Read Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica Online

Authors: Sinclair Sexsmith,Miriam Zoila Perez,Wendi Kali,Rachel Kramer Bussel,Gigi Frost,BB Rydell,Amelia Thornton,Dilo Keith,Vie La Guerre,Anna Watson

Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica (7 page)

BOOK: Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica
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“Don’t—don’t you want me to take my dress off?” I murmur, thinking momentarily of how much better I would feel naked, exposed and vulnerable before you, ready to feel whatever you wish to inflict upon me. I have my favorite work dress on, the black rubber one with the thick silver two-way zip all the way down the back, the one that’s so short I have to wear matching black rubber panties underneath, but at least this means I can still wear my strap-on without too much hassle. I like the way it feels on my skin, clinging and tight and powerful, like a shiny second skin that makes me into Her as soon as I inhale the scent of the latex polish. But you don’t seem to want me to stop being Her right now.
Wordlessly, you reach for the zipper, sliding it upwards to reveal the curve of my ass, hooking your fingers into the layer of latex still stretched across my cheeks, rolling down the shining black shorts underneath until I can feel the coldness of the air hitting my skin. The zip is stopped at the small of my back, my entire upper body still encased in the dress, a sheen of perspiration trapped beneath it; I feel safe, wrapped up in rubber, like it is hugging me tightly and not letting go.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me, sugar baby?” you purr in my ear, your fingers back in my hair, running little circles on my scalp. “Are you gonna show me how much you’re mine?”
I swallow hard, wondering again if I can do this. Of course I want to be good for you; I always do. It’s just that this is so…
alien
.
“What are you going to do to me?” I know answering a question with a question probably isn’t going to go down so well, but I try it anyway. You just laugh in response, walking tiny paths of fingertip steps across the exposed flesh of my buttocks, creeping to the line of wetness bisecting me and laughing all the more when you find it.
“I asked you a
question
, little lady. Are you gonna answer me, or am I just going to have to assume from this somewhat conclusive evidence right here”—your thumb slips inside me, just long enough to make me whimper, but not long enough to give me anything else at all—“that you want me to beat your ass red raw till you’re screaming for me to fuck you, just to make me stop?”
My stomach flip-flops just at those words, those images, that fleetingly teasing reminder of some part of you inside some part of me. I want you to take me, even if I’m not sure how much you’ll take.
“Yes, Sir.”
I close my eyes as I hear you walk towards the wall of whips, so attentively cleaned by my own hand. I don’t even want to know which one you’re going to use, but from the way you softly stroke my skin with it as you walk past, I know exactly which one you’ve chosen. It’s the one I would always pick first myself, the one with the handle made from stainless steel, smooth and curved to fit the grip of its owner, the one with black latex tails curling from it, ready to sting and slice and bring fading darts of red to wherever it lands. I hate how you know me—and you know Her—so well.
I draw in my breath sharply as the thick strands of rubber collide with my bare flesh. It’s not that it hurts, as such; more the shock, the sensation of the unexpected, the fact I’m trussed up in my own dungeon without an ounce of control. I screw up my eyes tightly as you bring it back down, wincing as you rain rubberized blows down upon my skin. I want you to stop, sort of; the way that is wanting you to stop in my conscious mind whilst the rest of me insanely wishes for more. You don’t stop, of course, just like I knew you wouldn’t, but it doesn’t stop it feeling strange.
“You like this one, don’t you?” It’s not so much a question as a statement, really, even though “like” is not exactly the word I would be using right now. If I could speak at all, that is, and I seem to be finding I can’t. I mumble some kind of affirmative noise as you slice the sharp strips against the trembling flesh of my thighs, a soft glow spreading across my skin of…what is it, even? Sensation? Painfulness? I can’t even tell, but I guess if I was going to verbalize something, it would be something positive. I think so, anyway. You stop briefly, long enough to stroke gentle circles over my reddened cheeks, punctuated with the odd sharp smack of your hand, before striding purposefully back over to the rack of toys.
