Yes, Ma'am Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  ZERO SUM GAME

  SECRET DESIRES

  TEA FOR THREE

  EXHIBIT A

  A DIFFERENT KIND OF REALITY SHOW

  SECRETARY’S DAY

  WEDDING NIGHT

  FLASH

  IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

  AN INVITATION TO THE DANCE

  STICKING WITH YOU

  I 1T U 2 DO SUMFIN 4 ME

  ROPE BURN

  HIS LADY’S MANSERVANT

  TAMING THE UNRULY

  THE BIG WHAT

  THE MEAN GIRL

  CONNECTION

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Copyright Page

  INTRODUCTION: GIVING IT UP: LETTING HER RULE

  What makes a man cower before a powerful woman?” I asked in my call for submissions for this book. What you’ll find here are numerous answers to that question, though surely there are infinitely more waiting to be written. Men are the ones gifted with all sorts of power in our society, but our dirty little secret is that so many of them long to strip themselves of this power, to be tied down, gagged, spanked, taken, owned. They want to be made to do a woman’s bidding, whether that means being ordered into a threesome or put on full, naked display, as you will read about here. They want to ease the burdens of manliness, if only for a little while, to be “ordered” to do all the naughty things they’ve dreamed of.

  Submissive men are some of the most misunderstood and invisible sexual creatures around. Their voices simply aren’t heard in popular culture, though you’ll find them in plenty of bedrooms, in the blogosphere, and in fetish clubs. After putting together the anthologies He’s on Top and She’s on Top, I wanted to look at BDSM from the bottom’s perspective. Why would a man want to give up control? What does he get out of such an arrangement? These stories show you some of the tantalizing possibilities out there for sniveling men and the women who love them.

  Men who crave the company of a dominant woman find her with wives, girlfriends, and dominatrices, sometimes bringing out the kinky tendencies of their partners, other times tapping into what’s already well developed, yet we rarely hear their authentic voices telling us what makes them shiver with fear and excitement. There’s still a taboo element to our leaders—in business, government, and the home—voluntarily relinquishing the top spot. Men are taught to be the hunters, not the hunted, and when the tables are turned, many are all too thrilled to be treated like scum. The flipside is that any woman who can lure a submissive man into her lair knows just how valuable a prize she’s gotten and will surely want to keep him happy, even if this means putting her foot down, literally, upon him, as the boss in “Secretary’s Day” does to her new hire.

  “Masturbation without permission was strictly forbidden. This was the most difficult for me because I got so worked up being Rikka’s little whore that I desperately needed to jerk off,” writes Alex Mendra in “Zero Sum Game.” He describes his setup with the commanding Rikka as “perfection,” striving to be everything she desires, but delighting in each form of punishment she cooks up, whether a firm spanking across his ass or the sudsy scene she cooks up for him.

  In Stephen Elliott’s “It’s Cold Outside,” the element of realism he so beautifully captures takes us far beyond the clichéd Catwoman fantasy into the stuff of real life, where a woman commandeers the body of the narrator while her boyfriend is asleep. She leaves him tied up, helpless—and horny, and he takes her marks with him, literally and figuratively, when they part.

  In “The Mean Girl,” Teresa Noelle Roberts writes of a man reminiscing about his first fantasy domme, now embodied by his real-life Cruella. “I tasted every humiliation I’d ever faced in my hopeless pursuit of Muffy Spaulding—made new and fresh and delicious because now it was coming from Heather, whom I loved. Whom I really did worship, kinky games aside.”

  There’s also plenty of humor here. In “A Different Kind of Reality Show” by D. L. King, the author takes us behind the TV screen, where a man is controlled by a cacophony of women’s voices, each taking more delight than the next in ordering him to humiliate himself for their pleasure.

