Best Bondage Erotica 2014 (2 page)

Kathleen Tudor

Emily was gorgeous, of course, but when it comes to the performing arts, gorgeous girls are a dime a dozen. It was the rope that truly drew my attention, and her beauty only ensured that the hook was well and truly set.

The circus show was a publicity ploy at my favorite local bar, and I decided to pay the fifteen dollars for a ticket to sit in on it since they were crowding out my Friday night watering hole, anyway. The clown, who also served as prop master and rigger, was amusing, mostly because his actual job was so transparent; the belly dancers were a tad on the old side and out of shape and the hula hooper was great until she accidentally sent one of her hoops flying into the crowd like a
chakram
.

There was no question—the real gem of the night was Emily.

By the time her finale was announced, I was tired and torn between pity and irritation at the crowd, the noise and the
amateur show. Emily stepped out from the curtained-off “backstage” area, let one hand slide up the thick rope in the center of the room and threw her head back, falling still for the seconds until the music started. Then she levitated.

I know she didn't really levitate, but that's how it seemed. Her other hand joined the first on the rope, and then she slowly floated upward until she was hanging upside down. I was impressed, but not caught. Not until she started to wrap her body around the rope and the rope around her body.

The way she moved was like magic in the air, steady and graceful, never hurried, with a serene look of peace on her face. I forgot all of my irritation and my warm beer, and focused on the way that thick rope slid over her skin, into and out of poses that showed off her flexibility and strength. She used the rope like it was another part of her body, always highlighting the beauty and never awkward, out of place or in the way.

She glided from upside down to right side up, and I stared at the way the colored lights made her blonde curls glisten green and red and blue. When she performed a dramatic drop, falling several feet before catching herself on a clever knot, my heart jumped into my throat.

And then she would shift, twist her body, reach up for the rope, and those clever knots would fall away, the rope hanging straight and true, waiting for her next cunning wrap or daring drop. It terrified me, those knots-that-were-not-knots, the way that they could hold her plummeting body in one moment, and then fall away to nothing in the next.

When she turned upside down at the very top, hooking one leg, passing the rope behind her, and sliding slowly to the ground, it took me a long moment to realize that the fact that she was now resting flat on her back on the floor meant that the show was over.

I exploded to my feet with applause, as did most of the other patrons of the bar, and clapped even as I glared when the rest of the cast came out to share in the glory. The show had been carried by that little golden girl with the bouncing curls. I had to meet her.

Fortunately, the bar had no real stage, and although the cast had curtained off that small area in which to change, rest, and store their tools, there was no back way for her to modestly escape through. I asked Jolie, the bartender, if the girl had a regular order, then took the Long Island and a fresh beer for myself back to my table to wait.

When I finally saw her, she'd thrown on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that showed off her flat belly. She stopped to talk to someone, shifting until her back was to me, so I came up behind her and waited for the other person to move off. Then I reached around to hold the drink out in front of her, and whispered in her ear, “You carried that show.”

She jumped and turned to face me, and I held the drink up for her again. “Long Island? Jolie said you like them.”

She took it, wary, and murmured a polite thank-you, though I didn't know whether she meant for the compliment or for the drink. I watched her eyes roam behind me, looking for her avenue of escape, and I knew I was losing her before I'd even caught her. It was time to go big.

“So, do you like all kinds of ropes, or just the kind you can hang from?”

That caught her attention. She looked startled as her eyes snapped back to me. “Pardon?”

“I was just wondering if you like the feel of ropes on your skin when you're not the one in control.” I suddenly felt like a world-class idiot. She looked me up and down, buying herself time, I thought. I straightened, feeling foolish and wanting to gather my
pride around me, but something in her eyes had changed.

“Maybe you should show me what you mean,” she said.

I laughed. “Have a drink. Decide if you even like me first. Are you from around here?”

I guided her to an empty table and she sat, waiting to make eye contact with Jolie and get a nod before she took a sip of the drink I'd brought her. I decided I liked that about her.

“Yeah, I moved here two years ago. The circus community is pretty good in this area, you know? Welcoming. Good for new performers who aren't up to the big circus standards yet.”

“You seemed pretty damn good to me. A lot better than the rest of the troupe.”

She thanked me in a way that made it clear I'd made her uncomfortable. “I've been performing little gigs like this since just before I moved here, but I haven't really been able to land anything bigger. Some people are just better at marketing themselves, I guess. You?”

“Live here? Yeah. I've got an apartment a couple blocks that-away.” I gestured with my beer, and she followed my hand with her eyes.

“Where you also like to play with rope?” she asked quietly.

“Well, I can't say I've ever tied
myself
up.” I grinned. “I'm a fair hand with a knot, though.”

“Walking distance?”

“I'll even carry your books.”

She didn't have any books, but she did let me carry the heavy gym bag that held her rope and her costume. “I'm surprised you don't snap in half under this weight,” I teased, but she turned to me and flexed sassily, and the muscles of her arms popped into definition, reminding me of the way she'd casually suspended, lifted and pulled her own body weight for a five-minute show. “Wow. That is insanely sexy.”

“Need some help carrying the big, heavy bag, you poor, weak little lady?” she teased back.

“Come to think of it, you could probably kick my ass handily. Fortunately for me, you seem keen on letting me tie you up and render you harmless.”

She laughed at that, and I led her up the steps to my apartment, gesturing to let her go first. I put the bag down with relief—the damn thing was actually really heavy—and casually shook out my burning shoulder before she could turn around and see.

“So what next?” she asked, turning slowly to take in my apartment.

“That depends. How much do you want to play? I could just tie you up and let you go again, if you want, or I could tie you up and cut your clothes off of you.” She glared at me. “Or we could start naked and I could tie you up and have my way with you.”