You must have listened to my inane work chatter more than I thought, as you dutifully lay out the one you have used on the couch next to the sanitizer spray before reaching for another one. I try craning my neck, but even in the reflection I can’t see what you’re doing, which makes me wriggle just a little in my bonds. Catching me spying, you just chuckle in that way that says “silly little girl,” before gritting your teeth and swinging your arm back forcefully, bringing all of your strength down onto me. In my mind, I can see myself propelled forwards, like you are pushing me into a stream of white light, and each strike sends me flying further into it, yet somehow you are still flying next to me. I feel so close to you, it makes me want to tell you then and there how much I love you, but words won’t really seem to come out right. You seem to want to make me try, though.
“Are you doing okay, baby?”
“Mmmph-hmmph.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Mmm.”
“What did I tell you about questions, little missy? You don’t want to make me stop now, do you?”
This seems to bring me back to earth somehow.
“No, Sir, please don’t stop, Sir. It was a yes, Sir, I’m doing… beautifully, Sir. Th-thank you.”
I can almost hear you smiling as I say this. It makes me even happier than I already was. Time seems to pass strangely after that, like an eternity in just a few minutes, where I am certain you use every single thing in that room to inflict blissful agony on me, though how you could have managed it I have no idea. Before I even have time to process it all, your hands are warm on my wrists, tenderly unbuckling the cuffs that bind me, pulling me gently to my feet and into your strong, powerful arms. You hold me there like that, my hammering chest pressed close to yours, like we could just melt into the same person if we stayed there long enough, but I can’t stay there long enough. I need you.
“Please let me suck you.” I can hear the whisper coming out of my mouth and tiptoeing into your ear, so softly powerful. Whenever I ask you, I know you will let me, but just asking for it sends sparks through me more intense than could ever come from just being ordered to do so.
You take my face in your hands and pull it back to look into my eyes, so full of love for you, and smile.
“Of course you can. Get down on your knees now, that’s a good girl.”
My gaze does not leave yours as I lower myself to the hard floor, my six-inch work heels bent neatly underneath me, my fingers clinging to your muscular thighs beneath the dull sheen of leather. Your hand tightly grips my hair, forcing my neck back, making me moan so softly in appreciation.
“You gonna show me what a good little cocksucker you are, baby girl?”
I just nod, wide-eyed, my mind filled with the image of your dick rammed down my throat, how hot that makes me, how much I want you. With one hand you unbutton your fly, take out the gleaming length of black silicone I love so much, with the other you start stroking my hair again, in that way that simultaneously arouses and disconcerts me. The blunt tip of your cockhead is so close to my mouth now I could reach out and touch it if I just darted my tongue out, my eyes still fixated on you above me, looking down at your girl. With a gentle nod of your head, you beckon me forward, my painted lips closing around the smooth jet-black surface, pulling back to leave it shining with my spit.
I have tried to understand why it is I love sucking your cock so much. My exes used to freak out about it, tell me it was some kind of patriarchal mind fuck I was into, tell me I should just go get with a guy if that was the kind of weird shit I got off on. I am so glad I don’t need to think about that anymore, so glad I can lose myself in the feelings it brings me, knowing you understand it and need it just as much as I do. The way the thickness of the silicone fills up my mouth soothes me somehow, a relaxing expansion against my palate, firm and solid yet still yielding to me, an extension of you that
is
you when you’re wearing it, and isn’t you as soon as you take it off. It feels somehow primal, to be so lost in something so simple, and I love the way my mind can just go calm as soon as I taste the rubber on my tongue.
But most of all, I love the way you look when I’m doing it. The way your head rolls back just that little bit when I grip the base and grind it into your clit as the tip of it nudges against my throat, stretching the tendons of your neck in a way that makes me want to jump right up there and run my tongue along them. The way you breathe, hard and heavy, your eyes glinting with lust as you watch yourself fuck my mouth, biting your lip as I moan just a little, my eyelids fluttering open and shut as I take just a little more of you than my gag reflex thinks I can. Right now, I can see my reflection in the mirrored walls of my dungeon, my lipstick smeared across my cheeks, hair tangled in your strong fingers, abandoned and passionate and completely devoted to you. I have never felt so beautiful.
