Best Bondage Erotica 2014 (12 page)

I swung my legs around to the side, making sure he got a good look at the fishnets, and at everything my little red dress
wasn't hiding. “It's fun to tie up boys. But it's more fun to tie up men.” I looked at him as coolly as I could, smiling a slow, predatory, red-lipped smile. “Which are you, cowboy?”

He gulped and glanced away. His big hand fumbled with his empty beer bottle. But when he looked back at me, his gaze was steady. “Like to think I'm a man. But I reckon I'll be whichever you want tonight. That is, if you're interested.”

“Good answer. Next question: do you always ask strange women to tie you up?”

“Never.” Something in his voice told me he was telling the truth. “I've always been curious, but never knew how to ask. Can't ask a woman who knows me well, because she thinks I'm one kind of man and might get turned off finding out I don't always want to be the tough guy. Can't ask a stranger because it's a good way to get slapped. Thanks to your friends and their pink drinks, I know you like bondage. And I'm hardly ever in Austin, so if I make a fool of myself we'll never see each other again. Figured you'd probably say no, but you probably wouldn't slap me.” He stopped and looked stunned, as if he didn't know where all the words had come from.

I set my drink down and leaned in toward him. “What makes you think I was going to say no?”

Then I kissed him. My hands went to his wrists, holding them, and while it was obvious my small hands could only immobilize him if he chose to obey me, he did.

I paid the bar tab—my friends' too, because I owed them a thank-you—as I hastily explained when they returned from the restroom to find me kissing a cowboy. My new chew toy, Jake, followed me home, driving an F450 that had clearly seen heavy use.

We went through some quick negotiations, which I think surprised Jake pleasantly. I don't think it had occurred to him
that bondage might involve his desires as much as mine, and might not involve the kind of sadism he'd stumbled across in porn. “Nothing wrong with pain and humiliation if people are into that,” I explained, “but I'm not and it doesn't sound like you are, either. I just like rope.”

More like I love rope—the way rope decorates a man's body, and the way new worlds open to him when he realizes my ropes mean he doesn't have to be tough and in charge for while. That he can relax and be taken in the best possible way.

Jake's look of relief was beautiful.

Almost as beautiful as his body was when I told him to strip and he did.

He wasn't a romance-novel cowboy cover model. I like looking at those pretty guys with their big, decorative muscles, but there was something about Jake's lean body shaped by riding and roping, its taut power and overall strength, that I liked better. His skin was olive everywhere, but he had a workingman's tan, darker on his face and his ropy forearms than the rest of his body, not the uniform bronze of a cover model. He had a sprinkling of dark-brown hair on his chest, pointing down to his groin, and a thicker, darker thatch around his cock and balls.

I decided fire-engine-red rope would be the perfect color for him, a fierce contrast against his dark complexion.

When I started by wrapping rope around one of his ankles, then worked up, I surprised him again. “Aren't you going to tie me to a bed or something?” he asked.

“Patience.” I kissed him, letting rope trail over his skin as I did. He shuddered as the red, soft length teased his nipples, tickled his flat belly, brushed his straining cock. I kissed him again before he could speak, tasting beer and cigarettes on his breath. Not my normal turn-ons, but I liked the hard, stereo-
typical masculinity of it, in contrast to the way he was giving himself to me and my ropes.

The Western hero, subdued by kisses and the mere tease of rope.

Hotter than a Texas summer day. Hotter than lava.

Slowly, meticulously, I created a lattice up each of Jake's legs, then worked my way up his torso. Decorative bondage takes time, and this took longer than usual because I lingered over the texture of Jake's skin and I studied his reactions. He didn't speak a lot, but his breathing and body language spoke volumes, and most of what they were saying was “Wow!” I couldn't help interrupting my work with kisses and caresses. By the time I was done, Jake was embellished with diamonds of rope and jewel-like knots. His cock, set off by the red ropes, jutted upward. A large, flat knot rested just above his cock, right where I'd be able to grind my clit against it.

