Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission

by Unknown

  She shook her head, drawing away from him with her hands raised in an unconscious gesture, closing herself off before he had finished, already denying him in a way she never did physically. “That wasn’t what we agreed to—”

  He caught her hands, stilled her with his gaze. “I want to change the agreement.”

  “No,” she said, “I can’t. We can’t—”

  He pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his own. “We can do anything we want,” he breathed against her mouth. “I want you, Juli. All of you.” When she took a breath to protest further, he kissed her deeply.

  “Give yourself to me, Juliette,” he whispered, moving his lips from her mouth to her face, her neck, the place just behind her ear. His voice sent a shiver down her spine. He released one of her wrists and scooped his hand around the base of her neck and drew his lips down the delicate length of her throat and back up along the line of her jaw. Her head tipped back of its own accord, giving him greater access; her breath caught in her throat. The warmth of his mouth on her, tracing her flesh almost imperceptibly, sent shivers dancing across her skin. Her body felt electric, every touch almost painfully magnified.

  “Be mine,” he said. “Truly mine.” It was not a plea, nor yet a demand; it was something in between, and she felt herself responding to it physically even as she struggled to keep her head. It was unfair, this assault on her senses when she was so vulnerable, so open, after the intensity of the session they had just shared.

  “Please, Ian,” she said, “don’t ask this of me.”

  In answer he pushed her back against the pillows, recaptured both of her hands in one of his own and raised them above her head. Holding them captive, he stared down into her eyes as he followed the lines of her body with his free hand. He covered the fluttering pulse at her throat with a palm, making her take a sharp, startled breath, before moving his hand down to her shoulder, to press and caress the rope marks that still branded her skin. His eyes never leaving hers, he cupped her breast and tweaked her nipple, only recently liberated from clamps, making her jump and her breath whoosh out in a hiss. His eyes glittered at her reaction, a hint of a grin curving his lips. His hand skimmed over the indent at her waist to her softly curved and vulnerable belly, then opened over the flare of her hip and stroked across a smooth flank, where it lingered a moment on skin recently marked by his whip. She felt her cunt throb traitorously as he deliberately pressed his fingers into her tender flesh, and squirmed as he traced them lower, over the mound of her sex.

  “Ian,” she gasped, as he pushed a finger into her, and then another; he found her wet and open (as he had to have known she would be). When she writhed against him, he held her wrists tighter, leaning his whole body over her, pressing his weight into her in the way he knew she liked, as he finger-fucked her, slowly at first, and then with a brutal intensity that matched the ferocity of their earlier session. All the while he kept his eyes trained on hers, willing her to keep hers open as she moaned and strained toward her peak. She panted, pushing against him, fighting him even as she strained into him, striving to take all of him into her. And then her orgasm tore through her and she cried out, closing her eyes involuntarily, arching and bucking against him. When she had quieted once more, she opened her eyes to find his still on hers.

  “Beautiful,” he said, still not releasing her. “But it’s not enough anymore.” He shook his head slightly and sat back. “I love what we do, Juli, but…” He looked around, at her, at himself, at the space around them, encompassing all that their relationship was—and wasn’t. “I can’t do just…this…anymore.”

  Still struggling to control her breathing, Juli shook her head and felt her eyes filling with tears.

  “I want more, Juli. More than just…the physical. Be mine, Juli. Give yourself—all of yourself—to me.”

  She took a shuddering breath. Saw everything that was between them in the heat and desire and love in his eyes. She reached a tentative hand out to touch him, stroked his chest, raised a hand to his face. She knew, in that moment, that she already was his.

  “All right,” she said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Juliette stepped into the elevator of her apartment building and pressed the button to the garage. She glanced at the other passengers self-consciously, as though they could see what she wore beneath her clothes—what she was. Could the elderly woman from apartment three tell that something had changed in Juli? Could she tell that beneath her conservative gray suit, Juli wore under things Ian had picked out for her, under things completely inappropriate for the office? Could the building super tell that she had made agreements with Ian that she never had with anyone else, giving him control over her life in small but significant ways? She fidgeted a bit as the car made its slow progress to the ground, then escaped her neighbors’ (knowing?) looks gratefully as soon as the door sprang open.

