Please, Sir

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Veronica likes the reminder that the life of her own comes with strings attached. She gags around his cock at first, but then her throat muscles relax and she allows herself to surrender, to let herself be used. She curls her tongue along the underside of Vince’s cock, enjoying the texture of him. After Vince comes, he casts his eyes downward. Veronica straddles his feet and lowers herself until her pussy grazes the leather of her husband’s shoes. She wraps her arms around his legs, and sighs as Vince rests a gentle hand atop her head. She starts sliding back and forth, her pussy getting wetter, her clit slick and throbbing. The closer she gets to coming, the faster and harder she grinds. Her thigh muscles strain; they tremble. She is always sweaty, her clothes clinging to her body as an orgasm rolls through her, radiating out from her cunt to every end of her body. She kisses Vince’s shoes once more. She smells herself on him. After he leaves her to the rest of her day, she gathers her composure and slips back into the life of her own.

  Vince and Veronica met when he saw her as a patient in the emergency room. After setting the broken bone in her arm, he sat on the rolling stool next to the hospital bed where she rested and said, “I’d like to take you out sometime.”

  Veronica sat up and arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  Vince smiled coldly. “I’d like to take you out sometime.”

  Veronica looked at her arm, freshly casted, and held it out. “Give me your number,” she said.

  Two weeks later, Vince took her to an Ethiopian restaurant. They ate wat with injera and drank wine. They talked about everything and nothing. Toward the end of the meal, without ceremony, Vince said, “I am a man with brutal appetites.”

  Veronica was quiet. She had known all kinds of men, many of them brutal. Vince was the first to acknowledge his desires so frankly. She eyed him carefully—his thick black hair, roughly chiseled features, cold blue eyes. She decided she could love this man who knew himself so well, stated what he wanted so shamelessly. She could give him exactly what he needed to satisfy his appetites. Veronica wrapped her fingers around the stem of her wineglass and raised it toward him. Vince nodded, and explained in explicit detail what he would take from her. As she listened, Veronica crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together. An unfamiliar warmth raced across her cheeks and down her neck. Her chest tightened.

  When he finished, Vince said, “I’m not looking for a maid. I’m not looking for a mother. I’m looking for a body. I also know how to appreciate that which I am allowed to take.”

  Veronica reached beneath the table for Vince’s hand, pulled it between her thighs. As he slid two fingers inside her, she looked right into his eyes and said, “That’s important.”

  On their wedding night, Vince told Veronica that he didn’t believe in punishment. He believed in discipline. Then he taught her the difference. He had converted the spare bedroom of their home into a discipline chamber with a St. Andrew’s cross, a leather-covered paddling bench, and a sling hanging in the far corner. The wooden floors gleamed and the room was well lit. On one wall, there was a wide range of toys, some of which Veronica recognized, and others with which she would soon become familiar. As Veronica slowly walked around the room, dragging her fingers along each piece of equipment, Vince said, “I’ll never understand why so many people believe this sort of thing should be done in darkness.”

  Veronica nodded, then turned away from Vince, asking him to unzip her wedding dress. As she stepped out of the layers of silk and lace, she said, “I agree.” Then she stood against the cross, lowering her head. Her entire body relaxed as Vince fastened leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles, kissing the backs of her thighs as he worked his way upward. For a long while, Vince stood behind his new wife, inhaling her scent, letting his hands memorize the contours of her body. He cupped a breast in each hand and squeezed roughly, watching her flesh splay between his fingers. After twisting her nipples until she winced, her body arching into the pain, he pinched her nipples between a pair of clamps, connected by a thin gold chain.

