Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission Read online

  “Bite,” he ordered and she brought her mouth to his forearm and dug her teeth into his skin. With a long shudder he came inside her as her mouth continued to mark the occasion on his arm.

  He exhaled and she relaxed back into the sheets. She hadn’t broken the skin but he would have a beautiful bright-red bite mark on his arm for the next week. Knowing him, he’d take a picture of it and email it to her tomorrow with a little note that confessed he grew hard every time he looked at the bruise.

  With casual strength, he flipped her onto her back. He kissed her breasts, sucked lightly and then harder on her nipples. Gripping her knees, he forced her legs wide open and pushed two fingers into her again. His fingers moved easily inside her as wet as she was with her arousal and his semen. A third finger joined the other two. The shock of pleasure sent her hips rising off the bed. He turned his hand inside her and pinned her back down against the mattress as he brought his lips to her clitoris. With his hand he rubbed her G-spot, massaged her labia, moved in and out of her with spiraling circles that sent her reeling while his lips and tongue tasted her, explored her, brought her to the edge and left her hovering there. Finally he let her fall off the edge but caught her before she landed.

  He kissed his way up her stomach, over her rib cage, across her chest and up to her lips. Their mouths met finally and she tasted herself on his tongue.

  Pulling up he gazed down at her and brushed a tendril of hair off her forehead.

  “My Leigh,” he whispered. “Mine.”

  “Yours, Sir…” she sighed and closed her eyes.

  Brice reached the end of the letter and immediately started over reading it from the beginning.

  So this was her? This woman who wanted to be owned, used, flogged, tied up, taken, possessed… this was Leigh? This was the woman who hadn’t even slept with him after two months and thirteen dates? This wildly sexual, confident, erotic woman?

  I’m different…those were her words at dinner. Brice shook his head. The woman had told him no not because she was a virgin or religious or scared, but because she was kinky and needed to be with someone like her.

  You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. You’re kind and sweet and chivalrous and gentle…

  Leigh was kinky and she thought he wasn’t. And that’s why she hadn’t gone to bed with him in all this time. For weeks she’d wanted to tell him what she was, but she’d been too embarrassed, too shy. And even now she hadn’t told him. She’d shown him instead. And from the almost painful erection pressing against the fly of his pants, it was clear he’d liked what he saw.

  In seconds, Brice was out the door and in his car. Racing across town, he made it to her apartment in record time.

  He pounded on the door and Leigh answered it with wide, wary eyes.

  “Brice…what is—?”

  Before she could finish the sentence, he clamped a hand over her mouth, stepped inside the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him.

  Shoving her against the wall, Brice locked his legs against hers, immobilizing her.

  “Don’t scream,” he ordered as he lowered his hand from her mouth. Already she’d begun to breathe heavily. Sliding a hand between their bodies, he reached under her skirt, pushed the fabric of her panties aside, and slid a single finger into her. She burned against his hand, already wet for him. “Still think I’m too nice for you?”

  She swallowed.

  “No.”

  “That was you in the letter.” He moved his finger in and out of her as she began to pant. “But you didn’t name him. Was that me? Or your dream man?”

  A slight smile played at the corner of her lips.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Brice brought his mouth to her neck and bit her hard enough to make her whimper. He hoped she had nowhere to go tonight. He didn’t plan to let her go until dawn.

  “Good answer.”

  RUN, BABY, RUN

  Vida Bailey

  The sunlight shone through the glass lemonade jug and danced watery patterns over the tray she carried out into the garden. The first thing Lana saw over the rise of the hilly lawn was her two-year-old son, Billy, flying into the air. He hung for an instant, dark against the blue sky, then plummeted earthward to be caught in two strong, outstretched hands.

  She cleared the crest of the hill and found her husband and son tangled in a laughing heap on the ground. Their daughter Katie launched cushions at them from a safe distance. The two kids looked up and saw her setting the tray down on the table. Billy extricated himself from his father’s grip with violent wiggles, and they both ran for the drinks and snacks.

