The Big Book of Submission (31 page)

He stands back, watching me as I writhe, slowly stroking his cock. Seeing me watching, he shakes his head and picks up something from a table behind him. In one swift movement that teasingly leaves his cock dancing over my breasts, a faint trail of precome forming a strand between them, he places the object tight around my eyes and I am plunged into darkness. It takes me a
moment before I realize this is a new blindfold; to my joy, I can feel more fur brushing up against my eyes.

I already know I'm wet, aroused beyond comparison, trapped upon a chair and slowly being covered in fur. When his fingers suddenly press themselves into me, I push up against them. He presses the heel of his palm against my clit and I hear him chuckle as I desperately grind against it.

My body tenses as I try to force myself down against his hand, crying out in need every time the fur brushes against me. Before I am able to climax, however, he is gone, withdrawing from me. I'm left in the dark, unsure where he is. I try to listen for any noise to hint at his whereabouts, but he is silent. My only indication he is still there is when fabric surrounds me, pulling me back against the chair and pinning me in place. Gasping with shock and need, I feel his hot breath next to my ear before his lips press against my neck, his breathing fast, his kisses urgent. It is only then that I feel a hand pushing the fur down between my legs. Straining, I find I can press myself against the material, building up friction with the fur. My nipples ache as they pucker harder with each movement, causing me to shudder with each brush of my nubs against my favorite fabric. I want to take deep breaths but I'm so confined all I can do is truly focus on the release of coming.

Acutely aware that this is all at my Master's whim, I writhe faster, desperate to climax before he removes all the beautiful things.

His lips remain pressed against my skin as the tension in my body rises. When I almost can't bear it any longer, he bites down on my shoulder. With a voice dripping with lust, he growls, “You're mine.”

His words are enough to break the tension. My orgasm crashes over me. I cry out and stars flash in front of my eyes.

When I am sated and calm, he will remove everything and lovingly carry me to bed, where our roles will twist. Then I will be the one to decide if he's waited long enough, before seeing to his release. He doesn't mind, of course; in fact, giving me the chance to decide turns him on even more. He knows exactly how to make me his.

After he's sated we'll spend time together on the fur throw that covers the bed until he decides it's time to lead me from our room and lock it all away from my clutches. Until next time, that is.

CHOKER

Sean Finn

I
thought I'd learned the art of giving the perfect blow job with my college boyfriend, Bruce. We were both horny freshman who'd known we were gay for years but were stuck in towns where we couldn't do anything about it. Finding each other, then being granted the gift of being able to switch rooms so we could share beds in addition to BJs was like a sign that not only was I gay, but the universe wanted to reward me for it.

We grew apart after that year, but I practiced sucking cock like I was majoring in it. I knew just where to lick and suck, how to hold my hand around the base, and when to add some spit, go for the balls or tickle or probe the other guy's asshole. I considered myself well versed in the art of oral. That is, until I met Tyler.

It's not that he wasn't appreciative of my technique,
but he was playing a whole other game altogether. He didn't want me to show him what I could do—he wanted to control every last movement of my tongue and lips, not to mention the rest of me. “What're you into?” he asked me bluntly the night we met, right after I'd added his next beer to my tab. We were at a gay bar, so there was no reason to beat around the bush. I'd just landed a new job as a manager at a gym, and was pumped from my first day—I'd had each of the trainers give me their best moves in ten minutes. I could practically hear the blood pounding through my body.

My voice trembled when I said, “Blow jobs. Giving them.” It's not that I was ashamed in any way of my oral proclivity, but Tyler was staring at me like he could see into my soul, like he already knew exactly what I was into and was simply waiting to hear whether I'd tell the truth.

“You have a patented technique or something?” Again, that stare drilled into me, his tone not at all impressed. He was taunting me to prove it.

“I guess you won't know until you try it,” I attempted to banter back.

“Oh, I'm going to try you out, there's no question about that.” Now his tone had taken on hints of steel. “I think you knew that the minute you bought me that beer. But I have a feeling what I want you to do isn't like what any of those guys who let you go to town on them wanted.”

