Submitting: A Mischief Erotica Collection

Damian

I stared at her – this beautiful, teasing, seductive Mistress of mine. She had my head screwed up, my body a soup of lust, and my emotions pinging around like bullets in a barrel.

Everything about her. The way she walked, talked. How she looked – fuck-me curves wrapped in fuck-me clothes. And the way she spoke to me, as if I were just a boy-toy, a thing to be enjoyed, a cock attached to a buff body.

Damn it, no one had ever been that way with me before.

I was smitten.

Her hair was a silken waterfall; she kept it pinned up in court, but like this, loose, ready to tickle my belly when she sucked me off, just waiting to get messed up when she ordered me to fuck her, I adored it, I wanted to own it, get lost in it, become part of it.

I reached behind her and slipped my fingers through the strands until the heat of her scalp reached my palm. I curled the locks into my fist, holding them in a tight ponytail.

She gasped, a delicate little sound I wasn’t used to hearing from her. ‘Sub,’ she said, ‘what are you doing?’

‘I don’t know.’ I hovered my lips over hers. She was so tiny, so utterly delicate.

And mine.

I leaned closer and breathed deep. She smelled of summer gardens and honey and the sweets I used to buy as a kid. Whenever I was near her every sense was stimulated.

‘Release my hair,’ she said with a frown.

I wanted to. I was programmed to do as she instructed, but…but I didn’t release her.

‘Sub, now, let me go.’ She let go of my dick and grabbed my face, squeezing my jawline either side of my chin with her fingers and thumb.

Immediately, I came to my senses and stepped back, her hair falling free once more. I looked at the floor and studied my bare toes on the dark-red carpet. ‘Sorry, Mistress.’

‘Don’t touch me unless I give you permission, sub.’ She pushed my shoulder, urging me to face the desk.

I knew what was coming and turned. Lying before me were several files, up-and-coming cases I was supposed to be studying. Next thing I knew, my chest was pressed over them and I was bent double. She’d shoved me in the centre of my back.

‘Did you do it on purpose?’ she asked, excitement lacing her tone as she continued to press me into the table. ‘Because you want me to stripe your arse?’

‘No, Mistress.’ That was the truth, I hadn’t. I’d done it because I couldn’t help myself. I’d wanted to hold her hair, tight, feel what it was like to have her captured by me, and not the other way around, just for a moment.

‘I don’t believe you. Start counting.’

I gripped the edge of the table where my waist touched it. The last thing I wanted was to jerk forward and have the end of my cock collide with the wood.

‘Ahh…’ I gritted my teeth as a stinging blow attacked my right buttock.

‘Count.’

‘One.’ Fuck, what the hell was she using?

I turned in time to see my own shoe being swung towards me. The leather sole hit down with another raging slap. The heat was instant, burning over my skin and fizzing its way to my asshole and cock.

‘Two.’ I twitched. The first lashes of anything were always the worst.

‘Keep still.’ She hit again. There was nothing weak about it. She’d put everything into the strike.

I shut my eyes. ‘Three.’ White-hot flashes of light burst behind my eyelids. They reminded me of fireworks, sprinkling outwards.

Another hit. The sparkles I was staring at exploded, cascading.

‘Count.’ She palmed my sore buttocks and caressed the pain.

‘Four,’ I murmured, my cheek bunching onto the files.

‘Good boy, you know it’s worth it.’

She was right, of course she was. When my arse was on fire it was as if all my senses were heightened. It was a buzz I craved. I could almost feel the endorphins scorching my veins.

Her caress stopped, and she hit again. The sole of my shoe cracked against my skin, the noise not unlike a loud clap of applause. ‘Five.’ I held my breath, waiting for the next.

It came, covering the cleft between my buttocks. ‘Jesus! Six.’

‘That’s it,’ she said, reaching beneath me and grasping my cock. ‘Collect it all here, you deserve it. Working so hard, all that responsibility. Now it’s time to play hard.’

The thud of the shoe landing on the floor registered in my brain just a second before she started peppering kisses over my burning buttocks.

I sighed into it. Enjoying being stroked and kissed. My legs were weak, but I’d locked my knees. I wondered if Tanya had ever been spanked. Ever had her pale, smooth arse cheeks reddened by someone’s hand or flogger. I pictured her in my position – bent over the desk, naked, her breasts pressing into the files, me standing behind her, palm itching to smack her hard and fast. How her skin would bloom with colour, her flesh would wobble slightly, tense, her back would arch. I’d put my hand in her hair, the way I just had, and pull her head back so I could hear her moans.

I lifted my cheek from the desk and turned my head to face the other way, hoping I might leave my reckless thoughts behind. What was I doing? I shouldn’t be thinking about dominating my Mistress. Of administering pain and punishment. That was for disobedient submissives. Not me. I always played by the rules; it was my very nature.

‘Always so hard when I let you out to play.’ She rubbed my shaft, base to tip. ‘So hard.’

I groaned. I wanted to get to the main event. I wanted her to let me come in her mouth, or fuck her over the table. Maybe she’d let me go down on her and allow me to wank myself off at the same time.

All of these scenarios skittered through my mind, each one the flash of an image. I wanted it all. I needed it all.

‘Such a hot arse you have now, sub,’ she said, kissing up the channel of my back until she reached my nape. She was still fondling my dick, her clever fingers flicking over my balls, too.

I moaned and shut my eyes. Lust spun within me like a sticky web I’d been caught in. My heart thudded, my skin was alive, sensing every shiver in the air around me.

‘Tanya,’ I murmured.

‘Mistress, call me Mistress.’ She slapped my arse, hard.

I cried out and then shoved my fist in my mouth for fear of being heard. Damn, that had been a new tier of pain on top of the layers she’d already applied.

‘What is the matter with you?’ she asked by my ear. ‘Do you want more punishment?’

‘I’m sorry, whatever you think, Mistress.’

She didn’t speak; instead, she squeezed closer, her breasts pressing through her corset against my torso. She treated my cock to more pressure, more speed, wanking me the way I’d do it myself, hard and firm with a bit of twist when reaching the head.