Slave to Surrender, page 1
Slave to Surrender
An Erotic Love Story of Female Domination
by
Sienna Stone
Published by
Sienna Stone Publications
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This BDSM erotica short contains graphic sex scenes and is for a mature audience only.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Slave to Surrender
© 2015 Sienna Stone
All Rights Reserved Worldwide
First edition, December 2015
Cover design by Resplendent Media.
Any person depicted on the cover is a model.
This ebook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, and subject to criminal prosecution. An ebook format cannot legally be loaned or given to others. No portion of this literary work may be sold, manipulated, transmitted, copied, reproduced, or distributed, in any form or format, by any means or in any manner whatsoever, without the express written permission of the author, except for brief excerpts used for the purpose of review. To request written permission, contact Sienna Stone Publications at sienna.stone@writeme.com.
All trademarks used herein are the property of their respective owners.
Published in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Slave to Surrender
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Christmas Bonus Story: Three French Beads
Christmas Bonus Story: Five Golden Rings
About Sienna Stone
Slave to Surrender
Sienna Stone
Charlene Hunt
Copyright © 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted without the express written permission of the copyright holder. This book contains sexually explicit material suitable only for mature adults.
Cover design by Resplendent Media.
For new release information, please sign up for Sienna Stone’s newsletter !
Chapter 1
It had been a rough day, and Matt tried not to let it affect his driving as he headed home. As the only person in the office passably fluent in French, he’d been stuck trying to explain to an irate perfumer why U.S. Customs was holding his latest shipment at the Baltimore port. Although the mislabeling had occurred before the shipment left France, it was Matt’s import company that took the blame for the client’s error. Thankfully he straightened it out quickly enough so that he could still leave work on time. Monica didn’t like it when he worked late.
At the thought of his wife, Matt’s cock pulsed feebly, the most it could do while trapped in its steel cage, and a wave of arousal swept over his body. His last orgasm had been three weeks ago, and his balls were full and heavy in the compression shorts that he wore under his trousers to keep his cock cage private at work. The special shorts had been one of many concessions his wife made to his squeamishness. She was a very generous Mistress.
He pulled into their assigned spot in the basement garage, and as he headed to the elevator the stress from the work day began to dissipate. Soon he would be where he belonged: at his wife’s feet. The image of her feet sent another spark of frustrated pleasure to his cock, and his breathing sped up. He was eager to take off his business suit and stop playing the role of mid-level executive Matt Lambert.
The elevator doors dinged open, and he got in and inserted the pass key that would allow it to stop at their penthouse floor. The elevator passed the lobby without stopping, and Matt sighed in relief. The lobby was the most likely floor to pick up passengers, and it always broke his concentration to have to make small talk while he was mentally preparing himself to enter his wife’s presence. As each number lit and then dimmed he felt his true self come closer and closer to the surface. Soon all he would have to do was concentrate on serving his Mistress to the best of his ability.
A quiver of anxious anticipation pooled in his stomach. Tonight he had something special to ask of his Mistress, and he wasn’t sure how she was going to react. She wouldn’t be truly angry, he knew, not when he was asking for something to help serve her better – something that would help him push past his all-too-quickly-reached limits.
But she still might be stern with him, both for pushing himself too hard and for trying to control things. She’d always been so good about handling his limits, not showing even a hint of disappointment when he couldn’t take more than two of her slender fingers in his bottom. He’d finally learned to take the smallest plug with only a little effort, but anything that stretched him beyond that left him sweating and sick with discomfort. Even though he didn’t safeword, his Mistress had refused to push him harder. But what sort of slave couldn’t perform the most basic of duties? No matter how she reassured him, he felt like he was failing her – failing them both.
And then there was his inability to make himself play in public, even during the private events at their friends’ homes. When they attended in street clothes just to socialize, he saw some of the other submissives eye his Mistress. He knew that they were judging him. She deserved a submissive she could show off to her fellow Dommes, who would serve her as was her due amongst the local kink community. They’d been married three years now, and she’d shown no sign of regret, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she would accept his failings. He wanted so much to surrender everything to her. Tonight, he was going to share a plan that would ensure just that.
But right now he needed to release those worries and settle into this moment, so he could serve his Mistress properly. The floor numbers continued to light up and dim as he ascended higher and higher, like a supplicant approaching his goddess. That was not the first time he’d had that thought. By the time the elevator reached the top floor and the doors opened to their private hallway, he had properly centered himself. When the doors closed behind him, he removed his shoes and socks, carrying them to a large wardrobe at the end of the hall. His bare feet sank into the rich carpeting. He opened the wardrobe and placed the shoes on the rack and the socks in the small hamper, before slipping a cedar form into each shoe. As eager as he was to see his Mistress, he dared not rush now or skip a step. Next came his tie. It had been a comfort to him all day, since it had been his Mistress who had tightened it around his neck that morning. He felt so vulnerable without it. No matter – his neck would not stay bare long. The suit jacket came next, hung carefully on a wooden hanger, and then his belt. His white dress shirt joined the socks in the hamper, and he hung his pants next to the jacket.
