Book Extract: Anything For You

Anything for You

‘Exposure’ by Elizabeth Coldwell, Anything for You, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel (Cleis, 2012)

The room is comfortably warm, with nibbles and dips arranged in bowls on the table. A jug of mojitos, heavy with rum and mint, waits to be served. Jason’s tread is light as he descends the stairs barefoot. The stage is set.

In minutes, I will have placed him in the most deliberately humiliating position of his life. His desires laid bare, he will submit to me in the way he has so long desired. My pussy, already slick with anticipation, lets loose another trickle of cream into my panties at the thought. I can’t wait for the game to begin.

The first time I saw Jason, I knew he’d look good naked. He was bending over a weight machine, adjusting the amount to be pressed, and in that position he gave me the most marvelous view of his taut ass, cycling shorts clinging to it like they couldn’t bear to let go. If I hadn’t already signed up for a six- month membership at the gym, that display alone would have persuaded me to do so.

Of course, I wasn’t the only client who lusted after Jason. All messy blond curls, bright white smile and easy charm, he was the only personal trainer at the gym with a waiting list for one-on-one sessions, and every single one of the names on that list was not only female, but a good fifteen years younger than I was. That’s why I was so surprised when he started taking an interest in how I was doing, encouraging me to put in one last mile on the treadmill when my legs felt like they didn’t have the strength to drag me any farther, or helping me with my stance as I worked on my arm muscles with the free weights. Why me? I wondered, as his professional courtesy turned into something more intimate. After all, he could take his pick of the clients, so why not choose one of the hard-bodied beauties closer to his own age?

I didn’t know then about his worship of older women. Blame it on the friend of his mother who seduced him as an innocent eighteen-year-old, leaving him hungry for the pleasures provided by an experienced lover. Combine that with an inherently submissive nature, and it’s a blend few people can handle.

Not that I considered myself to be one of those people. When Jason told me he was looking to be dominated, I immediately thought of leather-clad mistresses, and all the clichés of whips and chains that surround them. I didn’t realize then how the right words can be as cutting as any riding crop, how punishment doesn’t need to include pain. All I know is that he saw something in me I’d never seen in myself and slowly, gradually, he brought it out.

The other reason he was so attracted to me was my feet. They’re so small I find it very hard to find suitable training shoes in adult sizes, and as Jason watched me pounding on the treadmill, he recognized immediately I’d been shopping for footwear in the children’s department. My dainty size-threes pushed all his foot-fetish buttons and gave him the perfect way to introduce me to the art of domination. It wasn’t long before he’d moved in with me.

When I came home, hot and tired after a long shift on my feet behind the cupcake-bakery counter, Jason would offer to massage my sweaty, stockinged feet. Of course, I never refused, not when his fingers could so skillfully soothe away the aches of the day. One night, thumbs working on the soft pad just beneath my big toe, he made the casual comment, “Of course, you should be demanding I do this as soon as you walk through the door.”

And that’s how I came to spend my evenings on the couch, Jason lying obediently on the floor while I rubbed my sweaty, stockinged feet all over his face. Being made to do this got him so hard his cock looked as though it might burst through the tight-fitting Lycra of his shorts. His reward for licking and sucking my nylon-clad soles was to be gently wanked between my feet until his come spurted all over my stockings—at which point, of course, he’d be ordered to clean them with his tongue.

“What would people think if they could see us?” Jason would ask as he lay beneath my feet, naked from the waist down and cock pointing rigidly toward me. “What would they say if they walked in right now?” That was always the point where he came. Simply expressing his desire to be caught in the act was enough to tip him over the edge

I don’t know when, if ever, Jason would have confessed on his own that his love of foot worship was only the entrée to the main course, that his desire to be humiliated and exposed ran deeper than I could ever have suspected. I saved him the bother by discovering his secret stash of porn.

Searching on the PC in the room Jason used as his home office, looking for documents I needed to help me file my tax return, I noticed a folder labeled CFNM. The initials sounded vaguely financial, so without thinking twice, I opened it. Inside, I found a collection of pictures and stories that told me everything I needed to know about dominating Jason. Clothed Female, Naked Male: I’d never heard the acronym until now, but here the fetish was, laid out in fantasy after fantasy. In every case a young man was manipulated into stripping bare for a group of older women who reveled in humiliating him just as much as he reveled in their cruel, clever treatment of him and their blatant admiration of his naked body.

