I hold out my hand and lead her from the bedroom over to the “fuck desk” she so confidently described a moment ago. I’m strapped under my jeans. I trace my finger along one of Mr. Octopus’s stripy, black-patterned tentacles from her navel to her shoulder and push her to her knees in front of the desk chair, grabbing her modern mullet haircut with my fist.

  “Tell me why you want me to do this. Be respectful.” I squat down next to her ear and whisper, “I only fuck with respectful faggots. Are you a respectful faggot?”

  “What the fuck do you mean, am I a respectable faggot?” she fangs.

  “Correction. What the fuck do you mean, SIR.” A fistful of hipster-than-thou hair twists in my fingers. I pull off her blindfold, pushing her face down to my boots.

  “Lick them,” I command.

  Smiling, she doesn’t move a muscle. I can see fear steeped in attitude boiled hot to perfection in her eyes.

  I repeat firmly, “Lick my fucking boots, loudmouth brat.”

  She bends forward, presses her dirty pink lips to my scratched-up boots. Even slips her bratty tongue around the toe of my left one.

  “That’s better.” I pull her back to kneeling in front of me and stroke her hair. She breathes in through her nose and out her mouth. I’m standing directly in front of her, and I notice her eyes staring at my cock.

  “You still want this?” I grab my crotch. “Yeah?” I move in front of her. I take a step back, ring my thumbs through the loops of my jeans, and flare out my fingers. “Now, let’s see. Tell me why you want this.”

  Jake smiles, looks me up and down, and says, “Why do you care?” She winks.

  Some loudmouths just don’t ever learn, do they?

  “Get against the wall.”

  She rises, hands to her sides.

  “Are you forgetting something?” I ask.

  Jake shifts her weight, puts her hands on the waistband of her underwear, and stares at the sofa in the corner.

  “No. I’m following your orders.”

  “Eyes forward. You are following my orders, Sir! Say it.”

  She drops her hands and looks at me. “I am following your orders, Sir.”

  “Better,” I sigh.

  I walk over and push her up against the wall. She’s facing me. I dip down into my bag and pull out a set of ankle spreaders: a two-foot metal bar with ankle restraints on either side. I take some rope and tie her wrists behind her back.

  “Turn around and face the wall.”

  “Okay, fine, Sir,” she spits as she turns to face the wall. I grab the spreaders and fasten them to her ankles. I take a piece of paper and move over to the wall.

  “Hold this to the wall with your nose.”

  She wriggles her bound arms and shimmies her ankles before lowering into submission, uttering, “Yes, Sir.”

  I step back to look at my handiwork before reaching back into my toy bag and pulling out a copy of Becoming a Police Officer: An Insider’s Guide.

  “Remember to pay close attention to this lesson, little fucker. Now, I know that hot temper of yours has gotten you in trouble with the law. I’ve seen you downtown in your orange T-shirt ticking out community service hours. Sometimes the best cops are the ones who’ve been on both sides, if you know what I mean.”

  Jake grimaces. I notice the paper slip a bit.

  I walk over, open the book, and read into her ear, “‘Do you like the smell of danger, the victory of helping the helpless?’” She’s turned on. Her heavy breathing and clenched jaw are dead giveaways.

  “I like watching you squirm, little fucker.”

  Her nipples are getting harder by the second. She lets out a moan, starts shaking just a little bit. “Is my star pupil getting restless? Do you need to be steadied?”

  I lean in and put my hot mouth just on the outside of her neck without actually contacting it. She’s finding it difficult to control herself. Just as her ass starts to melt into my crotch behind her, I sink my teeth into her skin, slap her ass hard with the palm of my hand, and step back. She turns her head a little bit, trying to get a glimpse of me. The paper slips and nearly drifts to the floor.

  “Tsk, tsk.” I release her binds with one tug of the quick-release knot, unfasten the ankle spreader with my foot, and pull down her tight pink boi briefs. Sighing defeat, she steps out of her underwear and rests her forehead against the wall.

  “Drop and give me twenty,” I command.

  Jake slaps the wall, turns, and drops to the floor.

