Submission
SUBMISSION
EROTICA FOR WOMEN
EDITED BY
ALEX ALGREN
WWW.CLEISPRESS.COM
Copyright © 2014 by Cleis Press.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press Inc.,
2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.
Cover design: Samantha Kornblum
Cover Photo: iStockphoto
E-book ISBN: 978-1-57344-986-1
Contents
Introduction: The Exquisite Art
Truss Issues • LUX ZAKARI
The Art of Darkness • ALISON TYLER
Reclaiming • TERESA NOELLE ROBERTS
I Breathe Your Name • TESS DANESI
The Weight • RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL
A Necessary Correction • DEBRA HYDE
About the Authors
INTRODUCTION: THE EXQUISITE ART
As any experienced bottom will tell you, submission is so much more than just surrendering yourself, mind, body, and soul, to pleasure—it’s an art form. Your body becomes a canvas upon which your master paints his every desire using the implements of twisted pleasure—floggers, ropes, belts, canes. With the proper technique, your body turns from a blank canvas into a beautiful portrait of passion, a mélange of reds, pinks, and purples.
And you endure it all so blissfully, a grin on your face and tears streaking your mascara, with nothing spoken other than a meek “Thank you, master.” For you’re spiraling headlong into subspace, that perfect state of trance in which your world shrinks to the white-hot pinpoints of pain and pleasure, two sides of the same divine coin. Nothing gets you off more than the faint knowledge that you’re becoming a living work of art.
In the first story—Lux Zakari’s “Truss Issues”—a reluctant girl submits to being tied up for the first time, then discovers how erotic and empowering bondage can be. In Alison Tyler’s “The Art of Darkness,” a slave overcomes her fear of the dark when her master blindfolds and teases her to a shuddering climax. A boardroom bitch who’s a slave to her job—and to her Sir—gets put in her place in Teresa Noelle Roberts’s “Reclaiming.” Tess Danesi’s “I Breathe Your Name” features a submissive who, like her master, loves to play rough—and she’s punished for it in a breathtaking shower scene. In Rachel Kramer Bussel’s “The Weight,” a 22-year-old girl loses herself in her lover’s flesh by being pinned to the mattress and crushed beneath him. And in “A Necessary Correction” by Debra Hyde, an experienced sub gets punished for speaking out of turn by being gagged, caned, and subjected to her master’s dark whims.
This collection of stories featuring eager women begging to please their partners is bound to fill your imagination with kinky playtime ideas. With a focus on the pleasure experienced by submissive women, Submission presents brave female characters who place their own fulfillment front and center and ask for exactly what they want. Best of all, they know how to find dominant male partners who know that power is best enjoyed by those who can consensually yield to a commanding, masculine figure.
What’s that? You can’t turn the pages with your hands tied? You’ll figure out another way…
Alex Algren
Oakland, California
TRUSS ISSUES
Lux Zakari
Emy didn’t want to be tied up. One could say she didn’t have much confidence in others.
Samir found this all very interesting. “Why not?”
A quick glance around the crowded outdoor patio of the restaurant revealed it was far too dark to see if anyone was listening in, but Emy decided the conversation had taken a turn too intriguing to care about eavesdroppers. She turned back to Samir, who sat opposite her, the light from a hurricane lamp flickering between them and dancing shadowy, suggestive patterns across their faces. His dark-eyed gaze studied her with an intensity that made her fidget. “I guess I’ve seen too many instances where people have put their faith in the wrong lovers.”
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and rubbed at the facial hair running the length of his jaw. “Like when?”
“Like I don’t know.” She flicked her wrist in indication there were too many times to count, but the way he watched her had ways of making her forget. “I saw a movie once where the guy tied a naked girl to his bed, duct-taped her eyes and mouth shut and just left her there. Then, because he’d done so much meth, he forgot she was there until three days later.”
He granted her a reprieve from his stare by rolling his eyes. “I thought you meant something happened to you personally.”
“It doesn’t matter, it was still traumatizing. In any case, it’s a prime example of why I don’t sleep with meth addicts.”
“That’s a good code to live by. It doesn’t explain why you won’t let someone who’s not a drug-addled psychopath tie you up.”
A man worth consuming her with desire, tying her up—she’d never entertained that secret Option B before, which, now presented by Samir, sounded inexplicably sexy. Emy shook the foreign, fascinating thoughts from her head, tucking a strand of her curly red hair behind her ear and reaching for the bread basket. “Because it still seems quite fucking terrifying.” She selected a fat round roll and cut it in half with her butter knife to give her suddenly nervous fingers something to do. “I don’t want to have to worry about all the horrific things some guy could do to me when I’m at my most vulnerable.” She shuddered. “What’s erotic and fun about that?”
“Hmm…” was his only reply. He plucked a roll from the basket and pulled it apart like a man engrossed with his appetizer, but Emy knew better. They’d been seeing each other for three weeks, and she was already familiar with that look in his dark brown eyes, the telltale glimmer hinting at a scheme and a need to prove someone wrong.
