by Harper Bliss
From Top to Bottom
Lesbian Stories of Dominance and Submission
Edited by
Harper Bliss
Contents
Introduction
Chasing the Dragon
Dance for Me
Serious Swimmer
Call for Submission
Tell Me
Taking the Lead
The Antisocial Sister
One Hundred Strokes
The Encounter
Secretly Submissive
Inside
Vegas Mistress
Hit the Top
Not Yet
Latin Lessons
About the Editor
About The Contributors
Also from Ladylit Publishing
Once in a Lifetime
Forbidden Fruit: stories of unwise lesbian desire
Introduction
The first few erotica stories I wrote couldn’t have been more vanilla. I kept writing and writing, until I noticed something unexpected. My characters started fighting for top, even began to tie each other up, and brought home paddles and floggers for their partners.
I’m by no means an expert on BDSM and transference of power, but I do know that, these days, I greatly enjoy a well-written story that is decidedly not vanilla.
As I’ve taken my own journey as a writer thus far, more and more BDSM scenes have crept into my stories until one day I asked myself: why not put out a call for submissions and gather a collection of stories I knew I would thoroughly enjoy?
This book is the result.
You don’t need to be an expert on dominance, submission or anything else related to the BDSM sphere to be swept away by the supreme hotness of the tales in this anthology. They are kinky, daring and, at times, deliciously violent.
This book spans a broad theme and the stories vary greatly in subject matter and characters. There are teachers, naughty pupils, swimmers, runners, and quite a few professional Mistresses. There is tenderness and pain. Bruises and the softest of caresses. But above all, there’s a great amount of pleasure to be found within the pages that follow.
Enjoy the pain.
Harper Bliss
Chasing the Dragon
S.E. Hill
I make the transaction over the phone, from the confines of my office. I need to see her again and I don’t care about the cost. Like heroin… I need another hit. I adjust the buttons on my high-neck blouse, making sure they are secure before heading to my meeting. The lacy collar is tight. For an instant, flashes of her hand, squeezing the breath out of me while I orgasm, play in my head. Instinctively, I reach up to rub the side of my neck where the bruises from that night remain. As I walk out of my office, I hear the familiar ding of my phone, alerting me that I have a response to my request. I quickly glance at it as I walk towards the conference room. I am confirmed.
I am directing today’s meeting. It isn’t unusual for me to be in charge of most meetings I attend at KJB Enterprises, but this one is of particular importance because it is for the board. The pressure is high. I am proposing a complete restructuring of middle management. The cost-benefit analysis is irrefutable, in my opinion, and KJB is paying me quite well for my judgment. As a contracted barracuda, I am usually collectively reviled by the time my term is complete. I don’t care about that much. I am compensated handsomely to cut the fat, and I am gone before things become really hostile. I like the variety. Each business presents a unique puzzle for me to solve. I enjoy zeroing in on each company’s flaws and weaknesses, exposing them, and then destroying them one by one. Once that is done, all that is left is strength. It is a powerful feeling to give that to a company. Perhaps that is why I need her so badly… because I am hoping that if I hire her enough times she will strip me bare until all I have left are my good parts. It isn’t about giving up control. It is about freeing myself of my frailties and becoming empowered.
The seduction starts almost immediately upon my confirmation. She lists what she requires from me over text. Headphones. Check. Blindfold. Check. Rope. Check. Your complete trust. I stare at that last statement. Do I trust anyone completely? I don’t have time to think about it. As I click through my PowerPoint presentation, slide by slide, images of her requested tools keep interrupting my thoughts. I know, in theory, what she plans to do. After all, there is only so much one can do with those three instruments. Yet, my imagination is having a free-for-all. She owns my mind already, and she hasn’t even laid a hand on my body. I glance at the clock, noting that it is only noon and I won’t see her for ten more hours. How long our ‘date’ goes tonight depends on how much I can handle. That is always the deal. The cost is the same regardless of time. I can have her all night if I can endure it, although she informed me on our first introduction that no client ever lasted longer than three hours.
The meeting went well. I receive handshakes and smiles from every board member as they head out of the door. I let out a deep breath and congratulate myself as the last one disappears around a corner, and I’m finally alone at the big oval table. I glance at all the now-empty seats and beyond, to the skyscrapers lined up outside the conference room windows, and lastly, at the clock again. Nine hours until my total release. I return to my office and try to concentrate.
My phone pings again when I am wading through emails. I assume it’s a text from her and feel slightly disappointed to discover it isn’t. It is my friend Thomas, wanting to grab lunch. I accept his invitation. Thomas understands me, since we share an occupation… and the same predilections.
“I’m meeting her again tonight.” I share through bites of my salad. We are sitting outside at a little bistro, halfway between his office building and my own.
“Krista?” He raises his eyebrows, almost imperceptibly, but I notice. He is judging me. I can feel it.
“Yes,” I reply. I focus intently on my salad, jabbing at the lettuce leaves with my fork.
“This is becoming more than a hooker-client relationship,” he states matter-of-factly. His blue eyes stare at me, unblinking.
“No, it’s not. I don’t know anything about her!” I protest.
