Read Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission Online
Authors: Rachel Kramer Bussel,Donna George Storey
Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission (9 page)
BOOK: Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission
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My own hair was naturally straight, mousy and nothing special except that it was very long. When Lola and I had become lovers, she always liked to pull on my hair, clutching it, yanking me about and generally using it to control me in a delightful way.
Lola had introduced me to her craftsman friend, Ash, months ago, and we’d been good pals ever since. He was the one who had suggested I do something special with my natural qualities. He wanted to make a flogger out of my hair; he said it would feel like nothing in this world. The idea was shocking but intriguing too. Fears of being naked up top battled with the lure of owning an item that would be completely unique.
I stood in the middle of Ash’s studio between two doors. The door to the left led to his lab where he kept volatile chemicals, burners and dangerous equipment. The door to the right led outside to the yard. I knew I could leave right now, that I could slip out of the room and make some excuse later that Ash wouldn’t believe. I knew he wouldn’t push things if I did. I fingered a strand of my long hair and then unbuttoned my coat, submitting to my fate. I shivered, but not from the chill of the December air. Ash kept his studio reasonably warm, so I knew it was nerves that made my skin break out in goose bumps. I stepped out of my shoes and wriggled my bare toes. I was about to pull off my skirt when a loud clang made me jump. The door to Ash’s lab opened. My friend poked his head around the corner.
“I’ll be out in a bit.” He closed the door and then reopened it a moment later. “I’ll need you naked, Selma,” he called out. “Everything has to come off.” The door shut with a bang once more.
I folded my skirt and placed it next to the coat on a chair. I pulled my thick red sweater over my head; it made my hair fall down in disarray. I let my mane spill over my shoulders, tickle my back and flutter below my waist. Twelve years, and my hair had never seen a pair of scissors. Twelve years, and now I was about to let Ash remove it all in a single go. I could hardly imagine myself bald; without my hair, where would I hide?
My lingerie came off as I contemplated a future without my long locks. Removing my silky panties and bra left me finally naked. I still looked like a censored nude: my hair covered my breasts, my belly and the top of my groin. I stood awkwardly on the bare wooden floor, feeling somewhat like a sacrificial lamb. I rubbed the dry skin over my elbows, wishing Lola had told me where to buy her cocoa-butter moisturizer that worked wonders on my skin. I was fidgeting, and I knew it, but I was so nervous, I couldn’t keep still. What if Lola had been right? If I lost my hair, became truly naked, would I become a bald, ugly hag? Would I be a freak? I took a deep, calming breath. I could do this. The reward would be worth the effort involved.
Ash came out, startling me by the speed with which he strode across the floor. He wore a long leather apron that made him look like Sweeney Todd. I shuddered at the connection and wished my mind could be still right now. Ash looked me up and down. I squirmed a little beneath his gaze, although he smiled gently at me.
“Relax, Selma.”
“I am relaxed.”
“I’ve got some restraints if you like. You can use the handcuffs I made last week.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be fine.”
Ash looked at me once more. Through the curtain of my hair I saw him nod.
“I’ll make a start then.” He fished into a pocket on his apron. He pulled out a large hairbrush. “Kneel.”
This was something I could understand, something I was familiar with. Suddenly I didn’t feel so scared. A simple order to submit was what I lived for. I folded myself down and knelt on the bare wooden floor. Ash stood behind me. He clutched a handful of my hair, pulling me back roughly. I gasped; the tug was a trigger of pleasure for me. I felt my skin flush with blood as I became aroused. My clit pulsed between my legs, hungry for sensation. I shuddered from my head right down to my toes. I leaned into Ash’s grip, but he stilled my movements.
“Rapunzel,” he whispered. “Let down your hair.” Ash swept the brush through my locks in a series of long strokes. My hair shone and my heart sang. I was literally purring by the time I counted to fifty. As if in a fog, I heard Ash’s voice above me. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” I bowed my head as he delved into his pocket once more. This time he held up an oversized rubber band. His hands carefully pulled and stroked my hair into a single ponytail, which he secured efficiently.
I closed my eyes and breathed out, but I refused to look at the next item Ash produced. I knew he held the shears now; I could feel the cold radiate from the metal as it neared my face. I felt like I was waiting for my turn at the guillotine in revolutionary France. My breath froze. I forced myself to swallow, to stay alive long enough to get through this. I listened to the slice of metal, the long snap of razor-sharp blades on my precious hair.