Finally it was time to remove his shorts. He didn’t hesitate, despite the familiar tension that came from being exposed where someone might see him. Even though the chances of interruption were very small - the only people besides the two of them with key cards to this floor were building maintenance - he still despised that feeling of vulnerability. What a ridiculous sight he’d be to most people as he stood in the hallway wearing nothing but a locked silver cage around his privates.
But he wasn’t doing this for most people. He was doing this for his Mistress, and she liked the way he looked. If she didn’t, she’d direct him otherwise. As usual, internal reassurance calmed him. The underwear flew into the hamper, and Matt opened his special drawer. Today it held only his collar, a rich chocolate brown loop of the finest leather. He couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. If his Mistress wanted something special tonight there would’ve been other items waiting for him, or a note. Normally that would have delighted him, but tonight he was the one who had a special request. He didn’t know if he would have the nerve to follow through if they were doing an elaborate scene. But again, that was a worry for later; right now he needed to focus on this moment.
He buckled his collar around his neck and snipped the tiny lock closed, and he checked in the mirror on the wardrobe door to make sure it was centered. His hair was still combed, and his face clean. He was ready to approach his Mistress.
The apartment was hushed, with no music playing. Chances were she was in her study, making notes on her patients’ charts. Unlike him, she wasn’t able to leave her work at the office. Her care for the people who saw her weekly was one of the things he adored about her. He padded quietly through the first floor of their penthouse, past the living room and the kitchen toward her study at the back. The door was open, welcoming him to approach her. He stood in the doorway: feet apart, hands behind him, eyes lowered.
“Come in, Matthew,” she said, her rich warm voice washing over him like a wave. The familiar feeling of pent-up desire gnawed at him and his trapped and flaccid cock. The ache in his balls, a constant background hum all through the day, sharpened into almost literal pain; they swung pendulously as he hurried over to her side and knelt on the cushion by her chair. Her hand threaded through his hair, petting him, and he gratefully rested his head lightly on her thigh. She was still dressed for work in her pinstriped business suit. The garters that held up her stockings were hidden unde
A sharp pain stabbed at his scalp as she pulled at his hair, telling him that his moment of inattention had been noticed. He relaxed back into submission, leaning once more against her leg, and the hand in his hair turned gentle again.
She remained focused on her work, but still spared him the occasional pet or scratch when she paused in contemplation over a particularly tricky issue. Matt had no idea how much time was passing. It didn’t matter; she would let him know when it was time to do something else. His arousal had blossomed into a full-body hum, a reassuring ache that told him he was ready to serve his Mistress however she might wish.
“Alright, my dear,” she said. The world came back into focus at the sound of her voice, and he looked up at her smiling face. As always, his chest hurt at the sight of her beauty. She opened a file drawer and locked her patient files away, and then she leaned back in her chair and stretched out a leg. His breath caught in his chest, but he kept his attention on her face. Her smile widened.
“Such a good boy,” she murmured warmly, and the pain in his balls spiked. He was dying to show her just how good he was – to worship her. Properly silent, he tried to convey his devotion by his gaze alone.
“Okay.” Thus released from sitting at attention, he quickly crawled down to the spike-heeled shoe on her outstretched foot. He leaned down and gave the toe of the shoe a reverent kiss, and glanced up at her.
“Well, come on then,” she commanded, setting her feet down and spreading her thighs. She laughed lightly at his eager expression. He dived forward between her thighs without any further encouragement. He paused for a moment to kiss the soft flesh right above where the garters attached to her stocking, before he buried his face in her pussy.
The crotch of her panties was soaking, and he couldn’t help but burn with pride. He brushed his nose against it, inhaling her scent. His balls responded by throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He licked and sucked at the cotton panel for a few languid moments, and then he used his tongue to push it to the side and expose her womanhood to his worshipful mouth. Her clit was erect, and he circled it carefully with his tongue. A hand tangled in his hair, holding him firm.
“That’s it, pet, right there,” she moaned, and he felt another rush of pride. He continued to slowly circle her clit as her breathing turned ragged and sighing. He lapped around it at the expanding wetness, and her clit swelled larger.