“But you want to. That’s the problem.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and lays it on the table. He pushes his plate aside and throws some cash on the table. “I have to get back to work.” He stands up from the table and starts walking away. Then he stops and turns around. “That’s the thing though, Sarah… these kinds of relationships… you aren’t allowed to know her. But she gets to know the very core of you. She knows what makes you tick, and manipulates it at will. That’s the addiction of it. Be careful.” Thomas walks away. I watch the back of his head as it disappears into a sea of people that crowd the sidewalk. Eight hours until I get to see her. Eight hours! Was I chasing the dragon, looking for a high that was never as good as the first one? I didn’t think so. Every meeting with her was more intense; tested my limits; brought me closer to my own truth. The only dragon I am chasing is my own, I decide.
Seven hours until I see her. I lean back in my desk chair and rub my temples. That is when she texts. Feeling a little stressed today? She is in my head… always in my head. Why don’t we do a warm-up exercise? You game? I stare at my phone. I am game. I don’t have to tell her that. She isn’t really asking permission anyway.
She guides me through text, down my pants. She instructs me exactly how to touch my clit. She tells me when to get faster and when to slow down, how much pressure to use. I stare at my phone, and follow her instructions. She brings me to the brink of orgasm, and then suddenly tells me to stop. You come when I let you, she texts, Remember that. And then she is gone.
Six hours. My cheeks are flushed and my panties are soaking wet. My clit is throbbing in pro
test at my sudden withdrawal of stimulation. I look up, breathless, realizing that I was so concentrated on her instructions that I forgot where I was. Anyone could have walked in and found me violating myself in my office. Yet, I didn’t care. I’d do anything she asked. Anything. That was the challenge, wasn’t it? To abide by her commands, even if they tested my boundaries and made me act in unfamiliar ways? I lean back in my desk chair and try to get my breathing under control. It’s pointless to attempt any more work today. My mind is singularly focused. I decide to cut out early. I button my pants, grab my purse, and head to the gym. I need some kind of outlet for my sexual frustration, and a good workout seems like it will help, for now.
I think about her while I run on the treadmill. Her dark hair… her intoxicating smell… her soft skin… her large breasts... the curve of her hips. I think about her tattoos… all of which I have memorized. But mostly, I think about her eyes and her hands. How they both punish or please me, depending on her mood. I think about what I actually know about her and realize my knowledge is scant. I know what she does for a living and practically nothing else. I want to know more. I want to know how she wakes up in the morning, how she spends her days off, what makes her tick. Maybe Thomas was right. Maybe I want more than I am entitled to within the boundaries of our current relationship. But maybe she wants more too? Is that wishful thinking?
I run for a full hour on the treadmill, my body drenched in sweat by the time I am done. My leg muscles are already sore and twitching with exhaustion the second I step off the machine. Yet, I still feel wound tight. I take a long shower, hoping the hot water will soothe the growing tension inside me. I know I’m fooling myself. I need her. I’m craving her. She is the only thing that can dull the ache. Krista. Four more hours…
I eat a light dinner. I am not really hungry. I indulge myself with a glass of wine. She texts me as I take a long pull of my white, savoring the fruity sweetness.
Thinking about me?
Always, I answer.
Good. And she is gone again.
Two more agonizing hours left.
She contacts me again at precisely nine o’clock, with instructions. I am to leave my front door unlocked. Her tools should be laid out on the console table directly next to the front door. I am to stand, naked, with my back to the door and wait for her arrival. I am not to look at her. I am not to speak to her. I obey.
At exactly ten o’clock, I hear the click of my door opening. I smell her as she walks in, a combination of sex and vanilla and her natural scent that always instantly turns me on. I keep my back to her as requested. I can feel myself moistening already at just the smell of her, and the anticipation of what she is going to do to me.
I hear her grab something off the table. She walks directly behind me and slips the blindfold over my eyes and the headphones over my ears. She clicks the headphones on and my head is instantly flooded with some kind of tantric music I’ve never heard before. It pounds in my head, drowning out all ambient noise. I feel her grab my shoulders and direct me to the bedroom. When my knees hit the bed, she pushes me forward roughly, and then rolls me onto my back. She wraps the rope around my ankles and then trusses them up near my thighs, causing my legs to spread wide open for her and my back to arch. It is not painful, although I feel as if I’m in a constant, very deep stretch. I am fully exposed to her. I can’t hide how glistening wet I already am. It embarrasses me that I am so obvious to her, so on display. I don’t know what she is thinking when she looks at me. I can’t see her or hear her. I can only feel her, continuing with the ties in a business-like fashion, circling my waist and then up around my wrists. She brings my arms over my head and ties them to the headboard, wrists bound together. I am locked in place, barely able to move. Then she gets another piece of rope and lays it taut across my neck. Where she has it secured, I have no idea. All I know is that if I try to raise my head up, I can feel it tighten against my throat, a further warning that my movement is limited. Then… nothing. Just as quickly as she ties me up, she is gone. Or, at least, I can’t feel her heat near me. I wait, legs apart, tied down, blind and deaf.
