Please, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “Well, conveniently enough, I want to fuck you, too, Jackie,” he whispered smoothly, and my legs trembled. “And I think I know what you want me to do. You want me to hold you down, fuck you hard, get pretty rough with you.” I wondered if, for the first time, I would come without actually being touched. “You’re looking for power. In your own way, getting fucked rough like that will make you feel powerful. Is that right?” My vision was becoming fuzzy, and I could hardly make sense of the words he was saying.

  Dominic let go of my hip and slid his hand across my stomach, up over my breasts and finally to my throat.

  “Everything you’re looking for, Jackie, you already have inside you.” The tone of his whisper had changed, and I barely had time to process the words before he whipped me around, forcing my mouth open with his as he kissed me again. He held my hair in a fist of steel and moved his other hand back to my body, lightly brushing my rib cage. He pulled away and I watched the slow movement of his fingers, gliding like honey running over my skin.

  I whimpered desperately. He hadn’t even touched my pussy, and I felt close to a kind of climax of which I didn’t know the meaning. It felt like a near euphoria combined with a vague but deep fear that together seemed to be pushing tears seriously toward the surface.

  “Dominic,” I pleaded. My voice trembled like a blade of grass in the breeze. He looked up at me.

  I realized then what he was doing. He was making me wait, making me feel, making me experience every single nuance, every detail, everything that was in me, in my body, rather than slamming it all away.

  And suddenly I wondered if that was what having power over power meant.

  The tears flowed out of me like an orgasm, fully beyond my control, my breath turning to a silent sob that felt somehow calm, even peaceful, as I felt a space open up in me I wasn’t sure I had ever felt before. Dominic’s eyes stayed on mine.

  The wave moved through me, and Dominic dropped his finger to my clit. I gasped and climaxed as soon as he moved it, orgasm bursting forth in a rush so overpowering I almost felt I would lose consciousness. Steady, unabated screams pulsed through me as Dominic held my gaze as well as my balance with his unyielding grip at my neck. When it was done I fell limp, my entire body slick with sweat, legs shaking and hanging like string over the stack of mats.

  Dominic lowered me onto my back and let go of my hair, then backed up and retrieved my purse. Hands shaking, I reached and fumbled through it in my horizontal position until I found the little zippered pouch. Extracting a condom from it, I pushed it into his hand.

  I heard the package rip open and my purse drop to the floor as Dominic backed up. He slid me up farther on the stack of mats and leapt lightly onto them, pushing between my legs. My eyes were closed, and I opened them as he hovered above me. I was far beyond words, knowing only what was in my body.

  “Breathe,” Dominic whispered again as he dropped his body onto mine, plunging into me and grasping my shoulders as his breath rushed against my ear. He thrust into me with rhythmic strength as I lay like a doll, sprawled powerlessly across the hard foam beneath me. Dominic pumped hard, holding my hips solidly. His breathing changed as he thrust just a bit harder and came inside me, my body like a deflated balloon, a beautiful, motionless receptacle for his come.

  I closed my eyes again as he finished, feeling a sorrow at the impending loss of contact with his body. When he pulled out, I opened my eyes and turned to him. He leapt off the stack of mats and reached to help me down. I stopped at the edge, not ready to stand up yet.

  In a daze, I looked at the floor, my body shaking. Dominic’s low voice broke the silence.

  “Whatever is in you, whatever you’re feeling—feel it. Don’t hide from it. Don’t try to ‘beat’ it. Be with it until you understand it, until you know where it comes from.” I frowned at the floor. “Then it won’t rule you anymore.”

  I raised my eyes to his as he finished the sentence. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto my neck as my quick breaths punctuated the silence in the room.

  “That’s what power is,” Dominic said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with force or subjugation.”

  I looked down at his hand as he held it out to me again and allowed my body to slide off the mats. My feet on the floor felt foreign.

  I gathered my clothes and dressed slowly. Dominic handed me my purse as I straightened, and we walked to the door together. I turned to him; without a word, he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me, rendering me immediately breathless as I braced myself against the door with one hand.