  “We’re playing chasing!”

  “Daddy was chasing us! I was flying!” Jason rose to a crouch and looked in their direction.

  “And I’m coming to get you again…” The kids ignored the threat, and Billy raised a peremptory hand.

  “No, Daddy, we’re having our snack. Chase Momma instead.”

  Lana’s eyes cut to Jason, noting the shift in his posture and the light in his eyes—still mischievous, but more intense than the laughing shine they’d held a minute before. Beneath the sleeve of his black T-shirt, his tattoo danced as the muscle flexed a little.

  “Okay. Get ready to run, Momma.”

  “Jay, no, wait, don’t!” But Lana was already out of her shoes and gathering her skirts at her thighs. She tensed, legs braced, her heartbeat loud in her ears, spiky adrenaline skittering round her system. He stood and watched her. She knew she didn’t have a chance, but she was still compelled to try. For a second, she’d be safe until she moved. She let the muscles in her legs find their way, push her forward at just the right time. As the soles of her bare feet flexed on the grass, her eyes sought out an escape route, then returned to his. When they made contact, Jason made a move toward her, and she took off.

  Lana’s legs pumped under her long layered skirts, and her head flew back in panicked laughter as she felt him catching up with her. It was too late for any long sprint; she had to feint and duck and try and get the picnic table back in between them. Her heart thudded and her breath caught. She weaved around and made for the table, but she could feel him behind her, quiet and sure. With a whoop, Lana felt herself tackled and her breath running out as he bowled her to the ground. She landed safely on the soft grass, his body lean and hard along hers as her chest rose and fell against him. Her pulse was slowing, pounding against Jay’s fingers where he held her wrists above her head. The alarm faded into relieved, excited heat as the fear-flight hormones left her bloodstream and she wiggled a little in delight at being held down against the grass.

  “Are we playing Kiss Chase?” he asked, breath hot on her heaving neck, a far cry from the innocence of playground games. His crotch pushed against her a little, and he ducked his head in for a quick kiss.

  “Aw,” she complained, “you’re not even out of breath.”

  “All my excitement’s on the inside, baby,” he grinned, then hopped up and held out a hand to pull her upright before the children could descend on them in a pile-on. Lana leaned into her husband’s shoulder as they walked back to the table, felt his hand drop lightly to her ass and smiled as she poured the kids’ drinks.

  It had been years, now, since Lana had been caught. One day the escape had been too panicked and careless and the car she’d been fleeing in brought her to an abrupt, violent stop. She was tangled in twisted metal and sirens and pain. There would be no running, just learning to walk again. For that, there was Jay. With a smile and his calm. When it was time to walk, he still smiled, but there was no taking no for an answer. He didn’t seem to feel sorry for her at all, he just kept pushing her. Yes, it hurts; yes, it’s hard; yes, you can. And when she cried and said it was all pointless because she was going to be locked away anyway, he just shrugged and said, “Well, you’ll still need to walk out of the place when the time comes.” So she would shut up and do it. And when she got out of jail, walking on her own two feet, he was there.

  The sun had su
nk, the children lay in bed: one sprawled above the covers, one curled tightly beneath them. Lana woke to night song, cicadas and the babble of the river reaching through the clear air. Jay was gone, his side of the duvet turned back. A note on the rumpled sheet glowed white in the moonlight. Lana read, rolling one corner against the pad of her thumb, and for a second she scrunched into a ball and hugged herself before leaving the bed.

  The lights were off as she descended the staircase, but the hall was lit by the brightness from the full moon. It shone on Lana’s silk nightgown, making it seem to ripple like water against her belly and thighs as she moved down the stairs. It was a delicate pale green, the color of the calla lily where it just begins to shade from petal to stem. Closer inspection showed it to be scarred in many places with fine lines of tiny stitches. Lana loved the silken rasp against her smooth calves as she moved, a near silent sound, echoed by the whisper of her hair against her shoulders, her soft thighs sliding together as she walked.

