Please, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  You’re teasing again, aren’t you, pet? Don’t tempt the little boy.

  The voice reverberated in my ear. A reminder that Daddy never let me stray too far from his side. I looked all around but didn’t see my Daddy outside the store. My bad, bratty choices had brought this on. The earpiece tickled my ear.

  I slipped my shirt strap off of my right shoulder. My shirt fell forward so far that my nipple poked above the fabric, with my nipple ring outlining the front of my T-shirt.

  “Where did you want to put the ring?” the clerk asked after wiping sweat from his brow. He changed his position and pulled the waist of his pants up, shifting his package.

  Leave him now, Lily. You’re here to relax, not flirt. Need I remind you—you’re mine?

  A horny young thing right here in front of me, and I had to walk away. Thinking fast, I dropped my purse. Daddy should have known I would get into trouble in public—I always did. I sensed a setup.

  “Let me help you with that.” The boy dove down to retrieve my purse. I leaned toward him. When he glanced up my bare tits glowed right in front of his face. I shook them back and forth and laughed because a vision of the last time Daddy played motorboat entered my mind. It must have caught him off guard because that’s when he fell flat out on the store floor. His unintelligible muttering couldn’t be deciphered. My jugs had power over men and I loved it.

  “Thank you for all your help. I’ll come back some other day. As you can see I have two real piercings already. Guess my clit will have to wait.” I reached down for my belongings, winked in his direction and exited the store. The young clerk with a raging hard-on gaped after me.

  You’ve pushed your limits once again, pet. For that you will pay.

  I smiled to myself. Good thing they haven’t invented a microphone that could read my mind. Otherwise Daddy would know all of the times I tested his limits. How else am I supposed to know just how far I can go before his domestic discipline is administered?

  Meet me in the food court.

  “Yes, Daddy. On my way.”

  I hustled my tail to the next level, flirting with everyone I passed. Daddy waited by the pizza place. Oh, goodie. He knew how much I loved the Italian pie.

  “Well, Lily. So nice to see you. I’ve already ordered for myself. Now you order.” He handed me a ten-dollar bill.

  I looked up at the menu deliberating my many choices. Veggie with feta cheese looked appetizing.

  “You’re looking at the wrong menu, dear.”

  At first I actually looked around the food court, wondering if there could be another menu up for the pizza place. I gave him my best puzzled look and remained silent for further instructions.

  “You will be eating at the hot dog vendor over there.” He pointed across the mall.

  My lip poked out and my eyebrows rose.

  “Unless, of course, you don’t want to eat.”

  I kicked the floor then took two of the ten steps that would lead me to the kiosk. After four more steps I turned to plead with my eyes. Daddy chose to speak in my ear so that no one else could hear.

  “Now, Lily.” I wanted pizza and hot dogs disgusted me. Of course, he knew that.

  The hot dog vendor looked up at my approach. “What would you like today?”

  “Apparently I need a long weenie to suck and chew and maybe vomit up later.”

  Lily…

  “With mustard, please.”

  I almost felt sorry for the old man. He coughed and sputtered and handed me a hot dog so fast that I could only deduce he wished to get rid of me.

  Go to the car.

  Fine, I thought, I’ll go to the car, but not because you’re telling me to—because I want to. I’d pushed Daddy too far again. Craving all of his attention seemed to get me into frequent trouble.

  You’d better be naked when I get there.

  Oh, yes, he was definitely upset. My mind filled with trepidation on the trek to the car. Once inside, I removed my clothing and held a jacket over my upper torso to hide my nakedness from passersby. I’d have to take my medicine this time. I watched the doors of the mall, anticipating his arrival and nibbling on the mixture of ass parts. He strode through the doors, took one bite of a piece of pizza and then threw the rest in the can by the sidewalk.

  Damn! My body stiffened. Locking the car doors passed through my list of options but I rejected it immediately. Daddy opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. Without even looking at me, he started the car and pulled away from the parking spot. I snuck several glances his way but he didn’t look back.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I know you don’t like me flirting with other men.”

