With contributions by:
Iris Ann Hunter
Jade A. Waters
Corrine A. Silver
Rachel Kramer Bussel
Sonni de Soto
Michael in Texas
Rose de Fer
Myra S. Hart
Violet R. Jones
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About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Training My Dom
by Tilly Hunter
He started it. We’d flirted by text for weeks. Filthy texts: “I want to feel your hard cock deep in my throat,” “I’m going to lick your pussy until you scream
“Tell me where your imagination’s been today,” I wrote during a quiet moment at work.
“I thought about some handcuffs,” came the reply. His mind was obviously not on office business either.
I asked for clarification: “For you or for me?”
“I was thinking of using them on you xx.”
I’d wondered how to suggest that he might like to tie my wrists to the bedposts. He’d shown promise, pinning me down at the elbows with his arms and holding my hands. He was strong. We’d messed about, me trying to escape his grip, glad I couldn’t, breathless by the time he pushed my legs apart with his own and shoved his cock inside me. But actual bondage I didn’t want to send him running for the hills. We had a definite spark, obvious from the moment mutual friends introduced us, and I really thought we could have a future together. He’d even mastered how I like my tea. Strong and sweet.
But I couldn’t go on letting him think vanilla sex was enough. He had the potential to give me what I needed, but I agonized over how to coax it out of him. Jeez, the man didn’t even watch porn on his laptop, let alone the sites I was drawn to late at night. He thought vanilla was just a flavor of ice cream.
“I think that’s a very good idea,” I replied. Later, over a glass of wine, I confessed, “Actually, Sam, I’ve been wondering how to ask you to tie me up. I love it when you hold me down and fuck me hard.”
He hadn’t thought through the implications of one pair of handcuffs, the fact that with my arms locked in metal behind me it would be difficult for me to lie on my back for sex. And he seemed uncomfortable with the idea of making me do anything. Even after he cuffed me and I got to my suddenly weak knees and tongued his cock into my mouth, instead of grabbing a fistful of hair and fucking my face, he helped me to my feet, sat me on the edge of the bed and licked my pussy. He finally relocked the cuffs at the front and used a scarf to tie them to the top of the bed, then fucked me into mindless incoherence. It was a start.
After the cuffs, we bought a gag. And I showed him the blindfold I owned. The ropes. The nipple clamps. All this stuff I was familiar with. But not Sam. Sam didn’t know that if you’re gagged facedown, drool is going to pour out of you onto whatever is beneathhis pillow, the carpet, bathroom tiles. Sam didn’t know that the shape of my nose meant I always had a sliver of vision under the bottom of the blindfold, unless he tied something over the top to press my eyes closed. And Sam didn’t know that the initial bite of the clamps was just the start. That eventually the nipples would numb only for fresh pain to flood in with the returning blood on their removal.
These things I taught him. Slave training in reverse.
Now, we’d booked a dirty weekend in a cozy cabin, miles from civilization, for our first anniversary. Sam really came into his own as a Dom. And yet he was still Sam. Tender, considerate and far more romantic than me. I hadn’t even noted the date we’d first met, but a couple of months ago he’d asked, “Would you like to go away for our anniversary?”
“Sure. When is that exactly?”
So there we were, isolated in the middle of nowhere. Where no one could hear me scream, as he put it. I was standing naked on a hard slate floor beneath the mezzanine bedroom, arms high up my back in a box tie, rope wrapping them tight against my torso. More rope strung up from there to the bars of the balcony above, pulling me onto my toes. Ball gag, silk blindfold and silver bar nipple clamps screwed tightand then screwed some more.
I’d taught him to let me squirm before moving in for the action. That night, he left me until I was a whimpering, drooling mess, then he swung me to face the wall and spanked me. He’d perfected a ruthless, swatting action. He aimed right for the most tender spot he knewnot the meat of my butt but to the side, near my hip. I danced for him, hopping from one foot to the other, squealing around the gag, until I thought I could bear no more. I swung myself back, pressing my ass into the cool wood paneling for protection. He had other ideas. He tugged on my nipple clamps until I winced. Until I danced away and exposed my ass again.
It turned into a game. I heard him chuckle about it. I’d turn my front to him and he’d abuse my nipples. I’d turn my back to him and he’d beat my ass. I was screaming, “No, no, no” through the gag, but never once wanted to use the safe signal, a decisive shake of the head accompanied by three low grunts. He left me no time to analyze, no willpower to resist. When he reached between my legs and rubbed my clit, I came in seconds.