  Debra Hyde encapsulates perfectly why the “unruly” man doesn’t just wish to be tamed, but needs to be. “Fear no longer dominates; submission does. I am vessel and vassal—tool and toy, the means to her pleasure. I am hers.” If those words resonate with you, making you long for a woman to come along and grab you by the scruff of your neck, or order you to your knees, or simply control you with one fierce, all-knowing look, then this is the book for you. Go ahead, say the words out loud: “Yes, Ma’am.” Wherever your domme is, she’ll hear you.

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  New York City

  ZERO SUM GAME

  Alex Mendra

  Bend over,” she says calmly. The ice in her voice makes my stomach pitch and roll with excitement—

  I’ve always been drawn to a certain type—women who are dark both in look and in spirit—and Rikka is no exception. We met at a decadent Halloween bash three years ago. She came dressed as a Gestapo Vampire Slut, and I was the Sweet Transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania.

  When I first glimpsed her, there was that familiar tugging sensation that connects the pit of my stomach to my balls. She was tall and commanding in those thick-heeled, knee-high jack-boots and a short leather skirt. Jet black hair, spilling well past her strong shoulders, accented the pale translucence of her skin. Her lips, painted glossy red, were almost enough to distract the casual observer from stealing a glance at those firm, lush breasts. This was truly the woman of my wet dreams. Little did I know that her costume wasn’t her only special outfit.

  We didn’t fuck that first night. Rikka came long and hard while I was on my knees, holding that scanty leather skirt above her milk white hips, servicing her with my tongue while she stood above me, both her hands on the back of my head, driving me in.

  “Higher. Get it up there for me,” her husky voice whispers from behind. The sound of her shaking the shaving cream can fills my world as I arch my back, trying desperately to make an offering of my hungry asshole—

  After that first Halloween, Rikka and I began to see each other more and more. We fucked every chance we got. We were a true match. Both of us loved sex and had no limitations on what would please us. Restrooms, parks, alleyways: name the place, we got it on there. One night, we went to the Castro and made it at a gay sex club. The next weekend, I mounted my raven beauty from behind at a local movie theater. Doing it in public sent me to heaven and back again. Nothing was taboo, yet something was missing.

  I wanted to serve.

  Four months into our relationship, I finally got up the nerve to tell her. I confessed how I’d felt on that Halloween, told her about how hard I had become and how I trembled just thinking of that night. My darkling’s black eyes lit with a radiant glee.

  We started slowly. Looking back, it seems tame compared to where we are now. Every night after work, Rikka would go to the third drawer of her dresser. We called it “my drawer.” It was brimming with the most delightfully pretty things that Rikka bought for me: colorful frilly panties, thick cocklike dildos, rope, a strap-on harness, belts, and clothespins. Once she found a pair of panties to her liking, I’d have to strip off all of my clothes and lie facedown on the floor. Rikka would place the panties in my left hand and have me put them on while I reached underneath myself with my right hand and pulled my cock. This ritual was awkward enough to keep me off emotional balance. In order to successfully don panties while lying facedown, it was inevitable that I’d have to get up on my knees at some point in the process, exposing my backside and balls to the whims of my dark love
r. Some nights Rikka simply ignored this element while I “dressed.” Other times it seemed to take hours for me to put panties on as she entertained herself at my expense.

  My new life was perfection. Every day I would go to work and play accountant for my boss, then return to Rikka’s lair for exquisite nights of debauchery. On the weekends, my lover would take me shopping for ladies’ products. We would invariably find our way to the cosmetics counter, where I would be seated on a stool so my sweet could readily experiment with different shades of lipstick. Rikka was constantly scolding me to sit still while the pretty girl behind the counter stared in amazement. Being dressed as a man while having rouge brushed on my cheeks put a hard lump in my pants, and Rikka was not shy about pointing this fact out to the counter girl. After my make-over, Rikka liked to take me to the lingerie section and hold different styles and colors of panties up to my crotch, driving me wild with anticipation.

