by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt
“With the tips,” he called after Monique, then groaned. “New servers. Got to tell them everything. Okay.” Elias ushered her to the leather chairs opposite the desk. “I need you.”
‘More than Vanilla’ by Elizabeth Coldwell
She’d been waiting for him since she’d closed up the shop, just as he’d instructed. Naked apart from the delicate silver collar that passed for jewellery to the uninitiated but marked Oliver’s ownership of her, Nina knelt in the hallway with her legs spread a little way apart and her palms resting on her thighs. A classic display position, it was one of the first things Oliver had taught her when they’d moved their relationship from being simply lovers to dominant and submissive.
It wasn’t cold in the hall, not with the thick carpet beneath her legs and the radiator providing a constant, welcome warmth, yet still Nina’s skin prickled and her nipples were crinkled and hard. Anticipation of her master’s imminent return fuelled her body’s reaction, but it was mixed with worry. The phone call he’d received the day before, asking him to meet with Mike, his accountant, at the earliest opportunity, had set alarm bells ringing. Usually Oliver only needed to discuss his financial arrangements with the man when the time came to file his yearly tax return, or when the shop’s business rates were adjusted. This had sounded urgent, anything but a routine appointment.
With no clock in the hall, Nina couldn’t keep accurate track of time, but by her reckoning she’d been here a good half an hour already, having stripped as soon as she’d climbed the stairs to their flat above the shop and shut the front door behind her. Oliver had left for his appointment at four o’ clock, an hour before Honeyman’s had closed for the evening. Even accounting for the rush-hour traffic that clogged his route through the centre of York, he should have been back by now.
He often requested her to wait for him in this position, which laid her most intimate places bare for his scrutiny the moment he stepped through the door. She usually passed the time dreaming about any faults he might have found with her recent behaviour, and how she might be punished for her misdemeanours. Today, though, she was too anxious to think about anything but what news the accountant might give him. Whatever it might be, she was sure it couldn’t be good.
‘Satisfying Desires’ by Victoria Blisse
I lay in bed after a long and boring day where I’d watched far more daytime TV than is good for a person. I’d eaten soup—tomato and basil for lunch, and carrot and coriander for dinner. I’d struggled to brush my teeth, wash and jump into my pyjamas for bed.
It took a while to get comfortable, hauling my arm into position, propping it up on a pillow. I shut my eyes, no longer tired. My brain ticked over and I wondered about getting back up, but what would I do if I did? There was always the old standby, the one thing that was guaranteed to send me off to sleep.
I wasn’t feeling particularly horny but I knew an orgasm would work. I pushed my left hand into my bottoms and sought out the fantasy that always pushed my buttons. I imagined a tall, thick-set man with large hands and a straight jaw commanding me to bend over his desk. It wasn’t a fancy kind of fantasy, it was pretty run of the mill but it would help me come and get me to sleep which, at that moment, was all that mattered.
I bent over the imaginary desk and felt the unreal touch of my master peeling back my skirt and caressing my cotton covered buttocks. As I fantasised I slid my finger between my lips and struggled to get the angle right, to touch the places I like to touch. I tried to concentrate on the dream. It was my best bit, the anticipation of the first strike.
I played it out, waited for it and gasped when the ghost hand struck my ethereal buttock. The spanks continued and I felt the curling of desire deep inside. My fantasy played on, knickers removed, bare arse spanked, then his cock was forcing into me, his pelvis bouncing off my reddened buttocks, the pain highlighting the pleasure. I tried desperately to come, I really wanted to, I was desperate to but I just couldn’t find the rhythm and my wrist ached so much that in the end I gave up in frustration.
The annoying thing was I didn’t even break my arm doing anything dramatic. I was walking up the stairs to my office and managed to miss the top step. I caught my toe on it and tumbled forward—I broke the fall with my hand and crack, my wrist gave way. I don’t know how it happened and I maintain I was not staring at my male colleague’s bum at the time.
‘Five Courses’ by Ayla Ruse
Mike sank onto the couch with an audible sigh.
“Nothing catching your eye tonight, either?” Trent asked.
Mike turned his head and studied his best friend and business partner. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They both suffered from the same problem. Wanting a woman they couldn’t have.
The music pumped loud through their favourite club, the lights dim except for the stations. Mike crossed his arms over his chest and watched one sub being spanked, another being flogged and still another kneeling before her Dom.
“This sucks,” Trent commented without heat. “I’ve never had it this bad for a woman. I look around and all I see is Melissa.”
Mike nodded his head in agreement. “I don’t know whether to thank you or punch you for talking me into having her rent the middle loft.”
“I didn’t have to talk you into shit, Mike. She had nowhere to go. You would have offered her the loft by the end of that night if I hadn’t mentioned it first.”