  He let go of me slowly. My hand slipped from the door as he took a step back.

  “See you Monday.” Dominic’s hand brushed the small of my back once before he stepped forward and turned the knob.

  KNOT HERE!

  Yolanda West

  Here?” I try to keep my voice low, but I’m caught by surprise.

  John’s answer is nonverbal. The corners of his eyes crinkle, he nods slightly, the ends of his handlebar mustache edge upward with his grin.

  We’re at a diner off Highway 42, halfway to his mom’s house to celebrate her birthday. He’d said he had something special planned for the trip, but I thought it was the beads.

  Oh, yes. The beads. There are four of them strung together, made of hollow plastic, a bit smaller than ben wa balls, with heavy steel marbles inside them. The whole lot is inside me, held in place by my panties, shifting and quaking with every movement.

  It’s funny. When we first met, John was so shy about his sexuality that he was nervous about doing the things he wanted to do to me even in his own place. He’d been brought up in a very conservative household and had never expressed his urges until he met me.

  I’d been with several doms and had come away disillusioned. I wasn’t even looking for anyone when I met John through a friend of a friend, but the chemistry was immediate. I dated him in “vanilla mode” for a while, but I was afraid to fall for him if I was going to have to suppress my own submissiveness.

  So one day, I just blurted it out. “Tie me up,” I said. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He stuttered and stammered and said he didn’t think he could. But I’d seen the look. I knew it all too well. A man who has bondage in his blood gets a certain look when he imagines binding a girl, and John definitely had that look.

  And he wasn’t bad at it, for a guy who had no actual “handson” experience. It was obvious he’d studied plenty of pictures and was also handy with a rope from being a Boy Scout.

  The result was electric. That first time may have been tame on the surface, but as soon as he had me tied to his bed, he transformed into the most masterful lover I’d ever had. Reading my body, my reactions, was second nature to him. It was heaven.

  Still, he remained shy about it for a long time. He needed encouragement to come out of his shell. I suppose some of what I did then could be considered topping from the bottom, but sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

  That phase didn’t last long, though. He lost his shyness quickly and even went to some workshops with me. But whenever I suggested we try some public kinkiness, he had steadfastly refused—until today.

  So it was only natural for me to assume that the beads were the extent of our “public” adventure. Except that now, as we’re sitting here in the diner, he brings out the rope.

  It’s just one short length of nylon cord. He lays it on the table and then reaches across and takes my wrists. I’m already wet from the beads, and the way he grips me almost sends me over the edge right then and there. In fact, he has to tighten his hold to keep me from sliding under the table.

  A shadow falls across the table. Our waitress has arrived.

  She’s fortyish, plump, looks bored with everything, has seen it all. “Hi, my name’s Justine, I’ll be your server,” she chants, monotone, then stops short, noticing the way John is holding on to me. “Are you all right, deary?”

  I don’t trust myself to open my mouth, so I
nod and attempt a smile. She glances at John and then back to me. She shrugs, skeptical, but not alarmed.

  John perks up. “‘Justine,’ huh? DeSade wrote a book called Justine. Did you know that?”

  She looks puzzled, then annoyed at the pop quiz. “Look,” she says with a heavy sigh, “do you need more time to decide?”

  “No, we’re very ready,” John says, winking at me.

  “Wait!” says Justine with a sudden sign of life. “Didn’t he make cars or something, like, way back?”

  Now John is puzzled. “Who?”

  “DeSoto.”

  John and I both stifle a laugh. “Yes,” he says, “I think that’s right.”

  “So, what’ll it be then?” she asks, addressing me first.

  My attention is on John’s hands holding on to me. Carefully forming my words, I ask for a salad only. Justine scribbles and recites the choice of dressings. I nod when she comes to ranch.

  She turns expectantly to John, but he’s looking straight at me. “Switch,” he says to me.

  Shit. I’m sitting with my legs crossed, right over left. Switching to left over right forces the beads to shift around within their steamy alcove. “Oh!” I gasp. “Mm,” I sigh.

