Submit (Page 23)

Submit (Songs of Submission #3)(23)
Author: C.D. Reiss

I nodded, mouthing okay while keeping my eyes downcast. She’d been very kind not to send me home as soon as she realized I couldn’t talk, and I was grateful.

At my locker, I got out my clothes and stuffed my envelope in my pocket. I felt it then, a hard piece that was too rigid to be cash. I tore open the envelope. There was far less than I was used to, as seemed just under the circumstances, and a key card for one of the rooms in the Stock hotel.

My phone blooped right then

—room 522 be naked—

A ripple of electricity coursed between my legs. Despite the fact that he and I had so much to discuss, despite the fact that I couldn’t speak and should go see a doctor, despite everything, I wanted him immediately. I grabbed my bag and shuffled to the elevator, texting on the way.

—Honestly, why bother if I can’t scream your name?—

—You’ll scream—

—I think I’ll just go home and wash my socks—

I was getting out on the fifth floor when I realized the one thing that should get me home right away. I cursed myself. I should have put him off with an honest rescheduling, if for even an hour. But now my jokey, sarcastic texts meant I was on my way up, and my diamond navel ring was on my piano. Fuck.

I stood outside the elevator, staring at my phone. I had to just do it.

—Actually, can I…

I never finished the text. Everything I considered typing sounded like a complete fabrication. I’d already told him I didn’t have any plans. He’d already seen I wasn’t sick or otherwise indisposed. I was just going to have to put on my big girl panties and deal.


I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was supposed to be getting undressed and waiting for him naked, but I couldn’t stand before him in all my nude, diamond-less glory. He’d see the missing jewel at some point, of course, but I’d rather it not be in the first three seconds, with him clothed and me squirming and naked.

So I paced the room, looked out the window at the disputable glories of Downtown, and waited with an anticipation that lacked sex in its tension. When the door clicked open, I wanted to run out, but Jonathan blocked the way.

He looked me up and down, in my black jeans and T-shirt, then tilted his head as if trying to figure me out. “Something’s not adding up here,” he said, dropping his keycard on the dresser. He didn’t seem angry, just stern. Even when I smiled and shrugged, with a finger in my cheek like a pure innocent, he didn’t crack. He stepped so close to me I felt his breath on my cheek. “Naked, Monica.”

I shuddered. I wanted to obey. My hands twitched for my buttons and snaps, but I held them down and looked into his eyes. There was a smile there, buried under the rigidity. I couldn’t tell if it was humor or enjoyment, but there was pleasure. If I could get him to take my clothes off so fast or messily he didn’t notice, I’d consider this a success.

“Is this the submissive thing?” he asked. “You’re proving you’re not?”

I kept my mouth closed. I couldn’t speak, so I had the perfect excuse not to answer. I just kept my face close to his, feeling the heat come off him in waves.

He brushed his hand across the top edge of my jeans. “Are you taking that belt off, or am I?”

I gave my twitching hands something to do, yanking my leather belt though the loop and snapping it off. I was about to drop it on the floor when he caught it.

“Thank you,” he said.

He slipped his fingers in my waistband, and I gasped as he unbuttoned my jeans, then pulled down the zipper. He folded back the corners of the fly.

“My intention was to get you to use your voice one way or the other. You chose the other.” He took a handful of hair at the back of my neck and threw me on the bed, face down.

I landed with a bounce. He was on me before I had a chance to inhale, straddling me, his knees pressing my thighs together as he grabbed my arms at the elbows.

“Anything that sounds like ‘no’ or ‘stop’ is effective. But you have to say it.” He pulled my elbows together behind my back.

The restriction brought a tingle between my legs, a sensation that started deep in my gut and ran to the very tip of my crotch. When he wrapped the belt around my arms just above the elbows, I gasped from the sudden rush of arousal that nearly blinded me. He pulled it tight. I couldn’t move.

“You have to use your voice. Do you understand?”

I nodded, looking back at him, half my face on the bedspread, the other half covered with a mass of hair. He gripped my jeans at the waistband and yanked them down over my ass, taking my panties with them. I thought he was going to pull them all the way off, but he only got them down to mid-thigh before he stopped to raise my ass up and back until my knees were under me.

He moved the hair from my eyes, looking deeply into them as he brushed his fingers over my vagina. “You’re wet, Monica.” He circled the outside of it, pushing the lips aside.

I felt how wet I was in the way he touched me, moving smoothly. Watching my face, he drew his hand away, and in the half second I missed it, I thought he’d take off his pants or kiss my pu**y, but instead, his hand landed on my ass with a hard slap. A hah left my lungs. Then he did it again, higher up. Hard.

The sting was intense, and the rush of arousal was undeniable, like the tide coming in. My arms tensed against their binds, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I was under him completely, confined, aroused, controlled. I had no will of my own, just the enslavement of his palm on my ass as he stroked it once across, down to my snatch, then brought it back up to slap me again.

“You okay, baby?” he asked.

I nodded, admitting to myself that I felt more than okay. I felt safe. He kept at it. Stroke, slap, caress, slap. I lost myself in the sting and heat on my ass, submitted completely to what was happening, what I allowed to happen. The seconds between his palm slapping me and the stinging whacks themselves were hot with anticipation, and he timed them so they came when I didn’t expect, thrusting me forward. My breathing got harsh and guttural as he moved down my thighs, one side, then the other. I knew he was going to hit the center. I knew the next slap was going to cut right into my pu**y, and as if he knew I knew, he held it back an extra second, then whacked the backs of my thighs and my soaking clit.

I grunted.

“Monica, was that you?” He was breathless himself.

I couldn’t make the noise again until he slapped my cunt twice, hard and fast, and the sting, then the rush of pleasure pulled one long vowel sound from my throat.