You take my silence for disinterest and do, indeed, slap me harder. Maybe it’s my imagination but you jab your cock into me when you do it. I’ve only slapped someone’s face in real anger, not like this, so I don’t know what it’s like, but I hope it makes you hard, I hope hurting me gets you off the way lying beneath you does to me. I don’t want to ask because as much as I may imagine what you’re feeling, I’d prefer you to show me with your body rather than your words.
You pull out and then shove your fingers into me, hard, claiming me, before finding something better to do. You turn me over and shove my face into the pillow. I breathe into it as you hold me down. This is more impersonal than when you choke me, and I’m not sure which I like better. You can’t slap my face or spit in it or see it like this, but you can make sure I know my breathing—or not—is up to you. You can let go and know I’ll stay there, still, waiting for you to lift my head. You can attach the brand-new spreader bar, the one you told me about in great detail but have thus far withheld, to my ankles. I never used to think not moving my legs was such a big deal; my wrists, yes—they’re as sensitive as my neck, and even the lightest of scarves gives me goose bumps. But like this, facedown, like I could be any girl, any body, my wetness right there for you to see, or stuff, or slap, I get it. I get what it means to let you have me on your terms.
I get that you know how good it’s going to feel when you once again force your cock inside me, because I’m so tight. I get that it’s not really about my neck at all, not even about my pussy. It’s about not having a say, having to wait for every breath. It’s about going to that place where nothing else matters except where you’ll touch me next, if you’ll touch me next. It’s about going to a place where I have no control—of my movements, my thoughts, my tears. Those start to soak the pillow, and you lift my face to look at me, keeping me twisted there when I try to burrow back in. You don’t rush to untie me, thankfully, but stroke my cheek with your thumb, then move it down, pressing into my neck, grabbing my nipple. You get up, and I sink back against the bed, before lifting myself up for the collar, the one that’s a little wide, that you buckle almost, but not quite, too tight.
Then something new is inside me, something piercing, cold, hard. Metal, I think. I shudder at the weight of it, and the realization that you want to come in my mouth, that this is just a way to butter me up, to make me frantic before I get filled up. You massage the entrance to my sex, the sleek lips that are now swollen and tender, working the toy deeper inside. In truth, I don’t know if I like it, because you’re teasing me with it, edging it just far enough but not letting me wiggle back against it. I get used to this flirtation, and just when I do, you shove it all the way inside me. I feel like I have to pee, and twist from side to side. “Take it,” you say, your voice deep, hard, unyielding.
I do, at first, for you, because I don’t want to fail here. Then I take it for me, for the precipice of pleasure you make me teeter on. I take it for all the reasons I’m scared, for all the ways this shakes me to my core. I take it because I like the tears, like the pain; take it because, for whatever twisted, crazy reasons, my body responds. My pussy and brain stop battling and simply agree to let you go there, go to that place that seems almost impossible to take, yet like some drawn-out video game, the reward is yet to come. Your hand goes tight around my neck, you must be leaning your weight there, even as the metal drills into me. Your spit lands on my face, first next to my lips, then on them. You lean down and bite me, not my neck or my nipple, but my breast, a place you say with your teeth is more for you than me.
Yet somehow, every inch of my body, because it’s yours, responds to you. Each breath that tries to escape and doesn’t boomerangs back in arousal, doubling, tripling, multiplying my excitement to infinity. Part of me doesn’t want to come, just wants to see how much fuel you can add to my fire, how much you can make me want the pain, the torment. I flash on an image of you dragging me down into the hotel pool, then pulling me up but covering my lips with yours. I think of the many ways you’ve tested me. You tell me to open my eyes and even though I don’t really want to, I do. I’m afraid of what I’ll see, because it’s much easier to face the ways our kinks intertwine when I don’t have to do so literally. Seeing your hand coming toward my face, after you’ve placed my hand on the toy and insisted I slam it deep, is more intense than the ensuing slap could ever be. You’ve told me you want to set up a mirror so I can watch you strangle me, watch myself almost go limp, and I’ve resisted.
The toy is no longer so cold, and I know I’m on the verge.
You take it out and soon replace it with something even bigger, something my body responds to by clenching shut. “I can’t,” I say softly, sure that it’s true, but you let up on me and take the time to slather me with lube.
