Sexy BDSM Stories - Volume Five - An Xcite Books Collection Read online

  Sexy BDSM Stories – Volume Five

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Xcite Books Ltd 2012

  These stories first appeared in Power Play published

  by Xcite Books Ltd – 2011

  Copyright © Xcite Books Ltd 2011

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Winner of Jade Erotic Awards:

  Erotic Fiction Publisher

  "Xcite has delighted its readers with a wealth of superb titles and first class storytelling. Their titles have far outstripped the others for both quality of the product and sensual erotic content."

  Contents

  Waiting in Vein Giselle Renarde

  The Next Step Jeanette Grey

  The Initiation of Lily Angel Propps

  Waiting in Vein

  by Giselle Renarde

  ‘Put the knife down, Julie.’ Elsha took a step forward, extending an unwavering hand. ‘Here, give it to me.’

  Julie let her lips curl into a playful grin. ‘No.’ When she clutched the heavy butcher’s knife between her naked breasts, the dull edge of the steel blade chilled her flesh.

  ‘God, next you’ll be asking me to strangle you.’ Elsha shook her head. ‘It’s like you’ve got a death wish, chickadee.’

  With a chuckle, Julie traced the knife slowly down her breast. ‘A death wish? I’m not that fucked up.’

  Elsha laughed. When she reached for the knife, Julie relinquished it to her steady grip. ‘Where do you get these crazy ideas, child?’

  Julie’s cunt tremored in approval. She loved it when Elsha called her a child. Names helped her to feel more submissive. With a shrug, she fell back on the couch and propped her head against a throw pillow. ‘I know people.’

  ‘Scary people,’ Elsha replied.

  ‘Not scary, just intense.’ Julie stared up at Elsha, at her braided hair and long skirt. The girl dressed like a pioneer. But maybe Elsha’s disinterest in trumping the social order was precisely her appeal. Julie had known enough rebels. Elsha was safe. Too safe? Boring? Julie’s body cried out for action. She wanted to be cut. It was something new. She had to try it. She had to try everything. Life was short. Do it now. Her veins coursed with adrenaline. ‘Don’t you ever just want to grab life by the horns and fuck the shit out of it?’

  Elsha stood in the middle of the carpet, eyes wide and lingering. When Julie’s gaze fell to the big knife in her hand, her toes curled and her cunt constricted. She could feel the juice gliding from her naked slit, down past her asshole, and coating the couch. Elsha would be upset by the mess, and that made Julie smile. A surge of annoyance ran through her body. The waiting killed her. Running her fingers through her short hair, she pulled on it until the upward pressure on her roots gave her a needed dose of pain. But self-imposed fury never was as good as the measured grief Elsha doled out.

  Grasping chunks of her own hair between her fingers, Julie cried, ‘Cut me! Just fucking cut me already, will you?’

  When Elsha walked with complete calm to the kitchen and slid the knife into the butcher’s block, Julie’s muscles seized with rage. She’d relegated her sexual self to a life of submission, and it made her crazy. She made demands out of turn because she wanted experiences that defied the mundane life she’d always led. But, ultimately, it was Elsha’s call, and that put her over the edge.

  Writhing on the couch, she pulled harder on her hair. ‘Please don’t put that knife away! You have to cut me, please!’

  As always, her wrath provoked no reaction but a smile on Elsha’s lips. After a moment of maddening silence, Elsha began her slow return to the living room, one foot in front of the other. Clicking disapproving teeth, she shook her head as she stretched their clean cotton tea towels end to end. They were long and beige with a pattern of little white flowers around the edges. Julie’s heart hammered at her ribcage when it clicked what they were for.

  ‘How exactly can you call me your domme when you are constantly telling me what to do and when to do it?’ Elsha asked. She wrapped one towel around Julie’s eyes, and the world went dark.

  ‘Because I’m willing,’ Julie replied, crossing her wrists over her head. ‘I’m willing to submit to you.’

  Elsha tied her up. ‘But only when I do as I’m told?’