  I stand over her while her body dips up and down. I watch her arm muscles pulse. She’s groaning like a boy now. Defiantly counting off: “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

  “Are you showing off for me now?”

  “No, it’s just that twenty push-ups are no problem for me. I want to do more.”

  “Get up,” I demand.

  She rises.

  I move right in front of her face and shout, “You want to do more, what?”

  “Sir!”

  “This is the last fucking time I’m gonna say that. Get back against the wall.”

  I bind her wrists behind her back. Put the paper back under her nose. Casually dangle a set of nipple clamps connected by a heavy silver chain from my fingertips in her peripheral vision.

  Her left eye shifts suddenly to meet mine.

  “You wanted more? Here you go.”

  I play with her nipples before securing the clamps one at a time on her red buds.

  “Yes, Sir,” she submits under her breath. I smile and continue.

  “You like the police talk, don’t you?”

  Her shoulder twitches, her face falls. I can tell this is a mixed bag of emotions.

  “You are a star faggot, aren’t you? What we’ve got here is one law-abiding faggot.”

  “Sir, I am a fucking faggot.”

  A weary expression crosses her face. Her mood shifts. The paper flutters to the floor. I move over to her. Has she had enough? But then I notice her body flush with excitement. A dual effort like she’s got a freight train running through her mind and a vibrator on her clit. Excitement trilled by vibes of fear. There were three people against the queer bashers that night, but she was the only one who got dragged down to the station. The cops saw her do it, and they profiled her because of the way she looked.

  “Did the cops take you down that night?”

  A tear escapes her eye.

  She stammers. “Yes, Sir.”

  I feel suddenly awkward. It feels like I’m standing in the way of control. I can’t go back in time and fix what happened in the past.

  I slide the nipple clamps off. I notice the blood has drained from her hands and I loosen the rope that is binding her wrists to bring back circulation. I walk behind her and press my chest into her back. Wrap my arms around her and hold her in my arms like a long-lost friend found again.

  Squeezing Jake’s body gently, I say, “Tell me what happened that night.”

  Rubbing her wrists, she says, “Me and a bunch of my friends were on our way home. Some men started yelling at us. They were calling us dykes, spitting at us. Then two cops came, a woman and a man. They let the others go but they grabbed me.” She rubs her brass knuckle tattoo and chuckles. “I guess I looked like trouble.”

  “Cops can be ugly,” I say. “Serve and protect—so long as you look the part.”

  She twitches a bit, but there is a new light in her eye.

  “They yelled really loud, and when I yelled back the man cop told the woman to ‘get ready,’ and the next thing I knew I had the wind knocked out of me and my face was on the sidewalk and my arms and legs were tied together with a plastic zip tie. He was so forceful. The cop used far more force than he needed to. I just lay there on the sidewalk while I listened to the cops take down the queer basher’s information. It sucked. I was in pain.”

  I imagine her hands bound behind her back, her legs tied together, her entire body arched into a taut bow, held immobile on the worn, gum-stained Seattle sidewalk.

  “I didn’t know what was going to happen next. It was horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. And to this day, all I want to do is take back that night. I want to try on that feeling of helplessness, knowing that I will survive it this time, you know?”

  I move to face Jake. I pause. This is serious shit.

  “Let me take you there,” I say.

  Jake carefully runs her fingers through her hair, resting her hand on the back of her head. She shifts her weight. Looks down on the floor before meeting my eyes. She looks straight at me with inquisitive, defiant, yet trusting eyes. She cocks her chin out again, and in a child’s voice says, “Okay.”

  I take a slow but deep breath, check myself, and begin by placing her wrists together behind her back. I carefully wind plenty of rope around them to distribute the pressure. Only a few windings would concentrate it and dig into the wrists much more. Digging in is nice sometimes, because it leaves more pronounced marks afterward, but that’s not my goal tonight. Jake stands remarkably still, staring across the room. I notice her breath quickening. She shifts her weight and wriggles her wrists under the rope.

  I can’t help but stifle a laugh remembering how she was in the bar last night. Today, Jake Six is standing in front of me naked, chin down, submitting.

