Read Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica Online

Authors: Sinclair Sexsmith,Miriam Zoila Perez,Wendi Kali,Rachel Kramer Bussel,Gigi Frost,BB Rydell,Amelia Thornton,Dilo Keith,Vie La Guerre,Anna Watson

Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica (14 page)

BOOK: Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica
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I set the stage with a pink nightie so pale it’s just this side of virginal white, and so thin it’s more naked than skin, flowing over my creamyfat curves. My hair is down, and so is my gaze—it’s apparent this is the first time I’ve ever entertained a client and that I’m both anxious to please and reluctant to start. A perfect mix for your cruel gentleman’s tastes, and you’re obviously controlling yourself as you take in my appearance. There are only two places to sit in the room—the bed, and an easy chair. I opt for the chair as less of a commitment and try to lead you to it, only to be brought up short by your hand at the back of my head, swinging me around and forcing me to look up.
You look deep, searching for my weak spots, and a sign of my desire, and I feel myself slip fully into character—softening for you, scared, but only of getting what I want, or disappointing you. Riding the edge of eager and terrified. Your hand moves up, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging, gently, down, until kneeling is the only option.
“Do you know what to do?” you ask, and my nod is not acceptable—another tug, harder, and I say, “Yes, sir,” and slowly reach for your belt buckle. It’s a simple mechanism, but feeling your eyes on me makes me clumsy, and it seems to take forever to get it unclasped.
Your cock is obvious under the fine weave of your slacks, and I pause for a second, almost overwhelmed by the thoughts of what is to follow, until you tug my hair again and threaten to ask for another girl. I quickly reach to unbutton and unzip, and then hesitate again—unsure if I should pull your briefs down or reach through the fly.
You growl and pull your cock out, holding me in place while you brush the head of it against my lips. “You’re gonna use that pretty mouth on me now, and make it good.” I can only nod as you’re already pushing in, barely gentle.
There’s no time to think, or plan, and no way to resist. I become a series of reactions as you fuck my mouth: inhaling whenever I’m able, swallowing you down, using my tongue in every way that might increase your pleasure as you move over every surface of my mouth. Your breath comes harsher, and the grip in my hair tightens until I’m sure you’ll come, and I brace myself. The shock of you pulling away leaves me open-mouthed and blinking, and you chuckle, low and harsh.
“Get on the bed.” I scramble to obey. You remove your shoes and slacks and kneel over me, looking at me until I long to close my eyes, but I don’t quite dare.
“You are mine for the night, and that means I get to do whatever I want to you. Right?” I nod, and again, it’s not enough. You slap my face, obviously more lightly than you’d like, and tell me to “Use your words, girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I manage to say before you slide your hand under my nightie, making me startle, and I start to pull away until the look in your eyes makes me freeze. Your fingers brush over my clit and plunge inside, briefly, and your smirk at my wetness makes my breath catch.
“You can say no if you want to, but I don’t believe you, and I won’t stop,” you say before sliding your fingers into my mouth. The taste of myself, and the inevitability of what is to come, melts away the last of my resistance, and you see it and know you’ve won. It is this knowledge of my deepest places, in body and mind, that makes your dominance so compelling, and the orchestra of your own deviance that makes it so richly satisfying.
“I’m not done with your mouth, not at all. Open up for me and spread your legs, and take what I give you.” You slide your cock in, past my lips and further down my throat from this angle, and watch me work to breathe around it. All I can see is your face, far above, cruel and hungry and relentless. You fist one hand in my hair and reach back with the other, between my legs, and begin to fuck me, moving with, and against, the rhythm you set with your hips. I moan and you tell me that I better not stop sucking your cock, or come, until you say so. I’m every kind of vulnerable, and so far into submission there’s no question of disobeying.
I can feel my orgasm building, deeper and higher, and I’m crying with the effort of holding it back, and you sense it and stop, pulling out of me so suddenly and leaving me so achingly open that I almost hate you for it. It shows in my expression, and you simply watch, full of brute enjoyment and power.
“What do you want?” you ask, and I, momentarily rebellious, refuse to answer. The slap you give me leaves no doubt how gentle you were being before, and you make it clear you’re not going to ask again.
“You want me to fuck you, we both know it. Truth is, I’m going to do it anyway. The only question is if I let you come when I do.”
I want it, I do, and it’s entirely possible you’ll follow up the threat, so I answer quickly this time. “I want you to fuck me…” and you’re already shaking your head, it’s not enough, and I try again. “I want you to fuck me, sir, please.” You grin and move down, between my legs, and stroke your cock, and my clit, so slowly. I try again, with every bit of sweetness I can muster through the haze of need: “Please sir, please…I want you, I do…please.” You toss your tie over your shoulder and push into me hard and fast, and again, pounding into me until the whole bed moves.
“That’s right, sweet whore, give it to me…” And I am, arms and legs wrapped tight around you, sobbing and moaning and begging without words, right where I want to be. “Mine, all mine,” you whisper in my ear, and I am, in this endless moment, all yours. “Come for me, now!” and I do, crying out in a voice hoarse from trying to form your name, shaking and shuddering underneath you. Again and again, I come when you tell me, until my tears, and our sweat, have thoroughly soaked your dress shirt and I can hardly move.
You shift onto your side and pull me into you, stroking my hair and kissing me, soft and lingering. The deep tide of cruel-edged passion turned to tenderness and our wells filled up, sated and sinking into each other, we sleep. Your quiet voice, before dream takes me: “That’s my good girl…” And I am: your good, sweet girl, your dirty whore, your love.
THREE WEEKS AND TWO DAYS
 
