Best Bondage Erotica 2013 (9 page)

“It'll be all right, Mais. We'll just have to be quick, is all.”

He gave her a wink, then grabbed her legs and pulled her so her arms were stretched out as far as they would go, and her ass was pressing against Taylor's straining dick. Straining her neck to watch, Maisie groaned in pleasure as her lover maneuvered the tip of his cock to her entrance, then paused for only a second before thrusting in to the hilt.

Given that her arms were tied, and Taylor was holding her legs, she was completely at his mercy. The knowledge sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her body, and she did her best to writhe and thrust her hips beneath Taylor, hoping he'd take the hint and fuck her harder.

She had no idea whether it was because of her movements, or because of his comment about being quick, but he picked up his pace considerably. His fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs as he rocked her on and off his cock like some kind of fucking machine. She didn't care. The combination of all the
stimuli meant that she was hovering on the very edge of her orgasm, and she knew it wouldn't take very much to trigger it. She just hoped she came before she got burned—literally.

“Tay…”

“It's okay, babe. I'm nearly there.”

Sure enough, after a series of thrusts so rough that she wondered if the car would end up with a permanent imprint of her ass, Taylor came with a roar. He reached down to pinch her eager clit, and she plummeted into orgasm even as her lover climaxed inside her. A scream peeled from her throat as the delicious feeling radiated throughout her body, and her cunt convulsed around Taylor's cock, milking it of every last drop of spunk.

Closing her eyes and drifting on the blissful feelings, she was only vaguely aware of the growing discomfort of the skin of her back, bottom and thighs. It was only when she felt the restraint at one wrist being undone that she came to. Taylor was moving fast now, holding her up as he quickly slid her across the hood so he could undo her other tie. Then he yanked her up onto her feet, before reaching into the vehicle to kill the engine.

“Can you stand?” he said, looking concerned.

She nodded, though she wasn't one hundred percent sure if she meant it or not. Taylor let go, then put his hands to her hips and turned her around. The featherlight touch of his hands on the heated skin of her thighs made her gasp.

“Shit,” she heard behind her, “I'm sorry, Mais. I should never have left you on there that long. Let's get you indoors. I'll put some cream on you. I'm really sorry.”

She said nothing, merely nodding and allowing Taylor to fuss over her. She deserved it, after all. The guy had tied her to a car and allowed her to really feel the heat from the engine, for god's sake!

The fact that she'd really enjoyed it and had come so hard she'd seen stars was something that she'd keep to herself. At least until he'd finished pampering her, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

I've been looking at it all day. From afar, up close, out of the corner of my eye. The big square box in the center of the bed, wrapped in shiny red paper with a black satin bow.

Bryn's at her office even though it's a Saturday, having left me with a hungry kiss, a smack on the ass and very clear instructions not to touch.

“Not the box, not the wrappings, not even the little bow.” Leave it to the lawyer to eliminate any loopholes.

It's driving me crazy, but of course, that's the point. I love presents—the giving, the getting, the wonder, the pretty paper, and Bryn never fails to surprise me. But I hate waiting. It makes my fingers itch. I lie on the bed staring intently, as though I might spontaneously develop X-ray vision, but the box remains impenetrable.

Shiny red paper and a black satin bow. It's not my birthday, and it sure as hell isn't Christmas, but it
is
the day of the biggest fetish party of the year. Imagine literally thousands of leather-clad
(or unclad) kinksters of all genders and orientations dancing to killer beats and playing in the low red light of a massive industrial warehouse. At least, that's what I imagine it to be; we've never been. Bryn is a wicked top, and she gives me everything my submissive heart desires, in private. She's quite content to keep it at home, but me? I'm a closet exhibitionist and voyeur both. I'm not saying I want her to fuck me in public, but to see and be seen…the thought sends shivers of excitement down my spine.