Twelve years,
I thought. Twelve years of length, of feminine beauty that everyone could see. I felt little wisps escape Ash’s hands. I wriggled my nose but remained still as he worked quickly. And then I started to feel a lightness, a new weightlessness as Ash stepped away from me. A curl of warm air touched the nape of my neck as he breathed out in relief.
Twelve years,
I thought. Twelve years of length, of feminine beauty that everyone could see. I felt little wisps escape Ash’s hands. I wriggled my nose but remained still as he worked quickly. And then I started to feel a lightness, a new weightlessness as Ash stepped away from me. A curl of warm air touched the nape of my neck as he breathed out in relief.
I watched Ash as he stood in front of me. “It should be ready in the morning.” I made a move to stand, but Ash stopped me with a raised hand. “Stay there.” He disappeared into his lab, only to return with a set of electric clippers. I sat in dazed shock as he dispatched the last remaining strands of my hair. The buzz of the clippers made me shake, and even when he stepped away, smiling with satisfaction, I couldn’t stop trembling. He’d taken everything. Something must have shown on my face, because his smile became softer. “Stay tonight.”
Ash found a blanket from one of his lockers, and then he lay with me in the middle of the floor; the feel of his clothes on my bare skin made me feel vulnerable, childlike but alive with sensation. I stopped shaking when I curled around his warm bulk. My friend stayed with me until I fell asleep.
As soon as I awoke the next morning, my hand went to my bare scalp. I felt disoriented and confused until I remembered what I had agreed to, what I had given up. Ash was nowhere to be seen.
I wrapped the blanket around me and padded to the small toilet at the side of the building. It was cold out; a wicked chill blew across my skin where the blanket didn’t quite cover, but it was my bare head where I felt it the most.
Ash was in the studio when I returned. He had changed his outfit; he now wore a black utility kilt that showed off his hairy legs. “Silly thing,” he scolded. “Why didn’t you put your clothes back on?”
I was naked without my hair; no amount of fabric would change that. I wanted to tell Ash this interesting fact, but before I could speak, he smiled at me. “It’s ready, by the way.” He swept a hand from behind his back and held up my hair flogger. “The bond set really well.” He twirled it over his head. “What do you think?” Ash passed the flogger to me.
I felt the blanket fall to the floor as I grasped the flogger in my outstretched hands. It was beautiful; a smooth wooden handle held twelve years of my hair that fell in a gentle sweep from the base. I was speechless.
“Would you like to try it now?”
I nodded, aware that my nipples had become erect: the small points ached with need. Ash straightened the blanket on the floor. I lay atop it, my face pressed into the warm pile.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” Ash sang. He thrashed down with the flogger in time with his tune. Twelve years of hair touched me, and each strand had its own stinging kiss of pain. It hurt even though it shouldn’t have. It hurt a lot. Pleasure gave way to pain, but that led on to yet more pleasure. I felt a sob begin in the back of my throat as he beat me. Ash struck down again with even more force. I had nowhere to hide from his blows. I felt the blood rise to the surface of my back and bottom. My legs parted, my hips twitched. The sensation was too much. I could smell myself, the early morning scent of sweat and desire. I felt ashamed at being such a slut, but the flogger was just perfect. Lola had been right in her own way when she told me a woman’s beauty was her hair. The flogger was beautiful, the feelings it stirred up within me were beautiful, and they were mighty powerful, too; I began grinding myself against the blanket, desperate for more. Now that I was truly naked, I could feel every fiber against my skin. It was an amazing experience.
I felt a thud as Ash dropped the flogger next to my face. Soon I felt the rough cotton of his kilt against my backside, the heavy prod of his erection as he rubbed himself all over me. Ash’s fingers stroked over my arse and onward to my cunt, where they slipped on my wetness.
“May I?” he asked. He sounded as desperate as I felt.
“Of course.” I was granting him a favor, a little something after all he had so graciously given me.
“Selma,” he whispered, his voice a reverent supplication.
I felt sparks of power curl inside me from my approaching orgasm; it lifted me from the blanket on the floor. Ash whimpered as his cock moved inside my cunt; each heavy shove was a delightful heaven. I drew him in farther, sucking his power inside me, generating more until I felt like a human dynamo. When Ash came, he kissed my back all over, soothing the places that were sore and hot. I may have been flat on my face, pressed into the blanket, but at that moment, I felt like a goddess, like a temple priestess of the highest order. Ash became my devotee, a man who would worship my body no matter what it looked like, because it would always be beautiful to him.
