The Summer Submission Ch. 01

I could have slotted this into anal, BDSM, or romance. It's all three of those things. Trigger warnings: the r-word (for sexual assault), anal, some bondage, heavy degradation/humiliation, really questionable consent/consensual non-consent (CNC), maledom (fem-sub). It starts off romantic and then changes into something...quite different.

I originally published this under my old screen name, so there's a small chance yo may have read it before. A bit about it: I'm not a fan of stories involving rape nor M/f in which the f doesn't enjoy it, so I've written about consent and pleasure in ways I find hot. It's also quite romantic.

"How discrete can you be, Rachel? Or maybe I should preface that statement: do you want to engage with me in a manner that would call for discretion?"

I suppose that's a strange question to ask. But in this case, it's necessary. You see, I'm a summer associate working at a firm in the city, and my boss-mentor is asking me that question.

The question isn't out of left field because our attraction had been building for a while. I noticed it as soon as we met, when he was one of the panel members on my final interview for this job. The attraction grew to a full-fledged crush over the past seven weeks of working closely with him, as I learned that he is brilliant and kind. I knew it wasn't one-sided either, because you could have cut the chemistry between us with a knife. Like this afternoon, in the office, we were looking over a document together, sitting side-by-side, and by page three, I noticed that the space between us had shrunk. I could feel his warmth, smelled his clean freshness, and I could definitely pick up the faintest bit of something that made me think he was a little turned on. All of which made me breathe harder. We made eye contact, and he smiled before he moved away a few inches.

Then he said "Hey Rachel, I'd like to talk to you outside of work tonight. Let's grab an adult beverage, if you don't have plans?" I had tickets to a talk, actually, but I said yes because I wanted to hang out with him more.

And here we are, in an old-fashioned, darkened bar in North Beach. He leans back, spreads his arms, and studies my face. His oxfords are impeccably tamed to a professional polish. The premature lines around his dark eyes crinkle when he smiles or frowns. His smile, the expression on his face, the ease with which he takes up space, all of it suggested charm, humor, strength, confidence, and a sharp, observant mind. All qualities that make him an excellent lawyer. He looks almost too perfectly the part of the mid-thirties lawyer on the rise, with those tamed dark curls.

Even his name is great: Ezra Kaplan. Ezra means help or helper, and I'm grateful to have his mentorship.. Ezra is also only four years older than me but...just...you know, if only he wasn't my boss.

"Are you asking me for something, Mr, Kaplan?" I drop my voice, hoping it's a seductive purr. I'm not sure it is working, because I'm barely thirty, still a student, unsure of myself.

"Well, I'm not asking, because I'm your boss for the summer. I was hoping you'd ask."

"Mr. Kaplan, that's not my usual style. As for discretion -" I lean toward him " - yes, I think discretion is called for. I don't want anyone to think I slept my way into a job." I want so badly to appear sophisticated and worldly to this man, but being forward isn't my usual style.

"Boldly presumptuous of you to cut to the chase and get to sleeping together. I was, very innocently I might add, hoping you'd like to go on a formal date. As for becoming my lover -" He looks into my eyes, then his eyes sweep over me head to toe " - let's see if you can earn that position."

My face feels very warm, and only partially in embarrassment. He wants something, and it's not the draft of a contract on his desk tomorrow morning. So why the tease? Then I thought of a clever come back.

"Oh, no? Then perhaps we should call it a night? Maybe we can have a Shabbat dinner later?"

"I wouldn't go that far. Let's get out of here?"

It's so late that the fog has cleared. Clear nights like this are colder than the ones where the usual blanket of fog covers this city by the ocean, but you still can't see the stars because of the light pollution. I shiver in my wool peacoat. Ezra offers me his, which I don't accept. I ball my hands into fists and shove them into my pockets. I turn my shoulders inward, closing myself off from him, to make this awkward conversation easier to bear.

He grabs my attention when he puts his arms around me, then pulls me in. I look at him, and smile. He smiles back, before lowering his head and his lips touch mine. My body reacts, separate from my conscious will, and my body urgently pushes against his. It's better than anything I've fantasized or dreamed. I've never been kissed so thoroughly, felt such intense chemistry with someone before.

That kiss shifted something between us. I'm looking at him in a different light, and I want him. I don't know if I've ever felt such an urgent need to have someone fill me up.