  This was too much talk. Much too much talk. Julie preferred action over contemplation. That’s why she quit school young. That’s why she went into general labour. Her body needed to move, it needed to hurt; it required constant sensation, even if that sensation was aching muscles after a 13-hour shift. She loved it. And she loved Elsha. If only the damn girl didn’t try her patience so consistently! Elsha was always talk-talk-talking about their relationship, saying Julie had to take it easy or she’d give herself a heart attack some day. Well, that was some day and this was now, and right now she wanted to feel alive in her flesh.

  ‘Would you shut your yap and just cut me, already?’

  Elsha tsked as she left the room – Julie could tell by the sound of her swishing skirt that she was walking away. For a split-second, her fingers and toes went numb, and then she panicked. ‘Elsha! Elsha? Where are you going? I’m sorry, baby, but you know how I get. I just want it so bad.’ No response but shuffling in the next room. ‘Come back, Mama. I said some mean things. Come back and punish me, will you?’

  The rustle of a long skirt announced Elsha’s returned. ‘I’m not going to cut you with a knife,’ she said, each word slow and measured.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Julie sputtered. Her heart leapt in her chest. ‘You’re doling out the punishment, Mama Bear. It’s whatever you see fit.’

  ‘Kitchen knives are unsanitary,’ Elsha went on. As she spoke, a sound like cracking plastic shot through the room.

  Blindfolded, Julie had little sense of where Elsha was standing. She squirmed on the couch, rubbing her thighs together in hopes of getting off a little on the pressure. ‘What are you up to?’ she asked when all she could hear was a slight flicking sound from somewhere in the room.

  ‘I won’t cut you with a knife,’ Elsha repeated. Her speech was tortoise-slow. She drew out every syllable, and it made Julie crazy. ‘The last thing I want is for you to get an infection. Real cutters use razor blades. Didn’t you know that?’

  As she stared into the microcosm of stars swirling before he eyes, Julie’s mind reeled. Was Elsha going to do it? ‘No, I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘How did you know that?’

  Elsha’s skirt swished until Julie could feel her looming over the couch. ‘Saw it on TV. You’d learn a lot if you’d only watch a documentary or two between your police dramas.’

  An icy rectangle met her belly. It was metal – that much, Julie could tell. She knew what it must be, but still asked, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That’s the blade,’ Elsha said. ‘You crack open a new safety razor and take out the blade. It’s sterile. That’s what you cut with.’

  Julie could feel her pussy drooling in anticipation. Her muscles throbbed for action. ‘Do it,’ she said. Above her head, her hands started
to tremble. She’d grab that razor blade herself if Elsha didn’t get a move on. ‘Cut me. Come on, just grab the thing and fucking do it, already!’

  The blade seemed to bounce on her stomach as she writhed, but Elsha removed it before it could do any harm. ‘Patience,’ she said in a whisper. ‘The waiting is the best part, Julie. You’re impetuous, you’re rash, and you speak out of turn.’ The more Elsha said, the softer she spoke, until it was a strain to make out her words. ‘If you want me to hurt you, to cut you, you must be willing to wait.’

  But Julie wasn’t willing. Her body screamed for the pain. ‘Just do it. I need it now.’

  Elsha’s skirt met the loveseat with a soft thump.

  ‘Don’t fucking sit down, you ...’ Julie didn’t call her a bitch. That wouldn’t have helped her case. ‘Get over here and cut me up!’

  Elsha switched on the radio and scanned until she found a classical music station. ‘Ah, Debussy! Don’t you love his impressionistic composition style? It’s so soothing.’

  ‘God!’ Julie cried as she writhed on the couch. There was nothing keeping her in the room. She could have gotten up and left ... but then there was no chance Elsha would take the blade to her flesh. Elsha was the cruellest of dommes. She always made Julie wait. And Julie had no patience.

