Please, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  My hands dug into the bed, and I nearly jumped when I felt his hand come to rest on the small of my back. The other traced lazy circles across my skin, teasing me just like he used to. I held my breath and closed my eyes. Time stood still for the next few seconds. And then the familiar rush of air preceded the exquisite burst of pain. It took all I had not to scream out, to fall forward on the bed from the force. It was as if ten years of pent-up energy landed on my ass in that spank.

  Before I could get my composure back, two more spanks followed and this time the scream did come. I didn’t care who else in the hotel could hear me, I couldn’t contain the feelings anymore. I could feel my wetness on my thighs and a slight sweat breaking out on my forehead. The spanks kept coming, in his unusual rhythm. By this time, I had lost count of how many times his hand lit up my flesh, burning my ass with each powerful hit. My heart was pounding and I could feel the sting of tears in the corners of my eyes. Suddenly, he stopped. I felt, for the first time, how my flesh tingled and radiated heat.

  “Stand up.” I moved away from the bed. I turned and saw him setting his tie aside, his jacket already off. His fingers then moved to my blouse, making quick work of the buttons. He stripped me naked, replacing my shoes after the panty hose were gone. He walked toward his suitcase, leaving me standing naked by the bed. He turned, and a pair of silver handcuffs glittered in the dark.

  “You don’t mind if we don’t go back to the reunion, do you? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  I didn’t answer; I knew I didn’t need to. He came to me, grabbing the scorched flesh of my ass roughly. He shoved me down on the bed, face-first. I listened as the soft click of the cuffs closed around my wrists. Ten years and nothing had changed. He still knew exactly what I needed.

  POWER OVER POWER

  Emerald

  I pulled open the glass door against the glaring Saturday morning sun. The heavily windowed walls offered little relief from its brightness as I blinked and looked around the lobby.

  Dominic sat at his desk across from the front counter. One month before, I had watched Dominic on the first night of class as he stood at the front of the studio and introduced the defense system in which he would be training us. The students stood in a row in front of him, dressed the same way he was in sneakers, black T-shirts with the royal blue KRAV MAGA logo on the chest, and loose, lightweight black pants with matching royal blue stripes down the sides.

  “Krav Maga is not like traditional martial arts,” he had explained. “Traditional martial arts involve sparring, a back-and-forth, a focus on skill. Krav Maga is about dropping somebody—knocking someone out within ten seconds so you can get away.” He met the eyes of each student in the line in front of him. “It’s also not about size. The point of Krav is that it puts everyone on an equal playing field, focusing on universal vulnerabilities that anyone can exploit, regardless of size.”

  His voice was calm, assured, serious. I had watched him, captivated. Dominic didn’t necessarily look like a self-defense expert. He was only slightly taller than I was, probably five foot ten. His build was slim and athletic. The denseness of his muscles, however, was evident not only under the short sleeves of his T-shirt but also in the resounding thuds that reverberated off the studio walls as he demonstrated kicks and punches, and used knees and elbows on the punching bag at the front of the room as the students watched in silence.

  Despite the subject matter, there was no bravado or machismo in his countenance. I had seen from the pictures and accompanying labels hanging in the lobby that Dominic instructed in traditional martial arts as well as Krav Maga. While I had never taken any myself, I sensed in him the understated confidence I had observed before in martial artists—an exquisite self-possession and understanding of their capabilities, the assurance that there was no need to prove anything to anyone. It was like they had power over their own power. It served them rather than the other way around. There was no compulsion to use it, to put it on display; it was just there, second nature, if it was ever needed.

  Dominic looked up at my entrance.

  “Hi, Jackie.”

  I smiled at him and glanced at the clock. Saturday morning class was optional, a makeup class for those who missed any of the three sessions held during the week or who just wanted an extra review. I was only about five minutes early, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.

  He followed my gaze. “You’re the only one here so far. People often trickle in around starting time on Saturdays. You can have a seat if you want, or go on in and start warming up.”

  I sat on the bench perpendicular to his desk, and he smiled and turned back to his computer. I didn’t need to look at Dominic to feel the way he was affecting me. It happened just from being in the same room with him. It was something that went beyond looks, beyond personality, beyond simple attraction. It was pure heat, like a raw power of undiluted wanting, craving, hunger. I felt it when I watched the nonchalance with which he taught the methodology used by the Israeli army for hand-to-hand combat, a methodology designed, ultimately, to kill people. I watched the skill, control, and focus of the lightning flashes of movement, the cracking thuds that seemed effortless to him, and felt the raw heat in my core. Every movement he executed was exactly what was called for, nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t execute power just for the sake of executing power. Power was cultivated in him so deeply that it simply came out when needed.

  I wanted to fuck him so badly I could hardly stand still.

  Five minutes later he glanced at the clock again. “Hmm. Maybe people had a little too much partying on a Friday night,” he chuckled as he stood up. “I’ve never had attendance this low on a Saturday.”

  “Yeah, I imagine you want to cancel,” I babbled, standing nervously.

  Dominic shrugged. “It’s up to you. You can certainly take off if you’d like. If you want to stay, I’ll work you.”

