Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica (15 page)

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

BOOK: Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica
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But I did like it, very much, and I knew what would be coming next. I was going to get fucked for the first time in three weeks and two days. It was going to hurt. She was going to like it. And that would be before she even got around to penetrating my ass. I leaned over the sawhorse and waited.
COUNTING LOVE
 
August InFlux
 
 
 
 
 
 
I
am loved. I know this. Not the same way other people know this, of course. I don’t get flowers. I don’t get chocolates. I don’t get little cards with Hallmark greetings on them. I don’t want those things. In my book, stupidity defines traditional romance. It gives no thought to your partner’s innate uniqueness. It’s trite. And it doesn’t get you laid nearly as well. You have to show your love in different ways with different people.
Remember how I showed you that I loved you the other day?
I texted you every hour. I could just picture you, bent over your desk, trying to focus on getting that press release done, this receipt forwarded to Finance, that e-mail sent to so-and-so. You were supposed to be concentrating. Don’t you have things to do? Pictures of my new outfit, presented in pieces. Commentary in between. Pink Keds. Tennis socks.
I like tennis, don’t you?
Little pink skirt. (I’m not such a huge fan of the color, but I know you like me in it. I wanted to show you that I think of you even when we’re not together.)
Like my skirt, Daddy?
White blouse, with the puffed cap sleeves.
The buttons pop off easy.
Young.
Fast-forward to your return home from work. I bounded off the couch to greet you, a silly smile dancing on my lips. Complete in my new outfit. You dropped your jacket and briefcase next to the door and took me gently into your arms. I fit so well there. The hug got tighter. The hand cupping the back of my head grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged my lips up to yours. Heat flooded my body.
“You,” you whispered, quietly enunciating each word, “have been very bad today.” I started to tremble.
Fast-forward.
You threw me on the bed, and I kept whispering, “No, no, no,” but you kept coming at me. Telling me what a little cocktease I was. Saying you were going to teach me a lesson about teasing men. You grabbed my hair to force my head back to look at you. You had me scared in such a good way, leaning over me like that.
You said, “You’ve been a bad girl.” No flourish. Just said it like you would to a little girl who’d done something wrong. “And now I’m going to take you like you deserve to be taken.”
“Oh, Daddy, please no,” I breathed. You tied my wrists together, then tied them to a length of cord attached to the headboard. Excitement ran like fire through my veins. “Daddy, please don’t, I’ll be so good.”
You grabbed my head again and whispered viciously, “Now you listen to me: You do what I say when I say it, and maybe you’ll get off on a light punishment. Clear?” You shook my head once for emphasis.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good. Roll over.”
“Yes, Daddy.” I turned over onto my elbows, ass in the air, my little pink skirt falling over my cheeks. My shoes and socks sat neatly on the floor next to the bed, near where my blouse fell when you ripped it off.
You smoothed my skirt over my ass as you took off your belt.
“Count to five.”
“Yes, Daddy.” The thick leather thudded against my ass. “One.” It wasn’t that hard. I know you’re just warming me up. Again. “Two.” A few more strokes. I’m disappointed: they’re too soft. Just swipes to get the blood flowing. I want more.
“Five.” You rub my ass in consolation. But I’m greedy. “Daddy…”
Your hand tightens on my skin, fingers dig into the muscle.
“Daddy, I…”
“Do you have something you need to tell me?”
I nod. My mouth opens and closes.
Nails scrape. “Were you bad?”
“Yes.”
Slap
. “Yes, Daddy.”
“What did you do?” Dangerously kind.
“I—”
Slow, pronounced, “Did you let someone touch you?”
Whispered, “Yes.”
“What did you let them do?”
“I let them touch me—down there. Where you said only you should touch me.”
Slap
. “Bad girl. Did you enjoy it?”
“No—”
Slap
. “I bet you did enjoy it, didn’t you? You filthy little slut.”
“Daddy, it just felt so good.”
Slap.
Harder this time. “And you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You little whore. Whores get punished.”
“No!”
“Yes.” Your hand runs up under my skirt, shoving it up off my ass. “Ask for it.” I hesitate.
Slap.
“Say, ‘please, Daddy, punish me.’” Fingers tease my slick wet lips and my mind blanks in ecstasy. I struggle to come back to the present.
“Please—punish me, please.”
“So polite.”
Smack.
Your hand against my ass. “But you forgot something.”
“Please, Daddy, punish me.”
“Good girl.”
Smack
. “Count to ten.”
The belt returns, this time with enough force to sting harshly upon impact without the fabric barrier. It leaves my skin humming pleasantly, vibrating. I gasp sharply with each stroke. Each thud hurts more than the last.
Thud
. Gasp. “Eight.”
Thud
. Squeak. “Nine.”
Thud
. Whine. “Ten.”
You set the belt down as your hands run over my burning ass cheeks. Your hands massage my body as you bend over to growl into my ear, “Those little noises you make turn me on so much.”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Yes.” You flip me over harshly, suddenly. I inhale sharply, trying to untwist my arms to a slightly more comfortable position. “I’m going to put my cock inside you and pump until I come.”
My legs draw up to my torso. You know I love it on my back. “No, Daddy,” I plead. I watch as you stand and drop your jeans, roll a condom onto the hard length of your dick. Cyberskin’s a bitch to clean. You crawl back onto the bed, knock my knees out of your way.
“Yes.”
“Daddy, it won’t fit,” I protest. “Your cock’s too big, Daddy. My pussy’s too little.”
“I like a tight pussy like yours, little girl.” You say the last two words with such possession I nearly come right there.
“You want—you want to fuck my tight pussy, Daddy?”
“Yes.” Your fingers are rubbing my cunt now, slicking up the entrance. You slide one in. Then two.
I moan, “Oh Daddy, please no,” as my eyes roll back into my head. A twisted game we play, where no means yes.
Your fingers slide out abruptly, the next second they’re entangled once again tightly in my hair. Your face an inch from mine, you snarl, “You are here for my pleasure, you little slut.” With that, you grab both my ankles in one hand and pin them off to the side. In one swift motion you’ve shoved your cock inside me and have started pounding away at my cunt. “I will take my pleasure in you.”
Little shrieks escape my lips. Pleasure and pain combine, and I grab the tie holding my hands for security. Your words help turn the pain into solid pressure, and I lose myself in them.
“Such a good girl, taking my cock like this. Such a tight little pussy. Such a good girl.” One hand runs over my breasts, tweaking my nipples in passing.
“Oh, God, Daddy, you feel so good,” I breathe. Your fingernails rake over my ass, and I scream silently as the burn from the beating flares up. My body begins to shudder uncontrollably, and you pound me faster. I can tell you’re close by the way you’re breathing. The harness must be hitting you just right. Every ridge of your dick hits my inside walls and I squeeze you. I know you can feel it. Hold you there for a millisecond. Your eyes roll back briefly and you look at me like I’m the most amazing thing in the world, and thrust deeper. My body shudders again and you flick a finger across my swollen clit. I shriek. The minute sensation sends me over the edge and I come with only the thought in my head of you taking your pleasure in me. Your movements in and out of my cunt prolong my orgasm and I open my eyes as I ride it out with you. Eyes locked, you don’t give me a break as I come down. You start pounding harder. Faster. Having your way with me. Using me with only the thought of your own pleasure in mind. As you start to come, you yell out. Thumb my clit again and there I am right there with you. Falling. Through ecstasy. Screaming my release.
I remember to inhale after a minute or so. Our breathing slows, and I look at you, your face shining. You start to pull out, and I stop you.
“Please. Stay. Just for a bit.” You nod. Our senses calm. The fan on the far side of the room blows cool air over our hot bodies. When I finally signal you to come out, you crawl up next to me. Release my wrist bindings. Curl up behind me. Kiss my neck, my face, my lips, my nose, my shoulder.
“Such a good girl,” you whisper, one arm wrapping around me.
I kiss you. “Thank you, Daddy.” I know that I am loved.
PURGE
 
