Best Bondage Erotica 2014 (16 page)

“Open your eyes now,” he commanded. She was facing a mirror, and her face lit up when she saw her tits pushed upward and out in front of her, the rope artfully showcasing her creamy skin, the knots surprisingly lovely to look at. She
felt
like a work of art, and if she'd initially doubted his level of skill, she now felt only awe and a humbling desire in the face of such beauty. He stood behind her and ran his hands over her breasts, tweaking her oversensitive nipples, cupping them. “So pretty,” he whispered, twisting her nipples between his fingers before slapping them hard. She cried out and arched her back, asking for more, or attempting to move away from the sudden sharp pain—she wasn't quite sure.

Von uncoiled a galley whip from his bag and moved a few feet away from her. Delilah's up-thrust tits were begging for some marks. Their eyes met.

“Do you want this?”

She nodded.

“Answer me. I want to hear you say it.” He wasn't asking.

“Yes. Yes. I want that. You. I want you.” Their eyes met again, and he nodded, a cool smile at his lips.

The first kiss of the whip was but a flirt of leather on her breasts, a kiss that rendered her shaking with desire and fear. Oh, how she loved the fear. She ached to protect her flesh, her exposed nipples, and her inability to do anything but stand before him, nipples thrust forward, back arched, arms bound, left her trembling with an anticipation like none she had ever known. Anticipation, and a deepening need to please this butch she had met a mere hour ago. Von increased the lashes on her breasts slowly, letting them build until she moved her body in expectation, a slight shifting toward the whip. He laughed and
hit her pussy with the whip—and not gently, either. Delilah moaned and spread her legs open for more.

“Hmm, you liked that, didn't you, you whore?”

“Yes.” This time she answered without needing to be told.

He hit her pussy again, harder, first with the tails, then the handle of the whip, before landing several hard blows across the sensitive skin of her upper breasts, just beneath the rope harness. She moaned louder, gasping, hips rocking toward him, tits cherry red, thighs sticky.

Von stopped abruptly and set the whip down. Blinking back tears of pain and disappointment (was he done with her?), she watched his every move for a hint of what might come next. His hands roved over the ropes again, checking for any slack and adjusting as needed. His mouth brushed her cheek, her hair, her ear, and he whispered, “Are you still comfortable?”

“Yes.” Delilah turned her face so her mouth brushed against his as she replied.

“Come here.”

She moved closer to him, and he reached between her legs to grab the extra rope that hung down her back, pulling it between her thighs. “Open up for me, whore.” She spread her legs, opening her pussy for him, her breath ragged. He slid the rope up her thighs and just inside her pussy lips. The friction was nearly unbearable and her spread, exposed cunt was on fire. He wrapped the rope twice around each upper thigh and tightened it in front of her, tying the ends off in a knot that rubbed abrasively against her clit.

“Ohh, ohhh,” she moaned, closing her eyes and giving over to her ravishing need.

“On your knees.” Von tugged the remaining rope toward the floor, forcing her to kneel before him.

“Open your mouth for me.” He unzipped his jeans and
pulled out that huge rubber cock she had been eyeing earlier in the night, squeezing it in his hands before her, slapping her face and mouth lightly with it. Delilah's tongue reached for it eagerly, automatically, her usual response when a butch was nearby with a cock out of his pants.

“Such a slut. Wait until I tell you to.” He laughingly pulled a condom from his pocket and unrolled it with his free hand. He worked it skillfully onto his cock, and she nearly sobbed aloud when he shoved it in her mouth to its base without preamble.

She immediately choked and gagged on his girth, the kind of blow job she liked best. He was huge, and barely fit in her mouth. For a moment she wondered what he would feel like inside her tight cunt, then her mind emptied of all but the challenge of getting him to come down her throat. With her hands bound behind her back and only her mouth to work at her task, she licked and stroked and sucked for all she was worth. She teased the tip with her tongue, lapping and slowly encircling it until he groaned low. She swallowed him fully into her mouth again, using her spit to lube him up so she could take him farther down her throat. Breathing through her nose, she let the tears and snot run down her face as he pumped faster into her.

Her pussy was riding the air, hips rocking, legs shaking with her own lust. She needed to come, needed to fist-fuck herself, swollen and ravenous and helpless. As if he sensed her mounting agony, he slid his motorcycle boot between her legs and pressed it hard against her clit. She cried out and rubbed herself on it frantically, clit and pussy against knotted rope and scuffed leather, coming almost instantly. He grabbed her face with both hands and shuddered violently, coming himself as he forced his cock all the way in while she struggled to breathe. When he let go of her face, she sagged against him, bound body held tautly upright, preventing her from resting fully on him.

They both panted heavily for several long, sweet moments.

“Jesus,” he muttered, stepping away from her to tuck his dick back inside his jeans and zip them closed.

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, not unkindly. Delilah trembled against him, and he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped her face gently with it.

Von gave her another minute to regain her senses before she felt his hands at her clit and the knot that was now soaked with her juice. As he loosened it, his fingers stroked her still-engorged clit languidly. She whimpered and moved closer.

“There, there. Someone seems to be insatiable.” He winked, and she had to laugh at herself. Desperate, lonely pussy? That was an understatement. She had sailed past that stage willingly and straight into certifiable whore as far as Von was concerned.

As he unwrapped her like a delicate package, he rubbed her flesh where the rope had held it captive, allowing the blood to flow back into thighs and wrists, back and shoulders. He unraveled the rope across her breasts last, allowing himself long moments of pleasuring her with his hands, rubbing and tweaking her tits, taking her nipples into his mouth and between his teeth. Breathless, dizzy, Delilah wanted this to go on forever.