“You can and you will,” you say, and I try to relax as best I can, even though every instinct in me is telling me what you’re attempting is impossible. I can take your hands wrapped around my throat, crave it even, but this toy is twice the size of your cock, or feels that way, anyway. You’ve told me before that you think about a man with a giant dick fucking me while you hold me down, pinning me there, forcing me to shut up if I scream by making me suck you. I think about that as the toy slowly sinks inside. It gets about halfway, which already feels bigger than having a fist inside me. I take slow, measured breaths, a sign of my freedom, before your hand clamps down, twisting my head sideways, covering my nose, like you don’t want to look at me. I know you do, you just want to see me raw, messy, tear-streaked and sweaty, my face covered in come. You want to see me helpless without you.
I turn over at your command and press my head into the sheets, smell the detergent more than the sex in the air. You spank me while you hold the dildo there, pushing it in when I try to squeeze it out. I don’t cry, not out loud, anyway. I don’t think about coming even when I do, even when I gush. I think about you, about how you look at me before, during and after. I think about how you take me to the brink, and sometimes I don’t want to come back. I think about you tightening the collar as far as it will go. I think about how lucky I am that we aren’t doing any of this for each other, at least, not just for each other, but for ourselves. I’d hate being the recipient of a pity choke, a mercy slap, a charity face-fuck.
You don’t hold me gently when we’re done, at least, not yet. Later, when we sleep, you’ll be greedy, grabbing my leg to drape it over you, my arm to stick to yours. Now, you push me onto my back again and put your hand there. I’m sore and tired and spent; wasted, really, but still, that’s once again all it takes, your hand on my neck, like it belongs there.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
HEIDI CHAMPA’s work appears in more than ten anthologies including Tasting Him, Frenzy and Girl Fun One, as well as in Bust magazine, and in electronic form, Clean Sheets, Ravenous Romance, Oysters and Chocolate, and the Erotic Woman. Find her online at heidichampa.blogspot.com.
ELIZABETH COLDWELL ’s short stories have appeared in several anthologies with a BDSM flavor, including Yes, Sir; Spanked and Bottoms Up.
Based on her own explorations in the world of D/s and BDSM, TESS DANESI explores the darker side of erotica, writing with raw honesty about that shadowy area where pain becomes pleasure and pleasure, pain. She blogs at Urban Gypsy ( nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com) and has been published in several anthologies and Time Out New York.
JUSTINE ELYOT has contributed short stories to a number of erotica anthologies and recently published her first full-length book, On Demand. She lives in the United Kingdom.
EMERALD’s erotic fiction has been published in anthologies such as Swing! edited by Jolie duPre, Love Notes and Tasting Her edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, K Is for Kinky edited by Alison Tyler, and Best Women’s Erotica 2006 edited by Violet Blue. Visit her online at thegreenlightdistrict.org.
SHANNA GERMAIN’s writings have appeared in places like Absinthe Literary Review, Best American Erotica, Best Gay Bondage, Best Gay Erotica, Best Gay Rom
ance, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Lesbian Romance, Dirty Girls, X: The Erotic Treasury, Yes, Sir and more. Visit her online at shannagermain.com.
ARIEL GRAHAM lives and writes in Northern Nevada with her husband and way, way too many cats. Her work can be found in Call of the Dark, Frenzy, Never Have the Same Sex Twice and Best Lesbian Romance 2009.
ISABELLE GRAY’s writing appears in many anthologies.
DOUG HARRISON’s short stories appear in twenty anthologies. His spiritual memoir, In Pursuit of Ecstasy, is online. He was active in San Francisco’s gay and pansexual leather scenes. Doug appears in nine erotic videos and also professional photo shoots. He was Mr. June for the San Francisco AIDS Emergency Fund 1999 Bare Chest Calendar.
MERCY LOOMIS graduated from college one class short of an accidental certificate in folklore. She has a BA in psychology, but don’t hold that against her. Her favorite pastimes include practicing Urban Krav Maga, playing Rock Band, and studying ancient history. She and her husband live near Madison, Wisconsin.
Prolific author of hundreds of dirty tales and ringleader of the Blow Hard Tour 2009, SOMMER MARSDEN’s anthology Lucky 13 was released in April 2009. Sommer lives in Maryland where you might spot her drinking red wine or running but not simultaneously. Visit her openly naughty world at SmutGirl.blogspot.com.
EVAN MORA is a recovering corporate banker who’s thrilled to put pen to paper after years of daydreaming in boardrooms. Her work can be found in Best Lesbian Erotica 2009, Best Lesbian Romance ’09 and ’10, Where the Girls Are and The Sweetest Kiss: Ravishing Vampire Erotica.