  Once inside her car, she pulled out her phone and texted Ian. He had emailed her that morning with instructions regarding her clothing, what she could eat and drink throughout the day, and he had told her to text him when she was on her way to work.

  “Little things first, Juli,” he’d said. “Small things that will hardly matter in the larger scheme of things, but that will remind you of me and the commitment that we have made to each other throughout the day. Your clothing, your food, your drinks. And one other thing.” But he wouldn’t tell her what that other thing was, no matter how she had entreated him. “This is what giving up control is, Juli. Do you trust me? Do you truly trust that I wouldn’t ask anything of you that would be too hard, that would harm you?”

  “Yes, of course,” she had responded immediately. And she did. It wasn’t fear of harm that made her anxious, it was…loss of control. It was that it was something that he chose. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” was all he would say.

  Good girl, he texted back. Now this is what I want from you…

  She couldn’t stop thinking about it. As soon as she’d read his instructions, she’d felt her body clench, felt the need to urinate. That was what his last instruction was: that she ask permission to pee. She stepped into her office building and shuddered delicately. It wasn’t just that it was embarrassing; it was the point of the thing! She had some small amount of pride. Would he take that away from her? She hadn’t liked it, but she had agreed to let him choose her clothing, food and drinks. But to have to call or text to use the bathroom—that was too much. In fact, she thought, she’d end this right now…

  She put her purse down in the cubicle she shared with the other executive assistant and headed to the bathroom. But once inside she stopped cold and stared at the stall door, biting her lip. Was this how it would end, then, with her unable to do this one small thing he had asked of her?

  Hannah, the other assistant, walked in behind her, hitting the door against her as she did. “Oh! I’m sorry, Juliette. I didn’t see you standing there. What are you looking at? Are the toilets backing up again?”

  “No,” she said, “I…” But what could she say? I’m just thinking about disobeying my lover by peeing without permission? “I thought I saw a spider,” she finished lamely. And then, because it would be odd not to, she went into the stall. She realized, even as she did, that she wasn’t going to use the toilet. But she pulled up her skirt and slid the sheer silk panties down her thighs, because that was what one did in the bathroom. A wave of pure eroticism passed through her as she did so. She was wearing these panties, the stockings and garter belt not just for Ian, as she had done to entice him in the past, but because he had told her to do so. She skimmed a hand along the silk of her stockings, enjoying the pure sensuous pleasure of them against her skin. She imagined Ian’s hands sliding over them as she hovered over the toilet and she felt an unexpected throb between her legs. Then she had to fight her body’s natural urge to urinate, now that she was in the customary position. Her body didn’t know that her mind had changed the rules. Unless she really did intend to disobey—

/>   No, she wouldn’t disobey. The effort of stopping herself, the clenching of muscles to still the impending flow of liquid, gave her another unexpected jolt of erotic pleasure. She took a deep, shaky breath and her hand trembled as she pulled her panties back up. Unable to stop herself, she slid a finger over the cool silk, pressing it against the heat of her cunt and feeling it get wet as she did. She bit back a moan and stroked her fingers lightly over her clit. She thought about Ian’s fingers in her the night she’d submitted to his demands and felt a shock of heat race through her, centering on the throb between her legs. She realized suddenly that she was so aroused it would only take moments for her to come, right there in the employee restroom.

  She snatched her hand away from herself and struggled to control her breathing and calm her wildly throbbing arousal. That, too, was now in Ian’s control.