  Justine looks back at me. “You sure you’re okay?”

  John speaks up. “Justine, we’re on our way to my mother’s house, so what I want is a nice grilled cheese sandwich, just like Mom used to make when I was a boy. Good ol’ American cheese between two slices of white bread, buttered and toasted on a hot griddle till the cheese oozes from the sides. And be sure the cook smashes it down real good with a greasy spatula, too.”

  Justine rolls her eyes. “A number three,” she mutters, jotting it down on her pad.

  As she saunters away, John loops the rope around my wrists. I can’t believe he’s actually doing it. I sit mesmerized as he forms the square knot and pulls it tight.

  Under the table, his foot pushes against my crossed leg. Obeying his silent command, I put both feet on the floor and spread them apart for him. Soon his foot is up my skirt, between my thighs, nudging against my…my…

  “John!” The word erupts louder than expected.

  “Yes, Annie?” he says, ever so smoothly. He smiles as he tightens his grip on my bound wrists.

  I try to sit still, but can’t help squirming. I keep my mouth closed, but can’t help moaning. I’m panting and sweating, as if I’d just sprinted a few blocks. I hang my head and close my eyes, and pray no one notices us.

  It’s happening and there’s nothing I can do about it. The first shudder starts deep within me and quickly spreads throughout. Another follows immediately.

  “Oh! God! Shit!” And to think I’m the one who wanted this.

  I can see how much John is loving it now. The teasing and tormenting is so much more intense in public. And then I realize why he chose today. It’s precisely because we’re on the way to his mom’s house, where his conservative family will be, especially his starched-shirt brother and prissy sister-in-law. I think he’s enjoying the contrast between them and his own wanton slut.

  Justine returns with our orders. I try to tuck my hands under the table, but she sees the rope around my wrists and glares at John.

  He shrugs. “She has a condition,” he says. “Seizures. Convulsions. It’s necessary to control her sometimes.”

  “Uh-huh,” says Justine.

  She glances in my direction, but I’m occupied with trying to guide a forkful of lettuce to my mouth. It’s no easy task with my hands tied and John’s foot still in my crotch. She clears her throat to speak. “Something to drink?”

  John picks that exact instant to give my pussy an extra little push.

  “No!” I snap, way too loudly.

  “Fine. Suit yourself.” She walks away and begins whispering to some of the patrons at the counter.

  We finish as much of our food as we can. I know John is excited, too. I can almost see his hard-on through the look in his eyes. Leaving my hands tied, he gets up to pay the bill. I follow along, walking gingerly. The beads are doing such a number on me, I’m sucking air with each step to keep from crying out.

  Once outside, John puts his arm around me and guides me to the back of the diner. The small building is on a lonely stretch of road, with only a patch of woods behind it.

  He brightens as we round the corner of the building and I immediately see why. He takes my hands and pulls them high over my head. There’s a convenient hook on the back of the building, which he puts to good use. It’s a bit of a stretch, but my toes stay in contact with the ground. I wonder when he noticed that?

  He kisses me furiously as I half dangle there. His hands rove possessively up and down my body. I can finally feel his cock straining for release. I can’t believe we’re actually going to do it right here. But I want it. I want it!

  “Oh, god, John, hurry!” I gasp.

  He tears himself away just long enough to raise my skirt, rip my panties off and yank the beads from their warm niche. He shoves my things in his pocket, then unzips. His beautiful cock springs out, eager for action.

  He grabs my ass to support me as I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist. And then he’s in me, ramming and slamming me against the wall.

  It’s over so fast I hardly notice the strain on my arms. He lingers for a moment, then withdraws. He substitutes fingers for cock and does a thorough job of probing my depths and stimulating my clit. I can hardly keep from screaming, but his other hand, quickly clamped over my mouth, helps.

  I forget where we are and just let go, coming for him, my body doing his bidding: so delicious.

  At last, he pulls the beads from his pocket and eases them back inside me. Then he slips my hands from the hook and unties the rope. He hands me my panties and I pull them back on.

