Please, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “You want my cock, hungry bitch?” You growl in my ear. I whimper and close my eyes, drunk on the heady combination of your words and the feel of your fingers pumping my cunt. But then you slap my face and I cry out, jolted back to the moment, mind racing, trying to figure out what I’ve done to displease you. “I asked you a question,” you say. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” And I trip over myself in my eagerness to be redeemed, nodding my head, mewing my assent, telling you in a halting, breathy voice I barely recognize as my own how much I want your cock inside me, how starved I am for it. I beg you to fuck me and feel my cheeks flood with heat. I am the greedy whore you name me, my hungry cunt aching for release, and all the while you finger-fuck me, grinding into me up against the door.

  I am rewarded for my answer with a kiss, and for the first time tonight I feel the sublime touch of your lips against mine, your tongue teasing the corners of my mouth, then aggressively demanding entry. I moan and eagerly yield to the pressure of your kiss, hands snaking up your chest to delve into the soft hair at the nape of your neck, reveling in the feel of your tongue stroking wetly against my own. You kiss me hungrily, dominating my mouth with ruthless intensity, the heat between us rising white hot.

  You grip me by the waist, never breaking the kiss, and lift me up, my back still pressed against the door. I wrap my legs around your waist and you lean into me hard, moving one hand beneath me to bring yourself into position, and then I feel the thick head of your cock probing the mouth of my cunt, finding no resistance and then filling me, inch by agonizing inch. Hands beneath my thighs, your hips thrust slowly forward as you lower me more fully onto you, until I am filled to overflowing with you, breaking the kiss with a gasp as my body stretches to take you in. You smile then, the corner of your mouth moving upward with that same slow seductive curve you flashed in the restaurant. “Is that what you want?” you ask me, rocking forward again.

  “Yes!” I hiss, and I feel you deep inside of me, feel you fucking me at last, feel your hips grinding into me, driving out the rhythm my body’s been craving all night.

  There is no teasing in this now. You are strength and force and raw sex, giving me all that I can take, fucking me hard and fast, hips pistoning into me, growling that you want my orgasm, you want to feel my slobbering cunt clench around your dick, you want to feel my nails digging into you, hear me grunting, taste the sweat on my skin. I feel the tension rising in my body, feel it coiling tighter in my belly with every rough thrust and moist word you breathe. My thighs clamp around your waist even tighter, wanting more of you, ravenous for you even as you fuck me with a roughness that borders on violence. I know I’ll hurt tomorrow, feel that sweet ache in my cunt that reminds me of this, of you. I moan with pleasure at the thought, and grab on to you all the harder, working my cunt feverishly on your cock in time with your raw thrusts until orgasm tears through my body and I cry out my release. You keep fucking me, never slowing your rhythm as spasms of pleasure rock through my cunt, and one wave of pleasure spills into the next until I think I can’t possibly take any more.

  Only then do you stop, lowering me spent and exhausted to the ground. I want nothing more than to curl into you and rest, but there’s no respite for the wicked. You turn me over so that I’m on my knees in front of you, shoulders on the ground. You kneel behind me, one hand on my ass, the other guiding your slick cock into my aching cunt until I am impaled on your thick length. I can’t help but moan at the feel of you filling me, and again as you start to move with slow thrusts, pulling back until only the head of your cock is in me, then pushing forward again, feeding me your cock inch by agonizing inch. You tell me to stroke my clit for you and I whimper a little, my flesh overly sensitive to the touch, but I obey you, circling the engorged tissue with light strokes. You tell me you want me to stroke myself for you like that until I come again, and I know a moment’s misery because I don’t honestly think I can. You slap my ass hard and I cry out. “Do it,” you say, punctuating your words with hard thrusts.