  But Elsha was right in one regard – the music on the radio calmed Julie down. Her heart stopped palpitating. Her muscles relaxed. Staring into the darkness of her blindfold, she breathed at a normal rate until she felt the base of the settee sink slightly under Elsha’s weight. Then, all bets were off. ‘Do it,’ she said. ‘Cut me up, Mama Bear.’ The tension returned to her muscles, and she grasped the loose ends of the tea towel securing her wrists.

  ‘Are you absolutely certain?’ Elsha asked.

  Julie breathed out hard. ‘Yes! Haven’t I said it, like, 40 times? Yes!’

  She felt the blade resting against her skin, right at the base of her bellybutton. If she bucked up, the razor would pierce her flesh all at once, and she thought about doing it, but in truth, she was afraid. She wouldn’t be able to see how deep it’d gone in, or how much she was bleeding. So she gave control over to Elsha, if only in her mind.

  Elsha pushed the blade down until it sliced through her skin. At first, it didn’t hurt at all. The pain didn’t kick in until she dragged it slowly down Julie’s belly. Her muscles were paralysed with fear. She couldn’t budge, even as Elsha positioned herself between Julie’s open legs.

  ‘Is it bleeding?’ Julie finally asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  Setting a warm palm flat against her pussy, Elsha said, ‘No, I didn’t go too deep the first time. Want me to do it again?’

  Trepidation gripped Julie by the throat, and still she stammered, ‘Go deep.’

  Elsha held her body still while she pressed the blade to the base of Julie’s navel and slit her belly open. She gasped – a desperate sort of wheezing gasp. ‘Damn it!’ she cried before diving at Julie’s stomach and pressing her tongue to it.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Julie cringed in response to Elsha’s reaction. ‘What did you do? Am I bleeding?’

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ Elsha said, licking the length of her belly again and again.

  ‘Is it bad?’

  Pressing her palm to the wound, Elsha squeezed Julie’s pussy lips together hard and her veins flowed with a confused mix of pleasure and anxiety. Still, the fact that Elsha hadn’t responded worried her.

  ‘Is it bad?’ Julie asked again. The pressure on her belly lifted with Elsha’s hand, and now all Julie felt was the sting of the wound and Elsha’s fingers as they crept inside her wet pussy. ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Elsha said with a sigh. ‘But it’s deeper than I’d intended. I went at it too fast. I should have taken my time.’

  Julie took a deep breath, which spiked when she felt Elsha’s thumb on her clit. It moved in circles, drawing Julie’s bud erect as her fingers stroked the depths. ‘OK, well ...’ Julie’s brain was already fried from fear. ‘Take your time, then. Christ, I don’t want you to fucking kill me.’

  As she licked Julie’s stomach, Elsha moved her fingers slowly inside her open cunt. Julie felt her body writhing, her breath rising and falling, and her whims take on new fancies as Elsha scored shallow gashes along her side. The pain felt nearly as good as the pleasure. Maybe better. She couldn’t yet tell which was more intense.

  When Julie raised her hips to greet the circling thumb, Elsha withdrew from her pussy. She fluttered like a blossom on the wind until her mouth found the “V” of Julie’s thighs. Pressing her palm against the major injury along Julie’s stomach, she said, ‘Some blood trickled down.’

  Elsha licked Julie’s pussy lips and her whole body shuddered. ‘Oh God,’ Julie said, her breath flitting from her chest. A bolt of worry shot through her veins. ‘I’m bleeding that much?’

  Without offering the faintest reply, Elsha sucked her throbbing clit between full lips. Julie thrust without thinking – that was her Pavlovian response to feeling the most sensitive part of her body inside Elsha’s warm, wet mouth. The stars in her field of vision swirled off into galaxies as she pressed her pussy in tight circles against Elsha’s face. The cuts all over her stomach pinched every time she moved, but the sharp twinges couldn’t dissuade her from building pleasure on pain.