  Veronica felt drowsy. Her head lolled to one side and she smiled. Vince stepped away, and she felt a rush of cold air in the separation between their bodies. She shivered. Vince smacked her ass, smiling as her skin rippled beneath his hand. A blush of red quickly appeared. He smacked Veronica’s ass again, harder this time, his hand stinging as it rebounded. “Discipline,” he said, “is a reminder.” Veronica’s entire body tensed. The room was silent save for the sound of Vince’s shoes as he crossed the room and eyed his wall of toys, selecting a few. He set his implements on the floor next to Veronica’s body and picked up a long stainless steel paddle, with three rows of holes. He dragged the paddle across her shoulders and Veronica shivered. Then he raised the paddle in the air and brought it down twice in rapid succession. A darker shade of red blushed across Veronica’s ass. She flexed her feet. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck and along her spine.

  Vince began to smack Veronica’s ass with the paddle in a firm and steady rhythm. Veronica barely had time to breathe between each blow. She closed her eyes, forced herself to relax, to fall into the pain. The harder Vince paddled her ass, the freer she felt. Then he stopped and dropped the paddle to the ground. She gasped at the clatter it made. Vince picked up another toy. He perched his chin on her shoulder and said, “Close your eyes. Open your mouth.” She obliged willingly and felt something wide and rubbery in her mouth. “Get it wet,” Vince said. Veronica lathed the foreign object with her tongue until Vince was satisfied. Then he spread her asscheeks apart and slowly worked what she now realized was an anal plug into the tight fissure of her ass. She could feel her body resisting, but Vince’s will was more resolute than that of her body. Her body stretched around the plug, and after a short while, the sharp throbbing dulled into a pleasant discomfort. She felt swollen, full.

  Veronica felt her head being pulled back, the muscles of her neck stretched to their limit. Vince slid his other hand from between her breasts up her throat, and he squeezed as he pressed his lips against hers, shoving his tongue between her lips. They kissed almost violently and, overwhelmed by the very burn of her skin, Veronica moaned into Vince’s mouth. She thought, I would say I do all over again. She opened her mouth wider, nipped Vince’s lower lip between her teeth. He pulled away for a moment and said, “Yes. I like that. Don’t ever back down from me.” Veronica leaned in, wanting more of Vince’s lips against hers. He tightened the grip of his fingers in her hair, holding her lips a breath away from his. He followed the sensuous arcs of each lip with the tip of his tongue. He whispered that she was his whore and she whispered back, “Yes. Yes I am.” They kissed again, harder this time, so hard that they could feel the bone beneath the flesh of their lips. Vince flicked his tongue against hers a final time, then brought his lips to her shoulder, first licking the salt from her skin, then sinking his teeth into her body. Veronica hissed, again arching into the sharp pain.

  Vince reached down for a new toy, draped it over her shoulder. Veronica moaned, louder this time, as she felt several long strands of leather draping down over her breasts. Vince kissed the small indentations left by his teeth and took a few steps back. With a flick of the wrist, he let the cat-o’-nine-tails dance across her back lightly, just enough to tease. Another flick of his wrist, and a second dance of the whip came, a slow one. Vince draped the whip over her shoulder again, this time pulling it toward him, letting the tails drag down Veronica’s back. He pulled his arm back, and without warning, released a vicious blow. Her entire body strained upward. Veronica clenched and unclenched her fingers. Another blow landed. Then came a steady rain of leather against her skin, the expanse of her back turning pink, then red, then a darker shade of red.

  Veronica felt each blow down through her bones. After what seemed like hours, a thin sheen of sweat covered her entire body. Vince could see the streaks of the whip’s tails in the perspiration. He threw the whip against Veronica’s body until he could raise his arm no more.

&nb
sp; “Do you understand discipline?”

  Veronica nodded limply. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Vince dropped the whip, gently released his new wife from her bondage and carried her across the threshold of their bedroom. He laid her in the middle of their bed and knelt between her legs. As he removed the nipple clamps, setting them on the night table, she cried out and shuddered, the blood rushing back to the puckered, sensitive nubs.

  Veronica looked up at Vince and saw unexpected kindness in his eyes. “Have I pleased you?” she asked.