  During the natural flow of things, the inevitable punishments began. It started out being nonphysical—I’d be sent to bed without dinner, not allowed to come for days on end (although I guess that is pretty physical, in a way)—but soon I found myself across Rikka’s firm lap. A wooden hairbrush was her favorite toy, and it quickly became mine as well. The littlest things brought on her wrath. Not making the bed crisply enough earned me ten firm smacks across my bare ass. Inattentiveness to her clitoris meant the belt. Masturbation without permission was strictly forbidden. This was the most difficult for me because I got so worked up being Rikka’s little whore that I desperately needed to jerk off.

  And so this is my life.

  Today started out simply enough. This morning, Rikka laid out some special things for me on the bed and told me to be ready for her when she got home. I was so horny all day that I told my boss I was feeling ill and left work early. When I walked through the front door, I started stripping my clothes off and was naked before I made it to the bedroom. While putting on my garter and stockings, I realized my legs would look better if I shaved them. Just as I was heading to the bathroom to lather up, the phone rang. Rikka was going to be late, but she told me to be ready. I didn’t mention the shaving I intended to do. I thought it would make a perfect surprise.

  When I was standing in the tub with my legs lathered, razor in hand, my cock started to throb and pulse. I couldn’t help myself. After spraying a hefty blob of shaving cream on my cock, I started to pump away in a frenzy. Slipping a wet finger in my ass got me so hot that I didn’t hear the front door open. Rikka walked into the bathroom just as I shot my come into the air.

  “You disobedient little cunt,” she spat, her voice acidic. “I knew I couldn’t leave you alone. Not for one minute.”

  Rikka walked over to the tub and slapped me hard across the face. I knew better than to speak. My fate was sealed and it always goes easier on me if I don’t fight it.

  “Get out of my bathtub, whore,” she demanded.

  I nearly cracked my skull scrambling out of the tub. Flushed with excitement, I stood naked before her, my left hand coated with come and shaving cream.

  “Bend over,” she said calmly.

  Obediently, I bent forward and grabbed my ankles. I could picture what this must look like. A tall, darkly gorgeous woman fully dressed in her bathroom with her lover bent over, naked, before her.

  “No, slut. Turn around and bend over the edge of the bathtub. Can’t you do anything right?”

  Eagerly, I obliged, leaning with my elbows inside the tub, ass in the air. Not knowing what my love had in mind was driving me wild, and my raging hard-on did a poor job of hiding my excitement.

  “Higher. Get it up there for me,” her husky voice whispered from behind. The sound of her shaking the can of shaving cream filled my world.

  “Don’t you move.” Rikka gave my exposed balls one long, hard squeeze, then she stood. I heard her heels click on the white tile floor, then the sound of the medicine cabinet opening. As she stood behind me again, Rikka reached out and held a pair of scissors in front of my eyes.

  “That asshole of yours needs to be made pretty,” she cooed while snip-snipping the scissors in my face.

  Rikka turned the water on in the tub and let it run for a while. I was so hot and hard, my cock was nearly ripping its skin. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her cup her hands under the running water. She took the water she captured and poured it between my rear cheeks.

  “Fuck,” I said involuntarily. The water was so ice cold it made me jump.

  “Did you say something, whore?”

  I knew better than to respond.

  “You want to fuck? Is that it? Not likely, cunt. The only thing getting fucked around here is that sweet spot of yours.”

  Rikka spread my cheeks with one hand, and with the scissors she deftly clipped away at the dark fur ringing my back door. There was a pause, then I felt the coolness of shaving cream being sprayed onto my asshole. The hissing sound the can made was music to my ears. I couldn’t stop myself from wriggling with excitement.

  “Somebody likes to be a slutty tramp,” she whispered and gave my balls a squeeze.

  I almost came as Rikka scraped the razor over my opening. The feeling of total loss of power was overwhelming. There I was, naked and bent over in a bathtub, with the woman of my life shaving my sacred space. It only took a few seconds for her to finish the work. I was trembling, on the edge of shooting.

  “Look at you. I think you like it. Do you like it?”