  On the hall table lay a tiny key. Slowly, Lana picked it up and closed the silvery coldness of it into her hand, a flash of ice against her hot palm.

  Make for the trees, the note read. Make for the trees. That was all it said, but Lana knew more or less what to expect. She shivered as she walked barefoot across the kitchen floor. Her nipples were already pushing against the slippery fabric of her nightgown before she opened the door to the cool breeze. She leaned for a moment on the door frame, seeking a last moment of calm before she stepped outside and tried to let instinct take over. She knew he’d give her a head start, but that wasn’t so much a kindness as a psyche-out.

  She looked out across the darkened lawn, bleached to silver in the moonlight. The trees were a solid line of black at the other end of the garden. Somewhere in between them was her goal, or at least a hiding place. Once she stepped onto the lawn, she would be a baby gazelle until she reached the trees. Where was he watching from? The garden was full of shadows, too many spaces for a man in black to melt into, to observe unobserved.

  Okay. It was time. If she took too long he’d come and get her. She didn’t want that. One, then two delicate barefoot footsteps across the gravel. A couple more, slip slap on the patio flags, and then her feet were cooling in the dew-rich grass. She shivered. Anticipation and fear were jostling each other inside her, one making her wet in spite of the other or maybe even because of it. She felt her pulse beat in her pussy, in the hardened flesh of her nipples, in her throat.

  She heard the opening bars of the song about her beautiful life that she always played in her head and counted down until the chorus exploded into life, sweeping her into a sprint as it did so. Her feet were sure on the slippery leaves of grass, toes digging into the soft turf. The breeze blew her long, thick hair back out of her face and cooled her hot skin. She could feel sweat forming and drying away instantly in the warm night air. She kept her eyes fixed on the entrance to the small wood at the end of the lawn, navigated the hill safely and bolted toward it. She was doing fine, growing into her stride, her heart balancing the exertion with the tension of waiting for the attack. She’d waited too long to move though. Before she was halfway across the grass, a dark, lithe figure peeled away from the shadows to her left and sped toward her. She could see him running hard, straight for her, as if he had no intention of stopping. She fought the panic, her breath hoarse in her ears, and skidded to a halt just before he reached her. She was down on one knee as he fought to stop his headlong rush. As he struggled to turn and grab her at the same time, she hooked his ankle with her outstretched leg and swept his feet out from underneath him. Black gloved hands groped for her ankle from where he sprawled on the ground, but she planted her foot square on his abdomen and pushed herself off to the satisfying sound of the wind leaving his body. That would slow him down.

  It did, for seconds. She didn’t stop to look back, but hammered toward the trees, the key tucked safely and burning hot into her palm. She pumped her legs, feeling the strength in her thigh and calf muscles, relishing the small singing pain as she pushed against it. She was so in love with herself when she ran. Her tits were annoying her, though, bouncing so free, unsupported by the silk. She’d wanted a sports bra, was even ready to negotiate a bandage, but he’d looked at her with laughing incredulity. Reaching to stroke and cup the curve of her silk-covered breast, he’d raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? Lycra, and this?” Lana saw his point, but she resented it now, as her boobs bounced around with a liquid rhythm of their own, threatening to spill out of the silky bodice. She heard fleet footsteps behind her again, and put an extra push on, the fear of being chased, of being caught, edging up another notch. It filled her chest, closed in her breathing space as she felt him get closer.

  Damn, she thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have stood on him. There was no way she could outrun him on the straight, she knew. Make for the trees. The phrase beat with the pulse in her ears, in each rasping breath. Five more steps, then two, and she was in the dark space beneath the summer leaf canopy. The path felt warm beneath her feet after the dewy grass. She ducked into the shadows and looked around. They had to be somewhere easy to see.

