Secret Submission

by Diana Hunter

  Her head fell back and he was there to catch her. He knelt up on the bed, supporting her head with his chest and she could see the two of them reflected back at her. “What a nice couple they make,” she thought abstractedly. She watched as he reached around, kneading her breasts and toying with her nipples. He pinched them and she saw her body arch and heard her own gasp of surprise.

  She floated in a haze of pleasure, supported only by the ropes and him behind her. The vibrations increased and she saw the woman in the mirror writhing with an obvious need. She saw his hand dip lower on her body, touch her mound, then push through her hair and part her lips to apply pressure to her clit.

  And the world exploded. Wave after wave caused her to dance in the ropes as her orgasm ripped through her body. All her senses shut down save those between her legs—and from them came a wonderful throbbing that cascaded over her and around her and through her.

  She had no memory of it ending—only that the dance was glorious. When reality came back to her, she was lying on the bed, his belt gone from her waist. Only the ropes hanging on the corners of the bed and the dimly felt vibrators in her ass and pussy told her it had not been a dream.

  The bed gave a little under her and Sarah felt him sit next to her, his hand rubbing along her back. Reveling in his caress as it dipped along the rills and hollows of her body, she allowed him to turn her over to face him and saw his smile—the one that always made her stomach give that little flip.

  This time was no different, in spite of her euphoria. Raising herself on one arm, she smiled back, her eyes lazily drifting along the contours of his shape. But when she looked at his shaft, still stiff and hard, she frowned a bit. How was it fair that she felt this wonderful lightness, while her Master was still shackled to the earth? Moving more on instinct than anything else, her head followed her gaze as her hands reached out to caress him.

  But his hand on hers stopped her. “No, slave. Not like that.” He stood and motioned for her to lie crosswise on the bed. She did so and he reached under her, pulling her body head first toward him until her head hung just off the edge. There was no fear of her falling; her shoulders still rested firmly on the bed.

  He now moved forward, straddling her head with his legs. Leaning forward, his hands supporting him, he bent down, his thick shaft coming closer and closer to her mouth. Eagerly she opened for him, wanting to give him pleasure. As he touched her lips, her tongue snaked out, licking and caressing the purple tip of his cock.

  What a difference a week had made. Last week he had possessed her mouth and she moved from toleration to an attitude of indifference. But now she wanted to make love to him with every ounce of energy she had. Her hands stretched up, encircling his engorged cock and cupping his balls as her mouth took in more and more of him. The more he bent down, the more of his cock filled her. She gagged and he pulled out a bit, but she guided him back in—opening her throat to let him past. Wider she stretched until her nose was buried in his balls, her mouth and throat filled with the wonder of his musky scent.

  Slowly at first, then faster as passion ruled his actions, he pumped into her mouth. Her lips squeezed around him, making the opening tight against him. Higher and higher he climbed as her hands worked back to his ass, kneading his cheeks. And when her finger dipped between those cheeks and pressed against his asshole, he exploded; his seed bursting forth in a fitful stream down her throat.

  His come filled her throat and mouth and for a few moments she could not breathe. He seemed to know, however, and just as she was about to panic, he pulled out of her, letting the air into her lungs again. In her position, she could not help him to the bed, but watched as he fell sideways along the width. Scooting down, she finished the job of cleaning him, letting her warm tongue send shivers of pleasure through his body.

  They lay together for some time, the vibrators inside her quiet now, her face resting beside his now-soft cock which lay cradled in her hands. Neither felt the need to move—both floated in a wonderful haze as the afternoon wore away.

  * * * * *

  He stirred first, climbing off the bed and untying the ropes from the bedposts. Sarah lay as she had fallen asleep; on her stomach, just being lazy, watching and enjoying Phillip’s actions as his arms reached up. She so liked the way his chest muscles rippled as he struggled with a stubborn knot. He was so tall, the cleanup did not require him to stretch much, yet Sarah enjoyed watching him pad around the room in his nakedness as he coiled the rope and set it on the chair.

  It had been a wonderful afternoon, in Phillip’s opinion—and he had not really pushed any of her limits. As he helped her to let out more and more of the slut buried deep inside her, the sex was getting better and better. He thoroughly enjoyed the role of puppeteer to her puppet. She had been so deliciously beautiful dancing in the ropes as she gave her orgasms to him. The way her breasts hung heavy and jiggled as she came, the way every muscle in her body tensed when she was right on the edge, how she came hard with her entire body, holding nothing back from her own pleasure. Oh, yes, she had come a long way in only a week. He knew now he could take her much further.

  But time for a little more training. The ropes all coiled, he turned again to her prone form as she lay watching him. “Roll over, slave.”

  She dutifully rolled to her back, still watching him.

  “Arms up.” She put her arms over her head and she felt him lock them, first together, and then to the short chain attached to the head of the bed.

  “Spread your legs.” Those words always gave her a small thrill. Always he had treated her well, but she was beginning to love this command, with its nastier connotation. Slowly she spread them, aware again of the devices still imbedded inside her.

