Yes, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Until he rolled me over onto hands and knees, entered me fast and hard.

  I screamed “Edge,” felt the first shimmers of orgasm wash over me, tried to hold it back.

  “Now!” Enrique ordered, pounding into me.

  I howled and obeyed.

  Later—much later, when we’d showered and were curled up together on Enrique’s couch, half-eaten containers of pad thai and massaman curry in front of us—Enrique kissed the top of my head and said, a little awe in his voice, “I didn’t expect you to hold out so long.”

  “I’m stubborn,” I said, “and I hate to lose.” But I knew that wasn’t the whole story, and so did Enrique.

  “That’ll do a lot,” he said. “But I saw your face when I said how good and obedient you were. That got under your skin, didn’t it?”

  As I nodded, I could feel myself blushing. “I liked…the sense of being controlled, and I liked knowing you were pleased with me. I wanted to come so badly, but I didn’t want to let you down. That seemed more important than what I wanted.”

  Enrique smiled a smile that fluttered straight to my groin. “I thought you had it in you, for all you thought you were only interested in a little sensation play.”

  “Have what in me?” I asked, although I had some inkling. My heart and body seemed to know already; it was just my brain that was having a little trouble with the concept.

  “Submission. Wanting to give your will up to me, at least some of the time. Needing to be controlled. To obey. To be told no sometimes…”

  “Because it makes you happy—and because it makes the yes that much better when you give it,” I said. “That much I get from tonight. The rest…it’s a little scary, but intriguing.”

  “Intriguing enough to explore further?”

  “Hell yes!” I thought about it for about ten seconds more. “As long as I’m not going to always be denied orgasms, because I think that could get really old.”

  “Only when I feel like it,” Enrique chuckled. “Only when I feel like it.”

  And that answer, ominous as it was—or maybe for that very reason—was good enough for me.

  IN THE CORNER

  Sommer Marsden

  Frankie is a nice guy. He holds the door for me. He orders wine with dinner. He always notices my outfit and my hair, even jewelry. Frankie bores the fuck out of me.

  We’d just come from dinner. He suggested Dorian’s for a drink. I agreed. Maybe the crowded, smoky ambience would be enough to give the evening a little electroshock therapy. Wake things up a bit. Maybe the noise and the booze would suppress my urge to chew my own wrists open. Frankie is a nice, boring guy.

  Dorian’s was incredibly crowded. As usual, the Friday night crowd had worked itself into a frenzy. Loud music, loud men, drunken women. Good stuff. I found two stools in the corner and perched there in my short, black baby-doll dress and black hose. I hooked my heels on the stool’s bottom bar and waited. I needed a drink. Badly.

  I spotted Frankie moving through the crowd, two beers high above his head, a determined look on his face. Good, my drink was on its way.

  “Amelia the Great.” The voice snaked into my ear and the hair on my nape rose with excitement. I knew that voice. I knew that voice very well. It had called me many names and given many directions. It had instructed me to do filthy, nasty things. I loved that voice.

  “Richard,” I said before I even turned fully on the stool. “How are you?”

  It was hard to keep my voice all cool and aloof. Harder still to fight the rise of color in my cheeks. Impossible to control the automatic seize of my nipples as they stood at attention just at the sound of that dark, gruff voice.

  “Nice dress.” His deep blue eyes scanned me like he owned me. Once upon a time, he had. The urge to obey welled up in me fast and full.

  “Thank you.” I waved a hand to Frankie, who was still fighting the crowd.

  “Have anything on under there?” he whispered directly in my ear and hooked a finger under the hem.

  I pushed my hand against his to stop him, though the action fought my very nature. When my hand touched his, I felt my body let loose a slow trickle of moist heat between my legs.

  “Yes. I do.” My voice was doing that shaking thing. I sounded like I was about to cry. I wasn’t. I was just incredibly turned on and fighting it with everything I had.

  “Well, people do change,” he laughed. When he laughed, his face changed. He still looked threatening, but in a good way. A bad boy who would make you do bad things and make you love every last minute of it. My heart slammed in my chest and I took a deep breath.

