“Are you sure about this?” I wanted to ask, but I said nothing as we made our way past racks of replica football shirts, yoga pants in bright, geometric designs, and sweatshirts emblazoned with the logos of all the wellknown sporting goods manufacturers. I’d never have guessed she would have heard of this company, and I was surprised that being so close to so many synthetic fibers wasn’t making her physically ill.
“Ah, here we go.”
She had led me right to the back of the store, where we were surrounded by all manner of tacky, cut-price accessories. Wrist and ankle weights with fetching pink trim, water bottles decorated with the cross of Saint George and the Scottish saltire, gold medals made from chocolate, furry earmuffs in pastel shades. Mentally, I filed a couple of the items away in case I had to buy a Secret Santa present for someone I hated. Suzanne bypassed them all and came to a halt in front of a display of sports socks.
“Yes, these should do the trick.” She took a pair of plain white knee-high socks from a rack and made a brief show of checking them over. “Now, where do we pay?”
We queued at the counter behind a woman with bottle-blonde hair, wearing fuchsia velour leggings. She was buying a large wheeled suitcase and a pair of dumbbells.
“So either she’s going to hit her husband over the head with the dumbbells and stuff his body in the case, or he’s already dead and she needs something heavy to weigh him down when she throws him in the river,” I commented, loud enough for everyone around us to hear. When the woman turned to glare at me, I flashed her my sweetest smile. As she returned to the task of keying her PIN into the card reader, I addressed Suzanne in a stage whisper. “I’m remembering her face in case the police start investigating his disappearance.”
Suzanne fixed me with a look that managed to combine disapproval and fondness. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”
Desire prickled all the way down my spine, and I grew hot between my legs. I clapped my hands together. “Ooh, goody.”
The woman in front of us finished her transaction and lugged her purchases away, glaring at me as she did. She didn’t know it, but she’d got off lightly compared to the comments I’d once made when Suzanne and I had been waiting for a couple to pay for a turkey baster in a kitchenware shop. It seems it isn’t polite to speculate that someone might want to try out an unorthodox method of making a baby. But the spanking I’d received from Suzanne later that afternoon, and the orgasm she’d finally wrenched from me after keeping me on the verge of coming, had been thoroughly worth it.
Suzanne paid for the socks with a minimum of fuss. I kept quiet, figuring I’d done more than enough to earn whatever punishment she had planned for me. This was all part of the long, delicious game that had begun when we’d walked into the tearoom and would end only when Suzanne decided. We walked out of the store and she hailed a cab. She gave the driver my address and settled back in her seat.
I wondered what she intended to do with those socks all the way home.
The sky had darkened as the taxi nosed its way through the late-afternoon traffic, and by the time we pulled up in front of my tenement building, the rain was falling hard. I hurried to unlock the door, shivering in my flimsy summer dress, while Suzanne paid the driver.
I liked my flat. It might have been up four flights of narrow stairs, and the kitchen was barely big enough to turn around in, but I had a nice view over the nearby park. More importantly, the walls were thick enough that the neighbors couldn’t hear what I got up to. That had been a blessing on more than one occasion since I’d first started seeing Suzanne.
Suzanne’s heels clicked on the stone steps as she followed behind me. She’d gone very quiet, as she always did before we got into the heart of a scene, giving me time to reflect on what I might have done wrong and where my behavior needed to improve. But I was still mulling over her choice of treat for me. Whatever I’d been hoping for, it wasn’t a pair of sports socks.
“Would you like me to put the kettle on?” I asked as I let her into the flat, expecting her to refuse, as she always did. Afterward, she liked to sit with a cup of tea and stroke my hair as I came down from my endorphin high. Never before.
“That would be delightful, Poppy.” The response threw me. So she wasn’t going to chastise me? I’d prepared myself for a verbal and physical dressingdown and now we were just going to drink tea? If I’d known, I would have reined in my bratty side and been nicer to the woman in the sports shop. Or maybe not. No one should wear fuchsia velour in public.