Like I said, I love rope.

As a finishing touch, I looped a thinner piece of red rope around his cock and balls. Jake made a helpless, frightened noise, but didn't protest or use the safeword I'd given him. I wrapped it a couple of times, not tight at all, just enough to give him a sense of pressure, and tied it off at the base of his cock as an improvised cock ring.

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed. “Always figured something like this would hurt, but it feels great.”

“I could make it hurt, but I don't want to.” I knelt briefly and kissed the swollen tip of his penis, just a quick contact with my lips that made him jump with need.

God, I love that kind of reaction.

Only when he was decorated for my pleasure did I lead my cowboy to the bed, a mission style with sturdy posts and a solid headboard, perfect for the rings I'd added. “Lie down, cowboy,”
I said. I'm afraid I didn't sound all that commanding. I'm not that style of domme, just someone who likes to share the fun of rope, the pleasure of letting go. Not every guy likes that style. But it seemed Jake did.

Once he was supine on the bed, I tied his arms together, wrist to opposite elbow, over his head, and then tied his arms to the headboard. The position accented the lines of his muscles, and there's nothing prettier than work-honed muscles wrapped in rope. I spread his legs—actually he did for me, without being asked—and secured his ankles to the bedposts.

I stood back for a second, still fully dressed, and surveyed my work. My body felt weighted, heavy with arousal. My hot, hung, helpless cowboy looked almost perfect. Almost, but not quite, and I finally figured out what was missing.

I took his hat from the chair where he'd set it and placed it on his head. It didn't sit perfectly in his current position, but it got the point across.

Jake got the point, too, because he chuckled deep in his throat. “Could have left my boots on, too, ma'am.”

“And ruin my sheets? Don't think so.” I considered for a second. Maybe it would have been worth ruining the sheets, but I didn't want to bother untying him.

Now, finally, I undressed. No, I stripped. I danced my clothes off, making a show of it that the bound man on my bed watched with keen, hungry eyes.

By the time I was naked, I was also wet, and my cunt was quivering with anticipation. All right, it already had been, because the teasing way I'd bound him teased me, too. But studying him as he tested the ropes that restrained him—not to get away, but to be sure he couldn't get loose by accident—made me even hotter. And the way he was looking at me, like I was a goddess instead of a reasonably pretty woman with an
interesting dye job, was the icing on the kinky cake.

I stalked over to the bed and stood by Jake's side, slowly stroking his cock. His muscles clenched as pleasure and pressure built. I hadn't snugged the cock-tie tight, but as his arousal grew, he would become more and more aware of that little piece of rope. He writhed as best he could and bit his lip and stared at me with those dark-fringed eyes, but he remained amazingly quiet except for a few low groans that curled around my clit and stroked it.

Until finally he broke down and begged, “Please. Please, ma'am, please.”

“Please what?” I asked wickedly, still stroking his cock. I suspected he wouldn't be able to answer coherently, and I was right.

He moaned and stuttered and finally managed to say, “Don't know if I hope you'll fuck me or keep teasing me forever. Just whatever you do, please don't untie me.”

Now that I could manage.

After one last lingering stroke on his cock, I climbed onto the bed and straddled his face, knocking his hat out of the way. For as long as I could stand it, I hovered just out of easy reach, forcing him to stretch and lap upward in hopes of tasting me, moving when he got too close.

But I'd been teasing myself all the time I'd been tormenting Jake, so I didn't want to keep this game up for long. I sank down and let Jake's tongue do its work.

At first, he seemed eager but almost teenage-boy awkward. Maybe he was out of practice, or just not used to having a woman sit on his face. It's a different angle, a different technique, especially when a guy's hands are tied. But even clumsy cunnilingus from a hot bound cowboy has a lot to recommend it. Sweet tongue, determined lips, slight rasp of five o'clock shadow
against my inner thighs, and the delightful knowledge that in this moment, Jake was surrounded by my sex and my scent and my ropes, lost in pleasuring me.