  No response.

  “It didn’t mean anything anyway. You’re the one I love.”

  Still no response.

  We reached our home about five minutes later. “Go inside and assume the position.”

  “Yes, Sir.” At this point I’d become willing to suck up. I even tried to kiss him on the cheek but Daddy turned away.

  I sat, naked, on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace with my back to the door. The door opened and closed behind me. A peek would cause certain recrimination so I waited anxiously, quelling all thoughts of future brattiness.

  The refrigerator opened and closed. A pop-top got pulled back. Just the sound made me thirsty. I doubted that throwing back a cool one would be a viable option for me at that point. Great, now I had to sit here and salivate over a beer! And I didn’t even like the taste of the nasty stuff. Daddy walked across the floor, sat in his recliner and turned the television set on the History Channel.

  I wanted to pout but forced the inclination down. He knew I detested boring documentaries. Two hours later the TV got switched off. By some miracle of God I’d stayed in the correct position. My legs swung back and forth because I couldn’t quite reach the floor unless I stretched my toes down. The urge to turn around grew.

  Daddy came to stand in front of me. “A little brat is fun. A lot of brat is only fun for me.” There was that evil smile of his again. He unhooked his belt from his jeans.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  My eyes drifted up to his face. “I need a spanking.” There. I’d said it.

  “Why didn’t you ask for one earlier? We’ve talked about this, Lily. If you feel the need for discipline, ask for it.”

  “Yes, Sir. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask. I don’t know why.” Tears welled up under my eyelids. I willed them away because I wanted my Daddy to be proud of me.

  “Not only is that dishonest and disrespectful, it is also flagrant disobedience and that is something I will not have in this house… You know where to stand.”

  I stood up and walked around to the back of the chair, holding the back rungs with my hands and leaning my head forward, bracing myself.

  Smack!

  My punishment usually began with rubbing and small hits. The intensity of the first smack confirmed my suspicion that I’d gone too far this time.

  Smack!

  I clenched my asscheeks and held my breath for a few seconds. Once the pain and I became one, I expelled my breath and let the ol’ asscheeks relax. My ass rose up in the air, seeking the slap of the black leather implement.

  Smack!

  Thoughts of being bratty and the everyday worries of life faded away. Erotic images filled my mind: Me and Daddy with our flesh close and rubbing together. Lips pressing together. Soft bites that lead down my neck. Soon my mind reached subspace—the land of nothing and everything at the same time. In a distant land, a Daddy stood over his pet spanking her for severe misdeeds. Stress oozed from my pores to pool on the floor around me. All of the day’s tension poured out in a rush. Fleeting thoughts of lyrics and good times passed through my consciousness but nothing stayed long. This was my safe place where nothing could touch me physically or emotionally. If only I could live in this special place.

  Soothing touches caressed my bottom. I hadn’t realized my eyes were closed until I opened th
em, peering up almost sleepily into my Daddy’s eyes. My limp body lay across my Daddy’s lap. He stroked my back and cuddled me close to him for quite a while. I basked under his attention and snuggled closer.

  “I love you, pet. I’m so glad that you’re in my life.” His loving sentiments lulled me. I loved this part of the scene. My Daddy and I, in love and so connected.

  After a while I decided that the time had come to ’fess up and let him know I’d fully returned, so I kissed his lips. This had always been our predetermined signal that I’d returned to full clarity. He returned the kiss, quickly taking control and sucking on my bottom lip. I shifted my body to sit upright in his lap and wrapped my legs around his torso. The fresh pain of punishment heated my bottom. His hands rested on both sides of my head and separated us.

  “I’d like for us to talk about what led up to this, pet.” He waited to ascertain my attention had turned to him.

  “If you have a problem, come to me. I won’t judge you or punish you or hold anything against you.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “If asking for what you need is embarrassing, hell, send me a letter or better yet an email—instant satisfaction. It will beep right to my Blackberry.”