  Jay always gave her the key to the cuffs, and a fair chance. There was the tacit understanding that whoever got to them first got to use them on the other. In truth, Lana couldn’t really imagine what she’d do with Jason in cuffs, though sometimes her mind did slide to interesting possibilities. But not while she was running. Right now there was just the chase, and escape, and getting to the goal, and all the beautiful things that the safe fear did to her insides. Listening intently for breath, or footsteps, she craned around again, searching in the light spaces between the shadows for the cuffs. And then she saw them. They were hanging by a cord from their favorite tree, actually over her head, out over the path. Too high to stretch up to. She knew she could climb for them and reel them in, but she could also feel the hands that would grab her as soon as she tried to pull herself up into the tree. So, what—a run and jump? A stick? She’d be right out in the open. And why was he being so quiet? Was he waiting for her next move?

  She decided to go for it. Swiveling around, she took a step out onto the path, and weighed up the distance out of the corner of her eye. A running jump should do it. Her eyes squinted, trying to pierce the darker shadows. She stood still, as her brain put puzzle pieces together, and she strangled a gasp as she realized that the darker shape in the shadow she was looking at was Jay. He was standing right there, a few feet away, looking at her! She froze. No point running now. Lead him away, double back? Ah, she knew there was no way out other than to act, to move.

  She took a few steps backward, softly, so as not to startle him. Had he noticed her seeing the cuffs? She had to go now, before he moved, or she’d be out of space. She took a breath, two quick strides, and jumped, arms outstretched. She felt her fingers graze the soft leather of one dangling cuff, and then Jay’s hard body hit hers, a collision that flung her onto the soft layer of leaves and pine needles beneath her with a thud, knocking the air from her chest when she bounced between the ground and her husband. She writhed and gasped underneath him and tried to kick free, but she didn’t really get anywhere this time.

  Jay laughed softly.

  “Gotcha.” His lips moved against her ear as he whispered and the tip of his tongue traced a path up her neck and into her ear. He blew lightly on the wet trail of his saliva, and she shivered. The fight in her was always swallowed so quickly once he was back in control. Desire and deference were lit in its place. Jay peeled himself off her and pulled Lana to her knees.

  “Hands behind your back.” She complied and bent her head. “Don’t move.” Lana knew she had the option of springing up and running again, while he was loosening the rope the cuffs hung from, but that would change the rules a little and the languorous thrill of submission had already started honeying through her veins. From the corner of her eye, she could see the baby monitor clipped onto his belt, and the flogger tucked in beside it. Her cunt clenche
d and she shut her eyes.

  Deftly, Jay buckled the cuffs onto her wrists, and, sliding the key from her clenched fist, clicked the little padlock closed between them. He walked back around in front of Lana where she knelt, and stroked a thumb down her jaw, then pushed it against her lips.

  “You can run, little girl, but you can’t hide for shit.” She smiled, turning her head and nuzzling the side of her face into his palm. She kissed it, her eyes closed, waiting for the sound of his combats opening, the smell of his sweat in her nose. His cock stood out from his body elegantly, statuesque in the moonlight and shadow. His hand in her hair turned her toward it, and she leaned in, loving the feel of its heat against her cool face. She opened her mouth on his shaft once, resting her lips against him, then licked from base to tip before he angled her head back farther, and she opened and took him in. On her knees in the dark, in the wood, with her hands bound and throat filled, Lana’s mind grew sweetly blank. She wasn’t anxious, or grateful, she simply was. Maybe the awareness that she would soon be bent over or bound naked to a cool trunk and whipped as soundly as Jay wanted made her wetter between the legs than his hand in her hair or his cock in her mouth had done already, but it was hard to say. There was the wind in the trees, the noise of her mouth on Jay’s cock, and her. Alive, strong, free.

  Jay pulled Lana off him, and she opened her eyes blearily. He pulled her to her feet and ghosted his fingertips down the backs of her captive arms to jingle the lock on the cuffs.

  “Want to run away?” he whispered in her ear. She looked up at him from under her hair and shook her head. No more running, at this stage. She was happy where she was.