  “The dress is short,” I explained, still clutching the hem, though he had removed his finger.

  “Damn straight it is. I saw you come in. Don’t drop anything on the floor or we’ll all get a show. Me personally, I’m praying you spill the contents of your purse everywhere.” When he said it, he slid the tip of his finger along my spine. I shivered.

  “I’m here with someone.” I wanted to sound cool and confident. I failed. It came out like a guilty confession. Fast and awkward.

  “So I see. Not really your type, is he?” he said, keeping his eyes on Frankie, who had been stopped by a man I recognized as one of his friends from work.

  “He’s…” I watched Frankie, too, and I suddenly hated him. Hated his quiet, polite ways. His manners. How gentle he was with me in bed. As if I would break. He had never put tiny jeweled clamps on my nipples until I wanted to beg for removal. He had never given me twenty lashings with a whip until my body contorted with pleasure and pain. He had never punished me or spanked me or made me crawl around the house five paces behind him.

  But to be fair, Frankie didn’t know my kinks. I hadn’t told him. I didn’t want to. Because Frankie was boring and I was trying to be “normal.”

  “An amusement,” Richard finished for me. “He wouldn’t know what to do with you even if you were honest with him.”

  “Not everyone is like you,” I said softly. A little fear shot through me at my bold tone. That didn’t stop my body from responding to the malicious smile on his full lips. My body had been well conditioned to respond to Richard at his cruelest. This was nothing. I shifted on the stool, praying it looked as if I were simply uncomfortable.

  “True. Very few are like me.” He openly watched me shifting. Grinning even wider, he slid his hand up my thigh. “What’s wrong, Amelia? Are you wet in those proper panties? I bet you are. How wet are you?”

  I couldn’t stop him. I don’t think I would have if I could. He slid his hand under the short hem and past my thigh-high hose. He slid a finger under my thong and pushed his big finger into the wetness that pooled there. It happened so fast. And no one saw. No one but me.

  My breath solidified in my lungs and I squirmed on the end of his finger. A worm on a hook. A puppet on a string.

  “I see. You still soak yourself when you want something.” His mouth was right next to my ear and it sent sparkles of alternating cold and hot along my skin. He bit the top of my ear hard and I felt my cunt constrict around his finger. “And you’re still into the pain,” he laughed. “That hasn’t changed.”

  Frankie finally arrived, clutching the beers with a victorious grin. Until he saw where Richard’s hand was. Until he took in my heaving chest and my face, which I could feel was flushed and hot. Still, Frankie was too nice to say anything. Nothing. He looked away, as if to give us time to collect ourselves.

  I pitied him and hated him. And I hated myself because the moment I had seen it register in his eyes, the knowledge of what we were doing, a tiny flicker had worked through my pussy. A lovely precursor to the orgasm I already knew I would have.

  Richard played along. With a soft snicker, he removed his hand from my body and my dress. Then he introduced himself to Frankie, who had the good manners to respond when Richard offered his hand. The hand that had just been under my dress.

  “Richard. Nice to meet you, Frankie. Amelia and I are old friends.”<
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  “I see,” Frankie said softly and handed me my beer.

  That was it. That was all he said. I took a sip of beer and waited. How would this go?

  “That was Chuck from the office,” Frankie said to me. He looked uncomfortable but determined.

  I nodded. “I saw.”

  Richard finished off the beer he had been holding and bent as if to kiss me. Instead, he said, “In the corner.”

  My spine straightened and my nipples grew harder still. They ached for the pain I knew he was capable of. The soothing afterward. My skin seemed to pulse and I felt another rush of my own heat between my legs. I scanned the bar and stood without a word. So well conditioned was I. I didn’t think but obeyed. I started toward the far left corner of the room.

  As if from far away, I heard Richard say, “You don’t mind if I borrow her for a few minutes, do you, Frankie? Of course you don’t. You’re such a nice guy.”

