Please, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “Turn around,” he said, plainly. I did so. “Bend forward.” I looked both ways for walkers, then bent over and arched my ass up for his pleasure. He snapped the leash end across my ass, hard. I yelped and winced. It stung. He struck again. Then a third time. “That,” he said, “is for looking around before you obeyed me. Now, let us get to the punishment for presuming to sit beside me rather than at my feet, like a good little animal.” I shivered; I knew my ass was reddening and that he was enjoying it. I could not see him, bent forward with hands above my knees as I was. But I knew he was rising, and I knew my ass was in trouble. His hand came down with a loud smack that sent some forest creatures skittering noisily away. I managed not to cringe as he hit me three more times, but it brought tears to my eyes. He spanked me once more with both hands, and I held still and kept silent. “Good girl,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Now back up and bring that poor little red ass to your Master.” I stayed bent forward and took a step back. I closed my eyes and waited. I loved this part. He reached forward and held my hips, then dragged his soft, warm, wet tongue over my cheeks. Three licks, four, five, cool air soothing me with each broad lap. “Better?” he asked when he’d finished. I nodded heavily, so he could see. “Very nice, pet. Now sit where you’re supposed to.”

  I turned around, then knelt beside him, resting my ass lightly on my heels. The ground was uneven and strewn with pebbles and twigs. I adjusted myself as comfortably as I could. The small pain served as further silent penitence. He caressed my hair and looked around. “Beautiful day, girl. Just beautiful. Smell those flowers. What could be better than a day out, walking my sub.” He laughed. I smiled, leaned my face on his lap. “Such a good girl. I think you deserve a little treat, don’t you?” I nodded, face still resting on his thighs. “Sit up now. That’s it.” I sat up, nice and tall, waiting for him to offer me his cock. I was overjoyed when that is exactly what he did. He unzipped his fly and released his nice thick hard-on, then moved his hands away. I reached out for it, but he slapped my hand away. “No!” he scolded. “Don’t touch Master’s treasure with your dirty little paws.”

  I nodded. I understood. I bent forward and pushed out my tongue to lap at his delicious hard cock. Within a few strokes, he was leaking precome that I devoured greedily, delighted at having earned it so quickly. My dear Master murmured softly in his throat, again stroking my hair with one hand while his other held the leash loosely. I dipped deeper and pressed my nose into his balls so I could lick beneath. He arched his hips and wriggled his pants down a bit farther to give me access. I loved how much he wanted my mouth on him. I licked and lapped at him, nuzzling in and teasing his asshole with the tip of my tongue. He moaned. I wanted those pants off; I reached up a hand.

  He sat up sharply. He grabbed my wrist. “Damn it, girl, didn’t you hear me? No paws.” He shook his head at me, wrapped his hand around most of the leash and tugged hard to bring my face to his groin. “I guess you need me to show you.” He wound his free hand around my ponytail, gripping it where it met my head, and pushed me down on his cock. I took it in as deep as I could, trying not to gag. “Suck it.” I did so, my leash keeping me from moving, his hand pulling my hair to set the pace he desired. He groaned as I swirled my tongue around his shaft when he allowed me breathing room. I moved up and down the length of him, just the way he liked. My throat relaxed as I accepted his control. Moisture pooled between my legs as I felt him swell in my mouth. He neared climax far more quickly than I knew he’d like, and I basked in it, pouring all of my desire and need to give myself to him into the way I sucked his hard cock. After a few more strokes, he pulled me sharply off him, brought my lips to his for a deep, plundering kiss. I moaned in my throat as he devoured my mouth, stroking my tongue roughly with his. I felt my insides turn to molten lava as my pussy clenched and released.

