Best Bondage Erotica 2014 (10 page)

I wound the rope around her chest a few more times, well aware that the more loops I added, the tighter my harness would feel. I couldn't help brushing her nipples in the process. I wanted to squeeze and suckle them. To concentrate on the task at hand, I promised myself that I could spend as long as I wanted on them once I took Alicia to the point of delicious surrender—a place I wasn't sure she'd actually been before. The idea of being the first top to take her there appealed to me with a fierce, primal tug. I guess everyone likes to pop a cherry.

This time, I tied her in the “damsel in distress” style, wrapping her in coils of rope from her upper arms down to her ankles. I hoped she'd have a slow, exhausting time ahead of her.

When I finished, I positioned her carefully on the floor. A lot of girls bliss out when they're lying inside a tight, restrictive tie. Not Alicia. The moment I released her, she started moving and twisting inside the coil, a small, determined smile playing over her lips.

This time I made no secret of watching her. The more I handled her, the hotter I got. I wanted to see her cute little body writhing on the floor at my feet. Besides, I needed to be responsible anyway and supervise her—might as well do that in a way I'd enjoy.

The rope undulated in response to Alicia's body. She stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, seemingly oblivious to everything except the challenge at hand. I
didn't take this personally. It was my rope that held her, after all. My ties. By focusing on that, she effectively focused on me.

I'd tied her as tightly as I could, and for several minutes she struggled without finding an opening. I couldn't help wondering what was going on inside the rope. Was her pussy juicing up in there? Was she getting off on the burn of the rope across her mostly naked body?

Alicia panted and threw her head back, her eyelids most of the way down. She certainly seemed to be having a sensual experience inside that coil. Again, I had to resist touching her. Even if I were willing to bend the rules of the game to my advantage, I wouldn't violate the sacred code underlying our contest. She'd made it clear she wouldn't grant respect until I proved I could hold her. And I wasn't about to ask for any favors until I had her respect.

The point of her knee emerged from between two loops of rope. She gave her right leg a funny wiggle, then drew her foot up inside the coil of rope. The toes of her right foot emerged a moment later, working at the tie around her left foot, loosening it steadily. They moved with the sort of subtlety and dexterity that most people have trouble achieving with their fingers. In another part of the coil, I caught a flash of Alicia's elbows, then the heels of her palms.

Like a butterfly, she wriggled and climbed her way out of my rope, slowly emerging in all her flushed, slick, beautiful glory. I couldn't have taken my eyes off her if I'd wanted to.

And I didn't feel embarrassed. The muscular artistry of Alicia's escape mesmerized me too much for that. I started to realize something that Alicia's other tops must have missed. For all her defiance, I still controlled her as she wrestled with my rope. The dance of emergence and transformation in front of me at that moment took a much different form than her escape
from my single-column ties a few minutes before. It had its own shape and character, distinct also from the way she'd moved inside Ethan's ties.

Even though she wouldn't surrender to my rope, she'd still allowed me to place a claim on her. It was dynamic, being negotiated by her body before my eyes, but it was a claim nonetheless. She'd trusted and respected me that far, anyway.

Affection surged through me, and my plans changed just the slightest bit.

But I couldn't afford to bask in the glow of my discoveries, because Alicia had nearly finished freeing herself. I rocketed into action, my ties this time rough and nasty. I bent her like a pretzel, because I knew I could. I collapsed her body into a tight little ball in a modified version of a position the ancient Japanese used for interrogation.

She sighed and moved with me in a complex push and pull, a point and counterpoint of balanced strength. We could have been dancing. I felt impossibly graceful as we rolled together on the floor of the play party.

When I completed the tie, I spent a moment lying across her back, savoring the play of energy that flowed from me to her, from her to me, through the rope, then back again. Then I stood and stepped back, giving her room to play with me, the action no less electrifying for all that it occurred by proxy.

I glanced up and saw we'd attracted a crowd. I recognized several of the tops who'd played with Alicia in the past, but they showed no sign of the schadenfreude I'd expected. Instead, I picked up a few respectful nods and more than a little awe.

I couldn't let that pull me off my game. I dropped into a squat and focused on Alicia. Our connection had grown so that I could have sworn I felt her through the rope, even from several feet away. I knew just what it would feel like to grip her lathered
sides. I knew the rhythm of her breath, her heart, the tense-and-release of her muscles. I knew exactly how tired she was, could see it in the little trembles that passed down her body.

Then she executed a double-jointed roll that seemed to turn her arms inside out. I blinked, amazed, as her improbable position allowed for dozens of little adjustments that made it possible for her to walk out of the balanced tension of a tie designed for an ordinary person.

Before she could get away, I wrapped her in my arms, cradled her against my chest. Restless little twitches still passed through her. I needed to go through one last round of our game. It was time to send the message I had in mind.

Alicia barely resisted when I wrestled her to the floor once more. This time, I employed the best tricks I could imagine. I took care to immobilize each of her joints, blocking her in all the places where she might begin to wriggle out. I assumed an insane range of motion. I took no tie for granted.

Then I anchored her feet in a flexed position and restrained each toe individually with little loops of paracord. I tied her left hand behind her back, then bent her palm back and tied her fingers to her wrist one by one.

Never had I tied so artfully, so thoroughly, so creatively. I wanted her to know everything I was capable of. But I didn't want to break her spirit. Not anymore. So I completed my treatment of her left hand, then stepped away deliberately, leaving her right arm entirely free of rope.

Alicia blinked and met my eyes. We looked into each other for a long time, and the rest of the world disappeared. I could have sworn the room went silent, though I don't think the music actually stopped.