"I want to do things no man has ever done to you, to make you feel like no one has before," he murmurs. "Let me take you home and show you what I mean."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I'm saying. Don't play naive." He's still speaking softly, and the huskiness of his voice betrays his arousal. But I want this too. There's something so fucking hot about a man you're already attracted to taking charge, showing just how badly he wants you.

"You said things no one else has done to me. I want to know what those things are."

"I'd rather show you. And I'd rather not discuss what I'd like to do with you on a public sidewalk" He smiles, a mysterious half-smile that gives away nothing. "I won't hurt you. Do you trust me, Rachel?"

I don't doubt his promises of giving me pleasure and not hurting me, but I wonder how wise it is to agree to something without knowing the terms of the contract. But the thought of him taking control is also so sexy. What the hell, I think, as my hormones and lizard brain drowning out logic, why not just go for it? We're both adults, I only have a few weeks of his mentorship and then nearly a year away from the office. Maybe it's madness, absolute insanity to do this, but I really want to.

"Yes, please, yes." He smiles again, conquesting, triumphant. He looks genuinely happy in the dim light, and I'm happy I made him happy. He runs a hand through his waves, shakes them loose, and kisses me again.I want to keep making him smile in that way. And I realize, all at once, the most obvious thing: I really do like him.

And he's kissing me rapturously and rapaciously, and I am thinking about something altogether different. I laugh. "It might be more fun to continue this in your bed instead of a cold sidewalk."

"I'll be the one telling you what to do."

"Yes, sir," I say, lightly, while laughing.

He looks at me like he's starving, and I'm not just a snack but a whole meal. "Thank you."

We somehow survived the drive to his place without tearing each other's clothes off. But once we get there, everything changes.

We take off our coats and shoes, then Ezra closes and locks the door behind me. He grabs me from behind immediately, one arm around my waist and the other twined in my hair. He pulls my hair, lightly, then just hard enough that gasp, momentarily breathless. My brain goes blank. It feels...possessive and controlling, there's something violent in it.

"You're such a horny whore, aren't you? I had no intention of bringing you home tonight. But you're just such a desperate slut. Now here you are, and I'm going to give you what you fucking deserve."

Then, everything snaps back into color and feeling. The energy he's giving off is almost pitch black. Maybe the darkest power I've ever felt from a man, and he's practically shimmering with it. Oh god, oh god, please, please don't let him hurt me. "What are you doing?"

Whatever the hell he's up to, I don't want it. It's going to be terrible. I could feel how terrible in the way his hold tightened when I shifted against him. I squirmed, but his hold tightened. There was also his growing excitement, the hard length of it pushing against my ass. It scares me, how he can be so calm, how even in a state of high lust and excitement he maintained this control. I need to get away, I need to run, I need - I scream in fear, and his grip in my hair tightens. I writhe against his hold. I try to kick him, but he's behind me. He easily outsmarts me, moving his leg away with a calm, almost feline grace and casualness. I'm so stupid, so pathetically helpless, as I thrash against his hold, whimpering in fear and moaning with arousal. I'm no match for him.

He knows his power and my helplessness so well that it makes him chuckle in amusement at my frantic and helpless attempts to get away. "Oh, go right ahead, pretend you aren't a fucking slut that wants her boss's cock in all three of those holes. Pretend you can fight me off. Pretend like you don't want it this way," he purrs in the most evil tone. I mean, though, I think I kind of do. I'm scared He pushes the length of cock against me again, as if making sure I can feel what he's going to fill me with. I try to throw my weight against him. He chuckles, low, amused, and I swear his cock is like a rock. I shudder as I realize how he got harder when I fight back and by my frantic helplessness. I'm his prey, and he's playing with me.

But. But, I'm getting high on the fear. I've always liked things that scare me, like roller coasters when I was a teenager, or something like a horror story. When I read a horror story, I'd be surprised to realize how wet I was getting. Or when I got a second piercing in my left ear, I was horny that I got home and got myself off to the fear and pain I felt when getting it. And then fantasized about more fear and pain for the rest of that week. Add to that the similarity to it that echoes the rest of my life: challenges thrill, arouse, and intrigue me in different ways. With this type of sex, new to me in reality but I fantasize about it a lot, it's something about the roller coaster of emotions, excitement shifting to fear shifting to relief that you can handle the fear and pain which then shifts back to excitement - it's so arousing - he's like that, with the arousal factor especially amped up times ten.