  It’s easier somehow like that, with your cock driving into me aggressively, your hands gripping my hips tightly. I’ll have bruises there too, evidence of your possession. I like your marks on me; I feel less naked in my nakedness with them. You moan then, and your fingers tighten reflexively on my hips, the speed of your thrusts increasing. Some primal feeling breathes new life into my sex, and I press my fingers more firmly into my clit, feeling it pulse, feeling that delicious tension start to rise again in time with your arousal. I hear your breathing, shallow and erratic, feel the tremor in your hands as your pleasure mounts, and stroke my clit harder, feeling my own pleasure rising in turn. I am undone by the feel of you coming apart, losing control as you pump your cock into me, as hard and fast as you can, until I hear you cry out your own release and my orgasm hits me like a freight train.

  We collapse in a heap of tangled limbs and rumpled clothes and lie quietly until our hearts slow and our breathing calms and the cool air chills the sweat on our heated skin. You stand, offering me your hand, and lead me to your bed without a word. With gentle fingers and soft kisses, you remove my clothes, and then your own, pulling back the coverlet and sliding in beside me, urging my head onto your shoulder and covering us in a warm cocoon of blankets. You kiss my forehead tenderly and whisper that I am a good girl, that I am your girl. My heart soars. I belong to you.

  MOMMY’S BOY

  Doug Harrison

  Marc had leaned his butt against the bondage bench, elbows resting on its leather surface. His sweaty torso was still heaving from his exertions. His condom-covered cock jutted in front of him. I couldn’t help staring before I sidled over. I fantasized that he was a client, and I could imagine the excitement I would feel while securing him to the table—tightly, no movement possible. Not with an intricate rope harness, my specialty, but with wrist and ankle restraints, spread-eagled, his taut muscles stretched to their limit as they pushed against his smooth skin, accentuating his gorgeous physique. I could slide my tongue and fingers over every inch of his body, fuck his mouth with my tongue, tease his cock until he screamed for release, and lower myself ever so slowly onto its hardness and fuck us into oblivion.

  I cleared my mind and perched next to him, feet jutting over the edge, and despite my age, must have looked the picture of a schoolgirl sitting on a playground table. I put my hand on his thigh. A few minutes passed, during which Marc stared vacantly at the far wall while his hard-on wilted.

  “Looks like it went well,” I said.

  “I hope so,” Marc replied.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Okay, I guess. A little winded, but that will pass. Felt strange at first, getting paid to do something as natural as S/M.”

  “I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”

  “That’s what I did,” Marc said reflectively. He stood, stretched, and removed the condom. He glanced in one of the full-length mirrors as he tossed the well-filled rubber into a wastebasket.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re beautiful.” I smirked. “Not bad for a guy who just turned thirty-five,” I added. “And our client thinks so, too. He seemed…how should I say it? Serene but pensive. Whatever you did, it worked. He wants to know when he can see you again. It’s that old magic.”

  “I’m glad,” Marc grinned. “Glad I could assist ‘Mistress Michelle. ’ Besides, I enjoyed myself.”

  “As soon as he stammered that he ‘wanted to be with a man,’ I thought of you.”

  “It’s good I was back in the area.”

  “Yes, as I mentioned on the phone, I heard through the grapevine that you’d returned.”

  “The S/M community has big ears.”

  “And even larger mouths.”

  We both laughed.

  “What brought you back?” I asked.

  “We engineers move around. But it’s good to be here in Silicon Valley. More perversion than in a Midwestern town, even a large one.”

  “And more acceptance.”

  “You got
it.”

  “I remember seeing you at the Janus play party years ago,” I said.

  “My first one.”

  “Obviously. You looked, well, unsettled, but your commanding presence overrode that.”

  “And you showed me the ropes, so to speak.”

  Again we laughed.

  “And you learned quickly,” I said. “Made quite a reputation in the community.” I winked. “With both the ladies and the men.”

  “Yep.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “Hard to say, I mean, difficult to say. Fifteen years of marriage and two kids leave an impression.”

  “I watched you meander from pansexual parties to gay sex clubs.”

  “Yeah, and a boyfriend or two.”

  I shrugged. “Well, you’re here now. I hope you haven’t lost your touch with the women.”

  “Hell, no! I’m still footloose and fancy free.” Mark was too proud to blush, but his eyes sparkled. “It’s great to be here. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Thank you! Our time together, even with a client, made me think of how much I’ve missed you. God, even if I had to pay for your sexy body, I’d gladly do it.” I languidly traced one well-manicured nail across Marc’s sharply defined pecs.