  As I follow him on wobbly legs back to the car, we find Justine at the side of the building. She’s smoothing out her skirt. Her face is flushed. It’s obvious she’s been watching us. She’s been watching and masturbating.

  There’s an awkward silence, then she smiles and shrugs. “Next time,” she says, “just leave a bigger tip.”

  VERONICA’S BODY

  Isabelle Gray

  Veronica has a past. She refuses to talk about it. Veronica is married to Vince. Vince is a particular man. He likes what he likes, wants what he wants. When he’s unhappy Veronica is unhappy. He doesn’t ask about her past. She does whatever it takes to make him happy. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  At night, Veronica sleeps chained to the bed she shares with her husband. Her slender wrists are cuffed together and then locked to the canopy above with a long length of chain, the better for her to sleep. Just before midnight, Veronica washes her face, brushes her teeth, performs her other evening ablutions. She dabs a bit of perfume on the points of her collarbone. As she goes through her routine, her stomach flutters and a flush of heat starts crawling across her skin. When she’s ready, she takes a deep breath, slips out of her silk robe and lies on the bed where Vince is waiting. He stretches himself along her body, covering her thighs with his, the hair on his legs tickling her. Slowly, he drags his fingers between her thighs, traces her pussy lips, presses his hand against her mound, then up her torso, flat and firm. As he lowers his lips to her breasts, she gasps, every time. He sinks his teeth into each nipple, rolls the soft flesh between hard enamel. He kisses the hollow at the base of her throat, the tip of her chin, her armpits. He licks lazy circles along the undersides of her arms. Finally, he places a moist kiss on each inner wrist before fastening the cuffs around them and chaining his wife to the bed. He tells her to sleep well. He turns off the light and settles in next to his wife, a possessive arm draped across her stomach. He falls asleep smiling.

  It doesn’t matter if she’s tired or not. Come midnight, Veronica knows that her place is in bed, by her husband’s side. When they travel, the cuffs come with them. On the nights she can’t sleep, Veronica lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling
or out at the night sky, enjoying the mild ache in her arms, eyes wide open. She has lived a lot of her life with her eyes wide open.

  Sometimes, a few hours after she has fallen asleep, Veronica feels her husband climb atop her, his cock hard and insistently throbbing against her thighs. She knows what to do. She spreads her legs, wide. As Vince buries his cock inside his wife, stretching her open, she moans drowsily. She doesn’t have to move or groan or call out his name. She only has to allow herself to be used. It turns her on that in the dark of their bedroom, their bodies heavy with sleep, she is just a tight warm space from which her husband will extract his satisfaction. She is always wet and ready for him. Vince fucks her hard at night, moaning with each thrust of his hips, squeezing his fingers roughly into her thighs, leaving coin-sized bruises for her to admire in the morning.

  Veronica has a life of her own, a successful career. She works long hours, keeps her own money. But she is always available to her husband. When he comes to her workplace with that look in his eye, his chin set to the right, she knows to close her office door behind him. She knows to speak only when spoken to, to fall to her knees, cross her ankles, bow her head. She stares at the shine of his shoes, the fine cut of his slacks. She bows her head lower, until she is prostrate. She lovingly kisses each of his shoes. She stays like that until she hears the zipper of his slacks slowly being lowered. He wraps his fingers in her long red hair, curling them into a tight fist. He pulls her head up, drags his thumb across her lower lip, then slides his thumb into her mouth. She sucks on it, loudly, sloppily. He opens her mouth wider and says, “Take me,” with an edge to his voice. She extends her tongue, leans forward slightly, inhales deeply as he fills her mouth with his cock. At first, he holds himself there in the silky warmth of her mouth, her jaw aching as it accommodates his girth. Then he grips her head with both hands and rocks his hips, slowly fucking her mouth the same way he fucks her cunt or her ass or her tits, as Veronica rakes her fingernails along the undersides of Vince’s ass and down the backs of his thighs.