath raggedly. “Please…”

  “Please what?”

  Did Serena have any idea that he was teasing himself with this game as much as he was her, pacing himself so he wouldn’t overwhelm her adorable new submission by rushing through all the wonderful/evil things he wanted to do to her all at once? A woman just discovering the joys of the pleasure/pain edge was the shiniest toy a man like him could want.

  Of course, he also felt that way when he played with an experienced bottom who knew exactly how she liked it and trusted him to deliver, and to push her outside her comfort zone in exciting ways. But something about Serena’s eagerness and openness made everything as fresh for him as it was for her. Only his everything had a much larger scope than hers, at this point, so he had to be careful not to go too far too fast.

  “Please, Sir.”

  There was pleading in the voice all right, but also a hint of mischief.

  Oh, yeah. She was enjoying the game he played and was playing right back.

  Luckily, that suited Jack’s mood.

  “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

  This time she hesitated a little longer before begging, “Please, Sir, smack my ass again with that…” She hesitated. “That thing. That wonderful, awful thing.”

  Instead, he stroked the smooth skin gently, a lover’s tender caress. “Are you sure?”

  She pushed back against him. The “Yes!” was almost a sob.

  “You didn’t say Sir!” he said, marking each word with a quick, loud blow with the slapper. “Bad, bad, bad, naughty girl! You have to learn to say Sir!” All right, it wasn’t Shakespeare, or even particularly sensible, but judging from Serena’s reaction, he could have been speaking Swahili and it would have been all the same to her. The tone of voice was all that really mattered now, affectionate yet stern, guiding her through what she was feeling. He went on talking in much the same vein, telling her how naughty and wicked and lovely she was, as he slowed down the smacks while increasing their force.

  Before long, she was keening, rolling her hips to take the blows at the best possible angle. He could hear the chain on the nipple clips clinking against the railing and knew that her movements were tugging at the clips, increasing the pleasurable pain.

  How had he gotten so lucky? They’d met by chance through vanilla friends, neither of them looking for a new partner, but something had clicked. Showing this woman the joys of BDSM would be a delight. She was a natural—responsive, sexy, turned on by strong sensation, pain and authority—and seemingly unjaded, undamaged. Her fantasies might be dark, but she came to them fresh, almost innocent in some ways.

  A few more thwacks and he stopped, ran his hand over an ass that seemed as steamy and heated as the asphalt had at midday.

  Then he dipped his fingers between her legs and found her open, wanton, dripping.

  “Now what should I do with you?” he mused, moving one finger in and out, barely inside the inviting lips, just enough to tease her. Tease them both, really. “Should I fuck you again?”

  “Please, Sir!”

  “You’d rather be fucked than paddled?” He tapped her inner thigh with the slapper. “Don’t you like being paddled? Should I fuck you or paddle you?”

  Serena shook her head wildly. The movement made her breasts bounce. The chains clinked against the railing and he knew the jouncing would tug on the clips, causing more delicious discomfort. “Don’t know. I need…I want…” Her voice broke. Then she laughed a little hysterically. “Trick question, right? You decide, Sir. Either way I’ll win. But if you can do both at once, that would be a double win.”

  He set the paddle down, picked up the familiar foil package next to it. “Clever girl. Clever girl who deserves a good fucking. Help me get this on, clever girl, and you’ll get the fucking you deserve.”

  Four impatient hands got the condom in place.

  He bent her over the railing again, pushed inside her as he’d been longing to do, pulled her hips back hard so her heated ass met his body with force.

  “So hot,” he murmured. “So wet. Such a hot, naughty, wonderful little slut.” He was guessing on the slut; he hadn’t thought to ask Serena if she liked that kind of dirty talk.

  Apparently she did.

  She made a funny little noise and rippled around him, sending shudders of delight radiating from his cock throughout his body.

  Sweet. So sweet.

  “That’s my good little slut. You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” Okay, it was self-evident that she did, so it was a silly thing to say, but Jack doubted Serena was feeling overly analytical at this point. (If she was, he was doing something wrong.)

  “Yes, Sir,” she gasped out between clenched teeth. “Oh, yes.” The second yes was said on a hiss. She arched, pushing her hips back and up, her breasts down. The fine chain between the nipple clamps clinked delicately, adding to the symphony of ragged breath and flesh against flesh and the wet music of cock in cunt.

  The clips…oh, yes, mustn’t forget those.

  Jack moved his hands, sliding them along her sweat-sleeked curves from hips to breasts. He ran his thumbs over her nipples and was rewarded with a wild-animal noise and a bucking motion that suggested Serena was on the edge of orgasm.

  “Time to take these off,” he whispered in her ear. “You let me know when you’re going to come and I’ll take them off then. You understand?” It was an effort to keep talking so coherently, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It kept him focused. Kept him from rushing, from exploding inside her before they were both ready.

  Serena didn’t answer right away. “Do you understand?” He thrust into her hard, making it punctuation.

  Then he grabbed up the slapper again and applied it to her thigh.

  This time, her “Yes!” was not just a response to the question. She rolled her hips, and he felt her body shuddering. He didn’t need to hear her “Gonna come, Sir” to know it.

  He eased the nipple clips off her, wondering as he did whether she realized that this was the moment they gave the most intense sensation�
��not going on, but coming off.

  Serena let out a howl, part pain, yet all pleasure. The silk walls of her sex clamped down on him hard as she spasmed.

  He’d meant to draw it out longer, but damn, she felt too sweet around him, too tight and hot and passionate, and with the noise she was making and the wonderful way she was rolling her hips and how crazy-proud it made him that she was taking everything so beautifully, like she was born to it, there was only so much a man could take. “My…sweet…slutty…girl,” he grunted as he exploded inside her.

  As soon as his brain recongealed, he panicked a bit, remembering the possessive words, the possessive tone. The possessive way he’d felt at that second, as if he’d won some kind of lust lottery and Serena was his grand prize.

  He was so not ready for that, he told himself firmly—but he figured he’d earned feeling that way for a few blissful seconds.

  That illusion was part of the game, like the collar and the Sir and the pretense that he was punishing her when it was something they both craved.

  Unless he got really lucky and the sense that she was his, and maybe that a little bit of him was hers, stopped being a game and became truth. It hadn’t worked the last time he’d thought that… but maybe it was about time he allowed himself to consider that possibility again.

  He wasn’t going to hold his breath that after years of happily playing with friends and not even looking for a full-time sub, he’d chanced to meet someone who might become more. But a guy, drunk on hormones and games on a summer night with a beautiful kinky woman, could dream.

  And if the dream led to more pain for him than he’d ever cause her?

  Right now it seemed worth it.

  NOTES FROM HER MASTER

  Kathleen Tudor

  Master led me through the crowd by the hand—our substitute when leashes are less than practical. His commanding jerks on my wrist guided me along behind him as he drove himself forward. Master has a sense of command about him that even people who are not into power exchange can feel, so he easily cleared a path to the security checkpoint at the airport.