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Free Erotica - Your Desire: The Submissive by Tamsin Flowers

Free Erotica -  Your Desire: The Submissive by Tamsin Flowers - Sh! Women's Store
I’m delighted to have been invited over here by the Team Sh! for Free Erotica Friday and I thought I’d post something good and spicy to heat up your lunch hour!  This is an excerpt from the first in a new set of stories I’ve started working on, the Your Desire series.  Number one is Your Desire: The Submissive, and this is the start of the story.
Tamsin Flowers
Your Desire: The Submissive
I am waiting for you in our room. Our playroom, not your bedroom. I am on my knees; underneath them the floor is warm. I press the palms of my hands against it. Under-floor heating keeps this room warm enough for what we do here. I would love to stretch out on the hot floor and give myself up to you like that. But you wouldn’t want anything so simple, so straightforward. You bring me to this room for other reasons.
This room is always heated because I am not allowed to wear clothes in here. I have left them outside, folded neatly on the shelf as I was instructed to do the first time I came. I wear no jewellery when I come to you, nothing. It is one of the rules. My blonde hair is tied back with a black ribbon and there is no makeup on my face. You have called me here and now I am waiting in the prescribed position, ready for when you want to take your pleasure.
The door opens but I don’t look up. I know it’s you; there is no one else who comes into this room. You don’t speak immediately. I hear you close the door behind you and walk over to your chair. You sit down and I know you’re looking at me, checking I’m compliant with all that is required of me.
“You look beautiful today, Ella,” you say.
I’m not allowed to answer so I acknowledge your words with a slight dip of my head.
“This afternoon will be a test for you, Ella. I think you are ready for it and if you pass it, your training period will be complete.  I will have a gift for you.”
The prospect of a test scares me. What if I fail? I don’t want to let you down, I want to be the best I can be for you. It will be hard to pass. I know there is a very real possibility I will fail. You won’t give me an easy ride or let me pass if I don’t come up to scratch. You will make it as hard as you can because you have high expectations of me. Expectations I am not sure I can live up to. The pleasurable sense of anticipation I had while I waited for you evaporates and, looking down at my hands, I can see a slight tremor. I pray you don’t notice it.
I hear you get up from the chair and you come across the room to stand in front of me. Now I can see your bare feet in front of my knees. I long to stretch out and touch them, to bend forwards and kiss them but I remain utterly still. Now you’re near, my heart has started pounding. I’m nervous and excited. I want the test to begin and I want to show you I’m worthy of the trust you put in me.
“Stand up, Ella.”
I stand up in front of you. I am a little unsteady on my feet after kneeling for so long and I hold my breath for a few seconds through a flurry of pins and needles. I know you’re watching me closely, even though my own eyes remain focused on the floor. I try to control any outward sign of the turmoil inside me.
“Look at me, Ella.”
Now at last I am allowed to look up at you and our eyes meet. This is the moment I love, when I can see the feelings you have for me written in your blue eyes. Of course, you show your feelings for me in a hundred other ways; but this short moment of intimacy we share, before you tell me what’s in store for me, is my favourite. Today you smile at me and, placing a hand at the back of my neck, you pull me to you and kiss me. Your mouth is gentle on mine, a soft hello kiss as we have not seen each other for nine days. You ration our time together carefully because you know the rarer it is the more I will value it.
I kiss you back and you taste sweet to me. But I must leave my hands by my side as you have not yet given me permission to touch you. In my mind, I let my hands run all over your body, imagining the heat of your skin. Perhaps you will let me do that later, when the test is over. If I pass...