AIMEE PEARL is the nom de plume of a kinky bisexual submissive living in that perverted paradise known as San Francisco. Her erotic adventures appear in Best Women’s Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica and On Our Backs magazine, among other places. In this volume’s story, written for Sir, every word is true.
REMITTANCE GIRL lives in exile in Vietnam, where she writes, designs multimedia and grows orchids. Her work has appeared in a number of erotic anthologies, including The Sweetest Kiss and Girls on Top. Her website is at remittancegirl.com.
LISABET SARAI has published five erotic novels, including her new paranormal Serpent’s Kiss and her thriller Exposure, and two short-story collections. She also reviews erotica for Erotica Readers and Writers Association, and Erotica Revealed. Visit Lisabet online at Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (lisabetsarai.com).
KISSA STARLING (kissastarling.com) began writing in a diary as a young girl. In school she passed notes and penned short poems to pass around the classroom. She finds inspiration in everything around her: the changing of the seasons, sunsets, rides on the back of a Harley and romantic evenings with her husband.
CHARLOTTE STEIN has had seven short stories published in various Black Lace anthologies, including Lust at First Bite and Sexy Little Numbers: Best Women’s Erotica from Black Lace. Her collection of short stories, The Things That Make Me Give In, was published in October 2009.
DONNA GEORGE STOREY is the author of Amorous Woman (Neon/Orion), a semiautobiographical tale of an American’s steamy love affair with Japan. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies including Best American Erotica, He’s on Top, Peep Show, Spanked and Bottoms Up. Read more of her work at DonnaGeorgeStorey.com.
ALISON TYLER has penned twenty-five naughty novels, edited fifty erotic anthologies, and written more than one thousand dirty stories. Her most recent anthology is Pleasure Bound (Cleis Press, 2009). Find her 24/7 at alisontyler.blogspot.com.
YOLANDA WEST is fifty-three years old and lives in the Cleveland area. She works for a government agency by day and writes naughty stories by night. She is married with two grown sons. One of her stories appeared in The MILF Anthology.
SALOME WILDE is the unsubtle pen name of an academic who relishes writing creatively and living fully. Her erotica has been published in such print anthologies as Best American Erotica 2006, X: An Erotic Treasury and Sex and Candy as well as magazines and online publications.
ABOUT THE EDITOR
RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL (rachelkramerbussel.com) is a New York-based author, editor and blogger. She is the Best Sex Writing series editor (bestsexwriting.com), and has edited or coedited more than twenty books of erotica, including Peep Show; Bottoms Up: Spanking Good Stories; Spanked; Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 1 and 2; The Mile High Club; Do Not Disturb; Tasting Him; Tasting Her; Yes, Sir; Yes, Ma’am; He’s on Top; She’s on Top; Caught Looking; Hide and Seek; Crossdressing; Rubber Sex; Sex and Candy; Ultimate Undies; Glamour Girls; Bedding Down and Please, Ma’am. Her work has been published in more than one hundred anthologies, including Best American Erotica 2004 and 2006, Zane’s Chocolate Flava 2 and Purple Panties, Everything You Know About Sex Is Wrong, Single State of the Union and Desire: Women Write About Wanting. She serves as senior editor at Penthouse Variations, and wrote the popular “Lusty Lady” column for the Village Voice.
Rachel has written for AVN, Bust, Cleansheets.com, Cosmopolitan, Curve, The Daily Beast Fresh Yarn, TheFrisky.com, Gothamist, Huffington Post, Mediabistro, Newsday, New York Post, Penthouse, Playgirl, Radar, San Francisco Chronicle, Tango, Time Out New York and Zink, among others. She has appeared on “The Martha Stewart Show,” “The Berman and Berman Show,” NY1, and Showtime’s “Family Business.” She has hosted In the Flesh Erotic Reading Series (inthefleshreadingseries. com) since October 2005, which has featured everyone from Susie Bright to Zane, and about which the New York Times’s UrbanEye newsletter said she “welcomes eroticism of all stripes, spots and textures.” Read more about Please, Sir at http://pleasesirbook.wordpress.com.
Copyright © 2010 by Rachel Kramer Bussel.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press Inc.,
2246 Sixth St., Berkeley, California 94710.
eISBN : 978-1-573-44543-6
Please, Sir Page 19