“I think the Rapunzel flogger is a success,” Ash said breathlessly. He rolled off my back to lie at my side.
I thought of other women who used hair for their power. I stroked the flogger and felt twelve years slip through my fingers. “Can we call her Delilah instead?” I asked, my voice a little rough.
“Delilah cut Samson’s hair, not the other way around,” Ash reminded me as he stroked his fingers over the bare skin of my head.
“But it was hair that held power. It was hair that held strength, whoever wielded it.”
Ash picked up my flogger, but I took it from him and clutched it to my breasts. “This is mine now.”
Ash held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, Delilah it is.”
I twirled the flogger in my hand. I smiled as twelve years of hair stroked over my skin. I may have been naked up top, but I was still in possession of my strength.
Ash reached over and ran a finger over my throat. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Good,” he said with a grin. “Because naked women turn me on.” His lips trailed up my bare neck, over my cheek and to the smooth skin of my scalp. I hummed with pleasure at the feeling, and then I relaxed on the blanket and let him worship me some more.
THE ROYALTON —A DARAY TALE
Tess Danesi
T
he first snowflakes have chosen today to make their appearance. I leave a trail of footprints in the thin layer of snow that tenaciously sticks to the sidewalk. For a short time, New York will be transformed into a clean and crisp wonderland. I walk a bit more briskly, snow crunching underfoot, careful not to slip in my high-heeled boots. I’m eager to get to the hotel. The doorman, shivering beneath his long black wool overcoat, greets me by name and holds the door open for me. Dar and I have made a habit of visiting the lounge at the Royalton. It’s close to both our offices and prior to its recent renovation, was a quiet place to enjoy a cocktail in each other’s company at the end of a long day. Now, the new décor has brought new crowds. Evenings after five, it’s bustling with trendy New Yorkers, making us sometimes seek the smaller, cozier lounge at the Mansfield, with its library-like ambiance, when we desire less noise amid old world charm. I feel like Mata Hari at the Mansfield, ready to slide a microdot into Dar’s waiting palm as we sip Manhattans.
he first snowflakes have chosen today to make their appearance. I leave a trail of footprints in the thin layer of snow that tenaciously sticks to the sidewalk. For a short time, New York will be transformed into a clean and crisp wonderland. I walk a bit more briskly, snow crunching underfoot, careful not to slip in my high-heeled boots. I’m eager to get to the hotel. The doorman, shivering beneath his long black wool overcoat, greets me by name and holds the door open for me. Dar and I have made a habit of visiting the lounge at the Royalton. It’s close to both our offices and prior to its recent renovation, was a quiet place to enjoy a cocktail in each other’s company at the end of a long day. Now, the new décor has brought new crowds. Evenings after five, it’s bustling with trendy New Yorkers, making us sometimes seek the smaller, cozier lounge at the Mansfield, with its library-like ambiance, when we desire less noise amid old world charm. I feel like Mata Hari at the Mansfield, ready to slide a microdot into Dar’s waiting palm as we sip Manhattans.
“Stay warm, Tess,” says Dean, my favorite doorman, with one final shudder.
“Thanks, you should take that advice yourself, Dean,” I reply, wondering if he knows me well enough to sense my anxiety. More likely he thinks it’s the cold making me tremble.
It’s early; the crowds have not yet arrived, so I select a sofa in a corner, remove my camel cashmere coat, fold it, and place it next to me. I open my bag and remove the envelope Dar had delivered to my office. His instructions were simple.
Hello, pet. Be at the Royalton at four. Have one drink, charge it to room 1215. At 4:30 open the sealed envelope, and follow my numbered instructions.
Like so many times before, I do what Dar requests, though I am tempted to rip open the envelope I now hold in my damp palm. My finger slides along the top edge, my palm presses against the flat surface, as if that will help me intuit what he’s written inside. I’ve been twitchy with anticipation since noon when my assistant brought me the envelope and I read his brief message. I’m thankful that I wore a new dress and pretty new undies today, courtesy of the weekend’s Christmas shopping spree. As the waitress brings me my usual Patron, chilled and strained into a frosted martini glass, I think how glad I am that Dar appreciates my near addiction to the accoutrements of femininity. Lacetopped thigh highs and delicate lacy undergarments make him wild. The first sip of the frosty liquid soothes my dry throat and I begin to relax. I know I won’t finish my drink, I’m still too nervous, and with Dar it always pays to have my wits about me.
BOOK: Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission
8.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
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