I think we both understood something then because, ever so slowly, she tucked her right hand into position beside her left
and bent her fingers as far toward her wrist as she could without assistance.

Maybe people clapped. I didn't care. I didn't look at anything but Alicia, submitting herself to me because she wanted to, because I'd earned her respect by respecting the beauty of her unconquerable flexibility.

I sat on the floor and pulled her bound body into my lap, so hungry for her that for a moment I wasn't capable of anything but holding her. Then I kissed her long and soft, savoring the slow-burning fire she returned. Her strength met mine, intact but muted. Her muscles quivered in my grasp, inside the web of my rope.

A few small adjustments, and I tugged the lacy bra away from her nipples. I stroked them softly at first, then got greedy. I pinched them hard, then grabbed her breasts in the palms of my hands and twisted and squeezed. She gasped, but her right arm never even twitched out of place.

I slid one hand under her body and offered it to her clit. Her thighs were wet and sticky. She'd soaked through her panties. Despite her obvious excitement, I'd bound Alicia so effectively that she couldn't grind against my hand. She whimpered in the back of her throat, but still didn't move to break out of my ties.

I released her instead, unknotting slowly, loop by loop. A little freedom for the hips. A little less tension on the feet. Another kiss, then more bend for the knee and less for the wrists.

At last, she was naked of rope. I gazed at my slippery little eel. She wriggled in my lap, rubbing her clit against my hand until she came.

NO STRINGS ATTACHED

James McArthur

I grasp the ends of the rope, nylon weave squeaking against my sweating fingertips. My shoulders ache and the coffee table is hard beneath my spine. My cock is throbbing inside my tight briefs. So many nights' fantasies are at play in my mind, I almost don't realize Graham is talking to me.

He grips my chin and makes me meet his gaze, shaking the images from my mind. “Nick, are you with me?” He told me not to speak without permission. Does asking a direct question confer permission? I don't know. I don't know the rules. But I want to learn them. I want Graham to teach me them. I stay quiet. “Good boy,” he says. “I want you to keep a tight hold of that rope. It's only looped around your wrists loosely, but I've made it short enough to give you some tension. How do you feel?”

Do I speak? My answer would be too big for my mouth. I feel fuzzy in the head, weak at the knees, short of breath, hot and cold. I don't even know if Graham appreciates every little subtlety of the situation that's got me like this. Helpless against
my body's craving. The fact that I've got my coveralls rolled right down to my hips and no top on and he's openly assessing my chest and abs, while he is still fully clothed. The fact that he's looming over me, his fingers still pressed into my jaw while I lie here completely immobilized. Not by the rope, which is more symbolic than effective, but by my lust and the fact that Graham is promising to make my long-held but unfulfilled fantasies real.

It's not what I'm expecting when I come in at eight for the night shift at George Saunders and Co. Polymer Products. Ted's name is on the roster. A good laugh is old Ted. But totty, he is not. I'm both pleased and apprehensive when Graham arrives and explains he's done a swap to let Ted get away on holiday. Pleased because Graham is totty. He knows he's hot and yet somehow pulls off the right level of affable cheek to make that okay. I'm apprehensive because we've flirted gently on the day shift since Graham started at the firm a month ago, but I don't know how to approach a twelve-hour stretch of the two of us alone on the plant. Twelve hours is a long time to spend with someone if they knock back your suggestion of a date.

“Hey, Nick, afraid you're stuck with me for the night,” he grins as he walks in. I feign annoyance and the banter begins. Within minutes, we seem to be discussing our sex lives. “Got laid recently?” he asks.

“No, not since I broke up with my ex three months ago. I haven't felt like going out.” I haven't felt like going out because my ex's complete rejection of my suggestion we try something new, something mildly kinky in the bedroom, flattened my confidence and left me feeling like some kind of freak. “What about you?”

“Met a nice-looking guy over the weekend. Yeah, we went back to his place, but I think it was just a one-off. I'm getting a
bit fed up with one-night stands, to be honest. You can't have the best kind of sex unless you know someone well enough to really trust them, can you? How long were you with your ex?”

“Just over a year. Longest relationship I've had since my teens. I was with a schoolmate back then, but we drifted apart when he went to college.”

“I was with someone for three years once, in my early twenties. But he went off traveling. It wasn't for me. I needed to be earning.”

We watch the dials, noting down pressure and temperature readings every thirty minutes. Our boss is suspicious of technology. That's why we're here, working the night shift when the whole factory could be controlled by computers.

“We could go out for a drink sometime,” I say, finally finding my courage around two.

“Yeah, we could.” Instant relief that he hasn't said no. And that pelvic tingle that comes with the excitement of the new and unknown.

“So, why did you split with your ex?” he asks.

“Oh, you know, personal stuff.”

“Personal sex stuff?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Like what?”

He won't let it go. I excuse myself for a bathroom visit, tap the dials, make us coffee, offer cookies, flick through the logbook. Graham takes the book gently from my hands, closes it, puts it down, then takes my wrists and holds them firmly while he asks again, mouth close to my ear, “Like what?”

I start to think that he can sense my freakery in me. But he's holding my wrists tight, and I don't want to twist them away. I want him to back me into the control console. Which is what he does. And then he moves in and kisses me. I end up leaning back
over the instrument panel uncomfortably. He keeps pushing with his lips, kissing me hard, his tongue rigid as it enters my mouth. But at the same time, he's holding me to him by my raised wrists. I can't straighten up and I can't collapse back and my abs are starting to shake. And it feels so good to be controlled. Held where he wants me. It's like he knows.

“Like what?” He whispers the words into my ear, his breath making me shiver. He doesn't let me move and I can feel his cock hardening against my stomach. My own is already stiff.