  As if he knew, he reached for me. “Sit up, girl.” I got to my knees. He unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it back to fall from my shoulders. The breeze was heaven, but I was so worried someone would walk by. I didn’t dare let the nervousness show on my face, however, or he might stop. He admired me, sitting there, the sun through the trees speckling me with shadows. “My sweet little dalmatian,” he said, tracing the “spots” on my shoulders with gentle fingertips. He let his touch dance over my skin, down to my breasts, then released my leash (so trusting), to caress and knead my breasts. “Sweet, sweet girl,” he whispered, filling his hands with me. My eyelids drifted shut, until I felt the sharp pain of my nipples being pulled up hard. “Did I tell you to close your eyes?” I shook my head, eyes meeting his. He pulled harder. I struggled not to wince. My pussy, ever the betrayer, offered a thin trail of sap down the inside of my right thigh. I shuddered.

  My observant Master didn’t miss that little trail. He released my nipples and came to stand behind me, leash once again in hand. He pushed my legs apart, then came down to my level. I sighed as he pressed his warm, clothed body up against mine. He took two fingers and swept them along the track of wetness down my leg, then brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them loudly. “Mine for the taking, aren’t you, sweet baby?” As he spoke, he reached between my legs, pressed his cock there, and rubbed against my slit. I let my head drop back, moaning softly. “Oh, yes, sweet little pussy…all mine to use. So sweet…” I knew he was far gone when he talked a string like this, repeating “sweet” in every phrase. He wanted me, and he would have me, any way he chose.

  With a swift, fluid motion, he pressed forward and had the head of his cock inside me before I knew it. He ground in small circles and held me still, hands digging into my hips. I moaned. With a growl that thrilled me to my hungry core, he plunged in, hilting himself within me as his balls slapped against my clit. I cried out and my ass received a slap for my lack of control. “Quiet, my ravenous little bitch,” he ground out, holding himself still. He was tense. He wanted to let go, I knew, but not until he had the submission he sought from me. He never called me “bitch”—but it worked so well now, as he took me, doggy-style, his greedy little pet in heat. My breathing was quick and hard; I tried to calm it, to slow it, to make myself quiet and tranquil for him. He began to ride me again, fully in control now, with long deep strokes that kept my pulse racing and my pussy soaked. He pumped faster, fingers gripping my hips hard, balls rhythmically spanking my lips and clit, rough thighs slapping into the soft backs of mine. I began to press back into him, to meet his rhythm. “No. Be still, bitch,” he snapped, and continued his assault, reaching up to slip a thumb into my pussy beside his cock, then, nicely slicked, into my ass. “Take what your Master gives…feel my need and be…satisfied…in giving yourself up to my will…”

  I loved when he got so hot that he talked this way: power mad and in stuttered phrases, controlled yet wild. I nearly swooned with it and the relentless grind into my sodden cunt and tight ass. Then, he arched over me and grabbed my hair, fucking me like we were both animals, he a greedy predator, I his eager prey. He drove into me, for minutes or hours, until we were both sweating as he strained to reach his climax and I my own. Each thrust brought him closer, his cock swelling inside me. His balls kept a steady beat on my clit and his hand tugged at my hair to bring me over, shattering around him, my mind swirling, body arching, a gasp then a hoarse cry pouring from my throat as my muscles locked of their own accord. My contractions milked his climax from him, drove him over the edge with a groan of hunger so deep it was hard to tell if he felt pleasure or pain. But I smiled as he shook my body with his orgasm, coming deep and hot within me, then more over my pussy and ass as he pulled out.

  “Oh, sweet baby,” he muttered, “sweet fucking angel cunt.” I smiled at his string of orgasm-induced epithets, enjoying every moment of his exultation. “Damn, that pussy drives me wild.” He brought his mouth down and licked and sucked our mingled juices. I basked in the gentle attention until he sank back onto his heels. I turned around and sat, too, smiling up at him. He leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to my lips, both of us bre
athing too hard yet to do more. He smiled and brushed a hand down my back. He stopped suddenly, the Master back fully in his eyes. “Oh, shit, girl, look at this mess.” His hand was covered with come. “Clean this, pet, right now.” I leaned forward and lapped at it, licking up the thick, cool, musky liquid that clung to his fingers. I hated cold come but nothing would prevent me from obeying this order. When he was clean enough, he stood and wiped his hands on his pants, then did up his fly. “All right, come on, girl; we have to get you cleaned up, too.” I rose, and he took hold of my leash again. He began to walk.

