Surrender, erotic fiction by Greta Stone

Surrender

Part 1

Sexy erotic D/s fiction. Sexually explicit, obviously. *smirk* Enjoy.

{2337 words}


With four bags of groceries over one arm and a jug of milk in my hand, I shove through the door and kick it closed behind me. My mouth waters at the smell of freshly baked pumpkin pie until I spot a Pumpkin Spice candle on the hall table. Three more candles flicker between the front door and kitchen. Every room is lit and the heat’s been turned up.

He wants me naked.

“Baby?” I drop the bags on the counter and exhale at the relief. “Are you here?” I know he’s here.

He steps into the doorway of his office, leans against the frame, and levels a gaze at me. It’s smoldering and speaks volumes. He’s wearing my favorite snug jeans, black boots, and a long sleeved T pushed up on his forearms.

My stomach growls.

Postponing his unspoken request, I bustle between the fridge and stove. “Will you put the cold groceries away so I can start dinner?”

“Dinner can wait,” he says, his voice deep, tone firm. I want to drop to my knees on the linoleum floor and suck him while he grips the oven handle for balance.

I cock my head and try to raise one brow, which I’ve never been able to do. The corner of his mouth quirks up at my attempt but he recovers, crossing the room purposefully.

“Baby, I’m hungry,” I say, backing myself against the counter to buy time. If he touches me, I’ll cave. “My meeting went straight through lunch—”

He’s a step away.

“—and I had to fire Aaron today—”

He takes my face in both hands.

“—and then grocery shopping in the snow—”

The heat of his lips on mine and the grip of his fingers on my jaw ignites me. I welcome his tongue, tasting and caressing it with my own. The kiss is lips and skin and teeth. It’s him and the way he makes me feel wanted. Needed.

I slide my hands around his waist, under his shirt, and up his back, squeeze him against me. I need you too.

My stomach growls and I swear it echoes from my open mouth to his. I grin, inadvertently blocking his tongue with my teeth.

“I’m sorry,” I say against his lips. “I really am starving.”

He groans, rolling his forehead against mine. “Half an hour.”

“That’s barely enough time to cook, nevermind eat. An hour.”

He raises one brow quite successfully. My stomach flips. His warning is one I’m quite familiar with, but it doesn’t stop me from glaring back.

He compresses me between himself and the counter, his belt digging into my belly, and his warmth against me from chest to thigh. “45 minutes, pet. Final offer.”

I fucking love him in Dom mode. And I’ll worship him the way we both need…in 45 minutes. Until then, we are equals. And I plan to take advantage.

“45 it is, Sir.” I attempt to push him away, knowing it will instigate. “For now, will you please put the groceries away?”

“Watch your attitude.” He pins my arms behind my back, his fingers wrapped tight around my wrists. Tucked into the vice grip of his arms and chest, I’m right where I want to be. The only way he could get closer is to get inside.

I deliver a slow grin, pleased with myself for effectively goading him. “I will. In 45 minutes.”

He rumbles a low hum, tightens his grip, and takes his time examining my cleavage pressed between us. “I’m tempted to cancel our deal, drag you into the bedroom right now, and show you what final offer means.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grins. “But I won’t. Because I don’t want you hungry tonight. I need your full attention.”

He lets me go and smacks my ass.

We eat dinner in a flury and he sends me off to our bedroom to get ready. I strip, tossing my clothes over the back of a chair. He’ll expect to find me kneeling at the foot of the bed, hands on my thighs, back tall. I need to fold my clothes into a neat pile the way he likes, but the bed hasn’t been made yet. With a tug, I square the blankets to the headboard. One fluff for each pillow, just the way he likes.

I pick up three socks from the floor and walk to the hamper, toss them in. The light hits my dresser, catching my eye. A thin film of dust covers the surface and then my finger as I swipe.

The door swings open and he halts.

Oh, shit. I drop to my knees where I am and lower my head farther than usual. “Sorry, Sir.”

This isn’t like back in the kitchen. During play, I’ve agreed to submit to him. Failing to do so now is a much graver sin.

The door clicks shut and he pads across the carpet toward me, each step slow and deliberate. By the time the hard toe of his boot bumps my bare knee, I’ve conjured up all sorts of punishments, both thrilling and troublesome. I welcome them, the heart-racing, skin-tingling suspense of what he will do next.

He sets his hand gently on top of my head. “I’m pleased that you’re repentant, but it won’t change your punishment. Understand?”

I study the stitched seam over the arch of his boot while my mind wanders. How will he punish me? The crop on the tender part of the back of my thighs? The paddle square across my ass? Orgasm deprivation? I clench in anticipation.

I trust that he won’t hurt me beyond the threshold we’ve discovered together. The journey has been as exciting as the play. I haven’t found any other way to feel closer to him than this. My Dom, my love.

My scalp tingles as he slides his hand through my hair. I lean into his hold, yearning. I could purr and nuzzle him for need of his attention. More contact. I reach for him, slide both hands around his legs to the backs of his thighs. I want you.

He inhales deeply, and I want to bury my face in the front of his pants, open them with my teeth and—

He tugs my hair. “Look at me, pet.”

I do. He glares down, disappointed, and it sets my chest on fire. That look could send me crawling over hot coals without a second thought. That look stirs rebellion and obedience in me. That look tells me more about his love than any other. What is it about that look?  

His voice drops an octave. “Hands by your sides, please.”

I obey, regretfully removing them from his thighs, and blink up at him.

He opens his mouth to speak but pauses. “God, you’re sexy right now.”

My lungs fill with a sudden deep breath and I smile. I’m never as beautiful as I am in his eyes. I would stay here all day just for him.