Before long, Jake found his rhythm, and I found mine as I moved against his insistent mouth. I could feel his muscles straining, knew how much he wanted to touch me with his hands and his cock. And oh, he'd figured out just the right way to lick and suckle my clit. I leaned forward, catching myself on the headboard just above where he was tied, and I ground, adding more pressure to the dance of his lips and tongue. Then I glanced over my shoulder, looking back at the rangy body decorated with rope, at his cock straining against the air.

The sight was enough to push me over the edge, and I cried out profanities as I came.

I grabbed a condom from on top of the headboard, snatched his hat as an afterthought, then moved down his body, kissing and nipping his helpless flesh. His face was slick with my juices, and he was licking his lips as if he couldn't taste enough of me.

Sadly, I wasn't sure the condom would sit well over the rope-work on his cock, so I took thirty seconds to unwrap him. He thrust up into the air as blood flowed more freely into his dick. “Shit. So hot. So sensitive. Kind of hurts, but it feels so good.”

I had to take care putting on the condom. He'd be a little hair-trigger at this point, and I had plans for that erection. It might end up being a short ride, but having come once, I shouldn't have trouble coming again—and he deserved a wild, sweet conclusion to his adventure. Jake bit his lip again as I rolled the rubber over him. His hands clenched and unclenched against the air. The long muscles of his legs were twitching as if he'd been running for miles, and his abs stood out in relief under the ropes.

I wanted a camera. I wanted mirrors all around us so I could see every beautiful cowboy inch of him.

But mostly I wanted his cock.

I took Jake's firmly in hand, rubbed the head against my clit until I was trembling on the edge of another orgasm and he was muttering, “Please, please, oh shit, please,” under his breath—a prayer, a curse, a mantra. Then I put his cowboy hat on my own head, exclaimed, “Ride 'em, cowgirl!” and took him deep inside me. He laughed, but the laugh quickly became a groan of pure lust, pure heat. I began to rock.

“You like to be ridden, cowboy?” I managed to say, though sexy banter was difficult when Jake's cock was deep inside me and the knot I'd placed so strategically was rubbing my clit.

“Yes, ma'am. God, yes.” His eyes were wide, and his fists were clenched, and I knew he was holding back for all he was worth as I moved up and down on him. I wanted to make my perfect night of roping and riding a cowboy last, wanted to draw this ecstatic moment out as long as I could, but the human body can only take so much pleasure before it finds release. The rope's friction on my clit, and the big cock inside me, and the tough man so delightfully bound and docile beneath me, all worked their magic.

The orgasm crashed through me. I cried out, something harsh and wordless, and convulsed around him. My contractions were the last straw for Jake. He thrust wildly into me, despite having no leverage from his legs, using butt muscles strong from riding. “Oh yes, yes, Jesus god, yes,” he screamed. His voice was harsh, raspy, as his control frayed and then snapped like a worn rope and he came hard.

There was an awkward moment later, after I'd untied Jake and held him while he came down from the high of orgasm in bondage. He looked at me seriously, his eyes clear again and intently focused, and said, “You never told me your name, ma'am.”

“No. I like the way ‘ma'am' sounds on your lips. So old-fashioned and sweet.” I imagined giving him my name, my number, my email. Luring him back to town, to my ropes, to my bed. Imagined going to whatever little ranching community had created this strong, yielding man and binding him in his own bed, in the barn, under the sky somewhere. “Do you want to know it?”

“Will I see you again?”

I shrugged and licked the rope marks on his wrist. “Maybe. You say you don't get to Austin much.”

“And that's not likely to change. I'm about as far from Austin as I can be and still be in Texas, and the ranch keeps me busy.”

I thought about long-distance relationships. Thought about mystery and magic. Thought about the fact that part of Jake's allure was that he was a stranger, a symbol, a cowboy. If we got to know each other outside of our roles this evening, we might find an even stronger connection—or we might discover we had nothing in common except a kink for rope and didn't even like each other out of bed.