  I couldn’t speak, I was so blind with heat.

  “I asked you a question,” Rikka spat and reached up to grab the back of my hair. She snatched up a handful of hair with one hand and pulled hard while plunging one finger of her other hand deep into my ass. I let out a low moan, an animalistic grunt.

  “Jerk yourself off, slut,” Rikka demanded.

  I did as I was told and pumped my cock while Rikka slipped another finger in my ass. With each tug of my hair, she plunged her two long fingers in my quivering hole. She had a rhythm going, pulling and plunging, pulling and plunging, while I frantically jerked my cock. Finally I shot my load, causing my ass to clench down on her probing fingers. She sensed my orgasm and yanked my hair one last time while driving her digits deeper in.

  “Clean yourself up,” she said after several seconds of silence. “I’ve got plans for you tonight. Dress up pretty. We’re going out to play some more of our special zero sum game.”

  I love that game. My loss is her gain. And I never win. But that’s okay—losing to Rikka is the only game I’ll ever need to play.

  SECRET DESIRES

  Ellen Tevault

  Even though his throbbing cock strained against his boxers, Henry forced himself not to relieve the pressure. He pretended his wife, Loretta, had commanded him. As he left the female domination articles he’d researched in the printer for her to find, he hoped eventually he wouldn’t have to fake it. He yearned for that day to come. Hearing the garage door, he rushed to greet her.

  When Loretta opened the garage door into the house, she saw Henry filling the foot massager with steaming water. “Oh, God, how’d you know?” she asked as she collapsed into the recliner. After she pushed off her shoes, she immersed her aching feet in the water and sighed.

  Without asking, Henry served Loretta a tall glass of iced tea with lemon, the way she liked it.

  She thanked him and smiled as she graciously accepted the glass, without recognizing the service technique he’d learned from his research. “So, what did I do to deserve such a welcome?” She patted the chair’s armrest.

  Henry perched where she’d gestured, considering it a command. When she leaned her head against his chest, he kissed her there. “A queen deserves to be treated as such. Especially my queen,” he said into her soft, auburn curls. He bit his lip, before he could add “Ma’am.” He closed his eyes and hated that he couldn’t say it. His heart ached with the need to tell her his desires, but he feared she’d reject them, him. He’d rather die than have the love of his li
fe do that.

  “You spoil me,” she said as she leaned her head back to gaze up into his hazel eyes.

  “You deserve it and so much more.” He leaned over and kissed her soft, inviting lips.

  “I love you,” she said as she tousled his thinning hair. She pulled away from the embrace and giggled. “I’m gonna turn into a prune.” She withdrew her wrinkled feet as Henry got on his knees to towel them dry.

  He sucked a shriveled toe into his mouth and watched his wife squirm away from the caress. “Don’t taste like it.”

  “You’re so bad,” she said, pushing him away. “You know my feet are ticklish.”

  He reached for them and continued to dry them as he massaged with a firm touch to prevent tickling her again. Even though he loved her giggle, he wanted to hear her sigh as he worked away the tension of ten hours on her feet. “How was work?” He lathered lotion onto her calloused, overworked heels.

  “Crappy.” She sighed and relaxed back against the chair. “Betty called off, so I had to cover for her.” She hugged a green plaid throw pillow against her breast.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said as he continued to manipulate her toes.

  “More than you know.” She stretched as she spoke.

  When her foot brushed across his upper thigh, Henry remembered his throbbing cock. He forced himself to ignore it because he knew how she felt came first. He regretted that his cock debated with him about it. He cleared his throat as he adjusted his cock to a more comfortable position.

  Oblivious to his discomfort, Loretta asked, “So, how was your night?”

  Henry rested her feet on his chest and gazed up at her blue eyes. He wanted to tell her about the articles he’d found, but he swallowed instead. “Nothing. Just played on the Net and stuff.” He shrugged.

  “I wish I’d been home with you.” She curled her toes in his chest hairs.