  “Hey, wait,” I said, laughing. “I don’t have any clothes on.”

  He yanked on the leash. “Stop that growling, right now. You know you need a bath, girl, and you’re going to get one.” I looked up, astonished. Surely he wouldn’t…

  But he did. He walked us straight toward the fishermen at the edge of the lake. I shook my head, pulled against the leash. “Bad girl!” he shouted, turning to spank my ass hard. “Heel!”

  I felt dared. And I was up to any dare he could come up with—especially as none of the guys fishing looked even slightly familiar. So I walked, obediently, a pace behind him, the leash now slack but still in my Master’s hand. I smiled brightly at one of the fishermen. He did a double take right out of a slapstick comedy. All three of them stared, slack-jawed.

  “Stay, girl,” my Master said, leaving me for a moment while he bent to pick something up. I obeyed, eyes watching him. He grabbed a stick. I grinned, shook my head. “Gotta get you to take a bath somehow, pet. Now fetch!” He unhooked my leash and threw the stick into the water. I stared at him a moment, waiting to be sure he was truly serious about this. “Go on, girl!” he gushed. I headed in, running then swimming out to get it. The water was cold and tightened my nipples. I swam hard to get used to it, then grabbed the stick in my hand before placing it between my teeth. I turned and paddled back, enjoying the enormous grin on my Master’s face that turned into delighted laughter. The fishermen were mumbling to themselves, one smiling, one shaking his head, and the other still silent with his mouth hanging open. My thoughtful Master held out my shirt for me as I walked ashore, soaking wet. A bit out of breath, I approached quietly, humbly. I walked tall, pretending to ignore the others’ gazes, then I dropped the stick at Master’s feet. He smiled and leaned forward to kiss me. I took a step back and, with all my might, shook my head and body to splash him head to toe with cold lake water.

  He gasped. I grabbed the shirt and ran before he could get hold of my leash. I raced him to the car, knowing he’d catch me before I could get inside. He pursued, reaching for the leather dangling from my neck. “Oh, you’re gonna get it, girl!” he threatened, laughter in his voice. I got to the car first, but, of course, he had locked the doors and had the keys. I turned to see him slowly approaching, dangling the keychain from his fingertip. “Need something, pet?” His dirty little smile promised much, and the bulge in his jeans promised even more. I smiled and licked my lips, giddy with desire to find out what punishment he’d think up when he got me into that backseat.

  JUST WHAT SHE NEEDS

  Donna George Storey

  What I needed that night was pasta.

  Or rather, my boyfriend, Greg, needed pasta. I was supposed to stop at Raffetto’s on my way home and get some fresh linguine fini. But I’d had a hell of a day with back-to-back depositions, and I forgot. Okay, I didn’t actually forget, but I figured for once Mr. Gourmet could make do with some of the packaged stuff.

  Suffice to say I wasn’t in a very good mood when I walked in the door. However, the sight of curly-headed Greg at the stove stirring up puttanesca sauce with his big, capable hands definitely raised my spirits. The scent of good virgin olive oil, garlic and olives filled the kitchen and my mouth began to water. Greg was a web designer and worked at home, leaving him plenty of time to clean and cook and pamper me. I pretty much had me the ideal wife—with a big, juicy cock attached. Sometimes I felt so lucky to have him, I had to pinch myself.

  But tonight, I just felt tired and annoyed.

  “Today was an absolute nightmare,” I greeted him, throwing down my briefcase on the bench inside the door and dumping my coat in a heap on top.

  “That’s too bad, sweetie. But now you can relax. Dinner’s almost ready,” Greg said, giving me a kiss and a glass of Chianti. “I just need to cook up the linguine.”

  “I didn’t get it.”

  He frowned as if he didn’t quite get it himself.

  “Can’t you use something from a box tonight? I mean pasta is pasta.”

  “Pasta is not pasta. You know that.”

  I rolled my eyes and reached into the cabinet for a package of spaghetti I’d bought before Greg moved in. “See, it says right here, this is Italy’s best-selling brand. What’s good enough for the Italians is good enough for us.”