  “For you, it’s always free,” Marc shot back.

  I paused almost imperceptibly, and whispered in soft, husky tones, “Take me down, Marc, take me down.”

  Marc cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. “No limits?”

  “No limits, baby.” I threw my hair back with a quick flick of my head to disguise any nervousness, real or perceived.

  Marc covered the short distance between us in two quick strides, his cock hardening in the process. He grabbed my red hair and hauled me to his height. He scanned my few silver locks and glared directly into my eyes. “You really want it, don’t you, crone?”

  I flinched. Mark clearly knew the honorific used by myself and my friends, and his pejorative manner cut me to the quick. Well, I had asked for it.

  “Lick my boots.” Marc dropped, almost threw me to the carpet. “Let me feel your mommy tongue through the leather. Make love to your boy’s boots.”

  I captured Marc’s right boot with a firm, two-handed grip. I pressed my face tightly to the toe box and quickly covered it with kisses. I licked, and dug my teeth into the black, shimmering leather. Marc put his left foot on my shoulder.

  “Goddamn, you’re a terrific footrest,” he hissed.

  “Ooh, yes, yes,” I moaned. I glanced up at Marc and felt the lines around my eyes soften in the dim light.

  “Shut up and keep licking,” Marc said while he kicked my derriere with the side of his boot. I returned to my task with renewed vigor after his remark about the firmness of my well-rounded ass. Although I’m confident in the appeal of my body, at age fifty-one, every compliment helps.

  “That’s it, make your boy’s feet feel real good,” Marc encouraged. “I like you on your knees. That’s where you belong, slut. Feels good down there, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Now the other one. Make the other one feel good, too.”

  I switched feet. Marc reached into his vest pocket. I snuck a quick look. He pulled out a pair of gloves and methodically donned them behind his back.

  “You’re pretty good at licking boots, slut,” he snarled. He yanked me to a kneeling position. “Look, here’s a present for Mommy.” I inhaled deeply while Marc drew the back of his hand under my nose. The leather glove was skintight and lead weights were sewn into the knuckles.

  He stuck his thumb into my mouth. I shuddered and sucked on it. My hesitation morphed into greed. Marc cupped my jaw in his hands and stared into my eyes.

  “I love the surprise in your eyes.” A firm slap landed on my left cheek. “I like to see fear in your eyes—it turns me on.” He smacked my other cheek. “I’m going to give you pain.” Slap. “I know you like it—it turns you on, too.” Slap. Slap. “I’m going to give you so much pain you can’t take any more…” Slap. “But you’ll want more.” Slap. “Just like the pain pig you are.” Slap. Slap. Slap. “I’ll have you begging for pain, not knowing if it’s you or someone else screaming.”

  Marc paused. “Got that, bitch?”

  I whimpered, squirming in his tight grasp.

  Marc pushed me to the floor. “Get out of those damn domme clothes,” he ordered. “Hurry!”

  I twisted and tugged to quickly remove boots, skirt and bustier. My eyes darted to my vibrator, dangling from a peg on the wall, cord tightly wound in a neat bundle. It was within easy reach.

  “You don’t need your fuckin’ vibrator,” Marc shouted. He sneered while I whimpered in embarrassment. “An old lady’s best friend—do it with electricity—yeah, well, I’ll show you a good enough time. Now crawl over to the horse; I’m gonna give you a real ride.” He pushed me down on all fours, and urged me across the room with the tip of his boot.

  I halted in front of the walnut sawhorse. Its top and legs were padded in black leather, and numerous metal rings were bolted along its perimeter.

  “Get your ass up there,” Marc commanded. I climbed onto the horse, butt hanging over the edge, my chin resting on the opposite end. Marc chose several leather straps from the collection arranged in coils on a shelf. He ran one of the thongs under my nose, pausing long enough for me to savor the familiar aroma. “When I’m finished, you’re not going anywhere.”