You tug on the ribbon in my hair and, as you pull it away, the weight of my hair falls across my shoulders.  You sink your hands into it, running them through its length, and then you twist a hank of it in your wrist so you can hold me firmly. You draw me closer still, so my nipples brush against your naked chest. This sudden touch runs through me like a jolt of electricity, making me catch my breath. The hand you have in my hair pulls my head back and suddenly your kiss turns savage. You plunder my mouth with yours, biting hard on my bottom lip, plunging your tongue as far back into my mouth as you can reach. Your teeth scrape against mine and as desire flares you insert one knee up between my legs. I am already wet; in a second your trousers will bear the mark of it. The front of your thigh pushes up hard against me and I grind my hips in response, letting a small moan roll down the back of my throat.
You immediately break off the kiss and step back from me, holding me by my hair at arm’s length. Your face is serious, your eyes now shielded from me by your heavy brows.
“Ella, Ella, baby.”
I have made a mistake and I look down at the floor.
“Silence,” you say. “No sound unless I give you permission.  You know that.”
I drop to my knees, causing you to let go of my hair. I hate it when you have to admonish me like this, because I have forgotten one of the basic rules.
You walk away and I know exactly where you’re going.  To fetch a ruler.  You come back to me.
I put out my right hand in front of me, palm up. You swat it with the ruler and the pain radiates up my arm.  This is not for any form of gratification; it’s not part of our scene.  This is a humiliating punishment to remind me of our rules.  To make me feel like a child.  I silently curse myself for allowing this to happen on such an important day.  Could it mean I’ve already failed the test?  I blink back tears of frustration, keeping my head bowed and my hand out, in case you want to strike it again.
I hear the ruler clatter to the floor as you toss it aside.
“Go to the cross, Ella.”
I know you will want me to stand facing the cross and once I have assumed the position you come up behind me and cuff my wrists and ankles in place. My arms are held high above my head and past experience tells me that after a certain time they will start to go numb. My legs are spread wide apart; I will feel the strain along my inner thighs in a while. But I am happy to be in position because the test is about to begin.  I am even more turned on than when you kissed me.
“Safe word?”
You ask me this every time. You know my safe word is pelican and you know I never use it.
One of your hands runs firmly down my back, coming to rest gently on the crack of my arse. Your breath is warm on the back of my neck, giving me a sense of how close you are to me.
“Beautiful white skin, Ella. All the marks from last time have gone. Would you like me to mark it again?”
A flutter rises up through me and the muscles of my vagina clench. When you ask me a direct question I am allowed to reply.
“Yes, please.”
Now I am excited, I’m even wetter. I writhe against the cross, pulling at my restraints, each breath coming faster than the last. What will you use today to mark my back? I listen but you are careful to give nothing away before you start. You move around the room and then I can tell you’re standing quite close behind me. You make me wait. I want you to begin but you take pleasure in doing things at your own pace. I try to calm myself, to keep still. Only when I am perfectly serene will you start the scene. I take ten deep breaths and try not to think about what is coming my way.
At last.  A swish and a rush of air and what feels like a hundred tiny bites across my back. I love this sensation, this exquisite dappling of pain across my shoulder blades. This is the red leather flogger, one of your favourites. This will leave my skin red and mottled and lined; I think this is just a warm-up to the main event. You will want to use something more distinctive to make your mark.   It comes again, lower down, making me suck in my breath, and you work your way down and up my back as quickly as you can.  By the time the tenth blow burns across the top of my shoulders, I am finding it hard to remain silent at each touch.
“How many?” you ask.
“Ten,” I manage, through gritted teeth.
“Yes, more.”
You have not touched my buttocks yet and still you leave them, working another ten blows down and up my back again, the same way as before.  By the twentieth blow – I always count, I know I have to count – the pain is no longer so sharply defined.  My whole back burns and throbs; my arms and legs are experiencing their own sweet agony from being held in position, and not to be overshadowed is the dull ache of longing deep inside me, muscles clenching against nothing, wanting the pressure of something hard between my legs.
You pause.  I hear you putting the flogger back on the rack and taking down something else.  I wait, as the first harsh sting of pain in my back subsides to be replaced with a more substantial burning sensation that will trouble me for hours to come.  I breathe deeply in and out, concentrating hard to handle the pain.  I will pass this test, whatever more you have in store for me, I will pass it. I’ll endure the pain because when it finishes I’ll revel in the touch of your skin against mine.