The hand in his hair gripped even harder; she shoved his face firmly against her, smothering him in her cunt. He held his breath as she rubbed her clit against his nose and arched her hips up and down.
“Such a good boy, so good for me. My perfect slave.” She groaned and shuddered with her orgasm, and her juices flooded across his face. After giving him a few seconds to catch his breath, she pulled him forward again to clean her up as best as he could, carefully avoiding the sensitive clit.
Soon she pulled him away. “Stand up now,” she instructed, and he carefully did so, shaking his stiff legs out a little to make sure they would hold him. She gazed at the caged cock in front of her with satisfaction. Her hand reached up to cup his balls, weighing them in the palm of her hand. She rolled them gently between her fingers, and he groaned.
“So nice and full. Is this all for me? Are your balls heavy and aching just for me?” She bounced them in her hands lazily.
“Yes, Mistress, all for you. Only for you.”
“Good boy. They must be so sore right now. Do you want to be milked tonight? Or wait until I am ready to allow a proper orgasm?”
Matt swallowed. “Whatever pleases my Mistress.”
She gave his balls a hard squeeze, letting him feel her nails, and he yelped. “What pleases your Mistress is for you to answer her question.”
“I would prefer to wait, Mistress,” he replied when he could speak again.
“Are you sure? It could be a very long time.”
“I’m sure, Mistress. I would wait forever if you asked.”
She laughed, stood up, and gave him a deep kiss, chasing her own taste in his mouth. “You only say that because you think I won’t do that to you. Be careful what you wish for.”
He smiled and returned the kiss. “I already have everything I wish for.”
She laughed again and gave him a hard swat on the butt. “Go start dinner. I’m going to shower and change.”
It was only after she had left that he remembered that he didn’t quite have all that he could wish for. After dinner, he would approach her and dare ask for more.
*****
Matt went to the kitchen and donned his “I Live to Serve” apron, tying the strings around his bare back. The flank steaks had been marinating overnight and would cook quickly on the broiler, and the salad just needed to be tossed in the ginger dressing. All that was left was to sauté the vegetables and warm the bread. He’d just finished preparing the plates when his wife arrived. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she was wearing her blue silk robe, which clearly outlined the shape of her nipples. The chain that held the key to his collar and his cage dangled between her breasts, and the edge of the robe tantalizingly brushed the tops of her thighs. Matt was carrying both plates and didn’t want to drop them, so he quickly stifled his need to kneel before such beauty.
“Smells wonderful,” she said, moving forward to press herself up against the front of his apron. She kissed at his neck, right under his ear, and trailed her nails down his bare back to his exposed ass. He shuddered, concentrating on keeping the plates steady. She chuckled at his attempt at restraint and dug her nails into the meat of his ass. He keened lowly, barely keeping himself from whimpering. Her hand reached further down, tracing the curve and sliding between his legs to brush the backs of his heavy balls with her nails. He closed his eyes and focused intently on his breathing and on his arm muscles, making certain that the plates did not tip.
“Such a good boy.” She pulled back and gave him a playful pinch on the rear.
He carried their plates to the table and poured the wine. His Mistress paused behind him and was eyeing the two place settings Usually they ate together, but sometimes she wanted to hand-feed him as he knelt beside her. Ordinarily he would have waited for her direction before arranging for them both to be at the table, so she glanced at him inquiringly.
Matt did his best to steel his nerves. “Monica, if there are no other plans for this evening, there’s something I’d like to talk with you about after dinner,” he said, his voice close to shaking. “Nothing bad.”
The use of her first name was a clear signal. She immediately walked over to him and placed her palm against his cheek, smiling approvingly into his eyes. He leaned gratefully into her touch. “Of course, dearest pet. Anytime you need to talk, you should say so. Did you want to start now?”
“After dinner is fine,” he responded in a rush of relief. He was committed to his request now, but he also had some breathing room.
Monica looked at his face carefully, and then she gathered him to her in a simple hug. He buried his face against her neck and squeezed back tears. She was so good to him. He just wished he was more worthy of her. She kept hugging him tightly until he relaxed against her.
“Okay,” she said at last, checking his face once more. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
When they sat down she asked about his day, and he recounted the tale of the irate perfumer. It was much funnier in retrospect.
He asked after her patients.
“All good – no crises today.”
He had guessed as much; he could usually tell when she’d had a bad day. Her specialty was adolescent psychology, and her patients ranged from the children of some of the richest families in the Baltimore-Washington area to pro bono cases from the local youth shelter. She was one of the top-rated practitioners in her field, and had just published her second book. Matt was very proud – and more than a little in awe – that he was married to someone so successful.
“Is there anything you want to do tomorrow?”
