Yes, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  I turned to go, but his hand on my arm stopped me. I was wearing long sleeves, but somehow I felt as though he was touching my bare skin. “Don’t forget, Colette. I want to hear all about your research.”

  “And I want to learn about yours,” I replied archly.

  “Oh, you will,” he said with a strange smile, and then turned the magic of his attention back to the buxom biologist.

  My legs were a bit shaky. I got myself another glass of wine and found a seat near the windows. In a moment, Loren joined me, waving a pink silk fan back and forth in front of her face.

  “Whew, it’s hot. They should turn up the AC.” She sipped at her wine. “Anyway, what did he say? What did you think of him?”

  “What did I think of whom?”

  “Moresby, of course. I saw you talking to him.”

  “He somehow manages to be charming even when he’s arrogant and rude.”

  “Really? Well, I guess when you’re that brilliant you have the right to be arrogant.”

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

  Loren gave a throaty laugh. “Oh, Colette, drop the false modesty. How many other junior professors already have a book on their CV? And a best seller at that!”

  Richard had been mortified when he heard about my publication deal. “Please, Loren…”

  “So? Tell all!”

  “We hardly exchanged two sentences.” I blushed, recollecting his piercing gaze and bold touch.

  “Well, I think he’s sexy.”

  “Sexy? Maybe. I didn’t really notice.”

  I could put Loren off, but I couldn’t lie to myself. During the next few days, the dark, audacious engineer appeared often in my thoughts and fantasies. I remembered his physical presence, the aura of attraction that surrounded him. I mentally replayed our conversation, devising all sorts of witty or withering ripostes to his challenges.

  Whenever the phone rang, I both hoped and worried that it might be him. The engineering building was on the other end of campus from my office, but each time I saw a tall male figure striding across one of the quads, my stomach tied itself in a knot and my nipples began to ache.

  As the days went by without any contact, though, I began to relax. He must have just been teasing me. He must come on to all women like that. Flirtation. Temptation. I’m sure we all respond to that kind of innuendo, the implication that we’re special, the suggestion that we have secret desires that he alone understands and can fulfill.

  Late Friday afternoon I was in my office expecting a call from Richard and I picked the phone up on the first ring.

  “You’re certainly eager, Colette.” At the sound of his voice, my whole body blushed.

  “Um, Dr. Moresby. Ryan. I didn’t think you were going to call.”

  “Oh? I told you that we’d talk. I always keep my word.”

  “Oh, well…”

  “Were you sorry not to hear from me? Did you miss me?”

  I was silent. How could I possibly answer?

  “Don’t pretend. I know you’ve been thinking of me.” What an arrogant bastard! But of course, it was true. “I’ve been thinking about you, too, ever since that party. Thinking about what I’d like to do to you.”

  “Do? To me?” I barely managed to squeak out the words.

  “Oh yes. I have ideas. Lots of ideas. First of all, I’d like to remove your clothes. Very slowly, one piece at a time.”

  I choked on sudden panic. I should hang up.

  “You’ll just stand there and allow me to undress you. You’re not allowed to stop me.”

  Not allowed? I was on the phone with a virtual stranger, who was making obscene comments. I should hang up immediately, and then maybe even call the police. I couldn’t, though. All I could do was clutch the handset and listen, fascinated and horrified.

  “When you’re completely naked, I think that I’ll tie you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Colette. I’ve read your book.”

  “My book is a scholarly exploration of women’s sexual attitudes as revealed in their fiction…”

  “Bull turds. Your book is a mirror of who you truly are.”

  “No, I…”

  “You must be honest with me. You must always tell me the truth. You can trust me, Colette. I won’t judge you. I see who you are. I celebrate who you are.”

  There was a gentleness in his voice now. I felt myself melting, despite the awful tension.

  “I’ll bind you to the table with nice, smooth, cotton cords. I have a special table that I’ve designed, just for this. Just for you. It’s upholstered in soft, padded leather, and has lots of attachment points. For ropes and other sorts of bonds. You’ll like it.”