I didn’t hear you coming towards me; I didn’t hear the paddle cut through the air. I felt it land on my right buttock. A studded paddle.  And as I let myself cry out in pain, now you will hit me harder on the left side. I bite down on my bottom lip but nothing can prepare me for the flat sting and the engulfing wave of pain which follows it, radiating through me hard and fast. I taste blood in my mouth and there are tears in my eyes. I yank my wrists against the cuffs to counteract the sting which still reverberates through my lower body.
You press your hand against my left buttock. It’s cool and soothing and my need for you flares up through the pain. You let your fingers slide down between my legs to feel the moisture there and as you touch me, so sweetly, I gasp.
“Don’t come, Ella,” you say.  “Not until I give you permission.”
But your fingers are lingering, exploring my cunt at their leisure, and my hips flex outwards from the cross to offer better access.
I whimper and your hand withdraws.  The bite of the paddle comes again, on both sides in quick succession, and although I manage not to cry out, my legs buckle beneath me, leaving my wrists bearing the full weight of my body.  From my neck, now, to the top of my thighs, the back of my body is a blur of pain.  My legs tremble uncontrollably and I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from sobbing.
Your hands support my hips and your body is pressed up against the length of mine. As I gradually regain my composure, you let your hands wander up and down my back, tracing the marks you have made with your finger. You kiss my shoulder and I let my head fall back, allowing you to nuzzle my neck. I hear the noise of the zipper being pulled and then the sound of your jeans dropping to the floor. Your cock presses hard against the small of my back, sending a flutter of anticipation through me. I press my hips out against you as your hands caress my inner thighs. Endorphins flood my system; the burning pain in my back is now a searing pleasure, even as the friction of your chest pressing against it makes it more raw.
“God, Ella, you’re magnificent.”
Your hands snake round to the front of my hips and pull them back towards you. Your cock nudges the entrance to my cunt and then you plunge it up into me with a deep throated groan. The noises you make when you fuck me are my reward and inflame me every bit as much as your touch. I tighten my muscles around you because I want to keep you inside me for as long as possible. But you draw in and out, creating heat and friction to drive me wild. I try not to moan and I do my best not to come without permission. But you make it so damn hard. With your hands on my hips you push me down onto your cock and then you grind two fingers against my clit.
I lose control. I cannot fight it and I am overwhelmed. My orgasm rips through me and as the muscles of my cunt pulse around you, I cannot hide what is going on. My back arches and stiffens and I cannot suppress the moans caused by the intermingle of pleasure with pain.
You pull out of me completely and then suddenly plunge back in, hard and fast, making me shriek as my climax reaches new heights. Your hands rise to my breasts and your hips grind me hard against the cross. I feel the tension in your muscles build as you push deeper into me and then I know you’re coming as well. As you climax you bite my shoulder and I lean back against you, gasping as I welcome the pain.
But I have come without permission.
You slump against me and the salt in your sweat stings the welts on my back.
“Have I failed the test?” I whisper.

“The test has only just begun, Ella.”

About Tamsin
As a naughty girl on a journey of self-discovery as an erotic writer, Tamsin Flowers is as keen to entertain her readers as she is to explore every aspect of female (and male) erotica.  Hoping to touch you on your most erotic zones, she writes light-hearted stories that are sexy and fun, perfect for reading on your own or with someone in whom you have more than a passing interest...
In the words of one reviewer, “Ms. Flowers has a way of describing sexual tension that forces itself upon your own body. The story is sharp, flowing and very interactive.”
Short stories by Tamsin can be found in anthologies from Xcite Books, House of Erotica and (soon) Cleis Press.  She is currently working on a number of novels and novellas. You can read excerpts of her work on her blog,

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