Dominance and Submission - Write Away, Sir

by Alexandra Noir

  "Thank you, Sir," she managed to gasp out. She felt as though she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to plunge over the edge. Then he brought down another strike, and she fell.

  The pain was so good, so unlike anything she had ever felt before in her life. Up until that moment, she had struggled to understand what someone could really, functionally get out of getting hurt, but from then on, she understood. The flood of pain sent ricocheting adrenalin through her body, her nerve-endings lighting up from head to toe. And the relief - it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Getting hurt was so against her natural instincts as a human that enjoying it only felt normal. She wanted this. She wanted as much of this as she could possibly get her hands on. It made her feel free, feel like she was capable of anything in the world. If she could find pleasure in pain, what couldn’t she pull of?

  She thanked him for every blow, and her whole body lit up like a pinball machine as she reacted to the sensation. It was intense, more intense than any encounter she’d ever had. And what got her most of all was the fact that he had barely even touched her with his actual hands. Occasionally, he would touch her palm to expose it properly once more, and every time he did, it felt like he was leaving a sharp imprint of himself on her skin. It was almost rougher than the whip, knowing that she could have him and not have him at the same time. She was being driven crazy. She couldn’t help but let the image of the two of them together flicker through her mind, the powerful lust of what she really wanted impossible to keep down or hide inside. She bit her lip and did her best not to just come out and plead with him to fuck her already.

  When he finished, time seemed to have floated away. She could have been there days or minutes. She didn’t care. Her legs were trembling, and she was surprised that she was still able to keep herself upright when he stepped back from her.

  "Look at me," he ordered, and she opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She felt as though she had just woken from a long sleep. One that had spanned her entire life.

  "How does it feel?” he demanded. She knew it was his way of checking in with her without breaking character; there was something in his eyes, the same thing she had seen in them the first night they’d spent together at the party. She wanted to be the cause of it. She only ever wanted that directed at her.

  "Good," she breathed, and he smiled at her. Crouching down before her, he looked her dead in the eye and caught her chin so that she couldn’t take her eyes away from him. As though she could have anyway.

  "Take a breath," he ordered, and she inhaled and exhaled, gulping down oxygen. She would have done anything that he wanted her to at that moment. Her hands were burning with pain, and she knew the marks would stay there. She hoped they would.

  "Good girl," he murmured, and he got to his feet once more and undid the lock around her wrists. She withdrew her hands from the cuffs with a gasp, massaging the place where the metal had just been pressed against her skin. The freedom coming after the restriction was incredibly hot.

  And with that, she had begun. They talked the scene over after it was done and she couldn’t believe how good she felt when she walked out of his apartment. As though she was floating. She went home and wrote with her sore hands and thought of him every time a twinge of pain ran through her arm. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Surely, he couldn’t have just brushed it off that easily? Unless there were other women he was also playing with. The thought of that hurt. Even more than the blows did. But she knew she had no right to demand his attention. He was the one in charge after all.

  Her writing came on in leaps and bounds; when she was able to relate what she was writing about to what she had actually experienced, she realized she could draw it to life with a much greater clarity. The words flowed out of her and every chapter she submitted got great feedback. Not to mention the fact that every new activity she explored on the page gave her more ideas for what she wanted to do with Cameron. Every time she turned in another section, she would wonder if that was on his mind, too. She knew it had to be; there was no way he could be containing what they had to just those sessions. They were far too intense not to spill out into the rest of their lives too.

  Eventually, after they’d done a few sessions of impact play, she asked for something a little more intense than what she’d been dealing with before. The pain was good, sure, but she was craving play that made her feel a little crazy; that was what she wanted, more than anything in the world. It felt like she was searching for a higher and higher release with every day that passed, hungering for the thrill of more, more, more. And when she posed those feelings to him, she saw the glint in his eye, and she knew that she might have pushed a little too close to the edge. But she was just fine with that.

  The next time she visited his apartment, he led her straight through and into the playroom without so much as a word to her. She knew that he meant business, and boy, was she ready to receive it. Her eyes widened when she saw what was set up on the opposite wall when she walked in, and she shot a look over at him in surprise, making sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

  "You think you can handle this?” he asked softly, giving her the space to say no, no way, not in a million years, not a chance, not ever. But she saw it for the challenge it was and returned her attention to the device opposite her. It might have looked a little scary, but what she had learned over her time with Cameron was that things were rarely as terrifying as they seemed.