  Then I get nervous. I’ve asked this girl to trust me. Hogtieing can be tricky. I know I need to get the degree of arch just right.

  I used lots of rope to distribute the pressure, right?

  Yes, I did.

  Okay.

  Are you sure about this? I think. Can I do this?

  Yes.

  I can.

  I take another slow, controlled breath and then place a hand on her shoulder. “Lie down on your stomach for me.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I smile to myself, noticing that she suddenly doesn’t need the correction anymore.

  Shifting her gaze downward, she starts to bend her body to meet the floor. Knees first, she balances on her elbows and crawls down onto her stomach, ass in the air, legs bent at the knees.

  “Attaboy. Now for the feet.”

  I cross her ankles before winding rope around them in the same way as the wrists. After her ankles are cinched down, I run a separate piece of rope up from the ankles, wrapping it around the wrists, then back down to the ankles, making sure the link rope knot is tied at her ankles away from groping fingers.

  I silently watch her chest rise and fall. My palms are sweaty.

  “Are you ready for me to tighten the rope?”

  Jake wriggles her body into a comfortable position on her stomach, breathes deeply, eyes wide before exhaling, “Yes, Sir.”

  I’m the one supposed to be in control here. I wipe my hands on my jeans and focus.

  I double-check all of the ties and slowly pull the link rope just enough so her legs bend, drawing her ankles toward her wrists—creating a living package of helplessness.

  “Is that tight enough?”

  A second big sigh escapes her mouth. “More, please, Sir.”

  She’s really flexible. I pull the rope tighter, and her crossed ankles cause her knees to spread further apart. “You are such a good boy.”

  As I am praising her, I’m running my hands all over her body. As I’m touching her, I feel the tension draining from her taut frame. She sinks deeper into the floor. “Feels good, Sir.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Now, how about we finish what we set out to do when I first arrived here tonight?”

  Jake smiles and lets out a laugh. “You are tricky, Sir. There really isn’t much I can do about saying no to you, now is there?” Her muscles relax into her own trussed-up body.

  “You can always say no, loudmouth.”

  “Sir,” she spits back. “I want you to.”

  I wrestle my fingers into her hair. “Remind me of what you want.”

  Smiling, she rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “Sir, I want you to teach me manners, Sir. Please. Sir.”

  Her playful willingness gives me the shot in the arm I needed. I kneel behind her so her ankles are at eye level to me. Linking my left hand over her left leg, I open up the cop book again and read the opening pages:

  “Becoming a police officer is not for everyone. The most important tenet to being a good officer is the ability to be accommodating to people from all walks of life.” I glance down toward her exposed crotch. “Officers must be willing to empathize.”

  She squirms in position. A restless sigh escapes her.

  I put the book down. “Is this boring you?” I say.

  “No, Sir. I mean yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir.” Her breath is quickening and she’s squirming even more now. Her nipples are hard.

  “You are practicing restraint, that’s good,” I say, wriggling her foot and smiling. “Practicing restraint is also a very important tenet of being a good officer.”

  I trail my hands over her inner thighs, following a path to her clit. Stroking her cunt. “So much restraint.” Jake moans while I run my hands down her sides and pull her whole exposed body closer to mine. “Patience too, another good sign.”

  I unbuckle my jeans and pull out my cock. Jake’s rhythmic breath gets me all worked up. I tear my jeans from my body like they are on fire, grab the lube, stroke myself wet a few times, wrap my hands around the underside of her knees, and sink my cock into her.

  I start out slowly. Her body pulses with mine. We fuck like a combustion engine, compressed intake stroke cranking her shaft up and down my connecting rod. I arch my back to get a better angle and lube up some more.

  She grunts in appreciation. “Sir! Fuck me, Sir!” I rev back up. My piston pumping her intake valve, in and out, faster and faster, building compression, teasing her spark plug. I reach the top of my stroke again as her gasoline charge explodes.

  “YES, SIR. YES, Sir. Fuck, yes. Sir.” I push in deep, lick my middle finger, and rub her clit with it. “Yes, Sir. Right there.”

