7 Erotica Short Stories: Pleasures in Pain, Punishment, and Submission: (7 Story BDSM Anthology, Bare Bottom Spanking, Submissive Training, Domination and Submission, Domestic Discipline)

by Lexie Syrah

  He unzipped his pants and straddled the bench. His cock was already hard as he gently rubbed it against my wet slit, spreading my juices over the head of his cock. He entered me slowly, his cock stretching me as he pushed against the back of my cunt. His thrusts were slow, but they were full and steady strokes. He never lost rhythm as he gradually began to increase the speed. His balls lightly slapped my clit, and my body was getting lost in a lust driven by the only purely pleasurable experience I had received in such a long time. He was in complete control, but he did not exert his power over me through pain or torture. He was simply manipulating my body to maximize my pleasure. I began to moan in ecstasy, and I felt the crop come down hard on the pale skin of my shoulder, marking it in crimson.

  I realized that I had disobeyed him and had lost control of my body once again as he disciplined me without uttering a word. I tried to gain the control that his cock worn away with pleasure, but the steady pressure of his cock filling me pushed my discipline to the limit. This was nothing like my initiation where my body craved release because of constant and unfiltered sexual attention for hours on end. This was a craving for lust.

  I needed him to see me as something other than a problem that needed a solution. His cock was hard, but he seemed to see me as a potter sees the clay that he molds. I wanted him to ignore his project and need me as desperately as I needed him.

  He pulled out of me without cumming and put his cock back in his pants. I turned to look at him. My mouth was open in frustration and surprise. He didn’t even bother to cum; he didn’t have the common courtesy to fully use me. He had learned enough about me to solve whatever problem he had set out to solve, and I was left unsatisfied and even more sexually frustrated than I had been when I started out. I wanted to scream at him but bit my tongue instead. The pain and blood in my mouth allowed me to reassert control over my furious body, and I accepted the situation.

  The man walked back to the window to stare at the morning sunrise. Everything inside of me wanted to know what I was supposed to do next, but I had learned that simple lesson today. He would tell me when and how I was to act, and I would not need to ask.

  After almost thirty minutes of waiting impatiently for him to give his next demand of me, he turned to me and said, “My name is Victor, and you have done well enough today. You are not untrainable, though you desire too much for your own good, and so I will continue to train you.” My eyes lit up at his compliment.

  “There are many things you have to learn before you can begin your initiation to the second rank, but you will learn them in time. For now, you will spend your mornings with me and your afternoons serving the rest of the hall. You have already endured your first initiation, and so I know that you can tolerate pain and pleasure and that you have proven that you are not a simple human who follows desire and runs from pain. I will be expanding on this understanding of pain and pleasure as you learn service and submission.”

  “Your body is not your own. You are simply moving the body that you inhabit for others’ pleasures, whether that is cooking food or taking cocks. You must control the animal instincts that inhabit all bodies before you can truly service anyone.”

  “You will not cum again until you complete the initiation of the second level. If you feel that you will not be able to manage this, please tell me and I will give you tools to better allow you to control your urges. Do you have any questions?”

  There was a single question on my mind, “Did my body not please you? Is there a reason you didn’t want to finish?” I was still hurt that he had not seen fit to cum in me.

  “You forget that I have risen through the ranks of the Order, and my body is no longer my master. I am a Master of the Order and cum when I desire a release. At this time, I didn’t desire that release. Your body is not what I would crave. I will teach you more about the higher planes of pleasure when the time is right, and until then, you should not expect me to finish inside you unless there is a need for it.”

  “Yes, sir Thank you for answering my question.”

  “Now, go to the kitchen and provide service for others.”

  I stood up and walked to the door, glancing back at Victor’s body, completely enamored with the mystery that surrounded the first Master of the Order that I had seen. How could he be a Master and be so young? I was told that the process of rising within the Order was a time-intensive process, and he seemed to be not much older than I was.

  As I opened the door and saw the waif standing outside, the thoughts left me so that I could focus on my next task and training.

  “Let’s get you to the kitchen so that you can learn to make yourself useful.”

  I followed the beaming rag-covered young woman down the hall to begin my first week of training in service and submission.

  Shattered Lives Vol 1: Torn

  By Lexie Syrah

  Excerpt

  Thoughts of Mr. Sheffield filled my mind as I let my purified body enjoy the hot water. For a man who could be my father, he was incredibly handsome with a chiseled jawline and such spectacularly strong cheekbones. I didn’t know why, but for just a second, I had the urge to touch my pussy as I thought of him.

  Maybe it was his confident and manipulative smile or the way that he’d acted with the manager. Or maybe it was just the fact that I hadn’t felt a man’s touch in so long that I couldn’t remember the way a kiss felt. I let out a giggle at the thought of Mr. Sheffield kissing me. He was just so sweet that I couldn’t imagine how it would ever happen. It was time to get out, though. I was back in the human world, and I couldn’t just sit and fantasize all day now.

  I turned off the shower and stepped out to dry off. Running the towel over my smooth skin was like being caressed by a lover. I hadn’t been naked since being homeless for lack of a shower and fear of being assaulted. I rubbed the towel across the mirror to clear the steam so that I could finally look at myself without any filth.