  I didn’t want to give myself away. I didn’t want Richard to be able to see the increasing need and want for him in my gait. I failed. I could feel the way I was walking. A sultry, rolling swagger that I’m sure screamed Fuck me! to anyone paying attention. And Richard was paying attention. I could feel his eyes singeing the bare skin above the zipper of my dress. I could feel his presence as surely as I could feel the nervous, anxious flutter in my belly. That odd feeling that is somewhere between excitement and sickness.

  I went to the back left corner of Dorian’s. A little nook right beyond the jukebox. There had once been a pay phone tucked in the corner, but after the fifth time someone had used the receiver during a bar fight, management had removed it. Now, what was there was a useless little dent in the wall. Just big enough for a person.

  Without a word, I walked right into it and faced the wall. I was a good girl. I remembered the rules and I followed them. It didn’t matter, nor would I mention that I felt like I was being electrocuted. That my skin and my hair and my insides felt charged and sizzling.

  He pushed right up against me. No preamble at all. But that’s Richard. Big. He is big all over. Strong and greedy and cruel and beautiful. My breath rushed out of me as he pushed all of himself against me. His cock was already hard. I felt it ride the seam of my ass, the pressure of hard flesh against me both threatening and gorgeous. I shivered but I wasn’t cold.

  “He is as weak as watered-down scotch,” he growled in my ear and laughed. “Pussy. What are you doing with a pussy, Amelia the Great?” He shoved his hands under my dress and pinched the naked skin of my ass. The back string of my thong left my asscheeks completely exposed above my stockings.

  I felt tears sting my eyes even as the first stab of pain coursed through me and my cunt began to pulse. “I…” He pinched me again and I lost my words.

  “Amelia the Great with a milquetoast man. Who would have thought it? Certainly not me. I know you like your men brutal.”

  “Amelia the Great” was Richard’s little joke. He would call me that as he fucked my mouth. He would call me that before each stroke with the belt. He’d shout it in my face as I crawled behind him on the floor. Every once in a while, he would sigh it in my ear as I came. I just never knew when. And I liked it that way.

  Richard yanked the back of my thong, hitching it high between my thighs and against my sex. It felt like I would split in half but the sopping wet fabric tickled my painfully swollen clit and I bucked against the dirty green wall.

  “See, if I could get you in a corner somewhere more private, I’d be spanking the merry hell out of you right now,” he growled. “Turning that perfect pale ass seven shades of red with a little purple just for fun.”

  Another pinch and I sobbed against the wall, my own noise flung back at me by layers and layers of old paint.

  “I could take off my belt and stripe you like a zebra. Throw some painful little jeweled clamps on your rosy red nipples. Make you suck my cock while I pulled your hair. Sadly,” he sighed, biting my ear again and pinching my ass, “that would get me arrested in mixed company.”

  I pushed myself against the wall. Too many things at once. My body couldn’t keep up—the pain, the pleasure. I felt dizzy and I wanted him to fuck me. I didn’t care that we shared the bar with two hundred others. I wanted him to fuck me in the corner. And he knew it.

  Richard switched tactics. His fingertips found my nipples through my dress and he used them instead of clamps. Sandwiching the peaks between his thumbs and forefingers, he bore down hard until spots appeared in my vision. He bit the back of my neck hard enough for me to jump under him even as he pushed his erection against my ass. I pushed back. Bold and whorish and beyond caring.

  More pressure; harder and harder he pinched my nipples until I thought I might scream. Then he released me and I sobbed at the thumping pleasure of release as the blood rushed back into my flesh. His hands dove back under my dress and he yanked the back strap of my thong until I heard it tear. Even over the loud music, I heard it give way.

  He pushed against the middle of my back and levered me forward. Another searing pinch was administered to my bottom and I felt my pussy go liquid for him. His zipper sounded in my ear and the fact that he was going to fuck me in the corner sunk in. A blip of fear shot up my torso but it was quickly followed by a flood of excitement.

  He would fuck me the way he always had, only right here in the middle of the mayhem.

  “What about your date?” he chuckled, pushing the head of his cock just far enough into me to tease. “Are we leaving him out? Should I invite him to watch?”