  I feel like I’m doing some kind of yoga pose. Hogtied sutra finger-fuck asana.

  The ropes cinch down even further as she comes in my hand. I quickly release the cinch knot. Her body lands in a thud. She lets out a gasp, rolls over on her back. I lie down next to her as we catch our breath.

  Jake shoots her head over toward my direction and smiles. I smile back. Then, softly, she asks, “Sir? Are you going to teach me some more manners now or what?”

  Baby steps, I remind myself, and laugh.

  ALL OF ME

  Amelia Thornton

  “Get down and suck my dick like the filthy little slut you are,” I hear myself bark, inwardly cringing at the clichéd dialogue coming out of my mouth. He gets down, though, his own dick straining against the lacy panties I made him put on earlier, the blonde wig he chose himself now all wonky from his exertions. He slobbers all over the black rubber dildo I have strapped on, whimpering about what a sissy slut he is, whilst my mind wanders. It’s not that I don’t love my job; I do. It’s just that towards the end of the day on a Friday, when I’ve had a whole week of appointments including a regular who flew in from Ohio just to see me, and expected an entire day of Complete Real Life Domination (whatever that is), my mind can’t help it if it’s kind of had enough.

  I contemplate dinner to start with. I know you’re coming over, and I wanted to do something really special, so I’ve already been to the market and got all the right ingredients, and the deli to get that walnut bread you love so much, and even managed to find the particular brand of dried mushrooms for the stock that you once told me were the best ones out there. I’m kind of stuck on dessert, but I’ve still got my next booking to decide that one through, so I guess by the time you pick me up, I’ll know what I’m doing.

  “Mmmph hmmph hmmph!”

  “Yeah, bitch, suck it like that! You like that, huh, such a pretty little cocksucker…”

  Okay, so now I’m torn on the lingerie. I know you love the burgundy silk, but you’ve seen it so many times now. I bought a sheer black babydoll last week that had seemed just perfect at the time, but now I’m thinking it might be a bit too lacy, and you might prefer the simplicity of the silk. Though if I go with the black, I can switch the g-string that came with it for the French knickers with the embroidery trim you always say make my ass look like it’s asking for a spanking, which by that point, I’m hoping it will be. So, it’s a tough choice.

  “Hmmph coming mmph Mistress hhm ohgodyeah…”

  I ram the dick a couple times more down his throat whilst he comes, his hand furiously jacking himself off. He always looks a little cute when he comes, this one, like a kind of weird chipmunk with his mouth full of my silicone cock. It’s the only way he can come, he told me once, to have something in his mouth. Goes back to his childhood, some older girls making him shove marshmallows in his cheeks til he was nearly sick and they all laughed at him. Hey, I’m not one to judge what gets people off.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he whimpers dutifully, reaching for some Kleenex to wipe himself off. “I’ll…I’ll go and get changed now.”

  I nod sternly, telling him I’ll see him next week for more of the same, and then once he’s left the room I slowly start tidying up. I really, really can’t be bothered to do another one now. Why Jackie booked anyone else in is beyond me, when I specifically told her I had a date tonight and didn’t want to be late. It’s just typical. I’m just in the middle of spritzing all the floggers with sanitizer when I hear the soft click of the door opening and turn around to irritably inform whoever it is that their session doesn’t start for another ten minutes, so if they could kindly wait in the waiting room, I will come and fetch them, when I realize it’s you.

  I can’t even speak for a moment, I’m so engrossed in just drinking in the sight of it. You’ve polished your leathers, and I can smell them from here, that scent of earthy heat I love so much, and you’re dressed in it head to toe. Your boots, your jeans, your shirt, your cap: every item gleaming with a dull sheen. Your olive-skinned arms are taut with muscle, accentuated with finely-drawn tattoos, with your fingers hooked in your belt loops the way you know makes me look at your strong, work-worn hands and think about how they feel inside me. Your sharp green eyes, glinting beneath the peak of your cap, are looking at me with the hunger of a woman who knows what is hers and intends to claim it. Just that thought alone makes me wet.

 

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