It can't be a coincidence, the appearance of this present on the day of the fetish ball, can it? My fingers inch toward a carefully taped corner. Maybe I could just—

“Ah-ah-ah.” Bryn's admonishment from the bedroom door has me jumping clear off the bed, a guilty blush staining my cheeks.

“I wasn't going to—”

“Of course you weren't.” She grabs my ass and pulls my pelvis snug against hers, slanting her mouth across mine by way of greeting.

“Well?” she says expectantly when she lifts her head. I stare at her blankly; kissing Bryn always makes my head feel fuzzy. “Are you going to open it or not?”

“Right!”

I tear into the brightly colored wrappings with all the gusto of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Ooohhhh…” I exclaim when the contents are finally revealed. “It's so pretty.”

Pretty
is probably not the best word to describe the intricately designed leather body harness lying inside the box, but it's all I've got. My mind's already three steps ahead, imagining how the soft leather will feel against my skin, the way my breasts will be displayed by the crisscross pattern, and the way Bryn's eyes
will darken with the possessive hunger I love when she sees me in it.

I look up at Bryn, who's looking back at me with an indulgent smile.

“Does this mean…?” I let my sentence trail off, scarcely believing we might actually be doing this.

“You'd better get dressed, Cinderella.” Bryn says. “You don't want to be late for the ball.”

 

I'm half turned on before we even get in the door. It's everything: the snug feel of the harness beneath my little black SEX SLAVE T-shirt; the rich, sensual smell of the leather; and the smooth, supple feel of it caressing my skin. My leather skirt is barely long enough to cover the curve of my ass, and there's nothing beneath it but naked skin all the way down to my knee-high, kick-ass boots. Bryn's in long pants and army boots, and beneath her bomber jacket she's got a short-sleeved leather button down that makes her look a bit like a leather daddy cop, which is high on the list of things-I-can't-stop-thinking-about.

Once we're inside, it's warm and dark, and although we're still far from the action, I can already feel the thrum of the music stealing inside me, fueling anticipation and desire both. Bryn directs me to a changing area where we'll check our coats and her duffel, but first she pulls out a slim collar I'm intimately acquainted with and slides it around my neck. There's a shift that happens when she snaps it into place—in the energy between us and internally in me as well.

“Okay?” she asks, looking deep into my eyes. I nod my head and offer a small smile.

“That's my girl.” She kisses my lips gently.

“Now,” she says more firmly, “take off the T-shirt.”

I oblige, drawing it over my head in a single movement, and
handing it to her silently. My nipples immediately harden into tight nubs, despite the warmth of the room.

“Very nice,” Bryn says, tracing the lines of the new harness with her fingertip. She cups my breasts in her palms, testing the weight of them, then tugs at the ring piercing one of my nipples, sending a current of electricity straight to my center and drawing a small gasp from me.

“Very nice indeed,” she says.

She reaches into her duffel again, this time producing a pair of leather restraints that she efficiently fastens about my wrists, joining the D-rings on each together with a sailor clip. Then, with another clip, she attaches my bound wrists to one of the rings on the body harness, just above my navel.

“Comfortable?” she asks. I can't move my hands more than an inch or two in any direction, and I sink a little deeper into that space I love, where my world is only as big as Bryn allows, and I am snug and secure and, paradoxically, free.

“Well?” Bryn prompts. I'm not in any discomfort, so I nod. “Good girl,” she says. She retrieves a final item from her bag, a short chain leash, which she affixes to the drop ring on the front of the collar.

“Now,” she says, gripping my chin firmly and holding my gaze with utter seriousness, “the rules. You can look…but you can't touch.” That much seems obvious, given my bound hands.

“Also, I haven't changed my mind about playing in public, so if you try to punk your way into a spanking by behaving badly we're out of here, understood?”

I nod again. Bryn hasn't told me I can't speak, but the fact of the matter is, I
can
be a punk, and my mouth tends to get me into trouble more often than not, so silence seems a wise choice.