  Julie planted her feet against the cushions. When she’d lifted her ass far enough off the couch, Elsha dragged some juice down to Julie’s asshole and slowly pushed her fingertip inside. That set off Julie’s tripwire, and she bucked against Elsha’s sucking mouth. Elsha pushed down harder on her stomach as she devoured Julie’s clit. Her finger remained steady inside Julie’s hole, and her assring gripped and clung to it as the wave took over. She came loud and proud, her body jutting and trembling. Her toes stayed curled even after she’d settled down on the couch. For a moment, all she could do was breathe and mutter, ‘Oh God, Mama Bear ...’

  Elsha disentangled her body from Julie’s and untied her wrists first. ‘Do me a favour and press down on your cut while I take off your blindfold.’

  As droplets trickled from the edges of her wound, Julie pressed her palm flat against it. The pain had dulled to a subdued ache, but it still felt better when she applied pressure.

  ‘Will you be upset with me if there’s a scar?’

  Julie’s heart trembled. This sort of play always made her feel happy, unified and bonded with her girl. ‘Why would I be upset with you?’ she chuckled. ‘It was my idea, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘I know,’ Elsha replied. The moment she’d removed the makeshift blindfold, Julie’s gaze darted to her belly. She lifted her hand to check out the damage. But there was none. She looked back and forth between her stomach and her hand, looking for any sign of blood. Nothing. No sign of cuts or scratches, and the razor blade rested clean on the glass tabletop.

  Tossing the tea towels over her shoulder, Elsha offered a mischievous grin. She stuck out her pinkie finger to show Julie its long, sharp nail. Before Julie could think how to respond, Elsha pressed the nail to the underside of her arm and dragged it down the length.

  ‘Jesus fuck!’ Julie cried, grasping the new wound. ‘That hurts like hell.’ Of course, there was no cut. Elsha’s fingernail didn’t even leave a red mark in its wake.

  Elsha loomed like a cunning fox over her. ‘If you want to be my sub,’ she said, ‘I’m going to dominate you my way.’

  The Next Step

  by Jeanette Grey

  One little step.

  All Cynthia had to do was take one little step, and she would be out her front door. From there, she knew that she could do this. Breathing deeply, she lifted her foot and tugged at the door, poised just at the cusp of moving forward. But then, at the very last moment, she froze, her chest seizing painfully.

  With a sigh, Cynthia took her hand off the knob and retreated back a little farther into the shadows of the entryway. The foyer to her building was small and dim, and for al
l that it was public, it was safe. Comfortable.

  Nothing else about Cynthia’s situation was comfortable right now.

  Biting her lip, she inched forward again, emerging just far enough into the light to be able to see herself reflected in one of the panes of glass that framed the door. She looked good, she knew, but it almost made things worse to acknowledge it. Her hands curled up into fists, and for a moment, as she contemplated yet again the single step she needed to take, her stomach clenched and twisted.

  Cynthia Cohen was not the kind of woman who didn’t wear underwear. She wasn’t the kind of woman who wore short skirts or knee-high stiletto boots while she was not wearing underwear, and she most certainly was not the kind of woman who wore her metal-studded leather play collar out of the house.

  Yet still, here she was, prepared to do all of those things.

  For years, Cynthia Cohen would have said that a perfect evening was one spent reading a book on the couch in her living room, her long red hair twisted into a bun and secured with chopsticks, her feet toasty in fuzzy slippers and her curves disguised by baggy pyjamas.

  But then she had met Richard, and Richard had helped her to see that an even more perfect evening included being naked and sweaty, her hands bound. On her knees.

  Just the thought of their nights spent together in such a fashion made Cynthia’s throat tight and her chest hot, the aching space between her thighs clenching uncomfortably. As her lover, Richard had helped her to see herself as more than the quiet bookworm she had always been. But it was as her master that he had helped her to explore what it was to be a sexual woman – to give and to submit. To serve and to let go.

  To receive.

  When he had first revealed his preferences for rougher, kinkier sex, she had been wary, of course. No one had been more surprised than she when she’d realised just how much the way he tugged her hair and ordered her around turned her on. Slowly, over a period of months, she had given herself over to his desires, finding that the more she pleased him, the more she pleased herself. That she liked being a sexual creature. An object.