  Once her ankles were fastened and she was spread and helpless, he stood and looked at her, ready again, for he could see her moist pussy glistening. She lay there, still watching him, wondering what more he had in mind. When he took the few steps to the chair and put on his shirt, she almost cried out in protest. He couldn’t leave her here like this!

  But he had—twice the week before. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he reached not only for his pants, but for a clean pair of shorts as well. Only when he was fully dressed did he approach the bed again.

  “Remember, you are my toy. I can play with you, or not…as I see fit. When I am done, you see that I clean up my toy after use, storing her until I am ready to use her again.”

  His words sent shivers down her spine. She was an object—a thing. She had no choices, no opinions. And if she did, they didn’t matter. He was done with her for now and he’d set her aside for use later on. The thought brought her very close to a climax.

  He leaned over her now, reaching down to remove the vibrator from her vagina. His almost impersonal manner affected her and she bit back the temptation to raise her hips to his hand as the fingers of one hand pushed her outer lips apart while the fingers of his other hand reached inside her and pulled out the vibrator. Almost she would have thought herself in a gynecologist’s office, his manner was so businesslike.

  Reaching deep into her crack, he found the butt plug and removed it in like manner. Without saying another word, he took the mechanical toys to the bathroom and she heard the water run. After a moment, he returned, drying the objects with a towel. He put them away in a drawer and then used a damp cloth he had to wipe her no-longer-private areas. He could’ve been washing his car, for all the emotion he showed. A small whimper escaped her throat.

  Finished, he toweled her dry, having even cleaned out her pussy juices. The room was darkening in the late afternoon sun, but she could still see him clearly. Taking the washcloth and the towel back to the bathroom, he emerged and left the bedroom without even a glance in her direction.

  And now she writhed on the bed, pulling on her bindings, trying to get release. Anything to take away the great need that had built up at his treatment of her. She whimpered and twisted her body, but he did not come back—and she could
not come.

  It was a long time before her need faded. Every time she would start to relax, the memory of his manner toward her would resurface and send her back up again. She lost count of the number of times she hovered on the brink, only to fall backward again without reaching that last and most glorious point.

  Oh, but she needed to come! She would have fucked a Coke bottle at that point, she was so horny. And then she laughed. Right out loud. “What language!” she thought to herself. It was a word she never used—not even in anger. She laughed again, thoroughly enjoying her predicament.

  She settled in to just take pleasure in the fact that she was bound and could go nowhere. The clock on the dresser ticked away the time, but she paid it no mind. She would lie here for eternity if that was what he wanted. Stretching against her bindings from time to time, she reveled in her helplessness.

  Soon a delicious odor wafted into the room and her stomach growled in response. Whatever he was cooking for dinner, it smelled wonderful. Breathing deeply, she waited for him to release her.

  And if he expected her to sit at his feet again while he ate? And then eat from his plate when he was done? Then she would do so—the idea no longer disturbed her. In fact, it was beginning to feel like her rightful place. She stretched in her bindings. Just as this was a wonderful place to be. Set aside like a toy on a shelf—just waiting to be used again.

  She grinned in the darkness, knowing her thoughts had gotten her wet again. She heard his step and instinctively tried to straighten up, but of course, bound as she was, there was little she could do to make herself more presentable.

  “Turn your head away, slave,” he instructed her kindly and she closed her eyes and turned her head. A sudden light filled the room from the small bedside lamp and she waited till her eyes adjusted before opening them and looking at him.

  “You have been very good this afternoon, my slave. Are you hungry?”

  Sarah’s stomach answered for her and they both laughed. Phillip unlocked her wrists and helped her to sit and then he freed her ankles. “I hope you like Chinese,” he said as they walked back to the kitchen, him in front and her behind, as always.

  “Yes, Sir, I do,” she replied, surprised to discover a wok on the stove and a home-made meal of Chinese food on the table.

  “Then take your place at my side.” He much preferred her sitting at the table, but knew this discipline was good for the both of them this weekend.

  She knelt and bowed her head as he said grace, then leaned back on her heels as he placed his napkin. But he had no paper this time; to her surprise, he started a conversation with her as if she were sitting at the table, not kneeling at his side.

  “So, my slave, what did you think about this afternoon when you were on your ‘shelf’?”

  Grinning at the imagery, the very same imagery she had thought of, she replied, “I didn’t really think of much, Master. I mostly just enjoyed being put there by you.”

  He paused in his eating, sparing a glance at her before finishing the bite. “You enjoy being used in such a manner?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she answered, amazed at herself to discover such a truth. For in the light of his question, she realized how preposterous it sounded. How could she like such treatment after years of demanding respect from men? But he did respect her—that was just it. He had not mistreated her—he had opened a new door for her. “Yes, Sir,” she answered more firmly.

  He smiled inwardly. Her training was progressing very well. When they had first met, he had seen the restlessness in her and had wondered at its source. Through their conversations on their early dates, on occasion he steered their talk to matters regarding her sexual convictions and had determined that a dominant male might be just what she needed. And the more they dated, the more he hoped he’d been correct—his heart was becoming involved.

