A Game of Submission
By Ruth Fox
Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Darker Pleasures
Smashword Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with other another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This work contains graphic language and sexual depictions with strong BDSM themes. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
As with all our most scary games, this one started innocently enough—with a simple request. After spending four years with Max, you’d think I would have learned. If I wanted ice cream, he bought me cake. If I wanted to go bowling, we went to the cinema. He always kept control, and—in the end—I was always glad he did. So why would this game be any different?
I stood at the playroom door with my heart thumping wildly, not having a clue what he had in mind. Sometimes I would be in for a strict punishment, but I usually knew when that was going to happen. Whatever he did, I knew it would involve my breasts. It would hurt, sometimes horribly. When all was said and done, I would love it.
I’d also humiliated by it, by the way he treated them, as if they were nothing more than toys—and as if I was nothing more than a life support system for them. With any other man, I would have found horrifying and demeaning, and, often while it was happening, I did with Tom as well. But, just like with the pain, in the end I would crave the next time.
This time, I waited for him to open the door and order me in; already my legs felt like jelly and my breasts ached.
A part of me regretted having provoked him, but a bigger part of me thrilled at the control he took when I did. In this case, all I’d said was that it would be nice to spend some money—just a little—on some special toys. After all, we had a little to spare in the bank. Max made pretty good money in construction, and I loved his ruggedness, but sometimes I longed for a bit of finesse. This had been one of those times.
The sleek mahogany breast press I’d seen on the Internet had melted me somewhere deep in my crotch. Its shiny chrome wing nuts, made to tighten the sleek, curved boards onto unsuspecting breasts, excited me beyond belief. The smooth, contoured curve of the wood, especially made to hug the captive and expose every inch of her breasts to the press, made my nipples prick to attention every time I pictured it in my mind. I imagined my tits crushed by the beautiful, elegant device, and felt the wetness start to well up between my legs.
I’d tried to mention it casually, but I should have known better. He hadn’t even told me to dress up for him the way he usually did; he just ordered me to wait for him outside the playroom. The bright red, gothic boots and faded jeans I was wearing weren’t my usual attire, but I was in no position to argue.
Since it was the cause of my being there, I was daydreaming about the press when his voice in my ear made me jump almost out of my skin.
“So you think you need pretty toys do you?”
I turned to give him my full attention, and was surprised to see him in his work gear with his tool belt still slung round his waist, rather than the black leather I was expecting. He grabbed the back of my hair in his large workman’s fist and leaned forward to open the door.
“It’s time I taught you that I know more about what you need than you know yourself.”
He pushed me ahead of him, chuckling as I tripped over the threshold. It wasn’t a good sign. Some of the best sessions started like this, but there was always that feeling that they were just moments away from getting out of hand. Maybe that was part of the thrill.
While I stood waiting, too scared to move or speak, he dragged our bondage chair to the middle of the room. My pussy contracted and my stomach lurched. I waited for the blindfold, usually the first thing he put on me. I needed the blindfold to escape into my space. We never played without it.
‘Sit!’ he barked.
I longed to ask for my blindfold, but just managed to hold my tongue.
Max stood in front of me for a few seconds, forcing me to meet his gaze, but I had to look away. He quickly and efficiently tied my hands behind the chair. He had to have known that my stomach was dropping into freefall. I couldn’t bear the thought of him tormenting me without the darkness I craved, so I made the biggest mistake of the day.
I looked up at him and smiled timidly, hoping he wouldn’t notice that I was reminding him how to play, and almost whispered, “Could I have my blindfold please?”
Even then, when he ignored me, I wouldn’t let it go. “Please Max, you know I can only come if I am able to escape.”
He moved to the rack on the wall and took down a belt. “You never learn do you?”
I gasped far too audibly. That was another mistake. Surely, he wasn’t going to spank me without the usual warm up.
Max took a hanky from his pocket and shoved it unceremoniously into my mouth just as I opened it to protest. The belt, buckled a bit too tightly behind my head, held the makeshift gag in place. At least it wasn’t the whipping I had feared was coming too soon.
Despite the surging desire that always came with our sessions, I was panicking a little. I couldn’t control the desire; it was all but programmed into me by then, but we’d never played our torture games without my being blindfolded. It was my way of allowing myself permission to enjoy the pain and thrills of being humiliated and tormented. It was his way of conceding me a little control.