Meridith Guy
 
 
 
 
 
 
I
’m bent over the sawhorse I made, panting. My legs are spread wide. We’re in the narrow space between a beating and fucking and she’s giving me a moment to rest. I lean hard on my elbows to relieve some of the pressure in my legs, and I can feel her watching me from behind as I rise up on my tiptoes and back down, stretching both my calves and the ache running through my thighs and stomach. I wonder what exactly she’s looking at. The marks she put on my skin? The sweat on my back? My thigh muscles trembling? She’s about to fuck me and it’s going to hurt. I can’t wait.
As of this morning it had been three weeks and two days since she last fucked me. I’d given up teasing her. Stopped planting myself in front of her when she rounded a corner. Stopped snaking a hand over the skin of her thighs at night. I’d almost even given up longing, though that ache was proving harder to shake. In frustration, I had begun trying to practice Buddhist non-attachment. It was a mantra:
I don’t care if she fucks me (or not). I don’t care if she beats me (or not)
. It wasn’t working.
Even though I was about to end up ass over ears on a sawhorse, nothing seemed different that morning over breakfast or, for that matter, during any of the other routine things we did that day. We bought corn and onions at the market. We stopped for iced coffee at the bistro on the corner. Later, she pulled on a white tank and jeans to mow the lawn and I watched her sweat in the sun from inside the cool house, feeling warmer than I should have in the air-conditioning. I might have been trying to practice indifference, but I was getting wet watching her arms flex as she forced the mower over the hilly yard, dirt and grass eddying around her. It had been three weeks and two days, and even from behind a pane of glass she was fanning the heat smoldering inside me.
This is where I was standing, eyes closed, swirling melting ice cubes in a glass and picturing her running her hands slowly down over my hips, when I felt her breath hot on my neck. Her voice was low when she spoke, and it hummed right over my clit. “Watching me? Do you like what you see?”
I shivered without meaning to. After all, I had heard her boots thumping across the floor. Knew she was coming up behind me. I didn’t expect to feel the summer heat radiating off her skin or for her to smell so deliciously dusty and hot. Without opening my eyes, I said, “The lawn is lovely.” And that’s how I ended up over the sawhorse.
Before I even finished speaking, she pulled my arms hard behind me and wrenched my wrists together, clasping them in one hand. My drink dropped, scattering ice over the carpet, and she shoved me against the window, pressing my cheek to the glass. Looping her fingers in my hair, she yanked my head back hard and leaned over me, teeth too close to my throat. “I’m standing behind you like this and you’re talking about the lawn? I might beat you right here.”
For three weeks and two days I would have sworn that those words were all I wanted to hear. Now that she was saying them, her fingertips digging into my wrists, I’d have settled for a gentle fuck and some adoration. I whimpered as she pulled my head back further and pressed me harder against the window. With a chuckle, she reached around me and slid her fingers between my thighs. I blushed seconds before she slipped her fingers inside me, knowing I was already dripping.
Jerking my arms back and hauling me away from the glass, she shoved me toward the basement door. I stumbled in front of her, focusing on not falling down the stairs without my hands to balance me. I struggled to keep my bare feet from slipping under the soles of her boots, but by the sound of her laughter I could tell she wouldn’t mind if my clumsiness got me a few extra bruises on the way to the sawhorse. By the time we got there, my cheeks were burning and she gave me a split second to shake out my arms before she grabbed my hip, pulled me back, and with her other hand, shoved me down over the sawhorse.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been in this position. Having watched me build a pair of sawhorses in a fit of ambition, she patiently waited until it was clear (almost immediately) that I wasn’t going to actually construct anything on them and then repurposed them for all-around play and punishment. Even more humiliating than being dripping wet on my own sawhorse was admitting I’d considered that possibility when I measured the wood to determine the height.