Etiquette be damned; she pointed at him with her knife. “Don’t try to persuade me otherwise.”
The corners of his mouth twisted upward. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You’re sitting over there, trying to think up ways to con me into bondage.”
Samir choked on a laugh and lifted his wineglass to his lips, as if in an attempt to recover his perpetually cool composure. “You think you know me so well.”
“I do.”
“There’s something you might not have realized, though.”
“And what’s that?”
“I know you, too,” he said. “Perhaps better than you know yourself.”
“That’s very audacious of you.”
He smiled, an act that made his frequently stoic features look benevolent, even sensual, in the candlelight. “We’ll see.”
After dinner and a walk around the illuminated city, they arrived at Emy’s building, a multifloor, white-brick affair stretching upward and disappearing into the dusky film of clouds overhead. She gave her date a wink. “Come up for a nightcap?”
“How can I refuse?” He opened the silver-handled door and placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her gently through the entranceway. Her heels pricked the silence of the lobby as they crossed to the elevator, which slid open with a ding as soon as Samir pressed the button.
They leaned against the mirrored wall as the doors closed, and the elevator gave a start as it ascended. A silence thick with anticipation hung between them, their conversation from earlier resonating through Emy like a struck tuning fork. She forced her attention on the climbing floor numbers. Two, three, four… She suddenly regretted living on the twentieth floor.
“Why would I be nervous?” Part of her hoped he would actually know the answer.
“Because you know when we get to your apartment, I’m tying you up.”
She drew in a swift breath and pursed her lips, trying to will the warring feelings of both fear and sexual thrill away. “Is that what you think?”
“No.” Unabashed, his gaze swept over her body. “It is what I know.”
“Someone’s crystal ball has a crack in it.” She frosted her tone as she again attempted to concentrate on the rising numbers, hoping he wouldn’t notice how the intensity of his words affected her. Fourteen, fifteen…
He breathed a laugh. “If you say so.”
They again lapsed into a silence, and just when Emy thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the doors opened and she forced herself not to flee from the mirror-and-chrome cubicle clogged with sexual tension. Instead, she kept her chin high and back straight as she strode toward her apartment and slid her key in the lock. Once the door swung open, she gestured Samir inside with a sweep of her arms in a way that would make Vanna White proud. He gave a gentlemanly nod of his head in response as he forged ahead into the dark living space.
Emy followed him, tossing her key ring in the direction of a nearby table and missing completely. “Can you get the light?”
Her answer came in the form of Samir kicking the door shut and walking her backward until her shoulder blades pressed against the painted wood. “I could, but what fun would that be?” His lips trailed a path from her earlobe down her neck, then to her collarbone, as his body pushed against hers.
The darkness hid her smile. “You have a point.” She tilted her head, giving him unbarred access to the sensitive skin of her throat, and her knees weakened at the feel of his cock against her thigh, nudging her through the fabric of their clothes.
Samir’s kisses moved to her mouth and her lips parted, allowing his tongue to sweep against hers and leaving her lightheaded. Her legs parted, granting him permission to slide his hands up her thighs, touch her in a place most of her exes didn’t get to explore until after several months, let alone weeks. She wondered what it was about Samir that permitted her to feel so wanton, uninhibited, unafraid, so much so that she’d slept with him after the first date. Where had the usual guarded feeling gone?
His teeth nipped at her lips, drawing a moan from her as he pinned her to the door using the strength of his legs. Her clit throbbed in anticipation as her dress skirted up her thighs and he slowly tugged her panties down until they puddled around her knees. Her breath hitched as her heart hammered away. She felt her whole body buzzing, awaiting his explorative touch.
Instead, his kisses grew slower, indolent, and his fingers rose, curling around her wrists and raising them over her head. A jolt ripped through her as she realized what a captive position she was in. “Emy,” he murmured against her mouth, “I want to tie you up.”
“I already told you. I’m not into that.” To her surprise, her body didn’t sync up to her beliefs. She felt a warm liquid rush flood her cunt.
“Is that so?” Samir captured both her wrists in one hand, his grasp firm, gentle and easily escapable—she didn’t understand why she didn’t break away. His other hand moved between her legs, eliciting from her a gasp as his finger dipped inside her weeping cunt. “It feels like you’re into it. Admit it. You’re turned on.”
Cursing her body for its betrayal, Emy nestled her teeth in her lower lip and forced her breathing to remain calm, to not come out as a needy whimper.
“Just your wrists.” He punctuated the sentence with a lingering kiss. “I’ll use my tie. You can slip free whenever you want to, or I’ll untie you whenever you say.” His tongue teased her, darting in and out of her mouth and mimicking the light, feathery motions of his finger, still flickering over her cunt. “Just think. You, with your hands bound behind your back, and me, licking you until you come.”