  “I was wrong to get my brat on once again. Sometimes I think my few minutes of bratting are a form of control for me. A snippet of taking charge of our relationship. I know that honor belongs to you and you alone. I apologize, Daddy.”

  “You’re right in one respect, little one. Your brat behaviors are a form of topping from the bottom. Your job is to focus on my needs, not your own. Your faux defiance amuses me at times, but you must learn my hard limits.” He paused.

  “I know that you need discipline to take away the pressures of life. That’s my job. I watch for the signs, but I must insist that you come to me if I don’t see them or if they possibly are being hidden from me.” His eyebrows rose as he spoke.

  “So you knew how I tested you.” I cast my eyes down to think for a moment. “My sole desire is to serve you, and I promise to think before I act next time. I will work on learning to identify the triggers that make me act this way as well.”

  “That’s all I ask, pet.”

  Another day, another punishment. Ideas of how to be bratty tomorrow stormed through my mind. It’s what I need to do, and I think Daddy knows that.

  PLEASURE KEEPER

  Charlotte Stein

  You wouldn’t know it to look at him. He has that casual, bed-headed look of all brothers of best friends everywhere, the sort of man who slinks into the kitchen while you’re having a conversation and rifles through the kitchen cupboards, looking for the cereal. The kind of man who’s far too old to be living with his parents, and yet somehow still is.

  Like something washed up on a beach, that’s how I thought of him. Like something left behind by adulthood.

  Sheree hates him. She thinks he’s a giant goofy jackass who shouldn’t be allowed out in public. She thinks he’s slow and stupid and mimics his slow stupid voice often. But then, all sisters hate their brothers. So it’s not as though she’s a reliable witness.

  I should have known. I should have known he wasn’t really slow or stupid or half as careless as he seems. He makes a ton of money from whatever Internet thing he does, holed up in his dank cave of a bedroom with the blinds drawn, bashing away at his collection of keyboards.

  You’d think it would smell sweaty and faintly like come in there, but it doesn’t. I know it doesn’t because that’s how all this nonsense started: I crept into his bedroom when he was supposed to be out doing god knows what and examined all of his things. Sheree was downstairs on the couch, asleep amidst the rubble of college applications.

  She’ll never apply. We’ve both been not applying for three years now. So I guess…well, how are we any better than Aaron? We certainly hadn’t seemed any better when I stumbled over a great rubble of books stuffed under his bed, the sort of books I have to force myself to read. And then there were all the strange flickering things dancing across his many computer screens that made me think he wasn’t quite as stupid as I had been led to believe.

  And then there was his voice, not slow at all, cutting through the musty dimness, drawling right through me; kind of curious, just a little kink of curiosity in his stretching curling voice.

  “What are you doing in here, Kitty-Cat?”

  I recall imagining him down on his knees, trying to coax a timid little thing out from underneath the couch. What did you get yourself into now, little pussy? Come out from under there and let me play with you.

  Despite the fact that he had just recently been out, he looked like he always did, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Too-long hair mussed, eyes sleepy, just a T-shirt and some pants that looked suspiciously like pajama bottoms. He’s very tall. He looked very tall, right then.

  I can’t remember saying anything in reply. I think he said, “You like looking at my things?”

  I don’t know if he intended it to sound like a double entendre. Either way, it greased the wheels. It put certain things in motion that had not previously entered my head. I thought a lot about his big chocolate eyes and his equally big hands. I let him show me the website he’d been working on by crouching around me like a great warm spider, me perched on a stool and him behind.

  He smelled like the pale green soap that comes in little wooden boxes, the kind you can get from any supermarket, all tangy and sharp. Not cloying, just sort of drifting over me.

  It was all very good. I don’t think he was hitting on me, exactly, but hey…if things went that way? I doubt he had plans to complain. He didn’t complain at all when I simply turned my head and kissed him long and hard. I think it was all the warmth and his mussed hair and the tang of him.