She held me down, pressing her hand solidly against my lower back as I tucked my elbows underneath me and tried to catch my breath. She kicked my ankles apart, spreading my legs and sending a chill sliding down my thighs. I was getting more and more wet. She left another cool spot on my back when she stepped back and moved her hand away, lightly brushing over my skin. Feeling panic tight in my throat, I mentally paged through the implements she might have brought to the basement. What floggers and paddles had she brought down? Were the canes here? Had she brought her dick? What about the one that was too big?
I was still flipping through images in my head, trying to relax my muscles even though my heart was pounding, when her hand cracked against my ass. I yelped and bucked closer to the sawhorse. With each successive smack she spoke to me, though I had to struggle through the biting pain to understand her.
“For three weeks and two days I have watched you hint around. I’ve had to listen to you whine about being touched. I want you to know that I’m going to touch you when and where I feel like and not because you’re tugging at my sleeves.” She was panting softly when she finished speaking, and she hit me twice more before she stopped. “Do you understand?”
I understood, but I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t tell anyone that, because I couldn’t quite breathe. I gasped for air, skin burning from the middle of my ass to the tops of my thighs. She hadn’t spanked me that hard in months, and that was for dropping an egg on the floor and asking her to clean it up. I was still thinking about what happened after the last beating when she raked her nails up over my bottom. “Well?” The sharp pain was excruciating and I choked out a yes. It wasn’t fast enough.
I heard her step back and rustle briefly in a bag. I didn’t have time to think about what was about to happen before she brought the paddle down hard on my ass. In seconds I was yelling that I understood, yes, yes, please stop. I sprinkled in a couple of curses, but it only resulted in her hitting me harder. My voice sounded ragged as I cried. I twisted slightly, trying to avoid the blinding pain from the blows she was raining down on my skin, rising onto my tiptoes and sinking down again. Knowing better than to move away but absolutely unable to be still.
I began to plead. “Please stop. Oh, please. I can’t take it!” We went on like that for a while, she spanked and I pleaded, long enough to feel like my tender butt had swollen and had gotten so raw that even a breeze would feel like too much pressure. When she finally stopped, it took me a second to register the silence. It was then that she pinched me hard, one hand on my nipple, the other on the sensitive, red skin of my bottom. My voice was raspy when I screamed and I realized I must have been making more noise during the beating than I thought.
The part of me that could still think clearly realized that the pinch was lasting longer than usual, as she slowly loosened her grip and then squeezed again. I arched my back in agony, unable to move away as she alternately rolled my nipple between her thumb and forefinger and dug her nails into the searing skin on my ass. Switching, she gently massaged that spot on my bottom while she squeezed my nipple hard. Jerking away from pain and leaning into pleasure didn’t work; she simply switched which hand was inflicting the torment. All of her fingers were on a direct line to my clit. Squirming, I tried to make myself relax a little into the throbbing, stinging ache. If I was thinking at all, it was to wonder, not for the first time, how I could like this so much.
BOOK: Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica
5.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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