My disappointment must have shown because Suzanne said, “I thought we’d try something a little different today. Mix things up a bit. I know how well you can take a spanking, but you’ve been falling down recently when it comes to following orders.”
“If you say so, Miss.” Surely she knew that I always did as I was told—eventually? I’ll admit that sometimes I pretended not to hear her instructions the first time she issued them, but that was to earn a couple of extra smacks. And where was the fun in giving in too easily? It wasn’t a failing on my part. At least, I didn’t think it was.
“I do. And you can start by making a pot of Earl Grey, which I will have with lemon rather than milk.” “Yes, Miss.” I scurried off to the kitchen, thankful that I’d done my grocery shopping the evening before. I fished a lemon out of the fruit bowl and set about slicing it as the kettle boiled.
Suzanne’s words had me on edge, but as the butterflies fluttered in my belly I wondered if maybe that was a good thing. Perhaps we were both guilty of falling into too comfortable a routine. We weren’t in a rut, exactly— Suzanne’s schedule, which meant that I might not get to be with her for a couple of months while she worked in her company’s LA office, didn’t allow for that. But I knew what to expect from her when it came to a scene and when to expect it. It couldn’t hurt to shake things up every once in a while.
I warmed the pot and spooned tea into it—always loose leaf for Suzanne, never bags. I placed the teapot, a little bowl containing slices of lemon, and a cup and saucer on a tray. After a moment’s consideration, I added a second cup for myself, reasoning that Suzanne hadn’t told me not to, plus another bowl of lemon slices and the milk jug. Biscuits would be nice, I thought, remembering the packet of chocolate digestives I’d bought on my grocery run, but decided that would be greedy on top of all the cakes and sandwiches we’d had earlier.
“Here we go,” I announced, taking the tray through to the living room where Suzanne sat, leafing through the previous night’s Evening Standard. I poured her tea then offered her the lemon. As I set about pouring my own cup, she raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t think you’ll have time to drink that, Poppy.” “If you say so.” I stopped what I was doing and stood, waiting for her to issue an order. After all, wasn’t that what this was about?
“I’d like you to model these for me.” She glanced to where the white socks lay on the coffee table.
“Of course.” I reached to pick them up. Once I’d snapped the thin plastic tag that connected the two socks, I kicked off my shoes and went to perch on the arm of the sofa so I could put them on more comfortably.
“Not so fast.” Suzanne held out a hand, palm facing me. “Before you do that, I want you to remove your dress.”
For a moment, I stared at her, mouth a little agape. Something, I couldn’t say what, about wearing nothing but those cheap white socks made me hesitate. Suzanne had to know how foolish I would look with them pulled right up to my knees while she sat in her beautiful suit without as much as the top button of her blouse undone. It was humiliating—and that, I realized, was why she’d asked me to do it. Need made my pussy clench and heat flood through me, bringing a flush to my skin.
Without a word, I undid the bow at the back of my dress then pulled it over my head. I let it drop to the floor and stood, allowing Suzanne to take in the sight of my naked body. My nipples were tight points, aching to be sucked. She let her gaze travel down, over the curve of
my stomach. In anticipation of our gettogether, I’d shaved, leaving only a thin strip of hair on my mound, and my sex lips were slick with desire. All afternoon I had been waiting for this moment, and I ached for her.
When she returned her attention to her teacup, I sat and put on the socks. As I lifted each leg in turn, I was aware that if Suzanne glanced over, she’d get a glimpse of my wet pussy, but she seemed more concerned with reading her horoscope in the newspaper. Her show of indifference only turned me on more, because despite her outward display, it must have been costing her a real effort not to look at me. We’d been apart for too long and I knew her too well to believe she really wasn’t interested.