“Von.”

She wasn't even aware she had said his name until he lifted his eyes to hers.

“Don't tell me you want more.” She loved his laugh, feeling the tingle deep inside her still-slick cunt.

“I won't tell you then.” Her smile was both shy and coy.

She leaned down, unaware of how glorious her body looked, skin flushed, hair a mess, rope burns and whip lashes marking her breasts, and touched the rope pile he had discarded after untying her.

“Will you show me how to take care of this for you?” she asked.

“My pleasure.” He smiled. “Why don't you bring it over here and sit on my lap?”

She arranged herself prettily on his lap, folding her colt-like legs under her, sparkling eyes gazing up at him.

“Here is how I like it knotted for my carrying bag.” He placed his hands over hers and began to work the rope into a series of repeating knots with her, murmuring encouragement in her ear.

Indeed, Delilah's popped rope cherry would not be missed, and she threw herself into learning how to please him in this simple way with the same gusto and hunger she had used to give herself over to him earlier. Cleaning up after a scene had never appealed quite so much to her, and his rope was quickly refolded and placed carefully back in his bag. With her keening pussy still on high alert, she turned to him and inquired boldly, “What's next?”

Von grinned.

RING OF FIRE

Michelle Augello-Page

Lights flickered in the distance, even though I could barely see the house through the thick canopy of trees. I bit my lip, trying to contain my excitement, as my master drove slowly along the narrow gravel road. He had made reservations months ago as a special gift to me, for our anniversary. The trip didn't take as long as we had expected, and we were early. He parked the car and shut off the ignition, then reached over the gear shaft and pulled the seat belt tight across my chest.

“Open your legs.”

I opened my legs, wide, and my already short dress rose even higher, exposing my shaved pussy. Holding the seat belt with one hand, he smacked my pussy with the other. Each slap released a deep moan from inside me, as waves of pleasure-pain washed over me, revealing my excitement in the moist wetness between my thighs. He felt my arousal with his hand, pressing his palm against my heat, then slid his fingers inside me.

I exhaled deeply and turned to look at him; he held my eyes
as he rocked inside me, pushing me toward orgasm. Then he stopped, withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking the taste of my sex from his skin. He licked his lips, and my eyes widened as I watched him. Another flash of desire surged through me, rushing across my body like a brushfire. He smiled, seeing how hot he was making me. He was torturing me. It was torture he loved to give me, and torture I loved to receive.

“You are a very bad girl,” he said.

He freed me from the seat belt's restraint and kissed me, running his tongue across my lips, allowing me to taste my own sticky sweetness on his mouth.

“Present yourself to me.”

I turned over and raised my ass in the air, pressing my forehead against the plush back of the car seat. His hand hovered over me, making me wait, teasing me with anticipation.

Slap
. His hand met my ass and stung across my skin as he began to give me a good, solid spanking. Feverish warmth spread throughout my body. I sighed deeply as he spanked me hard. The sharp sting of his touch swelled red across my asscheeks as he struck me again and again, pushing me between pleasure and pain, inflaming my desire and making my cunt ache.

“That's enough,” he said, and we laughed.

He rubbed his hands lightly on my skin and readjusted my dress. I shifted in the seat. My ass was burning, seared with red-hot heat, the lingering imprint of his rough touch. I reached for him, and he held me close. I laid my head across his chest and listened to the beat of his heart while he stroked my hair.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too,” he said.

Simple words scratching the surface, barely able to express the depth of my feelings toward him. His love had changed me,
had lifted me higher, giving me the strength and confidence to meet the reflection of myself I saw in his eyes.

On our first anniversary, he collared me. There was no ceremony, no witness to our commitment. Only a standard black-leather collar that he placed around my neck with a solemn vow. He was my master, and I, his slave; we accepted these labels as the essential bond between us.

We had been together a little more than five years. Neither of us expected it, but we had found something in each other that took us both by surprise. From the first time we touched, a simple truth had caught us red-handed and revealed us, naked, under the star-shattered sky: the body never lies.

“It's time,” he said.

We walked toward the house. From the outside, it looked like a beautiful bed-and-breakfast, a couples retreat nestled in the woods. And it was...with a twist. The owners had converted the house into a dungeon sectioned into private playrooms, each equipped with a small bedroom, bathroom, and dinette area.

Inside the dungeon, we settled our account, then ascended the staircase until we reached the second floor. I could barely see, and I held Master's hand as he led me forward up the stairs. A fireplace was already lit in the center of the room, giving the space a luminous glow, throwing dancing shadows on the walls.

Plush red carpet spread across the entire floor, an open layout that was sectioned with play structures, including a rack, an
X
-cross, a St. Andrew's Cross, stocks and a spanking horse. The walls were painted cream and eggshell, swirls of colors mixed to a lush, smooth sheen. Along the walls were erotic works of art: framed sketches, paintings and posters depicting various states of arousal and sexual positions. Hundreds of toys and instruments of torture were hung along the walls, laid out like a decadent banquet.

We stood in front of the fire and Master looked at me; I could see the flames of desire in his eyes. I removed my clothes and stood before him, naked and proud.

I knelt and unlaced his boots, taking them off slowly and carefully, then removed his socks, folding them neatly beside his shoes. On all fours, I knelt and raised my ass in the air. I worshipped his feet, kissing and licking and sucking his toes. He grabbed my hair in his hand and pulled me up, ravaging my mouth with a long, deep kiss. He put his hands around my neck, gently pressing until my face flushed and I felt light-headed, eager, feverish with want.

“You are missing something,” he said, his hands caressing my neck.

“You told me not to wear my collar tonight,” I said, confused.