I didn’t know what was getting me wetter: the stories themselves, or the thought of Jason in that position, naked and at the mercy of his erotic tormentors. Of course, there was a chance this was one of those fantasies he had no intention of making reality, like the one I had about being fucked in the ass by the two cute builders renovating the flats across from the bakery, but there was an easy way to find out.

When I went downstairs, I took with me a basket full of dirty laundry. Jason was in the kitchen, pottering about in his workout gear.

“Those things look like they could do with a wash,” I said. “Take them off and I’ll pop them in with this load.”

“Sure,” he replied, “I’ll just nip upstairs and change.”

My tone was stern, the one I had, until now, reserved for our foot-fetish games. “Undress here. And don’t think about putting anything else on.”

Jason didn’t need to speak the words, You found them. His expression right before he reached for the hem of his grubby T-shirt told me everything. In moments, he was standing naked, cock already starting its upward rise.

His eyes were downcast as he handed his discarded clothes to me. “Here you go, Ma’am.” The deference in his voice was truly delicious. I would hear it over and again in the months to come.

But having him walk naked around the house, teasing him with the threat that one day he’d wake to find I’d locked all his clothes away and he’d only be allowed to dress when he went to work or out for the occasional drink with his friends, was one thing. Baring him in front of an appreciative female audience—which I quickly learned was the situation he longed for more than any other—was something else entirely. Until I thought of the perfect way to make it happen.

He finds me in the kitchen, hunting for the paper cocktail umbrellas I’m sure lurk in the back of a drawer. Hair still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel knotted around his waist, he looks so fuckable I almost wish we could cancel tonight’s little party.

“Not dressed yet?” I ask. “You know the girls will be here any moment.”

“I just came down to get my shirt.” He gestures to his favorite blue short-sleeved shirt, freshly ironed and waiting on a hanger for him. “Oh, and you haven’t seen my flip-flops, have you?”

They’re on the floor by the washing machine, lying where he kicked them off earlier, but I tell him,

“Yeah, I think they’re out by the back door.”

“Thanks, Bev.” He nips out into the backyard to find them. When the kitchen door closes behind him, I silently drop the latch. It takes him a minute or so to realize his flip-flops are nowhere to be seen, and when he tries the door, it quickly becomes obvious he can’t get back inside.

“Hey, could you let me in please, babe?” he calls through the half-open window.

If he hasn’t realized I’ve locked him out deliberately, or that I’m gradually leading him into a predicament from which he can only escape on my terms, my next words make it clear. “Sure, Jason, but I want you to do something for me first. I want you to take your towel off and pass it through the window to me.”

“Oh, Beverley. Sweetheart, no.” His tone is despairing, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his cock isn’t tenting out the towel. Jason has never been outside with nothing on before, never been led out of his usual comfort zone, but I know he can’t fail to be turned on at the thought.

“Come on, hand it over,” I order him. “You don’t still want to be naked when the girls get here, do you?”

His submissive heart must be telling him that’s exactly what he wants, but his head says otherwise. I hear rustling noises, then the damp towel is being thrust toward me. I almost snatch it from Jason’s hands and toss it into the washing machine.

When I glance out the window, I can see him in the fading light, skulking in the shadows by the high fence that separates us from next door. My clit is pulsing, nerves singing as I luxuriate in the knowledge that I’ve so skillfully contrived to make him strip bare for me, just like the men in his favorite fantasies. It’s all I can do not to rub my pussy against the edge of the table in an attempt to scratch the itch.

If only he knew this was just the start.

“Okay, you can open the door now.”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” I ask. “Isn’t this what you always wanted? To be outdoors, with not a stitch on, completely exposed…”

“Yes—god, yes.” He groans. “But our guests…”

“Don’t worry, darling. The patio doors are unlocked. You can let yourself in through those.”

Briefly he looks as though he might argue. Then the appeal of walking just that little distance in the nude becomes too much to resist. As he makes his way over to the patio, I dash into the living room to watch the show.