Mike grunted at the truth in Trent’s words. That impulsive decision to give temporary aid to a woman in need had led to their four-storey building being infused with the sights, sounds and scents of a woman they couldn’t touch. Amend that—wouldn’t touch. In the months she’d been living with them, she’d shown herself to be trustworthy, fun, spontaneous, dependable and of course, sexy as hell. Even when she raided the industrial-size refrigerator in the middle of the night sporting that ratty-ass robe of hers that covered every inch of skin, all he wanted to do was strip it off and feast on her delectable body.
Mike set his hands on his thighs. He liked control. Savoured it. Commanded it. But the constant thoughts of the woman out of their reach made him antsy, which irritated him to no end.
Trent interrupted Mike’s thoughts. “She seemed happy to see us go tonight. Makes me wonder what she’s up to?”
Mike sat back. “Shit, Trent, we have it bad. As far as Melissa, she’s no doubt fast asleep.”
‘Subterfudge’ by Normandie Alleman
Ashley snuggled down under the lofty comforter. Sunlight floated in lazily through the bedroom window, the yellow light blending with the cream-coloured walls of the old Victorian tenement. Lounging around on Sunday mornings, curled up in her Egyptian cotton bed sheets, was when she felt the most cosy and secure.
She and Roger shared the newspaper—he read the business and sports pages, while she perused the comics and the lifestyle section.
Ashley sipped her coffee daintily. She pretended to be reading an article about the latest colour trends, but took a sly peek over the top of the paper to observe the man she loved. He sat next to her, reading. That broad, muscular chest, those deep blue eyes…he was everything she could want in a man. Watching him caused her heart to skip a beat.
But lately, Roger had been acting a bit off. What is with him? He seems restless. Wonder what it is…
Roger’s coffee mug made a clinking noise when he set it on the bedside table. “Darling,” Roger said, looking up from his newspaper, “I’d like you to learn to cook.”
“Cook? Me?” She arched an eyebrow in his general direction without completely turning her head.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Roger give her that benevolent, indulgent grin she loved so much. The one that told her he adored her. She softened.
“Yes, you know? Cook. Prepare food,” he teased, running his hand through her hair, mussing it up. He winked at her. It made her insides go all mushy, and she felt a tingle of delight between her legs.
Ashley hesitated, but only for a moment. “A
ll right.” She had never tried cooking before. This was unchartered territory for her. She hated to admit it, but she felt uncomfortable with something so foreign to her. What if she was a flop?
But a sub’s job was to make her Master happy. To comply with his requests, to serve him. So she agreed. Anyway, lots of women do it. How complicated can it be?
‘The Interview’ by Caitlin Ricci
Mr Sims was much as she had expected—a chef from head to toe, coming into her building’s lobby wearing a neatly pressed black jacket and chef trousers. He looked younger than she’d expected though, his twenty-five years looking more like twenty-one. Even in the grainy black and white security system feed, she knew he was going to be trouble. Jacob, as she fondly remembered calling him back when she’d first met him as a highly strung teenager fighting back against the pressures of living under his parents, had apparently grown up well.
Anne turned and checked her appearance in her bedroom mirror. Shaking her head, she knew the pretty, pale pink sweater and dark blue jeans wouldn’t do for today. Maybe for meeting anyone else, but not now that she’d seen the all-grown-up version of Jacob Sims. He’d been cute as a teenager but that forbidden image had turned into something greater than simply attractive. She glanced at the security feed again and licked her lips. No, he was much more than what she had anticipated, and the thrill of having the handsome man so close made a shiver run along her spine.
She stripped quickly then put her jeans and sweater over the back of her cream reading chaise. It wouldn’t take Jacob long to get upstairs, especially if he took the elevator. But she didn’t need a lot of time to step into a short, flowing tan skirt and a button down lace shirt either. She’d been barefoot before, which was comfortable but not exactly sexy. Some strappy heels completed her outfit and she was sitting at her dining room table by the time a loud knock sounded on her front door.
“Come in,” she called, adding a bit of a sultry edge to her voice. There was no guarantee the wide-shouldered, black-haired man would even be interested, she reminded herself, but it never hurt to try.
“Chef Mato?” he asked, entering her large apartment with quiet footsteps.
“Hello, Jacob,” she greeted him, smiling. “Did you bring your knives?” Anne didn’t get up to meet him, instead she crossed one leg over the other, letting her loose skirt slide up her thigh. She watched for any reaction, any telltale sign that he was interested in her. His father had said he’d been available, but parents rarely knew, and if he were seeing someone she’d stop this play. But if he wasn’t, this afternoon was going to get very interesting indeed.
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