Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission by Rachel Kramer Bussel, Donna George Storey Page A
Authors: Rachel Kramer Bussel, Donna George Storey
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message on the machine. “You’re going to have to get out the crocs tonight,” she’d say.
Last time she’d called home was right before Christmas. She’d been working on the big holiday shoe campaign, Photoshopping sweat and muscles and boobs onto famous athletes. Even on the message her voice was shaky. “Baby, I’m not feeling up to par,” she said. “Let’s get those alligator maws out tonight. And whatever else you can think of. I know you’re gonna make me feel better.”
And he had. As soon as she’d walked in the door, still in her cream-colored work pants and the brown blouse that matched her eyes, her long dark hair pulled back, he’d ordered her to undress. She looked tired, light gray circles under her big brown eyes, but she’d asked and he always tried to give her what she asked for. He’d ordered her to undress him, too, and then he’d cuffed her arms to their slatted headboard. She was pale curves against the purple bedspread. Her long hair, loose from its clip, waved out around her head.
With her arms above her head, her small tits tilted upward. He loved her tits, pale and down-fuzzed as summer peaches, but it was her nipples that he loved the most, the way they stretched high and taut when she was aroused. He’d teased her first, rubbing the sharp edge of the clamp teeth along the inside of her thigh, around the edges of her neck, in smaller and smaller circles around her nipples. He loved to watch the points push into her skin.
Stella was as still as he’d told her to be, mouth closed, only her flared nostrils giving away her arousal. When he saw she was wet, he slid the opened clamp along the edge of her pussy lips, up to her clit. He’d never clamped her there, but he’d promised her it was coming. Now he closed the clamp, just a bit, on that pale pink flesh. She arched her back and gasped.
He took the clamps away, slapped the curvy bottom of her ass, hard enough to feel the sting on his palm. “Be still,” he said.
She closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring. When her eyes were closed, he opened both clamps and then closed them on the rosy skin of her nipples. Stella inhaled deeply through her nose.
He leaned back and watched her, the metal clips closed onto her taut flesh, leaving little pinpoints of bloodless skin. At the end of the bed, Stella’s feet, the only thing she couldn’t keep still, arched in their bonds. Her clit was aching, he knew. “You want to be fucked?” he asked.
Stella knew enough to keep quiet, even to shake her head a little from side to side.
He put one finger inside the hot wetness of her, curled it into an arch. “No?” he asked.
“No,” she said. But her pussy gave her away, the way she stretched against her bonds to take more of his finger inside her. He entered her with a second finger.
“You’re sure?” he asked. He loved to watch her at this moment. His Stella, stubborn as her Aries sign, truth-speaking, Type A. The internal struggle—to say what she wanted, to take what she wanted, or to give up to him, just for these few moments. This, he knew, was why she wanted to be topped, needed to be topped. This was why he loved it. His cock loved it too, of course, but his mind loved to get her here, to this final release.
He wriggled his fingers inside her, hard against her walls. “I’m sorry, what?” he said, even though she hadn’t said anything.
“No,” she breathed. Just once. But he knew it was enough. He took his fingers out. “Look at me,” he said. And she did, while he entered her, his cock going deep inside her and one hand pulling the nipple clamps, hard and harder, until she begged to be let loose.
He reached up and unbuckled the cuffs. “One hand on your clit.” She did as he said, she put one hand on her clit, two fingers rubbing furiously back and forth. The sight of her was almost enough to make him come.
He entered her again, keeping himself back far enough that she could still work her clit. Her other
Last time she’d called home was right before Christmas. She’d been working on the big holiday shoe campaign, Photoshopping sweat and muscles and boobs onto famous athletes. Even on the message her voice was shaky. “Baby, I’m not feeling up to par,” she said. “Let’s get those alligator maws out tonight. And whatever else you can think of. I know you’re gonna make me feel better.”
And he had. As soon as she’d walked in the door, still in her cream-colored work pants and the brown blouse that matched her eyes, her long dark hair pulled back, he’d ordered her to undress. She looked tired, light gray circles under her big brown eyes, but she’d asked and he always tried to give her what she asked for. He’d ordered her to undress him, too, and then he’d cuffed her arms to their slatted headboard. She was pale curves against the purple bedspread. Her long hair, loose from its clip, waved out around her head.
With her arms above her head, her small tits tilted upward. He loved her tits, pale and down-fuzzed as summer peaches, but it was her nipples that he loved the most, the way they stretched high and taut when she was aroused. He’d teased her first, rubbing the sharp edge of the clamp teeth along the inside of her thigh, around the edges of her neck, in smaller and smaller circles around her nipples. He loved to watch the points push into her skin.
Stella was as still as he’d told her to be, mouth closed, only her flared nostrils giving away her arousal. When he saw she was wet, he slid the opened clamp along the edge of her pussy lips, up to her clit. He’d never clamped her there, but he’d promised her it was coming. Now he closed the clamp, just a bit, on that pale pink flesh. She arched her back and gasped.
He took the clamps away, slapped the curvy bottom of her ass, hard enough to feel the sting on his palm. “Be still,” he said.
She closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring. When her eyes were closed, he opened both clamps and then closed them on the rosy skin of her nipples. Stella inhaled deeply through her nose.
He leaned back and watched her, the metal clips closed onto her taut flesh, leaving little pinpoints of bloodless skin. At the end of the bed, Stella’s feet, the only thing she couldn’t keep still, arched in their bonds. Her clit was aching, he knew. “You want to be fucked?” he asked.
Stella knew enough to keep quiet, even to shake her head a little from side to side.
He put one finger inside the hot wetness of her, curled it into an arch. “No?” he asked.
“No,” she said. But her pussy gave her away, the way she stretched against her bonds to take more of his finger inside her. He entered her with a second finger.
“You’re sure?” he asked. He loved to watch her at this moment. His Stella, stubborn as her Aries sign, truth-speaking, Type A. The internal struggle—to say what she wanted, to take what she wanted, or to give up to him, just for these few moments. This, he knew, was why she wanted to be topped, needed to be topped. This was why he loved it. His cock loved it too, of course, but his mind loved to get her here, to this final release.
He wriggled his fingers inside her, hard against her walls. “I’m sorry, what?” he said, even though she hadn’t said anything.
“No,” she breathed. Just once. But he knew it was enough. He took his fingers out. “Look at me,” he said. And she did, while he entered her, his cock going deep inside her and one hand pulling the nipple clamps, hard and harder, until she begged to be let loose.
He reached up and unbuckled the cuffs. “One hand on your clit.” She did as he said, she put one hand on her clit, two fingers rubbing furiously back and forth. The sight of her was almost enough to make him come.
He entered her again, keeping himself back far enough that she could still work her clit. Her other
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