Submissive Desires
Read Submissive Desires Online
Authors: Carolyn Faulkner
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Submissive Desires
By Carolyn Faulkner
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© 2008 by Blushing Books®
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®, a subsidiary of
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The trademark Blushing Press® is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Carolyn Faulkner
Submissive Desires
ISBN 978--1935152-26-2
Cover Design: ABCD Webmasters
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This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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PRESENT DAY
Her feet were beginning to hurt as she hung there, but raising one foot at a time only increased the pressure on the butter-soft suede straps that enclosed her wrists, holding them anchored in the air above her head – just high enough to force her into her bare, pink tippy-toes. Of course, he was enjoying the added benefits that this position afforded him; her luscious naked body arched as if presenting itself to him . . . to whatever implement he decided to use on that as yet pristine white skin.
He adored touching her – it had easily become an addiction with him, so much so that sometimes he worried about his need to always have his hands on her. Never having had the need for any sort of crutch – emotional, physical, or intellectual in his life, it was almost something he could come to resent.
Almost, but not in this lifetime.
Here and now, she felt so good to him . . . too damned good.
Too bad her behavior gave him cause to make her feel not so good, although with her, it was hard to tell. She’d been dripping wet, literally weeping with juice, even after the hardest of sessions. Even sessions that were simply at his own whim, as her owner, with no missteps prompting them, striping her bottom viciously for the sheer pleasure of giving her the pain she needed so badly.
To her complete surprise, he lowered her a little, so that she was flat on her feet, but still with her wrists bound above her head. The matching cuffs on her ankles – with diabolically convenient rings at the four points of the compass – were being pulled apart, separating her legs to an uncomfortable degree while still keeping the soles of her feet on the thick gray carpeting.
“Unnnnnn-ahhhhhhhh,” she moaned, knowing better than to beg for mercy even as he coaxed those slender ankles a good bit further apart, securing each of them so that her privates – which were mandatorily kept strictly bare as were most other parts of her body with the notable exception of her full head of darkish blonde hair, which he barely allowed her to have trimmed every month or so – were completely exposed and entirely vulnerable to him. Then he clicked the bundle of her wrists two notches forwards on the track he’d had bolted into the ceiling where a heavy hook kept those hands nicely elevated, and now, her waist was bent at a truly obscene angle that made it look like she was offering herself up to him for whatever nefarious plans he might have.
And, knowing him, they’d be extremely nefarious.
The tall, muscular man squatted down behind her, frankly enjoying the view as his gently but harshly restrained, agitated treasure tried ineffectively to find a less revealing position. As she began to realize just how vulnerable she was, her squirming became more frantic but nothing helped. She was, as she’d always been and always would be, entirely at his mercy.
And she knew for a cold, hard fact that he didn’t possess any of that tender emotion.
She’d been through this – or many scenes very like this – before with him.
Before he let her go, she would be one very, very, very repentant lady.
Even if she hadn’t committed a sin in his eyes in days.
He stilled her agitated movements merely by cupping her womanhood from behind as he rose and bent over her a bit, enjoying the feel of her naked, well-rounded cheeks against his denim fly. He kept 7
her naked most of the time as a reminder of her status, making scrupulously sure that the temperature in the house was perfect for her so that she never felt the need to even ask for any sort of covering.
Not that she’d get it, anyway. He had other ways of warming her up, externally and internally.
“Stay still, little girl, or you’re likely to wrench something.” His fingers had landed on that prominent bud of hers – both sets of her lips were already, by nature of her position, well separated, her secrets entirely unsafe and unguarded, most particularly that little, ever-pulsating, eternally drenched wonder of hers.
Exactly as he’d planned.
Straightening, he reached to his right, to the triple dresser he always used to hold the various implements she would soon feel on her skin – or inside various points on her body. She couldn’t crane her head around enough to see what he’d taken up, but seconds later she both smelled and felt the familiar padded leather discs of her blindfold as it took up residence around her head, adding another dimension to her complete vulnerability, leaving her bobbing her head to try and detect any small beam of light that might work its way determinedly under those firmly placed pads, but there was none.
There never was.
She was completely blinded as she heard something slip off the top of the dresser.
The leather length he had in his hand was nothing too frightening; it wasn’t incredibly long or wide or spiked or decorated with anything, although there was about an inch and a half of doubled width, right at the tail end of it that was stiff and much harder than the rest.