Maria See
 
 
 
 
 
 
W
e are in your bedroom after the drive to your home from the airport. Like always, I wasted little time before crawling on top of you and my lips wasted little time before they too were on top of yours.
I reacquaint myself with your skin and your smell. I never know, each time I leave you, when or if I will see you, this way, again.
I roll a few inches away from you and lock my eyes to yours. There is something more I want to see.
I want to see you in your collar
.
“Will you get my bag? I left it near the front door.”
You leave the bed and return with my luggage. You place it next to the bed, where I can easily reach it.
I unzip my bag and move items around inside. You are standing there watching me. You have no reason to be standing, but you do not sit.
You know what’s in the bag, and you are waiting there, like a child waiting for permission to open her gifts on Christmas morning. Except you know what this present is, don’t you?
I purchased your collar almost two years ago. But our relationship made one of its many transitions, a transition toward something platonic in behavior, and away from kink and sex, shortly after.
I moved the collar with me from San Francisco to Chicago, from Chicago to Brooklyn, and from Brooklyn to San Francisco. I took it out sometimes and played with the O-rings on it. I envisioned using them to pull you, to put you in place, where I want you. I thought of pulling on them while I fuck you, choking you while you are on all fours. I waited, patiently, for months and months, for a time when I would place it around your neck.
I waited for now.
I remove it from my luggage. “It’s in its own special bag,” you tell me, observant, glowing. It
is
in its own special bag, while other items share bags: My harness is coupled with my dick and a glass anal toy; the condoms are with the Hitachi.
Sitting on your bed, I tell you, by patting the spot on the bed next to me, to come and sit. You do.
I get behind you. I place my arms over and in front of you, and down to your neck level, an edge of the collar in each of my hands. I fasten the collar around your neck. I slip my fingers between the collar and your skin: I want to make sure it’s roomy enough without being loose. I ask you if it’s too tight. You tell me it’s perfect.
Still behind you, I grab one of the O-rings and pull your head down to the pillows. You are on your back now, and I climb atop of you again, a knee on either side of your hips. I am sitting up looking down at you.
“I want you to be mean to me,” you tell me.

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