The air building in Emy’s lungs left in a groan as she pictured Samir’s tongue in place of his finger. The visual he’d described—even her, trussed up—was too good to deny. She drew away from his kiss and gave him a brief, nervous nod. “Okay.” She swallowed, her mouth dry, and looked between them at his hand between her legs, fighting off another moan. “But hurry.”
Samir drew away from her and her panties completed their journey to the floor. She’d just enough time to kick them aside before he’d turned her around, her breasts against the door. Emy could feel his cock, thick and hard, nudging her skin as he ground against her backside, working at the knot of his tie with one hand while his other snaked around her body to pop free the buttons on her shirt. She felt grateful for the door and Samir—they were the only things keeping her upright at this point.
Emy sucked in a gulp of air as he collected her wrists at the small of her back and looped the thin, silky strip of fabric around them, linking them with a loose knot. She squeezed her eyes shut, not knowing whether to moan with pleasure or cry out in fright.
Samir turned her again, slanting his mouth over hers, and he placed his hands on her waist and took a few steps backward, guiding their path into the unlit living room and directing her into an armchair. She sank into a sitting position with some trepidation, her hands trapped between the cushioned seat and her spine. The words untie me were on her tongue until her gaze met Samir’s. In the weak moonlight beaming through the half-closed blinds and casting bars of light over his face, she could see his dark eyes, watching her with a hunger that made her whole body swell. Stunned, she realized from his look that despite her bound situation, she felt very much in control and felt powerful at having a man look at her in such a way. The thrill caused her legs to part, granting him an unobstructed view. She enjoyed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in response.
He lowered himself to his knees and parted her open shirt, revealing her breasts encased in lace. Knowing she couldn’t touch him in return sent another ripple of bliss through Emy and she licked her dry lips, her fingers turning to fists behind her back. Samir cupped both her breasts in his hands, kneading the globes gently until her puckered nipples leapt from the bunching, delicate fabric. With one hand still circling her left breast, his mouth descended upon her right, trapping one of the rosy nubs and lapping at it with his tongue.
Emy’s head dropped backward and she didn’t bother to fight off the moan that had been building inside her for what seemed like the entire evening. Samir gave a soft groan in response to the noise, a sound increasing her pleasure. Realizing he enjoyed this moment—this unfamiliar experience—as much as she did dampened her aching cunt further.
His mouth left her breast on a journey down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her belly button as his hands slid down the sides of her torso. She watched from beneath heavy lids how he observed her body like a man enthralled and on the verge of losing control. His worshipful expression blurred the distinction of who was the submissive one. She’d never felt more in control in her life. Her fear evaporated, replaced by pure desire.
Samir took a deep, trembling breath as he gently pushed her skirt up around her waist, completely exposing her. They both watched as his hands smoothed down then up her inner thighs and he traced the outline of her dripping cunt, eliciting from her a high-pitched sigh. He rubbed a slow, teasing circle over her clit with a wet fingertip, bringing about more gasps and breathy urges for him to continue before replacing his finger with his tongue.
Emy squeezed her eyes shut, straining against her loose binds as she cried out toward the ceiling. His languid ministrations sought and found a rhythm that made her legs shake and widen farther. He slipped a finger inside her slick, tight opening and she clamped down on her lip, fighting back a scream. She already teetered on the brink on climax and knew it wouldn’t take much more to push her over the edge.
The need to touch him was deliciously
excruciating and not being able to invoked a divine conflict where she both wanted to be free yet never wanted to be let go. “Fuck, Samir.” The sense deprivation made her palms damp as her fists alternated between clenching and unclenching. Her head spun as she lay wonderfully trapped beneath his blissful torment. “I want you to fuck me.”
One of his hands left her body and she heard the jangle of a belt buckle and the descent of a zipper, but never once did Samir’s actions halt. Then he drew away from her and, placing both hands on her hips, pulled her to the edge of the chair, all but dragging her off the furniture entirely. With her hands pinned beneath her and Samir suspending her legs in the air, she’d never felt so helpless yet so excited.
Samir freed his cock from his pants, once carefully pressed, now wrinkled from passion, positioned himself at her entrance and pushed himself inside her with abandon. A scream tore from Emy’s throat as her hips rose to meet his thrusts. Her nipples, still peeping over the tops of their lacy confines, strained against the fabric as her breasts bounced in time to their age-old rhythm.
He pushed against her with every motion, providing her clit with maximum contact every time he drove into her. Incoherent, fragmented sentences tumbled from Emy’s lips. She couldn’t even comprehend what she tried to say, knew only that the desperation to touch him, rake her nails down his back and pull him close intoxicated her, pushed her farther toward the edge.
Samir remained silent, his whole body and his motions tight, coiled, anticipating release. His face creased with an expression of pain, but Emy knew he felt anything but. His gaze traveled over her body, completely at his mercy, and the look in his eyes made the muscles in her cunt tense. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of him slamming into her, the perpetual friction against her clit and how he could do anything to her right now but remained devoted to her pleasure. The thought prompted another, final scream from her, her muscles contracting around his cock, and he came inside her, succumbing to a shudder enveloping his entire body.