  But he kissed me back, even so. He said: “Are you sure you want things to go this way, Kit?” And in his voice there had been an odd note of laughter, a little liquid tease that tasted like hot chocolate going down.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I should have known that you only ask a question like that if you’re about to push someone until she pops.

  It’s an odd kind of thing. At first I had no idea he was doing anything at all. He seemed gentlemanly and if that meant that my trips to his bedroom and our illicit-for-no-reason dates ended with me feeling on fire, well, that’s just how it should be. That’s what grown-up dating is—we’re adults, and adults don’t wrestle with each other in the front seats of cars, trying desperately to get underwear off.

  They wait for things to politely progress. By the third date I wanted to politely progress his entire body all over, up and down.

  It was on the third that something awful struck me. As I lunged at him in the front seat of his stupid little Beetle car, and he tried to fend me off with all his “Whoa, whoas,” I realized I was the jock, trying to get him to put out for me. He was the one always saying slow down, hold on, wait a minute.

  But unlike me in that role, he laughed as he said it. He asked me in his caramel voice why I always had to be in such a rush.

  I thought that was really cool of him. But it’s looking less cool the more he does it. It’s looking more and more like…like maybe this is his thing. He’s a clit tease. A tormentor. He’s getting off on making me suffer in ways I never thought I’d suffer with him. He’s older and sure of himself and should be making me do every fucking thing under the sun.

  And he’s also becoming more and more attractive with every passing moment that we don’t screw. He has a cumulative effect. Everything has a cumulative effect. The fact that we’re sneaking around because he’s my best friend’s brother, the fact that his parents are often downstairs while we make out on his bed, the fact that he’s as big as a house and swallows me whole when he’s over me.

  I’m now on a hair trigger. I get wet when he slides my coat down my arms. When he puts one knee between my legs and urges me back onto his bed. When he says, “Shh.”

  I’m already trembling. My
cheeks are so hot I feel like I could burn him with them. When his body glides over mine and two layers of material graze my nipples, I kick out without meaning to. The covers ruffle up beneath my heels.

  “What’s the matter, Kitty-Cat?” he asks, but he asks it while he nuzzles that sensitive place just below my ear. He asks it while he’s busy licking me with little flicks of his tongue. I stand on the edge of some sort of arousal precipice, just waiting for him to grasp a handful of one of my tits, to get both of his legs between mine and rut up against me.

  “Nothing,” I say, as I clutch at his back like someone drowning, drowning in a drought.

  It doesn’t help that he never kisses me the way other boy-friends did. His lips part softly over mine, in slow torturous rhythms that I can’t follow. His tongue is lewd and slippery, thrusting into my mouth like a cock, just when I think he’s going to tease. And then the other way around and again from the beginning.

  I’m sorry that I didn’t wear any underwear. I’m now so wet that it’s all over my inner thighs, and I can feel myself all slick and swollen without even putting a hand down there. I honestly don’t think I should try turning myself on any more than he already has done, but I have to. It’s a compulsion. If I could just shift down on the bed, a little, I could rub my cunt against his thigh.

  But he has me pinned. Too bad the pinning means that my tight tense nipples keep rubbing roughly against his chest, and that his hand keeps pretending that it’s going to move down, to my thigh—and then slithers away at the last second. I could weep. I could beg. I think he might even want me to beg.

  Though that thought does not help me.

  He’s moaning into my mouth, now. The sort of moan people make when they bite into something really tasty. And he’s practically rocking against me, while his big hand cups the back of my head and clamps my mouth to his. I’m sure I can feel something thick and heavy, rubbing against my hip.

  It’s too much. I have to say something. I break away from all the kissing and push him up, up, but that is probably a mistake because his expression is one of single-minded hunger, eyes focused only on my mouth and his own mouth hanging open as though it was mean of me to deprive it.