  I tried for sarcasm and failed dismally. “Of course I’ll like it, being trussed up like a turkey ready for stuffing.”

  My voice trembled and broke. The fact was, I could see the scene he was describing; see my pale, bare skin, ropes around my wrists and ankles, my arms and legs spread wide, my pussy gaping and exposed.

  I gripped the phone so hard that my joints hurt. My palms were clammy. My breathing was ragged. And I was painfully, shamefully aware of how swollen and damp my pussy had become in response to this frightening and exciting mental picture.

  “Ready for stuffing!” His laugh was musical and mocking. “Oh yes, that’s good. I’d love to stuff you, Colette. Just think about all the things I might stuff you with. Carrots. Cucumbers. A broomstick. A baseball bat.” Everything he said, I saw. I shuddered, but my cunt betrayed me, contracting eagerly at the notion of these violations.

  “My cock, of course, I’ll reserve for last. First, I need to introduce you to my apparatus.”

  “Your—apparatus?”

  “I have a variety of inventions that I’m sure you’ll find entertaining.”

  He sounded like a mad scientist.

  “As I said, I’m eager to share my research with you.” He stopped and listened for a moment, as if trying to gauge my reactions. “Colette, are you still there?”

  “Uh—yes, I’m here.”

  “Good. So when can we start?”

  “Start?”

  “You don’t have to come to my place the first time. It might make you a bit…nervous. Why don’t I drop by your apartment tonight?”

  “Tonight? But I can’t. I have to work. And, anyway I have a boyfriend.”

  “But do you have a lover?”

  The way he said the word sent a cold thrill through my body.

  “I know you won’t disappoint me, Colette. I’ll see you at eight. Be ready for me.”

  As soon as he hung up I disconnected the phone. It took fifteen minutes for my breathing to return to normal. I had to leave by the back door so that nobody would see the wet patch on the back of my skirt.

  Be ready, he had said. I sat on my couch, wondering what that meant. Should I shower and shave my legs? Should I put on the corset and thong I bought for that Halloween party? The one Richard wouldn’t let me wear? Should I take my clothes off completely?

  I was not completely naive. I knew the BDSM clichés from working on my thesis. I had read many stories where women were bound, beaten, even branded. Stories where pain led to transcendent pleasure. This was nothing like those stories.

  Ready. I shut my eyes and tried to slow my racing heartbeat, breathing deeply as if I were in yoga class. My mind betrayed me, projecting vivid images on my closed eyelids. Images of naked flesh marked with the scarlet tracks of a whip. Images of obscenely stretched limbs and orifices distended by foreign objects. Ryan had mentioned his “apparatus.” I imagined a towering framework of steel and leather, hung with cables and chains, designed to constrain a body in a hundred impossible, degrading positions. New moisture seeped out of my sex, staining the sofa.

  Ultimately, I just sat, waiting. After a while, the dreadful excitement subsided to a slight breathlessness, an inner trembling, a fluttering between my thighs. I want
ed to touch myself, to relieve some of the tension, but I knew from my reading that I shouldn’t. I was no longer allowed to satisfy myself.

  He didn’t knock or ring the bell. He simply entered my apartment through the unlocked door, as if it was his right to be there. His nostrils flared as he came into the living room. He sniffed appreciatively and smiled at me, looking amused. That smile made me want to sink to my knees in front of him. Maybe that was what I should do? But somehow I couldn’t move. He stood by the couch, towering over me. I watched him, searching for cues.

  “Colette.” He held out his hand, big enough to swallow mine completely. He raised me to my feet, still holding me with his eyes. I thought for a moment that he would kiss me, but the moment passed. Disappointment flooded me. How could I please him?

  “Should I—do I have to call you Master?” He grinned at me. I thought I’d die of embarrassment.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Um…I don’t think so. It would seem artificial.”

  “Well, then. It’s your choice, you know. This is all your choice.”