  Greg gave me a patient smile. “Okay, I know you’ve had a hard day. I’ll go buy it myself. You can start on the salad while I’m out. Some good food will make you feel better.”

  He was right, but like I said, I was in a bitchy mood, so his understanding only made me madder. “Why does dinner always have to be such a fucking big deal?” I grumbled. “I’m not even really hungry. I’ll just have a yogurt.” I reached for the refrigerator door.

  That’s when he said it, his voice so soft I could barely hear the words.

  I know just what she needs.

  My stomach did a somersault, and my arm flopped to my side like a rag doll’s. Another five seconds passed before I remembered to breathe. When I finally exhaled, it came out as a soft whimper.

  And my crotch was soaking wet.

  I turned and glanced up at Greg. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “You know just what you need, Karen, don’t you?”

  There was a lump in my throat the size of a walnut. All I could manage was a nod.

  “I want you to go take your shower. But first hang up your coat. You know you shouldn’t leave it crumpled on the bench like that.” Again his words were low and soft, a dead monotone.

  Yet the voice seemed to reach up inside me and give my secret muscles a deliciously painful squeeze. In fact, my whole body already felt sore, worked over, memory and anticipation twisted together so tightly I felt drunk. I walked over to the door, unsteadily, as if making my way through ankle-deep mud. Hands shaking, I eased my coat onto the rack and glanced over at him, awaiting my next command.

  Greg was watching me, eyes narrowed.

  “I can sense the attitude change already,” he said. “Go get ready, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  I headed down the hall slowly, half hoping he might change his mind, call me back for a soothing hug instead.

  Not that he ever did.

  As I hung my skirt in the closet and tossed my blouse and underwear in the laundry basket, I heard pots rattling and water running out in the kitchen, ordinary sounds filtered through layers of thick gauze. But the ordinary world was already far behind me. With each step, each motion, thought slipped away, leaving only that sweet throbbing ache low between my legs.

  Soon I would be in the place where I always got just what I needed.

  I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Greg insisted that the water be as hot as I could take it. Wincing, I quickly soaped under my arms, between my legs, and circled my anus with a frothy finger. I held my buttcheeks open to the boiling spray, then turned and tilted my hips up to wash my labia. It stung, as if a whole layer of skin had been seared away, but my soft, pink parts still plumped up in the heat, until my body was limp, feverish, tingling.

  Drying off quickly, I grabbed an extra towel from the shelf. When I opened the door, Greg was already lounging on the bed in his bathrobe, stroking his erection idly through the terry cloth. His eyes flickered as they glided up and down my flushed body. Holding my gaze, he parted his robe to taunt me with the sight of his hard-on. He wrapped his fist around it and began to pump. His cock strained and swelle
d, the ruddy hue deepening to an angry red.

  I felt another pang in my belly. He looked so big, and my tender places were already sore. I wasn’t sure I could handle him today. But in the next instant that familiar flame sprang to life again in my groin.

  He was going to give me just what I needed.

  “Don’t just stand there staring at my dick, Karen. You know what comes next.”

  I nodded, but the truth was I didn’t. He changed the rules every time. Still, the opening ritual was pretty much the same. I walked over to the bed and placed the towel beside him.

  Greg stopped stroking himself and crossed his hands behind his head, the picture of lordly leisure. His penis twitched. “Now get the goody bag.”

  By now the throbbing ache in my lower regions was almost making me sick to my stomach. I shuffled to the dresser and bent over to open the bottom drawer. I could feel Greg’s eyes on my open cleft, still raw from the punishing spray of the shower. It suddenly struck me as odd then that we kept the bag of toys hidden away behind his workout clothes—as if some disapproving parent might find it and scold us for our perversions.

  I pulled out the toiletries case, a cute thing made of padded paisley cotton. Today my “goody bag” felt somehow heavier and bulkier. Sometimes Greg bought a new gift—not to say torture device—at the sex-toy store on Seventh Avenue as a surprise.