  My face had grown thin, my waist was emaciated, and my old C-cup tits had shrunk down to a large B. That was what hunger did to a person, I guess. On a good note, all of my muscles had grown instead of shrinking from all of my movement and walking. All in all, I was still sexy even if my tits had shrunk a bit. At least I wouldn’t have to fix that.

  I looked closer at my face, though. I’d looked almost like a child when I’d entered college. I’d been innocent, and it was obvious to anyone looking at me. I’d experienced many things while I’d been a part of the sorority, but none of them had caused me any stress. Though I had lost my virginity, I was still a naïve child in the eyes of the world. I’d been as young and blissful as ever until the day that I’d lost my financial aid and scholarships and had been thrown to the streets.

  Now my turquoise eyes seemed just a touch bluer than they had been. I was harder now, more accustomed to the weight of the world being on my shoulders. There was no longer the same innocence in my young eyes, yet my body’s small stature and thin proportions conflicted with them. I’d seen much more of the pain in the world now, and there was no hiding it.

  I wrapped the towel around me again and walked into the attached bedroom. On the gold and purple comforter was an outfit. I closed and locked the door to my bedroom and threw the towel on the floor. I held up the expensive black lace bra and matching sheer thong. Mr. Sheffield had been right about these at least. Perfect fit. It was strange that a man in his early forties would be married to a woman with a size 0 waist, but the thought didn’t last long. I had to look at myself in the beautiful lingerie.

  The woman staring back from the full-length mirror was beautiful, more beautiful than I remembered ever being. I could have done modeling, and I ran my fingers over the lace that caressed all of my most sensitive areas. I brushed against the thin material that separated my pussy from the cool air of the room, and I felt something that I hadn’t in six months: a throbbing need.

  I tried to push the thought out of my mind. I was living with a man, but he was my employer, not my boyfrie
nd or lover. I couldn’t fuck this up. This was my one chance, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes I had in college. Sex had been my downfall then, and I swore that it was the last thing I was going to worry about now that I was making a life for myself!

  I looked down at the ruby-red spaghetti-strap day dress that Mr. Sheffield had left on the bed. It was fun with sequins across the bust and a line of small lace bows down the front, but when I put it on, it seemed to have been made too short. The bottom rested only inches from the bottom of my ass and the top barely covered the bra, revealing a very large amount of cleavage. Mr. Sheffield may have been a kind-hearted man who was trying to give me a chance where others had forgotten I’d existed, but he was still a man. I didn’t think he was going to do anything to hurt me, and if he wanted to look at a pretty girl in an arousing dress, I couldn’t blame him. It was a small price to pay for a roof over my head.

  I brushed my hair and looked into the mirror again. I looked like someone out of a magazine. I felt refreshed, and my skin seemed to glow. It was almost as though the last six months hadn’t happened. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely human instead of a beast living in twilight. I gave the mirror an ear-to-ear smile and left the room.

  Mr. Sheffield was relaxing in a coffee-colored leather recliner with his laptop open and the news on the TV. I sat down on the matching distressed leather couch next to him and waited for him to say something. I was full of excitement, but Mr. Sheffield was intimidating now that I knew what I was risking if I made a simple mistake. So I just watched him and waited.

  My pussy was unrelenting about its hunger, though. I hadn’t had sexual thoughts in months, and now that I was clean, it was craving to be filled. I’d never felt this overcome by desire before. Even when I’d been a drunken college student surrounded by sexy frat boys, the needs had paled in comparison to the way that I felt now. I couldn’t help staring at Mr. Sheffield. My eyes roamed over his body. He was wearing a concealing button-down shirt, but the ripples of toned, yet not obscenely large, muscles showed through the arms and shoulders of the shirt.

  When I looked down at his pants, I could see a bulge that let me know that there was no doubt in his ability to satisfy a woman, and my pussy begged me to be the slutty sorority girl that I’d been. The tight lace thong pressed against my hairless pussy, and I had a hard time pushing the thoughts of Mr. Sheffield ravishing me out of my mind.

  His salt and pepper stubble gave him an experienced and slightly rough appearance. The bright hazel eyes constantly blazed with intensity as he read and typed, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to them. I imagined staring into them as we lay next to each other in bed. I knew that I needed to stop thinking of him this way, but my newly awoken desires made it difficult.

  Seconds ticked by in the silence; his fingers tapping away at the keyboard were the only sounds in the room other than my pounding heartbeat. Whatever happened, I was going to make sure that I kept my job. I would not give into my desires, and I would focus on what mattered: making sure that Mr. Sheffield was happy. I could masturbate in my room tonight, and then I’d feel much better, but for now, my cunt needed to stop begging. After what seemed like forever, but was actually more like five minutes, Mr. Sheffield closed his laptop and turned to me.

  “Let’s sit at the table, Maggie. Then we can talk about the details of your new job.” He stood up, and I followed him to the embellished and stylish dark cherry dining room table.

  “You look so much better after your shower. I bet you feel better as well, don’t you?” His arms rested on the table as he crossed one leg over the other.