  Vince finished undressing, then crawled back into bed, lying on his side next to Veronica. He slid one hand down her flat stomach and between her thighs and started stroking Veronica’s clit with his thumb as he slid two fingers inside her cunt where she was wet and waiting for him. He pressed her clit hard and Veronica raised her hips, wanting more. Tears welled in her eyes. “Have I pleased you?” she asked again, her voice stronger this time. Vince slid his wet fingers into his mouth and savored the taste of her. Then he covered her body with his, buried his cock deep in her cunt. Veronica spread her legs wide. She clenched around him and Vince took a deep breath, tried to control himself. Veronica’s entire body expanded, opening to her husband in every way he needed. Her ass continued to throb and pucker around the plug. She felt consumed. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against Vince’s chest, enjoying the firmness of his body against hers.

  Vince clasped her throat again, squeezing harder this time. “Look at me,” he said.

  Veronica opened her eyes and held her husband’s gaze. She met each thrust, urging him deeper. Beads of sweat from his face fell into her mouth and she swallowed, trying to memorize the taste of his body. As she crested a new wave of pleasure and her body began its familiar descent into bliss, she asked one final time, “Have I pleased you?”

  Vince reared back, holding the tip of his cock at the sensitive, quivering inner lips of her cunt. He squeezed Veronica’s throat harder, and she wrapped one hand around his wrist. Vince thrust forward. Veronica cried out again, feeling a blade of pleasure so deeply, she thought her body might split at the heart. Vince kissed her chin, then her lips. The kiss was so soft it sent a frisson of pleasure curling around her spine. He stared at her for a moment longer. Finally, he said, “Yes.”

  THE NEGOTIATION

  Remittance Girl

  The dark mahogany boardroom table reflected sharp-edged inverted facsimiles of the two individuals who sat opposite each other. The flat dark lake faithfully mirrored the opponents while leaving an inky gulf between them.

  The woman sat composed but rigid. The black hair smoothed to her head and bound in a chignon also reflected the streaks of light that shot into the room between the slats of the venetian blinds. Beneath the dark, arched brows, hazel eyes stared out calmly from behind her black-rimmed spectacles. But the edges of her scarlet lips twitched with tension, betraying the serenity of her other features.

  She looked down and casually tugged at the cuff of her understated suit jacket. This would have gone unnoticed but for the fact that she wore no shirt beneath it. The jacket buttoned snugly at her waist, parting above to reveal the cleft of her perfect breasts. Beneath the table, and beneath her short wool skirt, she crossed a pair of stocking-sheathed legs. The friction whispered as one nylon thigh slid over the other. In the stillness of the room, it sounded like the sweep of a curtain.

  “Your offer is insulting. It does not even begin to reflect the value of our assets. Surely you will admit that we possess something you need. Therefore, the offer needs to be compatible with the level of that need. If this was the opening gambit, sir, it has failed.”

  The man across the table leaned back into the concave comfort of the black leather seat. With his back to the window, the sharp lines of his jaw, nose and brow were accentuated by shadows. They rendered his expression inscrutable. He inhaled deeply and laced his fingers together, resting them on his stomach. He wore a somber suit to match hers, but a white shirt nestled like frost between the lapels of his open jacket; the burgundy tie, a dark red river against the snow. His gaze swept the broad expanse of the polished wood, resting momentarily on the inverted image that pooled like liquid before his opponent.

  “The offer reflects nothing more than market forces and the risks inherent in a merger of this type. When two corporate entities of equal size merge, the likelihood of short-term instability is great. We need to account for this. Furthermore, we are negotiating in good faith. Many of your assets are, as yet, unevaluated.”

  The woman considered a moment and then placed both hands on the lip of the table and pushed. Her chair rolled back, away from the table, affording her opponent a head-to-toe view of her.

  “In the interests of full disclosure, we are willing to allow an assessment to take place,” she said cordially. “Let it never be said that these negotiations were tainted in any way by subterfuge or deception.”