  I couldn’t believe that. I felt compelled by him, controlled by his will, ensnared by his lecherous mind.

  “Why don’t you just address me as ‘Sir’? Or better yet, how about ‘Doctor’?” His smile was half-mocking, half-gentle. “How would that be?”

  “That would be fine—Doctor.”

  “Excellent. But you shouldn’t say anything unless I give you permission. You know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded. This seemed like the natural order of things.

  “Good. Now, then. Let’s get rid of those clothes.”

  I began to unbutton my blouse. “No, don’t move. I’ll undress you, this time.”

  He undid the first three buttons and pulled the garment open to reveal my unglamorous cotton bra. He brushed his fingertips over my swollen nipples, clearly visible as they poked against the fabric. Pleasure shivered across my skin and down to my already aching pussy.

  “You have such lovely big nipples. So sensitive.” He pinched the right one. I gasped. “I don’t want you to wear a bra anymore. I want everyone to be able to see those luscious tits of yours.”

  “But, when I teach…it’s not proper…”

  “Did I say you could speak?” He frowned briefly. I wanted to drop through the floor.

  “If you want to please me, you’ll go braless. It’s up to you.”

  I was silent. I craved his approval, more than anything.

  He laid a cool palm against my cheek. “What other people think doesn’t matter, Colette. You only need to worry about me.”

  All at once he leaned down and kissed me. I expected brash-ness, energy, power. Instead it was a gossamer kiss, delicate, the barest contact of his lips on mine.

  It set me on fire. Tremors raced through my body. I felt his hands everywhere, exploring, exposing my raw need. I felt his mind, questing, tasting the flavors of my lust. Yet only his lips were touching me, and just barely.

  I wanted more. I wanted his tongue, his fingers. I wanted his cock, which I knew was hard though I hadn’t seen it. I was acutely aware of his lust, controlled and hidden as it was. I tried to press my body against him, but he pulled away.

  “Not yet. Not until you’re ready.” He resumed the process of methodically removing my clothes. He did not touch me again. I could swear that he was trying to frustrate me. I promised myself that I wouldn’t beg.

  Finally, I was naked. He stepped back to look me over. “Very nice. Even nicer than I imagined. You have such fair skin, Colette. The blood is very close to the surface.”

  Blood? I remembered that I hardly knew this man. Somehow that was irrelevant.

  “And you’re so hairy, down here. I’m glad you’re not shaved. Although that might heighten the sensations, I admit that I’m somewhat old-fashioned.” He slipped a finger through the curly tangle of my pubic hair, unerringly finding my clit. Sparks shot through me. My body jerked uncontrollably.

  He took his hand away. I prayed silently that he’d put it back.

  “So very wet, too. That’s excellent. It will raise the conductivity.”

  Conductivity?

  “The bedroom is this way, correct?”

  I nodded, not wanting to speak unless absolutely necessary. He picked up an attaché case and gestured toward my room. “Well then, let’s try in there. I don’t see any appropriate attachment points in here.”

  My room was dim, lit only by the lamp on my bureau. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor, at a loss, while Ryan reconnoitered. My clit was still tingling from his brief exploration. My juices dribbled lazily down the insides of my thighs.

  “I think I see how to manage this. Lie down here.”

  He rummaged in his case while I arranged myself on the bed. He held up a thick coil of cotton clothesline. A stab of fear distracted me from my arousal. Fantasizing about bondage was fine, but could I really allow him to do this?

  “I am going to tie you to the bed, Colette, unless you tell me to stop. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ve done this many times before.”

  Jealousy flared up, replacing the fear. Who else had he used the way he was using me?

  “So, I’m just another conquest for you?” Ryan looked surprised at my outburst. He sat down beside me on the bed and took my hand.

  “No, of course not. You know better than that. You know that you’re special.”

  “I’m sure that you tell every one of your women that.”