“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” I can hear you murmur, your voice low and throaty, catching just a little as I push that bit harder against your clit. “You look so pretty like this, you know? Giving it up for me. I know you need this, babydoll. I know you need it… Now get that sweet little ass of yours back up on the bench.”
I actually whimper as you pull your dick out of my mouth. Whimper. Man, I would slap some sense into myself if I ever saw me on the street, except for the fact there’s quite frankly nothing in the world I want more right now than to feel you inside me, however that is, wherever that is. I know better than to question you, though, even if I do wonder what else there is left in my dungeon for you to hit me with. I obediently get myself back into position, my arms outstretched to feel the leather of the cuffs close around them, but you don’t even try to restrain me. You just run your hands protectively over the marks you have just made, almost as if surveying them, admiring them with pride. Then you say those words I have been aching to hear.
“You want it, pretty baby? You want me to fuck you good and hard, now you’ve been such a good girl for me?”
“Yes, yes, please yes…” My voice is a strangled gasp, desperate and pleading, relieved to at last feel some kind of release for this, the pounding emptiness inside me seeming unbearable now.
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it, I want you, fuck me, please fuck me, my Master…” The words are out of my mouth before I can think of them, before I can check myself and remind myself that I don’t use them, remind myself that Masters and Mistresses aren’t real, they’re just games, games I play all day long. It seems to shock you too, as you fall quiet for just a minute before resting your hands against my hips and pushing the tip of your cock forward until it’s nestling against my opening, taunting me with its closeness.
“You’re so beautiful right now. My girl.” Your voice is soft and gentle, and makes me smile as I lift my head up to look at my reflection in the mirrored wall, my eyes streaked with mascara-drenched tears, you standing behind me, so strong, so authoritative. My Master. Slowly, so slowly, you push yourself inside me, making me bite my lip as a long, low moan curls from my throat, my emptiness filled at last.
I rock my hips back onto you, feeling you going deeper into me, my wetness dribbling out around you, trickling down my thighs and coating the shining silicone with more and more of me. I remember you once told me what you liked most about fisting me was how much wetness came out of me, like I was wrapping you up in the liquid version of myself. I like that image, of me fucking you back as you fuck me, consuming you and absorbing you and bringing you inside myself. I feel like that right now, like we are both all tangled up together, taking and giving and giving and taking, losing ourselves in each other. Looking up at the reflection of me, I see all of the versions of myself looking back, each one so content, right here in this moment. Each one of them is yours, my Master. All of me is yours.
TAKING DIRECTION
 
Vie La Guerre
 
 
 
 
 
 
I
can’t take my eyes off you. I watch you sipping, wishing I were a smooth, strong whiskey ginger sliding down your throat, blooming in your belly, making you high. You look at ease, waiting patiently, only looking for me through the crowd every now and then. So simple for you to look cool even though I know you’re tensed. I watch your hands. I sit at the horseshoeshaped bar across from you. I love to watch you so much that I don’t order right away; my mind wanders, and I see you check your watch.
“Can I buy you a drink?” In the moment that she asks me, you finally turn your head and catch my eyes. I smile wickedly at you and you see the butch next to me summon the bartender. Good thing you can lip-read “gin and tonic” across the bar. I tear my eyes away from yours and sink them into her, and you know they’re liquid and promising as I thank her. Her skin shines caramel and cinnamon, her hair is oily black like her eyes. She’s rocking some of that old-school vaquero Mexican style: embroidered shirt, cowboy boots, needlework everywhere, and smooth Latin lover movements. When she moves her arm, I read her ornate tattoo: Angel.
BOOK: Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica
5.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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