  Before her, a cross was strapped to the wall, rigged on hooks in the center of the room. It was wide, with each quarter drawing away in a diagonal direction from the other. At the end of each one was a cuff, dangling ominously open, ready for her limbs. For a split second, she was worried that that thing wouldn’t be able to hold her and that she would break it as soon as she looked at it, but she forced herself to ground into the moment. That was the most important part of all of this, she had found; being able to focus on what was happening in that very second, not what was to come, not what had come before.

  "I think I can, Sir," she replied, and she turned to him expectantly. "How do I use it, Sir?”

  He had demanded that she use his title every time she addressed him, and she found it brought a good rhythm to the way that she spoke, like punctuation. She even found it wanting to slip from her lips when the two of them were in the office and meant to be in their civilian roles, as dangerous as that was. She needed to keep a lid on her desire for him, and her desire to have him dominate her the way she craved. But for now, she could indulge it. For now, she could take what she wanted from him.

  "Here," he murmured, and he leaned down and grasped her ankle, pulling it from the shoe she was wearing; her foot was bare underneath, and she wriggled her toes in the cool air, feeling curiously exposed.

  He guided her foot to the cuff on the bottom right of the cross and sealed it around her ankle – it seemed a little tight at first, but she soon got used to the sensation and let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

  "Is that okay?” he murmured, and she nodded.

  "Yes, sir," she breathed, and he did the same to her other foot. He didn’t touch her often, but when he did, it usually felt like a firework was going off inside her. This was no exception. Even though it was just her foot, the feeling of his hands moving almost reverently over her skin was borderline erotic. She felt the trail his fingertips left shudder all the way up the inside of her thigh, towards her pussy. She bit her lip to keep from moaning; she knew from past experience that making too much noise when he didn’t want her to was only going to land her in a whole heap of trouble. And sure, it might have been tempting to see how he would have punished her, but she didn’t want to push her limits more than she already was today.

  He pushed her hands gently back into the cuffs above her, spreading her wide, and even though she was fully clothed, she knew there was something lewd about this. She was so utterly and completely helpless in front of him. He could have
done anything he wanted to her. Briefly, he pressed his hand against hers, testing the restraints, and she inhaled sharply at the sudden sensation. He glanced at her face, and for a moment, she was sure she could see him soften – but whatever it was, it was gone quickly, and he turned away and focused his attention on the chest at the other side of the room.

  "This is called a Saint Andrew’s Cross," he explained as he went to pick out something from the box. "It’s about the most extreme form of restraint I can give you as long as we’re just here."

  "But there’s more intense versions elsewhere, Sir?” she asked curiously. He turned to her and grinned.

  "Let‘s not run before we can walk now, huh?" he replied, and she glanced down to see what he was brandishing in her direction. It was a thin strip of leather, connected to a thick plastic ball in the center. He approached her and reached behind her head, brushing her hair out of the way. His fingers on her scalp were hypnotic, sensational.

  "I’m going to put this on you now," he murmured. "No safeword, since you’re going to be gagged. But tap the wall three times with your right hand if this gets too much, okay?”

  "Okay, Sir," she panted. She was so close to him that she could smell his aftershave, a scent that had come to mean hopeless, helpless arousal, and she could feel her pussy beginning to pulse with desire for him. She closed her eyes and tried to center herself as he locked the tool around her face, using his fingers to push her lips roughly open to guide the ball inside. She closed her mouth around it and opened her eyes, and suddenly found herself completely and utterly bound.

  The level of restraint was more than anything she had felt before. The handcuffs had been one thing, sure, but they were nothing compared to how deliciously helpless she felt in that moment. For a moment, she was sure that there had to be something wrong with her to be enjoying this as much as she was, but then she gazed up at Cameron, the man who had her bound like this, her dominant and sadist and all things sugar and spice, and knew that it was right. The way he was looking at her was almost unbridled lust, as though he, too, couldn’t get over how good she looked laid out for him.

  She had never seen that look on his face before, and for a moment, it threw her a little. He was always so utterly and completely in control, leaving her free to let go of everything, but there seemed to be some confusion in his eyes, as though he couldn’t figure out quite what he wanted from her. She bit down on the ball gag, taking out her frustrations on the toy in her mouth and pushed against the restraints demonstratively, letting him know that she was well and truly caught. Did this turn him on?

  She let her eyes travel down to his crotch for a moment, and saw a bulge in his pants; an impressively-sized one at that. A jolt ran through her whole system, an electric shock, and she remembered how his fingers had felt against her skin; if she could have shown it, her desire would have been equally obvious. She wanted this. She wanted him. They had already broken down some of the rules that had kept their relationship professional and not personal, so why not push all the way over the edge and see what lay on the other side?