By then I wasn't just rock hard, as turned on as I'd
ever been, but intensely curious. How different could a blow job be, especially for a connoisseur like me? “Ready?” Tyler asked. I was ready right then and there; though I probably would've balked at doing it in front of the assembled guys, he could've had me in the bathroom.

Instead, Tyler pulled me close for a rough kiss that bruised my lips, his hand on the back of my neck speaking volumes. He was in charge, and he wasn't just going to “let me do the honors.” He was going to fuck my mouth, just like his tongue was probing its depths.

I whimpered when he finally pulled away, utterly shaken—in the best possible way. I was more nervous than I'd been with my very first blow job, my confidence knocked to the ground. I followed Tyler, in awe of how he'd gotten me to give up any semblance of control or confidence in mere seconds.

“We're going to my place,” he told me. I didn't nod or reply, since it wasn't a question. The ten-block walk seemed to take far longer than I'd have liked, yet once we were there I had a moment of panic. Should I back out, let this be just a fantasy? Tyler sensed my hesitation. “You can stop now, go home and jerk that nice cock off,” he said, running a hand up the hardness bulging against my jeans, “but if you come inside, you play by my rules. You in?”

I nodded, following him up the stairs. He didn't give me a tour. Instead he pushed me, a hand around my throat, into his room. “On the floor,” he uttered. I sank
down, missing the pressure of his hand the moment it was gone. I swallowed a few times, trying to make my mouth as wet as possible. His dick appeared before me, incredibly long, thick and juicy, already sporting precome. “No, you don't get to lick that,” he snapped, slapping his dick across my cheek. “You're going to take the whole thing, swallow it—choke on it. If you're good, I might come in your mouth. If you're not, I'm going to come all over your face and neck and shirt, and send you on your way.” That image practically had me spurting in my pants, but I didn't have time even for that. Tyler grabbed that spot on the back of my neck that seemed like a magic button and shoved half his length down my throat. I acclimated quickly, breathing deeply through my nose as he pushed a little bit more.

This was totally different from any other deep-throating I'd done. The other times, I'd heard moans of encouragement and ecstasy. I'd gotten off on those verbal cues and compliments, my head swelling along with my dick. Managing to swallow even a large dick felt like a point of pride. There was no pride in what Tyler was doing to me; there was just subservience. He pushed more, and I fought not to gag. When I started to whimper, his fingers pinched my neck. “I want you to like choking on me, Sean. That's what good slutty boys do, and I know you want to be my good slutty boy, don't you?”

His words acted like a lubricant, giving my body the will to stretch my throat even further. My jaw ached as
my whole being centered on him filling my mouth. As he eased back, I pushed forward, wanting him there again. Soon we were rocking back and forth in a fast rhythm, and each time his cockhead hit the back of my throat I was overcome with the urge to cry tears of joy. When Tyler shifted his hand from the back of my neck to the front, as if massaging his dick from the outside, I lost it, coming in my pants like a teenager.

“That's a good choke slut,” he said, pausing for a moment with his entire hardness buried in my mouth before pulling out and slamming it against my lips. “Now you're going to choke on my come.” I looked up at him for a split second, and was rewarded with a gorgeous, filthy smile. Then he shoved his dick back inside me and gave me a giant load. I sucked and sucked until he was dry. He carried me to the bed, but didn't let me take off my jeans. “Next time, you're going to do that with a butt plug in your ass.” I smiled, ready for the challenge.

REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY

Rachel Kramer Bussel

B
ite my nipples harder,” Sasha hissed at me, the edge of frustration making her hiss hint at true anger. I focused on the way her body trembled on the bed before me as I sank my teeth into her nub. “That's better,” she said, grabbing me roughly by the hair. “I hope your cock is getting ready to fuck me the way I like it. First you need to do your job.”

