Free Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission by Rachel Kramer Bussel, Donna George Storey Page A

know.”
    “You better come up with a reason pretty damn fast.”
    I’m facedown, over his lap, with my idiotic heart-patterned knickers dangling from my ankles. My face is flushed. My eyes sting already with tears. And still the silent laughter shakes me. I bite my lip, hard enough to leave marks, and pray that he’ll start.
    “Why are you laughing?” His tone is beyond menacing. If his tone could cut, I’d be bleeding.
    “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly—because I don’t. I don’t have any idea why I’m laughing. “I’m sorry,” I try next.
    Then he says those words, those magic words. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”
    Finally, his hand comes down, hard. Then again, just as hard. He doesn’t hesitate now. He spanks steadily, with force, driving out the worries. Driving out the fear.
    With the pain comes the relief.
    I won’t laugh any more now.
    We both know that.
    I won’t laugh for a long time.

RAPUNZEL
     
    Jacqueline Applebee
     
     
     
     
     
     
    M y ex-girlfriend, Lola, used to tell me that a woman’s hair was her beauty. Lola had warm brown skin and dreads that sprouted this way and that over her head. She told me it wasn’t always this way. Lola had a grandmother in Jamaica who would straighten her hair with a vicious hot comb every Saturday night, so she’d be ready for church in the morning. Lola would recount tales of having her Afro hair painfully pressed and combed without mercy as a child, which had eliminated any trace of frizz or kinkiness. When she had rebelled against her family’s control, her hair was the first thing to go wild.
    My own hair was naturally straight, mousy and nothing special except that it was very long. When Lola and I had become lovers, she always liked to pull on my hair, clutching it, yanking me about and generally using it to control me in a delightful way.
    Lola had introduced me to her craftsman friend, Ash, months ago, and we’d been good pals ever since. He was the one who had suggested I do something special with my natural qualities. He wanted to make a flogger out of my hair; he said it would feel like nothing in this world. The idea was shocking but intriguing too. Fears of being naked up top battled with the lure of owning an item that would be completely unique.
    I stood in the middle of Ash’s studio between two doors. The door to the left led to his lab where he kept volatile chemicals, burners and dangerous equipment. The door to the right led outside to the yard. I knew I could leave right now, that I could slip out of the room and make some excuse later that Ash wouldn’t believe. I knew he wouldn’t push things if I did. I fingered a strand of my long hair and then unbuttoned my coat, submitting to my fate. I shivered, but not from the chill of the December air. Ash kept his studio reasonably warm, so I knew it was nerves that made my skin break out in goose bumps. I stepped out of my shoes and wriggled my bare toes. I was about to pull off my skirt when a loud clang made me jump. The door to Ash’s lab opened. My friend poked his head around the corner.
    “I’ll be out in a bit.” He closed the door and then reopened it a moment later. “I’ll need you naked, Selma,” he called out. “Everything has to come off.” The door shut with a bang once more.
    I folded my skirt and placed it next to the coat on a chair. I pulled my thick red sweater over my head; it made my hair fall down in disarray. I let my mane spill over my shoulders, tickle my back and flutter below my waist. Twelve years, and my hair had never seen a pair of scissors. Twelve years, and now I was about to let Ash remove it all in a single go. I could hardly imagine myself bald; without my hair, where would I hide?
    My lingerie came off as I contemplated a future without my long locks. Removing my silky panties and bra left me finally naked. I still looked like a censored nude: my hair covered my breasts, my belly and the top of my groin. I stood