He half carried me to bed and held me while I fell asleep. Next day we walked in the woods, hand in hand. Lunch in a country cafe followed by tea and cake. Sensible footwear and shower-resistant fabrics. Admiring a view, enjoying a moment of sunshine between clouds. Simple pleasures. Normal holiday activities. Damp throbbing in my cunt the whole time, kept frustratingly strong by his gentle hand on my ass, his tongue darting between my lips, his strong chest pressed against my tender nipples through clothing. Normal couple activities.
“I’ve got an anniversary present for you,” he told me as we arrived back at the cabin. It was beautifully wrapped in burgundy paper with gold bows. He was thoughtful in everything. I opened it carefully, not ripping the paper. A collar. An inch-wide leather collar with a traditional buckle. I idly wondered if my trousers’ shower resistance worked from the inside. Otherwise I’d be sitting in a puddle.
“Thank you,” I murmured. I looked him in the eye and said it louder. “Thank you.”
“From now on, when we play, I will put this on you. When we’re finished, I will take it off. You do not touch it. Understand?”
“Yes.” Oh yes.
“If you want to play, you may ask to wear it. But you must get to your knees, place your hands behind your back and bow your head before saying the words: ‘Please sir, may I wear my collar?’ Understand?”
“Yes.” Oh yes. Sam buckled it around my neck and I wore it with pure indulgent joy for the rest of the weekend and the journey home.
Table of Contents
Introduction: The Many Meanings of Submission
I Want To Feel You Joy Faolan
Naughty Prof Louisa Bacio
Strip Medea Mor
Training My Dom Tilly Hunter
Dear Sir Kay Jaybee
Put Your Hands Up Sommer Marsden
Crunches Annabeth Leong
Butch Unbound Salome Wilde
The Prodigy Valerie Alexander
Beautiful Teresa Noelle Roberts
Lariat Michelle Augello-Page
Toasted Marshmallows Tilly Hunter
The Shoot D.L. King
Sunday In The Art Gallery With George Elizabeth Coldwell
The Third Plug Nick Mamatas
Others Jade A. Waters
Without Question Lucy Felthouse
In The Darkness Regina Lafayette
The Test Kristina Wright
Patiently Waiting Alyssa Morris
Brunch L.C. Spoering
Love and Salt Erzabeth Bishop
Brazen Kathleen Delaney
Story Time Moxie Hall
Princess Amelia June
Contact Shenoa Carroll-Bradd
The Storm Dominic Santi
Working It Out Roger Markson
Control Cate Ellink
Unanchored Corrine Arundo
Fucktoy Lady Lucretia
Caramel Kathleen Tudor
The Bulldog Breed Lisette Ashton
Mistress Raven Olivia Archer
Following Orders Jade Melisande
Writer’s Block Kitten Boheme
Help! My Wife’s a Former Dominatrix! Angela R. Sargenti
That Moment When Martha Davis
The Dinner Erzabeth Bishop
Room With a View Rose de Fer
Fitting Assignment Marie Rebelle
Spider Valerie Alexander
The Chrome Plated Connection Susan Currie
How to Fail Laurel Isaac
Crush Giselle Renarde
Housebroken Laila Blake
The Complexities of Self Bondage Valerie Grey
Student Becomes Master Rob Rosen
Where The Sun Don’t Shine Corvidae
Object Regina Kammer
The Control Tower Olivia Summersweet
Long Skirt Gigi Frost
Breathless Obedience Cèsar Sanchez Zapata
Mine Roxanna Cross
Second Date Alice Gauntley
Table Manners M. Marie
Teddy, Bare Jere Haken
The Problem is, I’m a Bitch Corrine Arundo
The Lost Suitcase Tamsin Flowers
The Rhino C. Margery Kempe
Marni’s Working Area Evan Sanders
Lost in the Feeling Nicole Gestalt
Choker Sean Finn
Reverse Psychology Rachel Kramer Bussel
Aftermath Michael in Texas
Take Down Marievie
Hard Things Joy Faolan
Breathless Dorla Moorehouse
Perfect Gentleman Donna George Storey
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I raced through these stories. They gave me all sorts of ideas and turned me on. Some of my favorites were Grocery Run, which I will think of every time I'm at the grocery store, One Word Leads to Another and Room 253. Even though they're very short, they painted very vivid pictures. I'll be rereading many of them.
There's a reason why shorts aren't typically my thing. This anthology both confirmed and shattered this statement. I requested a copy because of the subject matter and the promise of variety. On that front, it didn't disappoint. Most were pleasurable and enjoyable. Some were not even close to my cup of tea. This truly is a mixed bag and there is probably something for everyone within its pages. It was great to meet some new to me authors and ones that I look forward to reading in the future. Submission truly does take many forms and this anthology is quite broad in range and variety. I received an advanced reader copy of this book for a voluntary and completely honest review.