  A shiver went through me, and I tried not to shudder visibly. I glanced around, not sure if I did want to take the class with Dominic all by myself. I knew his focus was strictly professional, and I might end up making a fool of myself as I practically drooled over him.

  “Uh, okay. If you don’t mind,” I responded, my mouth appearing to ignore all the considerations that had just run through my mind.

  “No, come on in,” he said, indicating the studio with a jerk of his head and leading me into it. I moved to the far end toward the supply room and set my bag and purse down on the bench.

  As we began stretching, my breath quickened. The training hadn’t even begun, and already I knew this was a mistake. I wasn’t going to be able to handle this kind of undivided attention from Dominic. Even if he were interested in what I was, which I had no reason to believe he was, the studio’s walls were made of glass, making the view from the street wide open. He wasn’t about to fuck me with that kind of visibility.

  I had to get out of there.

  “Okay, you remember the way we learned early in the week to defend against a choke hold?” Dominic asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered, clearing my throat. Dominic approached me, and I almost backed up, not trusting myself if he touched me.

  “Show me what you remember.” He reached forward and placed both hands around my neck, facing me. My breath caught, and I snapped my hands up and slammed my forearms into his, breaking the grip.

  “Good,” he said, stepping back. “Let’s try it up against the wall.”

  I was painfully aware of my ragged breathing and the wetness between my legs as Dominic leaned into me, wrapping his hands around my neck and pushing me back against the wall. I defended again and had to consciously resist pressing my hand between my legs.

  “Okay, grab a kick shield,” Dominic said, nodding at a stack in the corner of the room. “I’m going to demonstrate the kick we learned on Wednesday. Remember, start with your weight on the kicking foot—hop quickly to the other foot and kick while you’re in the air. The momentum increases your power. Then r
ecoil immediately. Always recoil right away. Limbs not up against you are vulnerable to being grabbed.”

  I nodded, trying to focus. Dominic backed up, and I crouched in position with the kick pad in front of me. Dominic’s foot snapped forward, and I was almost knocked backward by the force of the impact even as the padding absorbed most of it. I shuddered as I imagined what such a blow would be like without the shield.

  “Your turn,” Dominic took the pad from me.

  I did my best to kick the sexual frustration out of me as I slammed first my right then my left foot into the kick pad with a grunt. I alternated back and forth until Dominic told me to stop.

  The elevated heart rate and adrenaline pumping through me had not served the desired purpose at all.

  “Do you remember the series we learned earlier in the week?” Dominic demonstrated in the air the series of punches, kicks, and elbow slams to get out of a headlock and render the assailant to the ground. I nodded.

  “Okay, let’s try it.” Dominic fitted his arm around my neck from behind and held firmly. My breath caught, and I almost pressed back against him. I caught myself and mimed the series, stopping each move just short of actual impact with him. My breath was ragged when I finished. The tingling in my pussy had reached the point of distraction.

  “Are you okay?” Dominic asked.

  “Yeah,” I squeaked out, almost wincing at the hoarseness of my voice. I cleared my throat. “Fine. Go right ahead,” I said, managing to make my voice sound almost normal.

  He turned me around and grabbed me around the neck again, and immediately I couldn’t breathe—and it wasn’t because his hold was too strong. I started the series, slamming my elbow back toward his chest, halting right before it made contact with him. Suddenly I forgot the next move and stopped.

  “Don’t stop,” Dominic said. “Don’t ever stop, Jackie.”

  “I forgot the next move,” I stared to explain as Dominic turned me around.

  “I know you did. But you’re training yourself all the time here, and you don’t ever want to train yourself to pause or freeze. If you forget what you’re doing”—his eyes were serious as they penetrated mine—“just start throwing punches.”

  I held his gaze and managed to nod.

  He backed up. “You want to grab some water?”

  I nodded again and walked over to my bag as he moved to the side of the room to put the kick shield back. I took a drink, facing the bench, and set my water bottle down.

  Suddenly a body was up against me from behind, arm rough around my neck. I was in a headlock. It took me just a second to realize I needed to defend myself, and I snapped an elbow back and tried to whirl, realizing it was too late.

  Dominic whipped me around and pressed me against the wall. “Okay, you weren’t expecting me there. You weren’t ready, and you paused. Assailants don’t wait until you’re ready. You have to be prepared all the time.” He eased his hold on me and backed up. I was breathless, staring in his eyes as my pussy tingled insistently.

  “I’m going to grab some gloves,” he said, moving to the supply room a few feet away.

  He opened the door and disappeared through it as I stared at it. I swallowed. As if drawn by a magnet, my feet began to step toward the supply room. The door was open, and I could hear Dominic rummaging around inside as I approached. I reached the door and silently stepped through it.

  Dominic had his back to me. He pulled a pair of gloves from the top of a pile and turned, stopping when he saw me.

  I was already in the room, where I wasn’t supposed to be. There was no way to back out gracefully now. For a few seconds there was silence.

  “I want you to—” my voice, already tiny and faltering, failed me after those four words.

  Dominic took a step forward, his expression questioning. He raised his eyebrows and cocked an ear toward me. “You want what?”