  He secured my thighs, calves, and upper arms to the legs of the horse. I moaned with pleasure when he cinched each strip of leather. He finished by tightening a wide belt about my waist.

  “You really like this, don’t you, giving up all your goddamn power, surrendering to your boy?” Marc asked. I again nodded.

  “Answer me, now!” he ordered. He stood in front of me and pulled my hair back until our eyes met.

  I squealed through my tears.

  Marc’s dick was harder than it had been all day. Pulsing veins throbbed along the thick shaft.

  “Then suck on this. Show me how much you like boy cock.” Marc slapped my cheeks with his dick. I turned my head and finally grabbed the tip of his bobbing prick with pursed lips. Marc jammed it down my throat and I gasped for breath.

  “You cocksucking bitch. That’s it, make your boy feel real good. This is what you’ve been waiting for all night, isn’t it? Take it, you slut, take it!”

  I was a good cocksucker, even in this position, even with Marc’s larger-than-average dick. I nibbled, I slurped, I sucked. Marc brushed my shoulders with his gloved hands, and worked up to a series of hard blows, each one landing when his dick reached the apex of his thrust.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I gurgled in louder and louder tones, my fists clenched.

  Suddenly Marc paused, and stood very still. “Wait.” We remained motionless for about ten seconds. His dick softened somewhat. My eyes widened when I tasted the first few drops of acrid piss. My panting slowed and I sealed my lips tightly around his dickhead. I had traveled this route a few times, always for a fee, but never with such a stud.

  “That’s it. Don’t spill a drop. Here it comes.” Marc let go. He breathed deeply and grunted while he forced a steady stream into my mouth. I swallowed feverishly to keep up with the flow. I used my throat muscles, not moving my lips, a technique that only a good cocksucker could easily adapt.

  “Good, very good,” Marc said with a nod of approval. The flow slowly subsided. He removed his dick from my mouth and wiped off his piss slit with a few wisps of my hair.

  I sighed.

  Marc knelt and kissed me roughly on the lips and then walked to the wall. My eyes followed his every move. “Think I’ll try some caning,” he said in a mocking voice, throwing his gloves into the corner.

  “No,” I wailed. “I hate caning!”

  “Quiet,” Marc growled. He picked up a few canes and swished each one back and forth. “Haven’t done much caning,” he mumbled, making sure I could hear his ruminations. He chose a three-foot
-long birch cane, about a quarter inch thick, and swaggered over to me, flexing the cane with every step. I shuddered.

  “Stick that pretty mommy ass up in the air for your boy,” he ordered. “As much as you can!” he added.

  “Oh, shit,” I grumbled while I complied.

  “What’s that?” Marc questioned. “Louder.”

  “Oh, shit,” I bawled.

  “That’s what I thought you said. Here’s something to make you shit.” He landed a vicious swipe across my ass. I screamed.

  “No, no, I’ll be good, don’t hit me again,” I pleaded.

  “You’ll be what I say you’ll be. Now shut up and take it.”

  Marc backed off and concentrated on my left cheek, hitting me lightly until I groaned. Then he changed hands and repeated the performance on my right side.

  “Almost like flogging,” he said. He grabbed a similar cane. “Now for some two-handed percussion.”

  He positioned himself directly behind me and simultaneously hit each cheek lightly. He slowly built to heavier blows, coaxing me to writhe while my yaps increased to howls.

  “Take three good ones,” he commanded and placed the canes on my ass, so I could feel where he was going to hit. “Here it comes,” he yelled. I stared at his reflection in a full-length mirror as he raised both hands over his head. The canes landed with a loud whacking sound. I screamed. Marc pressed the canes into my flesh while the stinging subsided.

  “Good-looking marks,” Marc observed in a loud voice, while he repeated the stroke.

  Tears formed in my eyes.

  “Last one.” Whack! My entire body spasmed. It was a long five seconds before I exhaled.

  Marc rubbed his hand over several welts. “Nice, in fact, quite nice. Ready for more?”

  “Oh, shit—I mean, yes.”

  Marc pummeled me with rapid blows of mixed intensity. I thrashed so much that the horse bounced back and forth and edged toward the wall.