  Slowly, she uncrossed her legs and parted them until the hem of her short skirt pulled taut against her thighs. Each glossy black stiletto settled firmly into the plush gray carpeting. Then, calmly, she shifted in her seat, sliding her hips forward. The friction of wool against leather caused her skirt to ride up and exposed twin bands of creamy skin above the dark lines of her sheer black stay-ups.

  Her opponent leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His eyes fixed on the dark space between her parted thighs. He inhaled deeply again and then, suddenly, pushing his own chair back, stood up. He walked slowly beside the long line of empty chairs around the table and stopped beside one, on her side. He pulled it out, turned it sideways and sat down.

  “I always find that face-to-face negotiations are more productive,” he whispered, reaching over, laying his hand on the arm of her chair and swiveling it. The woman allowed her heels to drag deep furrows through the carpet’s weave as the chair rotated. Once again they were eye to eye, only much closer now, and without the barrier of the table between them.

  She surveyed her opponent carefully. Out of the shadow, she could see just how angular his face was. Patrician, and slightly arrogant, his smile rose but did not quite take in the steel gray eyes beneath the heavy salt-and-pepper brows. His aquiline nose still cast a dark shadow across his left cheek, and she could see that his slicked-back hair was shot through with silver.

  This was disconcerting. She had thought her opponent perhaps a year or two older than her. But realizing that he was many years her senior, she feared his experience might very well slant the negotiations in his favor. However, as she resumed her position, she noticed that his gaze had dropped to the void between her legs and that, almost imperceptibly, a small muscle on the side of his jaw twitched.

  The woman sighed softly and edged her hips even farther forward in the chair. The leather squeaked softly as the underside of her thighs slid over it. She smiled, one corner of her mouth lifting slightly higher than the other.

  “As you can see, the assets are as listed and as described,” she said. “We are extremely proud of who we are. And, as I said before, your offer does not reflect the quality of our corporate structure. Furthermore, ours are not the only assets that require valuation. It would be imprudent of us not to assure ourselves that our partner in this merger possessed properties of equal or greater value.”

  The man had himself slid down slightly in his seat and was apparently mesmerized by what was now on display before him. In fact, the prominent bulge in his trousers seemed to suggest that a better offer was to be expected shortly. An elbow on each armrest, he steepled his hands and touched his fingers to pursed lips. After a considerable period of consideration, he exhaled and looked her in the eye.

  “You realize that a merger is not the only option for us? A buyout would suit us just as well. In fact, after careful thought, a simple buyout might be the most profitable move for us. It would provide for a far more reliable corporate governance structure. There would be no doubt as to who was in charge.”


  The smile that had played on the woman’s lips grew broader. But it wasn’t acceptance; it was a challenge. The painted nails of her hand reached to the single button that held her suit jacket closed and undid it. Released, the lapels sprung apart to reveal pert, ivory globes, each the size of a small grapefruit. Modest coffee-colored areolas surrounded each dark pink nipple.

  “A buyout is not completely out of the question,” she said, her nipples stiffening in the cold office air. “But we certainly would not sell without verifying that the newly formed entity would have competent leadership. As a responsible corporation, we would need to know that our assets were being left in strong, responsible hands.”

  Her opponent leaned forward once again. This time, he placed a broad, well-manicured hand on each of her knees. He pulled gently and her chair rolled easily toward him. Sliding a firm hand along each thigh until they rested on bare skin, he let his thumbs glance slowly over the warm, tender skin between. Then farther, under the gray wool skirt, his hands roamed and then stopped, hidden from view.

  She could hear his breath now, deeper and more urgent. She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth as his thumbs slid over her neatly trimmed mound. It was difficult to fight the desire to move her hips but she was sure that any sign of overeagerness on her part would weaken her side in the negotiations. Staring straight into his eyes, she cemented the placid expression on her face and calmed her own breathing. Casually she let her gaze slip down to his lap. The modest bulge that had been there previously had taken on far greater proportions, and his cock was clearly straining against the fabric of his trousers.