  My breathing was uneven; I felt like I did when I was already close to orgasm. The intensity wasn’t lending itself to articulation. I moved forward as well.

  “I want,” my voice halted again, but this time only for a split second. “I want you to fuck me.”

  I whispered it, knowing I was barely audible, and looked down at the ground, my cheeks flaming. I felt Dominic’s eyes on me and told myself the worst he could do was say no, and I could turn around and leave and never come back. The all-encompassing fixation of wanting him overruled humiliation in me as the room stayed silent for a few seconds.

  Dominic’s motions were deliberate as he moved toward and then past me. My eyes widened. I didn’t move.

  The door closed. The quiet, solid thud as I sensed that he was still in the room with me sent a jolt of heat through me that almost made me dizzy. I barely breathed as I started to turn around.

  But he was already back in front of me. He moved in so that he was almost touching me, close enough that I felt weak, but not actually making contact. He looked down at me.

  “You want me to fuck you,” he repeated. His tone was neutral.

  I trembled, wanting to touch him but feeling frozen. Still looking at the ground, I nodded.

  With characteristic efficiency of motion, he reached with one finger and pulled my chin up. A shudder ran through me as I felt his power—the power I saw in every move he made, that he exuded at the front of the class, that he spoke when he told us what we were capable of, that coiled and expelled from him whenever he slammed any part of his body into the punching bag. This was the power that lived unquestioned within him, so seamlessly that it was as though it wouldn’t exist without him.

  I moved my eyes to his. Dominic pushed forward and kissed me, hard, his body pressing against mine as I hit the wall behind me. I thrashed against him, my hands ripping at his T-shirt as I fought to breathe. I felt like I could already come.

  Dominic placed a hand behind my neck and gripped my waist, pulling my body even closer to his. I pulled at his shirt again and he let go of me and stripped it off, reaching to pull mine off as well before returning his hands to the solid grip of my body and my mouth to his unrelenting kiss. I could feel his erection against me as he slowed down and eased back.

  “We’d need a condom,” he whispered, looking down at me.

  My eyes felt out of focus as I looked back at him. “I have some in my purse,” I whispered back, barely recognizing my own voice.

  Dominic stepped back, and I walked shakily to the door in my pants, sneakers, and sports bra. I opened it and stepped through, blinking at the sunlight streaming in through the glass walls. It felt like a different world.

  I retrieved my purse and reentered the supply room unsteadily. As I stepped through the door, Dominic’s hard chest hit me from behind, his arm instantaneously around my neck. I drew a quick breath and rammed my elbow to within an inch of his chest, my own chest heaving.

  He whirled me around and pushed me back up against the wall.

  “Good reaction time that time,” he said, his voice low. “Particularly under the circumstances.” I felt the hardness of his cock pressing against my hip. Slowly, he brought one hand up to grip my throat, then the other to join it.

  “You know what to do now?” His voice was a whisper. The question wasn’t really a question. We had just practiced it in the studio.

  I nodded. He looked at me, not moving.

  “I don’t want to,” I whispered. I heard the tremble in my voice.

  Dominic nodded slowly, eyes still on mine. He could have held me in place with them alone. He moved one hand to stroke a finger along my jawline, his eyes following it. His other hand stayed in place at my throat. He licked his lips and looked back at me.

  Suddenly his grip tightened as he lifted me up against the wall by my neck. My jaw dropped, feet hanging loosely without the ground beneath them. I was exactly at eye level with Dominic now, his hand against the sides of my neck in a way that somehow barely hurt.

  My pussy started to drip.

  Dominic’s eyes blazed into mine as he reached a
nd ran a finger from my collarbone down to the top of my sports bra. Slowly he lowered me back to the ground and pushed my sports bra up, grabbing my breasts with a firmness just short of painful. My breath came to a fiery halt in my throat.

  “Breathe,” he whispered, looking into my eyes. It was an order he often gave during class. I obeyed, expelling the breath caught in my throat and deliberately guiding in another one.

  Dominic reached up and removed my ponytail holder, then yanked my bra over my head and pulled me forward. He guided me across the room to a stack of floor mats about waist high. Pressing me up against them, he ran his hand up the back of my neck and grabbed my hair near my scalp. I whimpered as he kissed me, involuntarily gyrating against him. He lowered his hands and yanked my pants and panties down to my knees, lifting me to the stack of mats and pulling them the rest of the way off almost before I realized what was happening. I kicked my sneakers off and looked at him, breathing heavily.

  Dominic lifted me back to the ground and turned me around, one hand holding my hip, the other tracing lightly over the front of my body. His fingers strayed casually, rising over the swell of my breast, dragging lightly across the nipple, then down the other side and on to the next one. The reminder to breathe was gone. I felt like I had forgotten how.

  I wanted him to throw me down, ram his cock into me and fuck me hard, take full control of me, of him, of—everything. I tried to wiggle impatiently and realized that despite the calmness of his movements, the grip he had on me was like a clothespin on tissue paper. I felt his breath on my ear, steady in comparison to my almost frantic panting. Slowly he moved his hand from my breasts to the back of my neck again, sliding up through my hair and gripping into a fist. I caught my breath.