Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission (22 page)

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Authors: Rachel Kramer Bussel,Donna George Storey

BOOK: Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission
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Aside from the impeccable food and superb staff, one of the pluses of Alberto’s was that it was less than ten minutes from my home. I pulled the car into the driveway and pressed the button to close the security gate behind me. I parked under a secluded tree on the far end of the circle and cut the engine. My cock throbbed at the glimpses of Christa’s pussy as she swung her legs out. I grabbed some condoms and lube from the glove compartment. Then I took her elbow and steered her to the gazebo at the side of the house. I dumped the packets on the bench and sat down hard beside them.
“Straddle me.” I pulled Christa roughly over my legs and onto my lap. Balanced on her high, teetering heels, she was just the right height. I yanked the front of her dress open and sucked a cold, turgid nipple into my mouth. She muffled a scream in her hand.
“Don’t.” I pulled her hand from her face. “I want to hear you come.” Then I turned my head and sucked in the other nipple. It wasn’t long before her moans became sobs and her hands were fisted in my hair, holding my head to her as she ground her naked pussy against my pants.
When her groans were almost constant, I urged her up enough for me to open my fly, shove down my pants, and free my cock. I grabbed a condom and a couple of lube packets. Then I pulled up her dress and guided my cock to her pussy lips. Her cries were desperate as she gripped my shoulders.
I lifted my lips from her nipple long enough to growl, “Fuck me!”
She instantly obeyed, inching her feet forward for balance. I sucked her nipple back into my mouth. I kept sucking, alternating from one nipple to the other while I guided her hips with one hand and diddled her cool, slippery clit with the other. Orgasms rolled over her in waves as her cries grew louder and louder.
I wanted more. I wanted all of her. And I wanted her to crave it. As the next waves rolled through her, I kneaded her bottom, squeezing and caressing until she finally pushed back against my hands. Then, I slowly pulled her cheeks apart.
“Turn around. I’m going to fuck your ass.”
For just a moment, Christa stilled. Then she took a deep, shaking breath and looked me right in the eye.
“I’ve only done that once before. It hurt.”
I twitched my cock inside her. “Do you believe I’ll hurt you?”
Again, the slightest hesitation. Then she shook her head. She rose up and carefully moved her legs over me until she was straddling me facing the other way. Bracing her hands on her knees, she slowly sat back, lowering herself until she was positioned over me. I emptied an entire packet of lube over my latex-covered cock. Christa jumped when I smeared the slippery gel over her anus. She jumped again, gasping, when I pressed one wellslicked finger inside, then another. She moaned in pleasure when I slowly moved them in and out.
“That feels good,” she whispered, shivering as the fingers diddling her anus stretched her sphincter open. With my other hand, I held myself firmly against her.
“My cock will feel better.”
She gasped as the slippery tip started in. I put both hands on her hips and eased her to me. “Slowly, Christa. Finger your clit. That’s it. Keep your fingers moving, no matter what.”
Her bottom was cool from the meltwater that had run down between her cheeks and she was relaxed from her climaxes. As her weight settled onto me, my cock head slid slowly through. She gasped so loudly it was almost a cry. For a second, her whole body trembled. Then she moaned, long and slowly, as I pulled her down and my cock slid in to the hilt.
“OOH!”
The hot, tight spasms milking my shaft were sending me over the edge. Her fingers moved frantically between her legs as I set my hands on her waist and slowly fucked her ass up and down over my cock. Christa’s cries were desperate now, pleading with me to fuck her ass hard and fast, begging me to make her come. Her shudders were almost continuous as her quivering ass sucked the orgasm through my cock.
I thrust up hard, shouting her name. She screamed and ground against me, her pussy juice squirting as she teetered on her shoes and I spurted load after load of hot, creamy spunk up her quaking ass.
I fell back into the seat, holding her tightly. Christa collapsed against me, her head resting on my shoulder as she shook and panted. When her breathing finally turned to nervous giggles, I smiled.
“Holy fucking hell!” She laughed, snuggling back into my arms. She sighed as my softening cock slid slowly free. She glanced down at the dress bunched at her waist. “I can’t believe I just did that—and I’m still wearing my damn dress!”
“You told me you weren’t taking your clothes off for me,” I said.
“That was silly of me,” she laughed softly. “You have my permission to take my dress off me, anytime you want.” She turned and kissed the side of my face. “Sir.”
I grabbed the front of her dress and tore it from her in one sharp rip. Christa giggled and snuggled deeper.
I kissed her shoulder softly. “We’ll keep a small dressing room with your clothes for work and outside social occasions. But otherwise, when you’re home, you’re going to be naked, submissive, and supremely well fucked.”
Christa sighed, but she didn’t move to get up. “I suppose this means your bossiness is here to stay?”
I laughed and swatted her bottom. “It always has been.”
She put her teeth to her lower lip. The gears were wheeling again. “What about my heels and my stockings and my jewelry?”
My cock jumped. I bit the back of her neck. “You can keep those.”
This time her chuckle was low and contented. “Deal.” She picked up the remnants of her dress and walked naked toward the house, her hips swaying seductively in the moonlight. “It’s good to be home.”
All I could do was laugh. My Christa had definitely been worth the wait.
VERONICA’S BODY
 