He pulls me upward by my hair, so I'm standing on my tiptoes, squealing in pain as my hair is tugged and I'm lifted so I'm struggling to stand. His voice drops to a menacing, condescending whisper "I can smell your wet needy pussy. I know it deserves a thorough fucking. That ass, though, I might start off with it. I've wanted to bend you over and take you so many times. Imagine getting fucked in both of those holes, like the little whore you are."

Hell. No. I was not going to let him fuck me in the ass. Absolutely, positively not.

"No, you're not going to do that to me. I've never done that, and I'm not about to start tonight. You let me go, NOW."

Oh god, I shouldn't have told him that. He pushes the hard length of his excitement and amusement harder against me. Oh no, please, no, no...I scream again. I hope his dick rots off and he goes deaf from me screaming in his ears.

"Oh, Rachel! Have you never had your ass fucked?"

Maybe my mind is going to break. "No! And I'm going to keep screaming so that all your fucking neighbors hear, and then I'm going to march myself into your boss's office tomorrow and - "

"Oh, I'm sure my neighbors have heard enough. And then what, Rachel? Tell my boss that you promised me you'd be discrete because you didn't want to ruin your career? You voluntarily came home with me. You know you want it. I can smell how desperately you want it. I bet if I touched your pussy - " His voice is so amused and calm that it's like he's talking about the fucking weather. It's evil, that voice compared to what he's saying, the casualness with which he maintains absolute fucking control.

"No, don't do that! Fuck you! Let me go, asshole!"

He chuckles. "Oh, don't worry, we are definitely fucking tonight. Don't worry boo, I like it rough too. I'm not mad at you." He grins. "Even though you are being a very bad girl, you're still getting my cock tonight." His hand is still in a stronghold in my hair while he fiddles with the button on my pants, undoing the zipper, tugging them past my waist and ass easily.

"No! Stop! I don't want to! You're a monster, a demon! You're awful, horrible. You let me go!" In response, he lifts me off the ground by my hair, and I yelp. My pants fall to the floor.

"Awww, it's so cute, the way you're pretending you don't want it. I'm really enjoying this game of hard to get that you're playing." His other arm is around my hips, and I'm trying to aim so I can kick high and get him on his goddamned balls. He's got a good ten inches and 70 or 80 pounds on me, and so, he easily swings me so that I'm cradled like a baby in his arms and he can carry me. His wavy hair is loose and wild. He's the cat here, I think frantically. He's like a black lion, and I'm the prey he's taunting and teasing. Then, he lowers his head a little, sniffing me. "Mmmm, delicious. Naughty girl, I don't even need to touch you, I can see that you got your panties wet all the way through."

"Stop! I don't want to! I'm scared of you, and I'm so scared you're going to hurt me, please just stop, please don't hurt me, please -" With that, I burst into tears. And he's so calm and controlled, which makes me cry even harder.

He drops me onto his bed, covering the length of my body with his. His wavy hair falls over his face, framing it like a black mane, and it makes him more achingly beautiful to me. He's pushing his hard length against my soaking wet pussy, and it's so warm, so close. I don't want to, but I arch my hips toward him like a woman possessed. "Shush. I know how you need this, how badly you crave submitting to me. You're a desperately needy little slut, and you need to be forced, hurt, and pleasured. I promise I won't force upon you anything you can't handle. Trust me. You're so beautiful and brilliant, and I like you so much. If you really want to stop: I'll slide my hand into yours sometimes, and I want you to squeeze it back. If you don't squeeze, I'll stop, so I'll never really rape you. I promised I won't hurt you. You want this, don't you? You trust me?" Even this, the power he gets from reassuring and calming me, keeps his cock hard.

I moan, and his cock is pressed between my legs. I'm caught, the perfect prey because I want him to devour me.

He pushes one hand between my legs, touching my uncomfortably wet panties. My body acts before I can think, and I'm thoughtlessly opening for him. It's madness, isn't it? My nerves all feel like they're on fire. I'm agreeing to have anal sex - which I've never had - and god knows what else with my fucking boss. I must be fucking out of mind, insane, because I say -

"Yes, Sir." I know that calling him that is acquiescence.

