Aching to Submit

By: Natasha Knight


Sophie drew the curtains of the study windows closed. She returned to her desk and cleared the contents from its surface. Unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse, she lifted her breasts up out of the cups of her bra. She spread her legs to shoulder width and bent forward, laying her torso across the desk before reaching back to push her panties down to just beneath her hips. She lifted her skirt up over her back to bare her bottom.

She remained like this for a few moments, her arms stretched to either side of the desk, her back arched, imagining how she looked as she prepared to be disciplined.

She glanced once more at the picture of the punished girl on her computer screen, taking in the soft curves of her parted thighs, the stripes of the cane across her buttocks, the glistening pink lips of her bare, exposed sex.

Her nipples pressed against the cool leather top of the desk and her fingers found her swollen, slick nub. She pinched and kneaded, moaning, lifting to stand on the balls of her feet as the muscles of her calves, her thighs, her buttocks tensed. She lay her cheek down on the desk and closed her eyes, giving herself over to her imagination while a stream of sunlight penetrated from between the drawn curtains, warming her face.

Behind her eyes she imagined him, the tall, dark stranger. He had no voice today, although sometimes he chastised her verbally as he punished her physically. She arched her back on his command, lifting herself to him, offering herself to him. She could almost feel the sting of his thick leather belt, hear the sound it would make as it struck soft flesh, know the pain it would deliver.

Moisture soaked her fingers and ran down her thighs as he continued to punish her. She spread her legs wider, wanting more, opening herself to her phantom disciplinarian.

She imagined when he would switch over to the cane, striping her bottom red before telling her to reach back and spread herself open, to prepare to have her bottom hole caned. She would melt her torso deeper into the desk, lifting her hips higher to him. With a slight flick of his wrist, the cane would come down onto that most private, most vulnerable part of her.

Once her punishment was over, he’d have her remain as she was, bent over, her bottom throbbing, exposed, marked.

Her breath came in gasps and her hand worked faster as she neared orgasm until finally she came, her hips bucking, pelvic bones scratching against the rough edges of the desk, the only softness that of her cotton panties as they slid to the floor.

Chapter One

Sophie turned the same corner for the third time that night. It was a little after eleven and Amsterdam was still buzzing with life, even on a Wednesday. It was a world of difference from her home in Scottsdale, Arizona where it was lights out before ten at night in the sleepy little neighborhood.

She glanced across the street, trying to seem casual but feeling like an imposter. L’Opera stood tucked between the other buildings, blending nicely, discreetly, with everything else. Three steps led to the old, intricately carved wooden front door, just outside of which stood a man—a security guard, Sophie imagined—ensuring the protection and privacy of those within. He didn’t look at her, likely didn’t even notice her among the other pedestrians who walked along. There were enough cafés and restaurants on this street that the boutique and very subtle BDSM club was easy to overlook if you didn’t know what lay just beyond that door. No sign hung overhead, nothing to indicate anything at all, in fact.

The door opened just then and Sophie pretended to fumble with her phone while she watched a couple exit. They looked normal, not like what she’d expected to see at a place like this. He was dressed in a dark suit and she, a cocktail dress beneath her unbuttoned coat. The door closed behind them as they descended the stairs, the man’s hand on her elbow, guiding her. They stopped once they were on the street and the man turned her to him. The woman allowed herself to be turned and only looked up at him as he buttoned her coat, his eyes on hers the entire time. Once he was finished, he pulled her close and kissed her forehead, a long, soft gesture of what Sophie could only call love.

Sophie’s heart ached.

The ringing of her phone jolted Sophie, along with the bouncer as, for one brief moment, she swore she caught his eyes on her. Her heart was in her throat as she quickly turned to walk on.

“Hello?” she said into her mobile, knowing it would be her husband and wanting to sound calm.

“Hey, hon, it’s me,” Michael said. He’d left earlier that day for Paris where he’d be spending the rest of the week in meetings. Neither of them had expected all the travel his new job entailed and there seemed to be no end in sight.