  Trembling, but schooling herself back into “executive assistant” mode, she turned and automatically flushed the empty toilet. When she stepped out to wash her hands, equally automatically, Hannah was there, at the sink. She met Juli’s eyes in the mirror. Juli imagined she could smell the musky scent of her arousal, see the flush that she knew was spreading over her chest. But Hannah merely smiled and held open the bathroom door for her.

  At her desk, Juliette resumed her morning’s routine, trying to keep her mind on things other than the restroom and Ian’s instructions. Twice she got up to relieve herself and be damned with the game; twice she sat back down. Each time it was as though her world narrowed down to that space between her legs, and she realized she was getting wetter every time she thought about it. Hannah glanced over the top of her computer at her curiously the second time.

  “You’re fidgety this morning, Juli,” she said.

  Juli felt the flush climbing up her chest to her neck. “I…I guess I had too much coffee this morning,” she said. At least that much was true. Ian had allowed her a large latte that morning. Too late she’d realized that he might have had an ulterior motive in encouraging her to drink that much fluid.

  At a quarter to ten, her boss came sauntering into the office. He frequently came in late and left early, but woe to her if she ever called in sick. And if he came in late and left early, she was the opposite, oftentimes having to cancel plans to finish some last-minute project that he just had to get done for the following morning, but which he hadn’t given her adequate notice to complete by the end of the regular work day. She didn’t know why she put up with it, and in fact Ian had told her more than once that she ought not to. She had the experience and skills to go anywhere, if she’d just work up the courage to do so.

  “Juliette,” her boss said now, as he passed her desk, “I have a project that needs to get done today. Can you come into my office?”

  As Juliette gathered her notepad and pen, she saw Hannah roll her eyes and shake her head. “Hope you didn’t have plans tonight,” she mouthed. Juliette grimaced and got up to follow her boss.

  As she stood, she felt the slide of silk between her thighs and imagined it made a soft whisper against her skin. Her bladder felt full, distended against her pubis; every step was an exquisite ache. She thought of Ian and his hands on her; thought of how pleased he would be that she had obeyed him. If she obeyed him. She still hadn’t made up her mind to give in and text him.

  Ten minutes later she was back at her desk, fuming. There was no way she was going to be able to finish the report that her boss needed “first thing” the next morning by the end of the workday. She’d be lucky to be able to finish it by seven—and she did have plans. The worst part of it was that she hadn’t said a word. She’d just taken notes, nodded her head, and left his office. Hannah looked at her pityingly as she settled back at her desk. Maybe if she worked through lunch she could leave in time and not have to change her plans. Juli thought about the countless job offers she had turned down during her eighteen months at the firm and wondered why she’d never had the nerve to even entertain the idea of leaving. How could she be so resistant to submitting to Ian’s control, to submitting to a man she trusted and loved, and yet be so willing to accept her boss’s tyranny?

  The next hour was exquisite torture. Soon all she could think about was the need to pee. Every time she thought about it, she had to clench her thighs together, and soon she felt the juncture between her legs growing steadily slicker with moisture that had nothing to do with urine. She actually had to suppress a moan at one point as she found herself drifting from the report she was writing to thoughts of Ian and his hands on her, his mouth against hers, his words in her ear. “Give yourself to me, Juli…” Why was this one thing so, so hard for her to do? She knew he would be pleased when she texted him, asking permission. She knew that he knew how hard this was for her.

  But still she resisted.

  As though he’d heard her thoughts, her phone flashed with a text message from Ian. Her chest grew tight and heat washed over her as she picked up her phone and opened the message.

  I’m surprised I haven’t heard from you, it said. You must be…uncomfortable by now.

  She was uncomfortable. Just reading his words intensified the urge to relieve herself. Guilt flashed through her. Why was she resisting this so hard? Was it pure stubbornness…or something else?

  I’m fine, she replied back, though she felt anything but fine. Boss is giving me grief.

  I’m the only one allowed to give you grief, he said. She smiled at his words, imagining the grin behind them, but a moment later she caught her breath as his next message flashed on the screen.