Time slows down when you are exposed. I writhe uncertainly. Goosebumps prickle my skin every time I feel a breeze, thinking it might be her… hoping it was. I imagine she is watching me, surveying every inch of my flesh, judging whether it pleases her, thinking about how she is going to manipulate me at will. I get wetter still.
Then I feel it. Something cold. Ice? Water? It runs down my neck and the length of my torso. My muscles contract and I suck in my breath. Then, just as quickly as the sensation comes, it’s gone. I am alone again. My mind is racing. The tension of the unknown starts mounting inside me, but so is excitement.
Then I feel her. The heat of her body is near my own. Is she hovering above me? Is she next to me? I can’t place her, as hard as I try. I attempt to raise myself upwards, trying to feel her location. I want her soft skin against mine. The restraints quickly remind me that she lies just beyond my reach. I relax back into the bed. The warmth I sensed suddenly disappears. Or had it even been there in the first place?
Then, without warning, I feel ice against my hot, engorged clit. A quick touch, and then it is gone again. The only proof that it had even been there is the cold, melted water dripping from my clit down into my aching slit. Damn this blindfold! I am screaming in my mind with frustration, the music pounding, pounding in my head.
Then I feel an unfamiliar material lightly skimming my body. Silk? I feel it caress my cheek and neck. It barely brushes against my breasts, making my nipples stiffen, and then travels down my body and through my legs. I feel my face being directed to the side by the lightest touch. Then the touch grows firmer. I can feel nothing but her hand running around to the back of my neck and then up into my hair, close to my scalp. She grabs a fistful of my curls and gently but firmly pulls back, making me expose the side and front of my neck to her. She is reminding me of my vulnerability. She is reminding me that I am hers. We are locked like that for a moment, tense. Then she feels me obey. My will is bent to however she wants to shape it and she knows it.
With this unspoken understanding between us, I feel her hand relax. It glides down my neck and continues, with purpose, down the length of my body. My clit is wet from the ice and I can feel how swollen it is. When she finally touches it with her fingers, I quiver all over.
She abruptly stops rubbing me almost as soon as she starts. Then, the silk scarf is back. She places it between my legs. I feel the top of it against my stomach, the other part I feel her push underneath me. And then she pulls both ends of the silk taut against me, from my clit all the way down to my ass. It is stretched tight between my lips, getting moistened immediately by my wetness. She pulls it, rhythmically, tight against me so it rubs against my clit and pushes against my threshold. She is fucking me with no penetration. I push my weight back against the silk, rubbing my clit against it, moans escaping my lips. I’m bucking as hard as I can against the restraints. I need her inside me. The music is thumping in my ears, but all I can hear are my own thoughts, silently begging her to enter me. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “Please,” I whisper. As soon as the word escapes my lips, I know it’s a mistake. Her touch disappears. The now soaking wet silk vanishes. I try to raise my head again, and am immediately restrained by the rope. It is not my place to attempt to control how and when she touches me. My punishment is her lack of touch.
I try to sense her position in relation to me. I cannot. My clit is throbbing and my chest is heaving. I feel empty and like I need to be filled up by her. Minutes seem like hours. I am helpless. I begin to get angry. My obedience suddenly turns to hostility. How dare she leave me this way! Is she watching me? Is she letting my anger build? Watching my frustration grow with each passing second? I’m also mad at myself, for wanting her more and more as the minutes tick by, more than anything, ever.
And then suddenly I feel hot oil raining down on my entire body, making me gasp—a further p
unishment for my insubordination. The heat is intense, almost burning, and the scent of vanilla fills the room. I’m slick with the scented oil, and properly mollified. I need no more reminding that she is in control of everything that will happen to my body and that it is not my place to have anger. I’m prepared to acquiesce to whatever she wants. I am hers, all hers, for as long as I can stand it.
She rewards me for my renewed compliance with a gentle massage of my chest, thighs, stomach, and hips. I feel a tug and pull on my nipples, and then a piercing pain as she screws nipple clamps in place. Once they are secure, she pulls them ever so slightly. I suck in my breath and hold it. My breasts serve as a direct conduit to my groin and even though the feeling is extreme, the pain only serves to heighten my arousal. Her hands slip under my thighs and I suddenly feel her chin hit my stomach and run midline down my body. I feel her tongue for the first time and am reminded why I needed the wait and discipline. She knows my body better than me, and knew that I would get that much more pleasure if she made me wait for her attention.
She tastes every inch of me that her tongue can reach. No groove or crevice misses her consideration. Her tongue moves in every pattern imaginable, switching intensities in response to my body’s cues. I tighten, about to orgasm, when I suddenly feel her hand grabbing my chin. She shakes my head side to side, screaming “No,” without saying a word. I obey, trying with everything I have to dampen the urge to release. Her mouth is gone now, her hot breath just a memory as my own juices drip down my legs and dampen the sheets beneath me. I wait for her. I’m at the very threshold of coming and there is no turning back for me. I no longer mind being exposed to her. In fact, I’m enjoying that she can see how my body is responding to her every move. We are dancing, and I realize that I truly and completely trust her lead. It takes every ounce of self-control to wait, but I know that whatever she has in mind will be worth it and that I will be rewarded for my discipline.