Isabelle Gray
 
 
 
 
 
V
eronica has a past. She refuses to talk about it. Veronica is married to Vince. Vince is a particular man. He likes what he likes, wants what he wants. When he’s unhappy Veronica is unhappy. He doesn’t ask about her past. She does whatever it takes to make him happy. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.
At night, Veronica sleeps chained to the bed she shares with her husband. Her slender wrists are cuffed together and then locked to the canopy above with a long length of chain, the better for her to sleep. Just before midnight, Veronica washes her face, brushes her teeth, performs her other evening ablutions. She dabs a bit of perfume on the points of her collarbone. As she goes through her routine, her stomach flutters and a flush of heat starts crawling across her skin. When she’s ready, she takes a deep breath, slips out of her silk robe and lies on the bed where Vince is waiting. He stretches himself along her body, covering her thighs with his, the hair on his legs tickling her. Slowly, he drags his fingers between her thighs, traces her pussy lips, presses his hand against her mound, then up her torso, flat and firm. As he lowers his lips to her breasts, she gasps, every time. He sinks his teeth into each nipple, rolls the soft flesh between hard enamel. He kisses the hollow at the base of her throat, the tip of her chin, her armpits. He licks lazy circles along the undersides of her arms. Finally, he places a moist kiss on each inner wrist before fastening the cuffs around them and chaining his wife to the bed. He tells her to sleep well. He turns off the light and settles in next to his wife, a possessive arm draped across her stomach. He falls asleep smiling.
It doesn’t matter if she’s tired or not. Come midnight, Veronica knows that her place is in bed, by her husband’s side. When they travel, the cuffs come with them. On the nights she can’t sleep, Veronica lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling or out at the night sky, enjoying the mild ache in her arms, eyes wide open. She has lived a lot of her life with her eyes wide open.
Sometimes, a few hours after she has fallen asleep, Veronica feels her husband climb atop her, his cock hard and insistently throbbing against her thighs. She knows what to do. She spreads her legs, wide. As Vince buries his cock inside his wife, stretching her open, she moans drowsily. She doesn’t have to move or groan or call out his name. She only has to allow herself to be used. It turns her on that in the dark of their bedroom, their bodies heavy with sleep, she is just a tight warm space from which her husband will extract his satisfaction. She is always wet and ready for him. Vince fucks her hard at night, moaning with each thrust of his hips, squeezing his fingers roughly into her thighs, leaving coin-sized bruises for her to admire in the morning.
Veronica has a life of her own, a successful career. She works long hours, keeps her own money. But she is always available to her husband. When he comes to her workplace with that look in his eye, his chin set to the right, she knows to close her office door behind him. She knows to speak only when spoken to, to fall to her knees, cross her ankles, bow her head. She stares at the shine of his shoes, the fine cut of his slacks. She bows her head lower, until she is prostrate. She lovingly kisses each of his shoes. She stays like that until she hears the zipper of his slacks slowly being lowered. He wraps his fingers in her long red hair, curling them into a tight fist. He pulls her head up, drags his thumb across her lower lip, then slides his thumb into her mouth. She sucks on it, loudly, sloppily. He opens her mouth wider and says, “Take me,” with an edge to his voice. She extends her tongue, leans forward slightly, inhales deeply as he fills her mouth with his cock. At first, he holds himself there in the silky warmth of her mouth, her jaw aching as it accommodates his girth. Then he grips her head with both hands and rocks his hips, slowly fucking her mouth the same way he fucks her cunt or her ass or her tits, as Veronica rakes her fingernails along the undersides of Vince’s ass and down the backs of his thighs.
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.”

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