I pressed as hard as I dared, tugging on her nipple while I twisted the other one between my fingers. I hoped my cock was getting hard too. See, I'm not a sadist by nature—I wouldn't hurt a fly. Really—I'm the kind of guy who goes out of my way to give directions or help little old ladies across the street. I'm a service sub, the worshipping sort, but I fell madly in love with a woman who happens to be a masochistic domme. Sasha likes
pain, but for her it has nothing to do with being a “bad girl” or any of that. If I dared to call her names like
slut
or
whore
during sex, she'd lock up my cock for a week.

For her, it's about the sensation, the intensity. She says getting flogged is cathartic, being spanked releases endorphins, having her nipples bitten makes her blood boil. And because I love her and want to please her, I do as she says. It's a different kind of submission from any I've ever known, but I like obeying her, and knowing how turned on she gets. It's like reverse psychology, where you tell someone to do something and hope they do the opposite. With us, though, I do the opposite of my impulses, for her. Sasha makes sure to show me appreciation—when she's not ordering me around.

“Now the other one,” Sasha grunted, and I transferred my lips to her right nipple while she tugged at my hair. I dared to brush my cock against her leg to show her how hard I was. I'm grateful that she likes to get fucked; I've been with women who loved nothing more than to tease me, to have me watch them with other men's dicks in their mouths and pussies, to tie me up and let me see a vibrator do the work I longed to do. With Sasha, as long as I get her primed with her favorite kind of pain, she is more than ready for my cock.

She usually holds herself back from convulsing, but this time she didn't. “That's it, right there,” she moaned as she leaned back, making my teeth tug her nipple even more. When her fingers tapped my cheek, I opened my mouth. She handed me a flogger. Yes, it's true—I flog
my domme. Before her, I'd never so much as raised my hand to a woman. I'd discovered early on which way my kink went—or thought I had. Now, I actually like hitting her. Not the causing pain part, but the giving pleasure part.

“You know what to do,” Sasha said with the smile that can indeed get me to do anything. She whipped her favorite little vibrator off the bedside stand and pressed it to her cunt. The buzzing was the signal that I should start beating her breasts with the red suede toy. If it were my choice, I would gently stroke the soft lashes all along her body, thud it against her back to a beautiful rhythm, drape it against her pussy. But my Sasha wanted something else entirely. Instead, I reared back and slammed it hard against her tits. How she managed to stay composed enough to keep the toy vibrating where she wanted it was beyond me, but with each strike of the flogger against her large breasts, Sasha let out a fierce exhalation of breath. She slammed the toy against her clit as I struck her.

I was breathing hard by the time she dropped the vibe on the bed. “Slap my pussy,” she barked, getting on her hands and knees. If it sounds incongruous that a woman could be so controlling while she's asking for such a naughty thing, you don't know Sasha. There's nothing weak or needy about her; I'm well aware that, should I refuse her requests, she could easily find a man—or woman—to take over my duties. We've even discussed it—she loves me deeply, but she has needs, ones that
aren't negotiable. I admire her for knowing what she wants and making sure she gets it.

Plus I love looking at and touching her pussy, even if that means slapping it with my hand. I still felt the wetness with each stroke. “Get the plug,” she said after ten smacks. I glanced at her as I fetched the butt plug; Sasha had a pillow stuffed between her lips, lest she whimper too loudly. “You're the whimperer,” she once told me.

I got the lube and, rather than gently licking her anus, then massaging her tender hole, as I would have preferred, I slicked up my thumb and shoved it into her ass. “Yeah,” she grunted, shoving herself back against me. I fucked her with my thumb until I knew she was ready, then repeated the process with the red butt plug.

I didn't need any more orders. I dragged her to the edge of the bed, massaged her asscheeks for a few seconds, pulling them apart and pushing them together, then gave her clit a sharp pinch for good measure. Once she was positioned on the edge of the bed, I rammed my cock into her. This is the one time when I truly feel like the alpha male I could've been in another life. How could I not want to shove my dick inside the tight, beautiful cunt of the woman I adore?