It obviously hasn’t occurred to him in his horny but anxious state that it’s dark enough for the security light to come on the moment he steps in range of the detectors. With the living room curtains pulled almost all the way across, the patio doors are framed like a stage. Jason’s expression as the light illuminates his stark naked body—and, I can’t help but notice, fully erect cock—is a thing of beauty. But it’s not so much the fact he’s so gorgeously showcased that alarms him as much as the realiza- tion that I’m not alone as I look out at him, grinning.

While he was in the shower, the girls arrived. For the last fifteen minutes, they’ve been sitting on the living room sofa as silently as they can, waiting for Jason to appear. I promised them a show they would never forget, but I don’t think they believed I was serious. Now Liz and Sharon and Wendy sit, squealing in shock and delight, as Jason’s hand drops to cup his cock and balls.

He reaches for the door handle, but I’m quicker. I open the door just a crack. “Now, now, Jason. Don’t cover up that beautiful thing, not when the girls are so anxious to see it. Hands on your head, or I’ll lock the door and leave you out there for a while.”

Jason has no idea whether I’m serious about carrying out the threat. To be perfectly honest, neither do I. I’ve never thought of myself as cruel, but that was before I appreciated the power that comes from being fully clothed when the man you love is naked, helpless and willing to do whatever you say. Obviously not willing to take the risk, Jason grasps his hands together behind the back of his head.

Somewhere behind me, I hear Liz murmur, “I always reckoned he was big, but… Bev, you’re such a lucky cow.”

“I’ll bring him in, so you can get a better look.” The door pulled fully open, I usher Jason inside. Despite the embarrassment he must be feeling, his cock still juts up rigidly. “Turn around, Jason. Let them enjoy the back view, too.”

Face blushing beet red, Jason does a slow circuit, so the ladies get to admire his pert asscheeks. I notice he didn’t make any objections this time; simply did as he was told. He’s submitting to me so beautifully, and the pulse between my legs beats even more strongly in response.

“I think the girls might like a drink now, Jason.” What I really need is something to cool me down or, better yet, Jason’s tongue lapping at the sticky furnace my pussy has become. If we were alone, I’d stop the game here and act on my need to be fucked, but I know Jason’s need is to put on a performance for our guests. If that wasn’t the case, he wouldn’t have scuttled over to the table, wouldn’t be pouring the mojitos into sugar-frosted glasses.

As he hands a glass to Liz, she asks him, “So how does it feel, to be completely bare when we’re all sitting here fully clothed?”

He doesn’t need to answer, not when his emotions are so clearly etched on his boyish face. We can all tell that to Jason, this feels right; that somehow it’s the natural order of things to be naked and subservient in this situation.

“Oh, he’s got to be enjoying it,” Wendy chimes in. “Otherwise this wouldn’t be so big and hard, would it, Jason?”

She reaches out and lazily trails her fingers along his shaft, all the way from base to tip, as though mentally filing its dimensions in her private wank bank, to bring out on those nights when she has only her rabbit vibrator for company. An unexpected pang of jealousy grips me, as Jason lets out a gentle hiss, taking pleasure from Wendy’s touch. Then I tell myself this is what we both want, for Jason to be used as a plaything by someone other than me. After all, when the cocktails have been drunk, the nibbles devoured and the girls are on their way home, still not quite believing they’ve been allowed to touch and tease their naked manservant, I’ll be the one who takes him upstairs and fucks him. Assuming we make it that far.

Now that the girls have realized they can touch as well as look, there’s a moment when the evening threatens to descend into a free-for-all. Sharon grabs a handful of Jason’s butt, squeezing hard, and I can’t quite be sure, but it looks like Liz is playing with his balls. They’re treating him as though he’s just an object provided for their pleasure, and he’s clearly loving it, but I can tell from the way he’s breathing he’s already on the fast track to orgasm, and the fun has barely begun.

Time to change tack, to offer him a slow, sustained torment that will keep him on the edge but not cause him to come just yet. “Ladies, help yourself to food,” I suggest. It had been my intention to make Jason fill their plates, but I need to distract them long enough to let his arousal subside just a little, before we crank the pressure up again.

I settle back in my chair, poke a carrot stick into the pool of creamy dip and lick it off. Jason’s eyes are fixed on the carrot as it disappears between my lips, going where his cock wishes so desperately to follow. Not yet, is my unspoken rebuke.

Liz sits down, sprawling back carelessly against the sofa cushions. In that position, she’s giving Jason a perfect view of her panties, a tiny white triangle promising so much. Then she crosses her legs and that glimpse of heaven is blocked off.