  "How does it feel?” he asked, even though he knew she couldn’t respond. She let out a moan, hoping that her intent was obvious. He moved towards her a little, reaching out a hand and running a finger down her exposed wrist. She groaned, the touch both welcomed and agonizing in equal measure. He knew what he was doing to her, knew the effect he was having on her. This was sliding over from research into outright flirtation of the strangest, most exciting kind. And she didn’t want it to end.

  He touched her other wrist, and his fingers were rougher this time, pressing down into her skin sharply, as though he wanted her to remember who was in charge. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him; that look on his face was there once more, the same one he’d had when he had locked the ball gag into her mouth. Something that finally seemed to reflect how she felt: the raw lust, the raw need, the confirmation that this power exchange was as intense for him as it was for her. That she was more than just another one of his submissives. He turned his head towards her, and for a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her – but before anything more could happen, he shifted away, back towards the box to root through and find more to play with.

  And with that, the moment was gone, but she’d known for sure that it was there. They played a little more that day, and he let her set the pace, making sure not to push her too hard too fast based on what she’d already done. She enjoyed it, but it was physically taxing, no doubt, to hang there for such a long time. The session lasted no longer than an hour, but her entire body felt wracked with tension by the time she was done, the complete opposite of the release she normally felt when she walked out of his place.

  And she knew it had everything to do with that frisson between them that had arisen as soon as he had seen her completely restrained before him. He had kept his cool in most of the rest of their encounters so far, but it was clear that something about seeing her like that did something to him that he could no longer deny. More to the point, she didn’t want him to deny it any more. She wanted him to touch her and use her and fulfil her all the ways he wanted to. She wanted to be his, utterly, in a way she had never belonged to anyone before in her life.

  But she knew that wasn’t where he was at yet, and she had to respect that – even if he never, ever got there. The agreement they had made had never had anything to do with sexual involvement, and she wasn’t ready to disappoint herself assuming that it was coming. Still, when he called her into his office later that same week, she found herself putting a little extra time into her appearance, making sure she looked as good as she could for their next encounter.

  She settled into the seat opposite him and found herself wondering if this was about work or something else. She could never tell these days, and she knew the blurring on the lines was dangerous, but she had no intention of putting a stop to it.

  "So, I wanted to pitch an idea to you," he began as soon as she settled into her seat opposite his.

  "Is this a work pitch or...?”

  "A something else pitch," he replied, glancing behind her to make sure that she had closed the door completely. "If you’re open to it?”

  "Yeah, sure," she replied, leaning forward with interest.

  "There’s a play party coming up," he explained. "In another city. Just for one night. But it could be a good chance for you to explore some other stuff that I can’t provide in my apartment, and for you to meet a few more people involved with the scene."

  "I think that sounds great," she replied at once, her face lighting up. And then it hit her – was this a way he could make sure that they weren’t alone together again any time soon? Had he felt it too but been too nervous to risk letting things go any further? She wasn’t certain, but it could have been something like that – he had been the one to push the no-sex part of the deal as hard as he had, after all.

  "It would have to be strictly off the company’s records, of course," he warned her. "And we couldn’t let anyone know where we were going."

  "Just the two of us?” she asked keenly. He nodded.

  "Just the two of us," he affirmed, and she smiled.

  "Yeah, I think I can manage that," she replied with certainty. And she was sure she could.

  Before she knew it, they had planned their entire trip - separate hotel rooms in a place not far from where the enormous gathering was taking place. She looked up stories and pictures and experiences online, but she knew that nothing would really be able to capture what being there was like.

  They flew out together, and she found herself biting back a few “Sirs” as they were getting on the plane and heading in the taxi out to the hotel. The trip wasn’t far, and the event was taking place on the same night that they arrived. And she was so ready.

  He came to her hotel room to pick her up, and she practically swooned when she saw what he was wearing – crisp suit, clean-shaven, black tie. She was wearing a dark dress and h
eels, the same thing she had worn when she had attended that very first party at his place.

  "You look great," he remarked, flicking his eyes up and down her like he was taking her in for the first time. She beamed at him.

  "Thanks," she replied. "You too."

  He proffered an arm to her, and she took it; she felt so good next to him, knowing that he was the one in charge. He paused for a moment before they got into the elevator, and fixed her with one last searching look before he spoke.