  But there was only one way to be sure—and so when the opportunity came last weekend, he’d seized it—he tested her and found her willing. This weekend, he tested her further. He knew well his own need to dominate. Independent women made great friends—but he hated when a woman wanted to tell him how to please her in the bedroom. There he wanted the most intimate trust a lover could give to him—and he would settle for nothing less.

  And out of the bedroom? He liked spirited women who knew their own minds. To find one who would be willing to bow to his dictates at home and yet be independent in public was his dream. And until today, he was sure it would remain a dream only. While it was true he was a church-going man, it was only while he was shopping for her that he considered bringing her out and testing her in public so soon. But he might as well find out now. Could she function as an equal companion when in company, and function as his slave when in private? His heart had been soaring all day to know that she could—and better than he’d ever dreamed.

  She enjoyed having her limits tested, although he realized she did not fully understand that was what they were doing. In continually testing her, he was also training her. First he needed to find the walls then work on breaking them down and submitting her will to his. She was doing beautifully.

  His dinner finished, he stood reaching his hand down to her. Puzzled, she put her hand in his and he raised her up, gesturing to his seat. She sat, a little discomfited to find herself in his chair. He bowed and offered her a fresh napkin, which he then fanned open and draped it over her naked lap. He gave her a fresh set of chopsticks and was pleased to discover she knew how to use them. Pulling out the chair she usually occupied, he sat while she ate before him.

  At first she was shy and knew she was blushing to be treated in such a manner. But his easy smile and banter as she ate relaxed her and soon she was enjoying his companionship as she always had.

  Dinner done, he helped her clear. “You wash tonight, slave.” Dutifully, she filled the sink with soapy water and began the chore. He dried, but had fallen silent. In quiet peacefulness, the two worked to clean the kitchen and do the dishes.

  She was on the second to last pot when he put down his towel. So busy was she in scrubbing a tough spot, she did not notice him take off his shirt. Not until he stepped behind her, his body touching hers, did he get her attention. His hands rested on her shoulders a moment, then followed her arms, all the way down into the soapy water. Her breath caught and her knees weakened a bit as she felt his fingers entwining with hers.

  Gently he took each of her hands and, with her holding the scrubber, he guided her hands, slowly cleaning the pot together. Around and around the rim he guided her, then deep into the pot itself; his hands sensuous in the slippery water. The pot clean, he helped her to lift it and rinse it, his hands caressing hers, his head dipping to kiss her neck.

  Only the wok was left and she lifted it into the water. Again his hands encircled hers as she washed around and around the pot, her eyes following the movement of their hands, her body unconsciously moving as she became more and more aroused. He set her hands deep in the water and lifted the wok, rinsing it and setting it in the drainer to dry. Reaching into the dirty water, he pulled the plug, letting it go. Then soaping his hands with fresh soap, he lathered them. Full of suds, he took her hands in his again, washing the grease and old soap from them.

  Her head fell back on his shoulder as he washed her hands. Never before had washing dishes been erotic to her. Now she would remember this moment every time she so much as rinsed a dish at home. He turned on the tap and rinsed her hands, setting them back in the sink when they were clean.

  Running his wet hands up her arms, he watched the goose bumps rise on her skin all the way to her shoulders. “Spread your legs for me, slave.”

  She shivered at his words and moved her legs apart for him.

  “Lean into the sink and present yourself to me.”

  Trembling, she leaned forward until her elbows were almost touching the bottom of the sink. Her ass was high and she knew how open she was for him.

  “Looks like my slave likes this position,” he remarked. “Your
pussy lips are already open, inviting me in.”

  Her breath quickened as he stepped up to her again and bent down to whisper in her ear. “I am going to take you here, slave. I am going to use you right here at the sink.”

  A small cry escaped her—the thought increased her desire. Once again he was enjoying her as a thing, an object—and she wanted it more than anything.

  He savored the moment; running his hands down her back, he spread her cheeks, exposing her ass to him. He would not be gentle this time. She wanted use, she’d get used. He let out the animal he usually kept caged inside.

  Grabbing her hips, he paused only briefly at the entrance to her pussy before plunging deep inside, pulling her hips back to take him fully. Pulling out almost all the way, he paused again before slamming into her once more.

  She cried out at his sudden roughness. Contrasted to their dishwashing, it was unexpected. After only two thrusts, however, her body responded, accepting his powerful thrusts and wanting more. She lost count of the number of times he pulled out only to slam into her body, using it roughly.

  And then he pulled out completely, setting his hard cock against her ass hole. Well lubricated, he knew it would slide in easily if she could relax enough. He pushed and was rewarded by her immediate loosening of her sphincter muscles. She wanted this as much as he did.

  Once again, he took her all at once, forcing himself into her, forcing her to give way to him. She cried out, her passion rising as he pumped into her ass, his balls hitting against her pussy.

  “Oh, Master! Master! I’m going to come!” she yelled.

  “Then come for me, slave. Come like the slut I want you to be.”

  The use of the word sent her over the edge. She was a slut—his slut—and she was proud of it. Her orgasm rocked her body as she slammed her hips back, impaling herself on the cock her pussy had craved all afternoon. In moments, her reward came as his hot seed filled her ass and his groans echoed her own. Together they climbed, together they reached the summit and together they relaxed and came down.