  I know you can do this, Juli, it read. Don’t be afraid.

  And just like that, she realized that was what had been holding her back. Fear. Fear of letting go, of truly giving him control.

  Her phone intercom buzzed. “Do you have the Cox report finished?” her boss barked.

  She glanced at the report folder lying on her desk. She had put it aside to work on the new project he’d given her. “No,” she said, “I’ve been working on the one you gave me this morning—”

  “You can work on that after you get the Cox report to me,” he said, interrupting her.

  “But Mr. Garreth, I won’t be able to finish the new one before I leave if—”

  “Juliette,” he interrupted again, his voice sharp with censure, “I really didn’t expect finishing your work on time to be such a difficulty for you. You’ve never had this issue before.”

  Because she’d never objected to working until seven before!

  She took a deep breath and felt the fullness of her bladder, the incredible need to let go. And more than that. She sat there, contemplating her morning, her resistance to Ian’s instructions—and her acquiescence to this tyrannical man who meant nothing to her. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, she picked up her cell phone and looked at Ian’s last message. And suddenly, she wasn’t afraid anymore. Of herself or her boss.

  Please, Sir, she typed, may I go pee? Her hand didn’t even shake as she hit send. She returned her attention to her boss.

  “I can’t do that, Mr. Garreth,” she said firmly, interrupting him mid-rant.

  “Excuse me?” His voice sounded thoroughly shocked. She had never, ever interrupted him. Or told him no.

  “I won’t be able to finish that report for you tonight.” She eyed her phone as it lit up with a text from Ian. As she read it, her body responded automatically, as though it knew who owned it. And as she felt the warmth flowing from her body onto the seat beneath her, she smiled. “I’ll be looking for another job,” she said.

  PAPER DOLL

  joy

  The dress was, in a word, scandalous. Hope had never worn anything so revealing in her life, a little black number made completely of lace. It hit her thigh dangerously close to her sex and had an embarrassing tendency to ride up, revealing her beautifully rounded ass.

  The day before, Matthew had pulled ten crisp twenty-dollar bills from his leather wallet, pressing them into her waiting palm with a grin. �
��You may buy anything you like, my beauty,” he’d told Hope quietly, his expression free of emotion save the familiar glint in his dark eyes. “But there are a few provisions. Nothing below your knees. At least one piece of lingerie. One pair of shoes, and something made of leather.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she’d replied. Hope had thought he was done giving his instructions and gave him a reluctant smile, lifting herself from his white leather couch and stuffing the brand-new bills into her jeans pocket. She could have sworn she saw Matthew cringe as the crisp bills were crumpled and wrinkled beneath her fingers. He had such an eye for beauty that he could not stand to see something that had been perfect suddenly ruined with carelessness. Hope hid an amused grin and slung her purse over her shoulder, leaning upward on her toes to kiss him. Matthew returned the kiss cordially before breaking it and holding one finger up to her, then playfully turning to press it on the tip of her nose.

  “And I want something see-through.”

  The party was almost over, and Hope sat in the chair with her selections, tallying up prices to make sure that she had enough money to cover the cost. Mistress Katrina was a professional dominatrix who often used her in-home dungeon as a venue to promote her other business: fetish wear. A stunning woman, it was no surprise that men would pay Katrina to feed their dirty little obsessions. Her curves were dangerous, her eyes piercing blue, her hair fiery red. The woman dripped of sex. She’d gone into fetish wear as a side business, she once told Hope, because she wanted all women to see how truly beautiful they were capable of being. Hope secretly doubted that any clothing could make her feel “truly beautiful.”

  Mistress Katrina’s parties were always special occasions because it was rare that you would have immediate access to such a wide range of fetish clothing. Normally, you had to go online to buy them, wait weeks for them to come in the mail, and hope to god that they fit. Matthew was ecstatic that Mistress Katrina was holding another one of her special parties, but Hope was less enthusiastic about the whole endeavor.