“However,” she continues, letting go of my chin and trailing her hand down the side of my neck and across my chest, rolling a
pebble-hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger, “if you're good, we'll see about rewarding you properly after the ball.”

Her words stoke the fire that's been building in my nether regions, and when she kisses me soundly, sweeping her tongue deep into my mouth, I can't help but moan and press myself against her. Bryn breaks the kiss after a moment or two and takes up the leash in her hand.

“Let's go then,” she says, and we head out into the crowd.

As balls go, let me tell you—Cinderella's got nothing on this. There's more leather and skin on display than I've ever seen and an entire upper level kitted out with spanking benches, tables and in one corner a doctor's exam bed with stirrups that's being put to good use by a group of hot women in PVC nurse's outfits and a boy who's clearly got a medical fetish. Even the sofas and chairs, liberally dispersed throughout the space, are filled with subs who are bent over the knees of their Masters and Mistresses receiving paddlings and spankings, or seated at their feet worshipping their boots, or taking some water curled up in their arms in the aftermath of a play session.

It's a feast for the eyes, and I greedily drink it all in, though in truth it's not the sight of a whip falling or the abundant naked flesh that arouses me, but the intimacy of the interactions. It's the moment of rest between lashes when a Master's hand softly strokes his or her sub's poor reddened bottom, or when one bestows a gentle kiss to tear-stained cheeks. It's the whispered words of encouragement and the tender aftercare that make me feel like a real voyeur, because
those
are the truly private moments, so much more so than the beating and the fucking.

I could spend my night just watching this, but a tug on my leash tells me Bryn has other plans.

“Don't forget the real show's on the main floor,” she says, and I follow her obediently downstairs.

She's right, and even after the visual feast upstairs, it takes me a moment to process everything that's going on. It's hot down here, even hotter than upstairs, and there has to be close to a thousand people on the dance floor, moving to the hypnotic pulse of the music. Even in the dim red lighting, you can see the sheen of sweat glistening on skin, and the air smells like sex and leather.

On a raised dais on the right, a DJ is spinning, and she's flanked by two St. Andrew's crosses, the first with a muscle bottom restrained facing the cross being whipped by his equally muscle-bound Master, and the second featuring a beautiful redheaded woman whose spectacular breasts are being tortured by her Mistress. To our left next to a long, stone-topped bar, there is another woman suspended from the ceiling being posed in elaborate rope bondage.

It's the main stage, though, where most of the attention is focused. The headliner is a famous trans porn actor, and he puts on a hell of a show. Shaved head, huge muscles, innumerable tattoos, he comes out dancing in a leather vest and pants and
everyone
, gay, straight or otherwise, watches. First he unzips, revealing a huge silicone strap-on, then he continues the striptease and the pants disappear entirely. Finally, the cock comes off and he fucks his pussy with it, center stage, to a deafening chorus of cheers and shouts.

I'm transfixed, completely engrossed by the spectacle, when Bryn's wry tenor pulls me back to her.

“You like what you see?” she says in my ear. The front of her body is pressed tight against my back, and my ass is nestled snugly against her pelvis.

The truth is, there isn't a show or ball or anything else in the world that can compare to this woman. I take a step forward and turn so I'm looking at her, taking in everything from her
short dark hair with its sprinkling of silver, to her warm dark eyes; her broad shoulders and strong, capable hands.

“Yes,” I say, breaking my silence for the first time since we've arrived, “I like it very much.”

She kisses me then, and despite the noise and the bodies and a million other things, it feels like we're completely alone, just the two of us. Her tongue parts my lips and steals inside to tangle sensually with mine. I press closer to her, loving the leather of her shirt against my breasts. It's Bryn's turn to moan, and she fists one hand in my hair and grabs my ass with her other, pulling me tight against the length of her body. My hands are mashed awkwardly between us, and it's enough to jolt us back to the reality of the moment. Bryn looks down and chuckles.