Between us, we keep Jason on the edge for as long as we possibly can. Once in a while, I bring the conversation back to the fact that none of us has removed so much as a sandal, while Jason is completely naked. Every time I use words like “stripped” or “bare” to reinforce my point, he can’t fail to react, body stiffening slightly. But the looks he flashes me tell me he’s loving the way I’ve taken control.

The girls are playing their parts, too, idly stroking some area of his luscious, bare physique as he refills their glasses. Liz can barely keep away from his cock, while Wendy runs her hands over the firm ridges of his stomach. Jason has never endured so much buildup without release. It’s only when Sharon glances at her watch and says, “I’ll have to call a taxi, Bev. I told the babysitter I’d be back by ten,” that I realize how much time has passed.

“That’s fine,” I tell her. “Jason just has one last thing to show you before you go.”

Taxi ordered, Sharon can once more pay full attention as I launch into my speech.

“Now, I know you’ve enjoyed having a naked male to wait on you this evening, and I’m sure you’re hoping for a repeat performance. Well, I don’t know whether we’re going to make this a regular event—” A quick glance across to Jason tells me a part of him would like that very much indeed, if only I will agree to it. “But what I do know is that Jason is more than ready to come. Do you think he deserves to?”

There’s a general chorus of agreement that, yes, he’s earned his orgasm. Liz is already shifting forward in her seat, no doubt hoping for the chance to play with him. But that’s not how all the fantasies Jason reads and rereads come to their conclusion.

“More accurately, would you like to see him take hold of that huge, hard cock of his and wank it till he comes all over himself?”

“I’d love to,” Wendy says. “We all would. But…won’t that be embarrassing for him?”

My lips curve with barely suppressed amusement. “Darling, that’s the whole point.”

Further debate is unnecessary, if only because Jason has already grabbed his cock and is tugging at it with short, frantic strokes. If he’s aware of four pairs of eyes watching his every movement, he doesn’t say anything. He’s already moving beyond shame, beyond the knowledge that tomorrow, or the day after, he’ll bump into Liz or Sharon or Wendy in the gym and be reminded they’ve seen him perform this most intimate act. With his eyes half closed, his hand almost blurring on his shaft, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jason look so beautiful. Willingly making himself so vulnerable has only served to reveal his inner strength.

“Oh, god, Beverley, can’t hold back.” Jason sounds as though he’s on the verge of sobbing, lost in a place where none of us can follow him. “Going to—going to…”

“That’s it,” Sharon urges. “Shoot your spunk.” The words are so out of character for her, but her eyes are shining with lust and I’m sure her underwear is as soaked through as mine.

It’s all the permission Jason needs. With a string of expletives, he surrenders to the inevitable, come oozing down over his fist. He slumps to his knees, drained. I can hear hooting, and I wonder who’s congratulating him, then I realize Sharon’s taxi has arrived and its impatient driver is sounding his horn in the street outside.

The party breaks up swiftly after that, the girls thanking me effusively for the most incredible evening. As soon as I’ve closed the door behind them, I pounce on Jason, devouring him with sloppy, rum-flavored kisses. Not only do we not make it as far as the bedroom, we don’t even get out of the hall. Stripping off my saturated knickers, I push Jason to the floor and straddle his face. My skirt falls in loose folds around his head. It can’t fail to remind him that I’m still clothed and he’s still naked, just the way he likes it.

The moment his tongue makes contact with my clit, I know this is going to be fast and breathless and everything I need it to be. Grinding myself against his face, I savor the feeling of being on top, in every sense.

“So was tonight everything you’d hoped it would be?” I ask, rising up just enough to let Jason answer.

“God, yes. But next time, I want to be made to strip in front of them. Being naked when they saw me was amazing, but having to get naked for them would be even better.”

“So you think there’s going to be a next time, do you?”

“Will this help you say yes?” Jason’s tongue returns to thrumming my clit, fast little flicks that make me think of a hummingbird’s wings, beating and beating, hovering to stay still.

In the moment before my cunt seems to dissolve in liquid heat, I murmur, “Yes, Jason, we’ll do this again. But only if you’re very good.”

“Oh, I will be, Ma’am,” he promises me, and that’s when I know what I’ve exposed tonight is only the beginning.

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