  My skin tingled and the room seemed to be moving. I nodded because as bad as it sounds, I liked the idea. I pushed back against him and he gave me another brutal pinch that had my cunt clenching even as he thrust into me.

  “I should, shouldn’t I?” he grunted, pounding me so hard I hit my forehead on the wall.

  I didn’t care. I could deal with that later. His cock skewered me. In, up, high and deep. I felt like I would split in two but each time the pleasure started to crest, he’d slow and pluck at my flesh until I squirmed.

  “Should I call him over, so I can teach him what you like? How you are? What you want?”

  I nodded, nodded, nodded dumbly to every word. Yes, we could do that. Whatever he wanted. Call him over, let him watch, teach him a thing or two. Every single one of those flitted through my mind as he fucked me.

  Richard yanked against my hips, pulling me back onto him even as he rammed into me. His fingers bit deep into my flesh and I knew I would carry the bruises of his long fingers for days. I also knew that I would look at them and touch them often.

  His hips pistoned and I felt like I would fall, but he wrapped his arm around me and he held me firm. His other hand snaking back under my dress, he gave a final brutal thrust and pinched my clit so hard it felt like I was being bitten.

  I came out loud. I cried and screamed against the green wall with all of Dorian’s behind me. I went from rigid in my orgasm to limp in his arms, like a marionette whose strings had been snipped.

  He gave me a moment. He wasn’t that cruel. I hung there, panting, draped over his arm like a toy he had been too rough with.

  “Ready?” he said in my ear. His voice was not only harsh but pleased. I had done well. Or so it seemed.

  I stood and let him smooth my dress back over my ass. Richard grabbed the front of my dress like a yoke and pulled me back to my date, his control over me obvious to anyone paying attention.

  “Here you go, Frank, my man. Thanks for the loan.” He winked and started to turn away.

  Frankie was a blazing shade of plum. His hands shook, his mouth a tight seam. God help me, I smiled at him. Even as he stewed in anger and embarrassment, my body hummed with pleasure and satisfaction as I reclaimed the bar stool. The echoes of pain and orgasm in my nipples, my ass, my cunt.

  With a final glance over his shoulder, Richard said, “I’ll be calling you, Amelia. I didn’t realize how much I missed having you around. How much I missed sending yo
u to the corner.”

  Then he laughed again because he had been the one to cut me loose. The sound skittered under my skin. I nodded my shameless agreement and shifted on my stool some more. He would call. I would answer. There was no doubt.

  “I guess I should take you home,” Frankie said. “It doesn’t seem as if I’m your kind of guy, after all.” He looked angry and sad. There was shame in there, too. For me or for him? I wasn’t sure.

  “No. You’re not. Sometimes I wish you were,” I said, watching Richard fade back into the crowd, the mixture of excitement and sickness as strong as ever. “But most times, I don’t. I like guys who put me in the corner.”

  STUCK AT WORK AND LATE FOR A DATE

  Chelsea Summers

  The secretary was bent over the desk with her skirt bunched up over her back and her panties pooled by her feet. Her breathing was strained and she tried to look at the wall clock by her left side, praying that her lateness wouldn’t be noticed. Her cheap rayon H&M blouse was pushed carelessly up her chest, exposing her breasts, which had been pulled out and over the top of her beige bra.

  Binder clips were cruelly pinching her nipples.

  “Keep facing forward,” she heard from behind her, and then the soft whoosh of the rolling chair’s wheels on the industrial carpet. She flinched in blind preparation; she knew something painful was going to happen, but she wasn’t sure what.

  There was the clank and rustle of something to the right and behind her. The metal cup and rack that held her office tools. She knew the sound well.

  The scratch of the open stapler. The bite of the staple remover. The relentless nip of the binder clips. The smack of the ruler. The poke and scrape of the letter opener. The smooth hardness of the RECEIVED stamp in her asshole. She knew them all, knew them well, wore the memory of the perverted use of these quotidian implements on her flesh like shameful, naughty undergarments.

  “Lift your ass toward me,” said the voice behind her. Not angry, not passionate. Not anything. Its tone could be requesting her to pass the salt.