At last, she turned back toward me. I’d been standing for a minute or more, hands behind my back in the position she liked me to adopt when I was naked. The socks were more comfortable than I’d expected. They had padding in the sole, and the elastic at the top didn’t grip and pinch as I’d feared it might, even though it was brand new. Still, I didn’t think I’d be adopting them as a staple of my wardrobe any time soon.
“Turn around, Poppy.”
I did as I was told, presenting Suzanne with my rear view. I hoped it looked good to her. Usually, she preferred it once my asscheeks were blushing red and bearing her handprints.
“Very nice. And now I want you to take the socks off.”
But I’ve only just put them on, I wanted to protest. I knew better than to argue. Before I could begin, though, she held up her hand once more.
“Seduce me with your movements. I want this to be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Of course, Miss.”
At first, I had no idea how to obey. These were the most boring pair of socks in Christendom. How could I make anything about their removal erotic?
Then it hit me. I had to pretend I was partway through a striptease. Swaying to music I could only hear in my head, I danced around the living room. I moved my hips in slow, sinuous patterns and ran my hands over my breasts and bottom, teasing my nipples and squeezing soft handfuls of my flesh.
With my back to her, I glanced over my shoulder, trying to gauge the effect I was having. Suzanne sipped her tea, her expression giving nothing away, and not for the first time I decided she’d make a fantastic poker player.
I had to do something to grab her attention. Part of me wanted to sweep all the tea things off the coffee table with my hand and lie on there to remove the socks. But I’d used the only good items of china I possessed, left to me by my grandmother, and as much as I loved Suzanne, I wasn’t going to risk breaking anything so precious.
Instead, I propped my foot up on the arm of her chair, right in her line of sight. I caught the scent of my juices, sharp and salty, knowing she’d also be able to smell how excited performing for her had got me. Now I had her.
Like a seasoned burlesque dancer removing a silk stocking, I rolled the sock down to my ankle as slowly as I could then peeled it off over my toes. The second sock followed. Suzanne’s gaze never left the movements of my fingers but her face remained neutral. Traces of her coral lipstick stained the rim of her cup, and I wanted to kiss away the rest from her lips, but that would come later. For now, this was all about proving to her I could follow her commands, however difficult that might seem at first.
I laid both socks on the table in front of her and waited for her next instruction.
“You’ve done well.” She smiled at me, just a slight curve of the lips, and I glowed at her praise. “And because you’ve been a good girl, you get to come.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
Since the moment I’d begun my bizarre burlesque dance, I’d ached for her fingers on my pussy, stroking and teasing while she slipped her thumb into the tight pucker of my asshole—or even better, her mouth licking and loving me. No one had ever made me come as well as Suzanne did.
“But I told you things would be different today. I am not going to touch you. You are going to touch yourself, while I watch.”
Her words pulled me up short. As confident as I was about doing anything she asked of me, something always stopped me in my tracks when she asked me to masturbate for her. I didn’t know why it made me so shy. Maybe it was because it was something I did for myself, and I felt uncomfortable about inviting an audience into my private time. Or maybe this way I would have to keep myself right on the edge, when what I craved most was for her to do it.
This was what I got for being a brat. Suzanne, I realized, didn’t have to lay a finger on me or use sharp words to punish me. She could make me squirm and beg for her to do anything else simply by telling me to play with myself. But I took pride in being a good submissive, and so I would not refuse her this.
I hoped she’d tell me to go into the bedroom, so I could make myself comfortable on the bed. When she didn’t, I took a seat in the armchair across from Suzanne’s, hooking my legs over the arms. In this position, I was spread out and open to her gaze. If she wanted a show, I would give her one.
The first skim of my fingertip along the length of my cleft had me shuddering. Too much sensation, too soon. I needed something to dull the friction. And I had just the thing.
Suzanne quirked an eyebrow when I picked up one of the socks, but she didn’t tell me to put it down. I ran it over my sex, rubbing myself the way I sometimes did with the crotch of my underwear. Back and forth, the fluffy material soaking up my nectar as it went. The soft touch was just enough to make me let out a little moan.