  “Yes Mr. Sheffield, I feel like a brand new girl.” I tried not to act as awkward as I felt. I was intimidated and had no idea how to make idle conversation anymore.

  “Well, let’s get down to it then. You’ll be responsible for making breakfast and dinner, maintaining a grocery list, and cleaning the house. For the first week, I’ll give you the chore list for the day so that you know the level of detail that will be expected. After the first week, it will be up to you to make sure that everything gets done at whatever pace you decide. I will make sure that everything is bought on the grocery list on Mondays and Thursdays, and you’ll be able to use anything in the kitchen. That means that you need to plan ahead for meals. Don’t get caught without enough food. Do you have any questions?”

  “No sir, that all sounds reasonable.” It seemed like a lot of responsibilities to me, but I understood that it wasn’t that much for a normal housekeeper. My hand gently tapped on the tabletop as Mr. Sheffield spoke. I had so much nervous energy that it had to escape somewhere.

  “Now I need you remember that I’m from a different generation. I expect you to be awake, dressed, and making breakfast by 6 am every morning during the week and 8 am on the weekends. That means that you need to look professional by that time. Don’t cook breakfast in your pajamas. You will also be required to wear professional clothing at all times if you are outside of the bedroom. Make sure that your clothes are being washed. I will not put up with you or your clothes stinking. You’re not homeless anymore, and I expect you to act like it.”

  I felt a bit of shame creep over me at his remark about how badly I’d stunk, but I nodded in acceptance. He could degrade my past appearance all he wanted. That wasn’t me anymore. I’d already scrubbed the past from me, and I’d been reborn as a professional woman who would be taking care of Mr. Sheffield’s domestic duties.

  “If you accept those terms, then you can start dinner while I do some work in my room. It’s 4 o’clock right now, and I expect dinner to be on the table by 6. If you have questions about anything, please let me know.”

  I said, “Yes, sir,” and stood up. Mr. Sheffield left the room, and the silence was almost oppressing. The city had always had noises. Even at three in the morning, you could hear rats scrabbling in trash cans and cats in heat. Cars would speed by, and construction workers filled the midnight shifts with banter and work. Now, it was silent, and I was alone with a single task: cook dinner. It was too bad that I’d never done that before.

  I went to the open-layout kitchen and began exploring. Everything was well organized, and the entire kitchen was extremely intuitive. When I looked into the refrigerator, I saw pork chops and thought back to my short stint in the sorority house. I’d seen people cook pork chops, but I’d never made them myself.

  I would have to try my best because I certainly wasn’t going to ask Mr. Sheffield for instructions on simple cooking. So I turned the stove to medium and plopped four thick pork chops into the pan. Then I found some angel hair pasta and alfredo sauce. I knew that I could cook basic pasta, so that would be one side. Then I saw some frozen broccoli. None of it had any theme other than filling the typical requirement of meat and two sides.

  I put the broccoli in a pot along with the recommended amount of water. Then I waited, and my mind began to stray. This entire situation seemed comical to me. I’d cooked a handful of times, and now I was going to be paid to be a cook. I would have to do a lot of research tomorrow when Mr. Sheffield went to work. My mind drifted to what I would cook this week since I had almost unlimited options. Burgers. Lasagna. Steak. All of these things had been daydreams for me this morning, and now I would be choosing and preparing them. The winds of change were a tornado in my case. Time passed as I daydreamed and stared into space like I normally did while I panhandled.

  Then I looked down to see the pork chops smoking, and I reached down to flip them over, but they were stuck. I got the metal spatula and tried to scrape them off the pan, and only succeeded in shredding the bottoms and leaving huge burn marks on the pan. There was no salvaging them, and I turned the stove off. I looked into the refrigerator, and there wasn’t any other meat to cook. I’d messed up the first job that Mr. Sheffield had given me. I couldn’t believe that I’d let daydreams take priority over making our dinner. I’d sworn to myself that I wouldn’t ruin this chance, and already, I’d returned to that f
ucked up college girl who didn’t pay attention.

  The smoke alarm started beeping as the kitchen filled with smoke. The stuck pieces of pork chop had continued to burn in the hot pan. Mr. Sheffield appeared in the kitchen and reached up to pull the battery out of the smoke alarm. He didn’t say anything as he opened the windows and pushed me out of the way so that he could clean up the mess that I’d made.

  I just stared in panic as the stern-faced older man took charge and fixed my mistakes. He’d seemed so friendly only an hour ago, but now his jaw was clenched tightly as he scraped the burned meat into the trash can and washed the pan. It only took him a few minutes to remedy my mistake, but his eyes hardened, and he said, “Maggie, come sit down. We need to talk.”

  I looked down at the floor and tried to be the invisible girl living on the streets, but his eyes burned into me, and his anger seemed to grow at my attempt to hide from his wrath. I nodded, and he walked back to the couch so that we could escape the haze of smoke that filled the kitchen. He sat down on the loveseat and patted the seat next to him, indicating that he wanted me sit there.

  When I sat down and smoothed out the dress, he said, “Maggie, do you know how to cook?” His voice was calm, but there was a fierceness behind it. He was holding back most of his emotions, and I was thankful for that small kindness.