  “But it’s true. I knew it the moment I saw you. You have a precious gift, a sexual intensity that you can’t hide, though you try. A craving for the extremes of sensation. Overwhelming curiosity and insatiable appetite. The rare ability to surrender completely to pleasure.”

  His touch was making me weak, but I still tried to resist.

  “In the stories, the doms always say that. They know how to push the right buttons. They seduce their victims into thinking that there’s something magical and deep about their interaction. When after all, it’s just sex—kinky, perverted, but in the final analysis, just sex.”

  “Just sex?” Ryan leaped onto the bed, straddling my body, pinning my wrists to the sheets with his huge hands. Then he kissed me with a ferocity that literally took my breath away. His tongue forced its way into my mouth and tangled with mine. He gnawed at my lips, mashing them against my teeth. I tasted blood.

  I struggled against him for a moment, then relaxed and let his mouth ravage me. With that release came pleasure so acute that it washed away all thought. I was floating in a sea of pleasure: the tingling in my nipples where his shirt rubbed against them, the sparks flashing across my belly from the pressure of his hidden cock, the exquisite contractions rippling through the depths of my cunt.

  I writhed against him, unable to control myself, not caring what he thought or what he did. I opened myself to the pleasure and let it take me away.

  “‘And if the body does not do as much as the Soul? And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?’”

  Ryan had relinquished my mouth and was peering down at me. His long black hair half-obscured his blazing eyes.

  I gasped for breath. “Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass.” The pleasure had subsided somewhat, but I knew that it lay waiting for me to claim it again.

  “Yes. ‘Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, the atmosphere and the clouds, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed.’ That’s what he was talking about, you know. Sex. ‘Just’ sex.”

  I nodded. I knew.

  “Let me bind you, Colette.”

  I nodded again.

  My bed had no hooks, no attachment points. Ryan simply fastened one end of the rope around my wrist, then threaded it under the bed and up the other side to wrap my other wrist. He secured my ankles in a similar manner. Simple and efficient. I lay quietly, feeling the pleasure trembling beneath the surface whenever he touched me.

  Before long he stood over me
. I assumed that he was admiring his handiwork.

  I had imagined this, but the reality was far more intense. I was helpless, unable to move or escape. Truly in his power. My body was displayed, shameless, available for him to use in any way he desired. I had never been more frightened. Or more excited.

  “Comfortable? Are the ropes too tight?”

  I shook my head. My legs were spread wide, my cunt lips stretched open, baring my throbbing clit to tremble in random air currents. The sheet beneath me was soaked with my secretions. Do something, I thought. Anything.

  He returned to his attaché case. There was a strange noise, a kind of hissing or snapping. “I thought we might begin with this little gadget.”

  The thing in his hands looked like something from a 1940s horror film. It had a handle, topped with a mushroom-shaped globe of glass that glowed with a malevolent purple light. Inside the glass, bright sparks danced. Their images flickered on the wall next to the bed.

  Slowly, he brought the bulb closer to my bare flesh. The crackling noise grew more intense. He hovered above my nipple. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  All at once a rain of sparks shot from the tube to the taut node of flesh. I was being pierced with a thousand needles. I screamed, as much from surprise as from the pain. Ryan pulled the device away, as I tried to catch my breath.

  “Colette?”

  “Sorry, Doctor. I wasn’t expecting…” Before I could finish, his mouth was on my recently assaulted nipple, lapping and sucking, soaking my skin with his hot saliva. I felt every movement of his tongue deep in my cunt. When he brought the glowing globe close again, I thought I was ready. This time, though, the sparks were stronger, hotter, more painful. Electricity crawled over my breast, wherever he had left traces of wetness.

  Before I could recover, he was sparking my other nipple. I jumped and squirmed. My cunt contracted with each contact. He stroked my stomach. “You’re all sweaty,” he said. The thing sputtered and popped. Miniature bolts of lightning showered down on my navel. “And your thighs are smeared with cunt juice…” He swept the wand slowly over my body and a long trail of sparks stitched up the sensitive skin toward my gaping sex.