Was it my imagination, or did I detect the faintest rattling of the teacup in its saucer? When I looked over again, Suzanne had set her drink on the coffee table, and I smiled to myself at the tiny crack I had created in her controlled façade.
I used the sock to brush my nipples. They peaked, and my core tightened, making me want to press a finger deep inside myself. Soon, but not right now. . .
“That’s it,” I murmured, half to myself but all too aware of Suzanne listening to every gasp, every change in my breathing. She’d know how close I was by those sounds alone, and if she was in the mood to withhold my pleasure, she’d be aware of exactly when to order me to stop. She’d once told me my frustrated pout at being denied was almost enough to cause an orgasm of her own. But today I was allowed to come, and I intended to make the most of it.
I pushed one finger inside the top of the sock, swaddling it. Then I rubbed that finger over my clit, moving in small, tight circles. The light pressure was enough to make me arch my back and push my hips up, seeking to be filled.
Unable to hold back an instant longer, I eased a finger into my hole, then a second. The walls of my pussy clutched on to them.
“You can take more than that,” Suzanne commented. So much for just watching. But I complied, sliding another in and stretching those three fingers wide, reveling in the delicious burn. My eyelids fluttered closed as I fucked myself, still stroking my clit with my sock-covered fingertip.
“Feels so good.” I panted between each word, my breathing coming faster and a languid warmth spreading through me. Even though I couldn’t see Suzanne watching me any longer, I was sure all her attention would be focused on my busily moving fingers and the frantic jerking of my hips. Every nerve ending cried out for release and the blood roared in my ears. “Please, Mistress, may I?”
“Not yet.” Her words were like a slap to my face. I needed this so much. But she was determined to draw this out, for her pleasure as much as mine.
I let the urge to come die away, then built to the peak once more. “Please,” I begged, and again she denied me.
How could she be so cruel? I couldn’t take any more of this. Yet, somehow, I found the strength to pull back. Suzanne looked on, her face an impassive mask.
I rubbed the sock over my clit once more, sobbing with need. Lost and helpless, I gazed at her with anxious eyes. This time, she didn’t tell me to stop.
“Oh god, that’s . . . that’s . . . I’m—I’m coming.” With that, I came apart, everything around me seeming
to fade for an instant before rushing back, the colors more vivid than before. I gasped, letting the sock slip from my limp fingers, and sprawled back in the chair.
It took a while for me to recover from the strength of the orgasm, and when I did, Suzanne was rubbing my shoulders, caressing my sweat-damp skin.
“Let’s run you a bath, Poppy,” she said, helping me to stand. Her smile was warm, filled with love. “You were amazing. I really liked what you did with the sock. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I,” I admitted. “But it felt like the right thing to do.”
“Oh, it was. And it got me thinking. There are so many other uses for these we could try.” Suzanne bent to pick up the sock and stretched it between her fingers. “For example, I think this would make an excellent gag…”
“If you say so, Miss,” I murmured. Already, my mind raced ahead. Gagged with a sock. Maybe she could even use the pair of them to tie me to the bedposts. I’d be helpless to stop her doing whatever she wanted. Yes, yes, yes… I placed a soft kiss on Suzanne’s cheek and let her lead me to the bathroom.
WHEN YOU’RE TOLD
Rebecca Croteau
On Sunday, when she was a very good kitten, he put her into chastity. She went willingly enough; that night, everything they did felt good, but nothing they did sent her over the peak. His instructing her not to come was a freedom that let her frustration ease, let him gather her to his chest and pet his good kitten as she tumbled into sleep.
On Monday morning, however, it was clear that chastity was going to be different than she’d thought. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was solid; broad at the shoulders and girthy through the waist, made of useful strength and sheer will. He woke her with kisses and fucked her in the shower, but whenever she got close to orgasm, he’d slow down. “Good girls don’t come until they have permission,” he murmured in her ear.
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