It looked rather innocuous, really, he thought. It was one of his most recent and best designs, if he did say so himself. And so effective in driving home the point . . . or no point at all beyond the fact that he could and would do this to her any time he wished to.
But no description could have been further from the truth.
The strap’s first slice against her body had the poor woman sucking in every ounce of air around her until she was still left gasping, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room for her to process what she was feeling. Just as her throat closed around a bone deep scream that began at her toes and slowly worked its way out another crack landed, pre-empting the first agonized yell in favor of another long, ragged draw of air.
It took till the fourth stroke before she could get that scream out, and by then it had turned into an animalistic howl that set the hair on the back of his neck on end, not that that stopped him from delivering another crisp slap as he jerked his powerful wrist up hard, sending that wonderful implement crashing up onto her exposed pussy, the dense tab at the end flicking further up between her legs than the rest of the leather, seeking and finding that most precious nub as it – and she – tried desperately to cringe away from its painful kiss.
Her poor, swollen genitals – which had been swollen for entirely more pleasant reasons before he’d taken that atrocious weapon to her – were aflame. Each tremendous wallop drove her out of her mind with an agony she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to survive, until the next one piled even more acute sensations on top of the last ones. She tried to dance away from them, from his discipline, but there was no hope for that unless she completely dislocated something vital.
No, she was exactly where he wanted her to be, and she was going nowhere. There would be no relief for her until he decided – if and when he decided – that she had had enough. Until then, all she could do was take it, feeling those tender tissues swelling with the searing pain each time he snapped his arm up, laying the body of the strap along her groove over and over, and making her little clit the subject of that small tab’s affections until it was bright red and hot to the touch, and more abnormally swollen than ever before.
It amazed him, though, as his broad fingers roughly explored those well-beaten folds, that she was still able to drench him in her cream. He scooped up a fingerful from her poor sore entrance and brought it up to her abused button, marveling at its size even as she surprised him yet again by both 8
hissing in obvious pain at his touch and arching towards him, craving the ache he was both creating and relieving in her.
But he wasn’t about to let her come, knowing her well enough by now to stop just short of her completion, drawing a guttural moan from his lovely lady.
His lips pressed to her ear. “Surely you didn’t think you would be rewarded so early in the evening, my dear? Your little strap is just barely becoming acquainted with such intimate territory. There’s lots, lots more to come before I release you, physically or sexually.”
And the relentless rhythm of genital punishment began.
Again.
And again.
And again.
9
FIVE YEARS AGO:
Just for shits and giggles, Maura Boardman sat down at her computer. It was nine at night, and there was nothing on TV, so she decided to indulge an occasional passion: Internet Relay Chat. She signed in and hit the channel search for “bdsm” – eighteen rooms came up, from “slaves ‘n masters” to
“female humiliation.”
She chose a generic “female submission” channel with a decent population and joined in. The discussion was lively, revolving this evening around dildos and butt plugs and various uses thereof. She said hello to everyone and hugged a few people she knew. Two private messages popped up immediately from men in the room, both of which began with the de rigueur “a/s/l” – age, sex, location – that was this era’s “what’s your sign?”
Maura promptly ignored both of them. It was stupid, she supposed for a submissive, but she hated pushy men like that. Her nick always garnered a lot of attention, but politeness and courtesy still counted, as far as she was concerned.
As always the chat wandered from the main topic, but not too badly. Eventually they wandered onto the topic of lubes, and Maura chimed in with her old standby favorite, KY.redbotmgirl: It stays where you put it – doesn’t dribble down onto the sheets like Astroglide, etc.
SirLoin: I use elbow greas here.
MsTress2U: I’ve heard that about u, Loin ;)
redbotmgirl: I don’t usually have too much a problem with lubrication, luckily . . .
Maura thought. Probably some jet-jockey wannabe who pushed a broom all day, she mused. Before she decided on whether or not to allow him to private message her, she did a little investigating. She used the
“whois” function to see what other rooms he was in, and this was the only one. He was using a server out of Texas, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She lived in Albuquerque and deliberately signed in to a server in Virginia. She scrolled back up through the chat and saw where he’d entered and sent his greetings rather formally to the room, then lurked in the background, making only the occasional, pertinent comment. It amazed her, though, in this day and age of sloppy spelling and grammar, that everything he’d sent was letter perfect.