"Hmm, I like that. Someone likes being called a whore and the thought of both of her holes getting fucked."

"No, no! You can fuck me the normal way. You. Are. Not. Fucking. My Ass." He slips his hand into mine. I squeeze back.

He pulls out a switchblade knife from a side drawer. My heart leaps up into my throat in fear. I try to reach for his hand, to signal no, but he moves away. His face is so calm, with only his eyes wide to express - oh, god, his eyes scare me a lot. They're practically glowing. I know he's going to take a lot from me to satisfy that lust, and I know it will be satisfied tonight. I can only read his lust through his eyes and his cock. The rest of him, his playful smile, the veins of arms crossing in gorgeous patterns over them as he crosses them over his chest to pull off his shirt, convey a sort of calm power, the kind that's stronger and more frightening in its quiet calm. His arms are almost too much, too beautiful, for me to bear. His posture is so straight and perfect, the rest of him maintains the same perfect control he has in the office. Damn him for being so fucking attractive to me while also being such an ass.

He flips open the knife, points it toward me. "Strip."

I obey without thinking. Heart thumping and fingers trembling, I get off his bed, then take off my sweater. His glaze is so intense that I'm more scared of him than ever. Maybe he could burn me with his eyes alone. I'm so much smaller than him. His eyes linger on my swelling, heaving chest, taking it in, clad in black silk. Then my small belly, hips flaring out, legs soft and firm with some muscle, and I pull off my socks. I hesitate. He fiddles with the knife, reminding me of its presence. As if I'd forget. I slowly pull down my bra straps, then the cups. My breasts are round, nipples shrunken because they are so hard they almost ache. Slowly, I pull down my black silk panties. I look down, noticing how soaked I am, seeing one sticky strand of wetness as I pull them off. He's holding his phone and the knife.

"Fuck you!" I say after he clicks a quick photo of me, naked with his bed behind me.

He covers the space between us in a single bound, and pushes me back on the bed. He pushes my legs apart, so I'm naked and exposed and he can see how humiliatingly soaked my pussy is. Another click.

"Oh, Rachel, look," he says, showing me that photo as casually as he'd show me a vacation photo. "Look at how your pussy lips look so puffy and soft, and look at how you're fucking dripping on my bed. It's fucking cute, your pussy is adorable."

Such a patronizing jerk. I glare at him. Then sigh. I don't have much of a choice, do I? "Please just - stop. If you let me go, I won't tell anyone. Please don't show those photos to anyone. Please. I'll be a good girl and - please."

He gets on top of me again. I push against him with my hands, but he just grabs my hands and pushes them away. "What's the point, Rachel? As if you could fight me and win." I stare at him with tears of helpless rage in my eyes. Rage and fear of those photos.

"Fuck you, Ezra Kaplan. I hate you. No wonder why you're divorced, if you treat women like this."

He slaps me, hard. Right cheek, then left. I stare up at him in shock. Then, he drives a knee between my legs. I try to kick, but he's too strong. He puts one hand between my legs. "You're such a desperately horny bitch that being forced makes you wet. And don't you dare say anything like that again, Rachel, unless you want me to actually hurt you. You can beg and call me an ass and tell me to go to hell, but don't get into personal shit, and don't call or imply I'm a violent rapist."

His voice is icy. It's humiliating how easily he parts the secret lips and his fingers slide right into that slippery hole. I screech again, and buckle against his hand. He finds that soft ridged part, and rubs it. I scream again, but this time it's because an orgasm tears through me like wildfire. "Such a fucking slut for me," he whispers in my ear as my muscles contract around his fingers.

I must be a slut, I must be everything he tells me, to be forced the way he was forcing me and to be dripping and cumming for him. To be getting off on his degradation and humiliation the way I just did. I was so desperate and aching for whatever else he wanted to do to me. And he - he - I mean, I don't know what you call someone who enjoys my fear and degradation, enjoys having me damn him to hell while knowing that he had so much power and control in the game we are playing. It seems to me something beyond domination, but I don't know. All I know of this type of play is what I've read on the internet. I thought it sounded pretty hot, but it's even better than it sounded. His slut, his plaything, I think, I sink into that feeling, weak and relaxed.