“Doesn’t mean you’ll escape punishment.” He smirks. “Got it?”

The disobedience comes easy to me but the punishment does not. “Yes, Sir.” I study his boots again.

He corrects, lifting my chin.

“Tell me why I’m going to punish you.”

I don’t like to disappoint him and I can’t look him in the eye when I have. But he makes me and I’m not happy about it.

“Because you love whipping my ass red,” I say with snark.

The single raised eyebrow again. “Excuse me?”

My heart skips a beat but I glare at him, unflinching.

He digs his fingers into my hair, gripping tight, stinging my scalp. Two octaves lower now if that’s possible. “Kitten…”

I blink once. “Yes?”

He clenches his jaw. “You are very fucking sexy but don’t push it. Answer my question.”

I bite my lip to buy time while I consider ‘pushing it’ or submitting. I think I’ve pushed enough for now. Suppressing a sigh, I say, “I disrespected you by not being in position when you arrived.”

“And?”

I try to lower my head to escape his intense gaze but his grip on my hair doesn’t budge.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “And I touched you without your permission.”

“Yes. And you made me wait.” He releases me and walks over to the chair I slung my clothes over. “Not to mention this mess.” Shifting my shirt and jeans, he finds my panties, turns, and levels a searing glare at me.

I escape his gaze again, biting both lips. My mind sorts through all the possible ways I can beg for his mercy. I’m not afraid of the punishments. I trust him. But I want to do exactly what he wants before he asks. And he likes it when I beg.

“Close your eyes.” He walks behind me so I can’t see him anymore, which shouldn’t matter if I obey his command. But I don’t. Because I want to see what he’s doing.

“Don’t.” He spreads his hand over the top of my head and turns it back before I’m able to get a peek over my shoulder. Holding me there, his fingertips squeeze my skull and I hear the reprimand loud and clear. He’s reaching his max tolerance for my misbehavior. He needs me to obey now. He needs me to submit to him, to yield, to surrender wholly.

Behind me, I hear fabric ripping, then the clink of metal on the wood dresser. Fabric slides over my eyes. I can smell myself on them, my panties. I’m reeling with abashed desire as he knots them at the back of my head.

A breeze blows against my back.

“Don’t move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” I hold still, kneeling, hands on my thighs, back straight and tall. I’m blind and naked and completely at his mercy, as excited as I am anxious.

The door swooshes open and the room is quiet for a long time. I should be contemplating my errors and my submission to him, the reasons this dichotomy is important to me, to us. But I’m too excited to play. All I can think about are the ways I want to pleasure him, by doing as he asks and by touching him the way he likes. My thoughts drift to steamy daydreams.

When the door clicks shut, I hear the rattle of china, a tea cup on a saucer maybe. The air around me shifts with his movements, sending a wave of fresh soap and citrus toward me. I’m curious as hell what’s going on. A clink on the dresser next to me and the rattling stops.

He places his warm hands on my shoulders. “Recline.”

Following his guidance, I lean back until he stops me at a 45 degree angle.

“Hold there.”

Crap.

His metal belt buckle clinks, followed by the leather flapping through his belt loops. My skin prickles with anticipation, ready for the sting though not sure where it will land.

“Hands back.”

Oh? This is new.

I press my wrists together behind me, my belly and thighs already beginning to ache from the position. He slaps a thick padded leather cuff on each wrist and binds them together with a metal clip, the clink of solid, well-made materials resonating. A leather leash coils on the floor behind me, pressing into my toes.

“Open your hands.”

I’m not sure how when they’re behind me. Palms facing each other, I splay my fingers. The tea cup clatters. He corrects my hands palms up and places the teacup in them. It’s difficult to balance, but I manage.

“Three minutes. Do not spill this or I will be very disappointed.”

Three minutes? I can’t… I’ll never make it.

The leather belt falls limp across my thighs and I jump, the teacup clattering.

His fingers grip my chin and his voice hits so close I feel his words on my face. “If you spill, you will get the belt. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” My thighs burn and the china clatters as I shake. I don’t know where he is. I can’t hear him anymore. But the door hasn’t opened so he’s still in the room. Watching, I’m sure. I want to make him happy above and beyond what he expects. I want him to know that, despite my misbehavior, I am his. He owns me. And I will do anything he asks to make him happy.

I make a concerted effort to hold still and breathe through my time. The tea cup quiets as I pull myself together and find calm. The burning in my belly dissipates. I am an inanimate object yet thoroughly alive, breathing just to please my Sir.

He finally speaks. “Your time is done, pet.”

I hold it for ten more seconds to demonstrate my penitence. It feels like an eternity.

“Bring me the cup. Don’t spill it.”

He gives no acknowledgement of my extra effort. A part of me is crushed, but I carry on.

Still blindfolded, I rise to a standing position, the cup jiggling behind me, the leather leash slapping at my bare calves as I shift. If I’ve spilled, I can’t tell. I’m thoroughly exposed to him with my hands secured behind me but I stand tall, unashamed. My body is his—his toy, his treat, his tool.

The location of his voice tells me he’s sitting at the foot of the bed about three steps away. I take two confident steps then a third careful one. My toes meet the hard side of his boot.

Stepping in front of him, I turn my back and present the cup and saucer. No shenanigans. No snark. Just as he likes. He takes it from me without even a brush of our fingers. I hear him sip and set it down on a hard surface. I don’t move.

“Good girl.” His warm hands land on my bare hips. I want to face him and feel his forgiving arms around me.

I stay put.

He bumps one knee between my legs. “Spread.”

[To be continued]

Read Part 2 now.


 

Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed, please comment and/or share.
I would be ever so grateful.
*curtsy*

3 thoughts on “Surrender

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s