From "The Letter" by Tiffany Reisz, a story in "Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission," edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. It has been reprinted with permission from Cleis Press. This excerpt has been sponsored by LELO.

Naked, she waited on the bed … knees to her chest, arms around her shins, head bowed and eyes closed. As instructed. As always. And as instructed she’d pulled her long hair into low pigtails that hung over her shoulders and tickled her collarbone. He seemed to love the combination of sweet and spice in her - her hair so girlishly arranged, her body naked, her eyes rimmed with black eyeliner in full Cleopatra mode. Anything he wanted she would do for him. She’d style her hair as he wanted, dress as he liked … anything for him. All it took was an order.

She stiffened slightly when she heard the bedroom door open. Closing her eyes tightly, she fought the need to look at him. God, she loved to look at him - at his black hair, slightly unruly, his bright blue eyes, the leather bracelet he wore along with his leatherbanded watch. He’d always rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. Until Brice, she’d never realized how erotic male forearms could be.

She inhaled sharply when his hands came to her shoulders and rested there for a moment. From her shoulders they slid higher until he held her by her neck, his fingers lightly pressed into the hollow of her throat. Her entire body came alive at his touch, both gentle and threatening. His hands fell away from her and then it was his lips on her neck instead.

He trailed kisses from her ear to shoulder and back up again. She flinched as his teeth met her earlobe.

"Hands and knees," he ordered in a whisper. Without hesitation, she rolled forward and into position.

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His hands traced a path down her back, over her hips, down and up her thighs. His fingers found her labia and he opened the delicate folds wide … wider… She knew he was looking at her and studying the most private parts of her. Her skin flushed, but not with embarrassment, only with desire.

He pushed two fingers into her. He went deep until he found the core of her. A small sigh escaped her lips as he pulled his fingers out.

Then all the gentleness disappeared.

With one hand he forced her onto her chest as he yanked her arms behind her back. Cold metal ringed her wrists - handcuffs. He pulled her roughly up to her knees and dragged her to the floor.

"Knees," he ordered, and she went down without hesitation. He opened his pants, took her by the chin and forced himself into her mouth.

She loved the size of him, the feel of him in her mouth, the slight salt taste of him against her tongue. Slowly, he thrust in and out while she sucked and caressed and kissed. Ostensibly she was his property. At moments like this, however, she knew she owned him as much as he owned her.

His breathing quickened and she readied herself to swallow. Instead he pulled out of her mouth, grabbed her by the shoulder, and dragged her once more to her feet.

"You enjoyed that, didn’t you?" he rasped the words in her ear.

"Yes, Sir."

"Because you like sucking cock? Or because you like sucking my cock?"

She smiled.

"Yes, Sir."

He laughed softly and nipped at her neck.

"Good answer."

She stood still and waited as he undressed. She wanted to watch, wanted to see him, but kept her eyes respectfully lowered to the floor. Only her respect for him, for his dominance, his mastery of her, eclipsed her love and desire for him. Everything primal and female in her wanted to lay itself at the feet of everything male and primitive in him.



With a hand on the back of her neck, he steered her to the closed closet door. As a birthday gift to her, he’d gotten an over-the-door restraint system. Now he had somewhere to tie her up. Made for much easier flogging.

He took off the handcuffs and tossed them aside before forcing her arms over her head. One by one he buckled her wrists to the straps on the door. She turned her head and rested her cheek against the cool painted wood. In and out she breathed, slowly, deeply. She let herself fall into a meditative trance that even the first fall of the flogger on her back didn’t interrupt, but the second, much harder lash did. She grunted with every new strike. Her back burned with pain. Her body burned with need. She wanted it to go on forever. She needed it to stop immediately.

He dropped the flogger and pushed his chest into her back. At first she flinched from the pain, but the feel of his warm body on her ravaged back sent renewed desire singing through her skin.

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