“This was a remarkably stupid thing to do, wasn't it?”

“Follow a stranger home and let her tie you up? Yeah, generally. I promise not to do anything you don't want me to, but so would the creeps and serial killers.” I smiled gently, and got out from between her and the door. “If you want to leave, I understand. It'd be nice if I could get your number first, though.”

She looked at me, then the door, then at the door behind her that led into the bedroom. “This may surprise you,” she said, “but I'm sort of an adrenaline junkie.” She backed toward the bedroom, and my mouth went dry with desire as I followed slowly after her. She waited until she'd cleared the doorway before she hooked her fingers under the tight little baby tee and started to pull it up. “Let's go with naked.”

She drew me like iron filings to a magnet. “I'm good with that.”

She wiggled her hips teasingly before she pulled her jeans
down to stand before me in just a pair of panties and her lacy bra. I smiled encouragingly, trying not to drool, and moved past her to sit on the bed. She did one slow spin for me in her lingerie, then reached back and unhooked her bra to let it fall away. Tempting as it was, I resisted the urge to move toward her, waiting patiently as she displayed her breasts for me, touching and playing with them. My time would come...

I couldn't do anything about the small moan that escaped me when she finally bent down to slip her panties off her slim hips, down her long legs and off. She flashed a smile at me, and then lifted one leg in front of her, grabbed her foot and straightened her leg up over her head. “Shall I strike a pose?”

“Not unless you intend to hold it for the next hour or so.” I'd never tied up someone this flexible before, and I quickly reviewed my repertoire and discarded a few bonds that were only effective because of the limits on normal human bendiness. I also had to discard the vivid mental images of what some of those poses from her show would look like while she was naked and in my bed.

“I'd like to start with an arm binding,” I told her, standing and moving to my rope cabinet. I pulled out a length of soft cotton dyed a rich red. “Upper arm to upper arm, then all the way down to your wrists.” The speed of her breath picked up, and I moved with intentional slowness, savoring the way the thought of being bound seemed to arouse her. “Have you been tied up before?” I slid the rope around one upper arm to start the binding, and she shivered as it slid over her skin.

“No, but I've thought about it,” she said. Her voice had dropped to something husky and rough, and I took a deep breath to restore my patience. I was much too close, and got a whiff of floral shampoo, instead. It sent my pulse into overdrive, and I clenched my teeth and forced my hands to move
slowly and surely as I pulled her arms back and together. They got disconcertingly close together before I reached the limits of her flexibility. Cool.

“Sometimes struggling is part of the game, so instead of saying ‘no' or ‘stop,' we use something called a safeword. Lots of people use the word ‘red.' It means that all play instantly stops, and we resolve whatever the problem is.” I pulled the rope through a loop and passed it around her arm. It made me smile to feel Emily shuddering beneath my fingers every time the rope hissed over her skin. “You should definitely use it if you feel like any part of you is getting cold or numb, because we want to keep your circulation going. Okay?”

“I understand,” she said. I had reached her wrists, and I finished the knots off out of reach, then tied the extra into a little bow between her hands as a pretty finishing touch.

“How does that feel?”

“I can't move,” she said, shrugging her shoulders to test the bonds and wiggling her upper body. Her slender form moved enticingly, and I purred approval. “It's amazing.” Her voice had taken on a tone of wonder, and she turned to face me. “I'm helpless, but I feel so...free.”

I brushed my hand over her face, and she leaned into my touch. “That's because you're counting on me to take care of you.” I let my hand move lower, caressing the skin of her neck, tracing her collarbone, then drawing one finger around the curve of her breast. It was delightfully full and soft, and her pink nipple drew into an even sharper peak as I got close. “You've surrendered control, and there's freedom in that. All you have to do is
be
. It's my responsibility now to make sure that everything is okay, and that we both come away from this experience happy.”

Her eyes had drifted shut and her breasts lifted and fell in a
quick rhythm that spoke to me of arousal and excitement. Some people put up with being tied because their partner likes it, or because it's a means to an end. Emily was my favorite kind—the rope itself was enough to send her into subspace with boiling blood and a heated body. It was all about the bondage, the feel of rope over skin, the way it captured and caressed at the same time. I smiled in delight as I guided her toward the bed.

“Are you comfortable kneeling? I'd like to bind your legs, too.”

Emily's breath hitched, and she moved quickly into position, leaning into my helping hands as if this were a long-established routine. It made my heartbeat stutter to see the way that she responded to my every guiding touch. Was there ever anything hotter than a beautiful, powerful woman putting herself trustingly into my hands?

The first short pieces of rope went around her ankles, one each, and I left long tails to dangle. I knew she would be excited with just the feel of the rope against her skin, even if it wasn't actually binding her into position yet. Then I started to weave, tying her ankles to her upper thighs to fix her in that kneeling position, passing the rope back and forth through that tight fold of flesh between calf and thigh perhaps one more time than I had to, just to watch her shudder with pleasure as the rope surged over her skin.

And then, of course, I had to do the second leg to match. She looked like a goddess or maybe a sacrifice, trussed up in dark jewel red with her arms going straight down her back and her breasts jutting forward. It tempted me toward a breast tie, too.

“You are so beautiful like that,” I told her, running a finger along her skin just above the arm binding. I reached down and touched her hands to make sure they weren't going cold and bloodless, then moved to her front, licked one jutting nipple and
blew cool air across it. She writhed with pleasure, but couldn't get far with the knots holding her fast. It made me moan to see her so helpless and sexy and trusting. “I have a Polaroid camera,” I said. “I'd love to take a picture of you. Just one, and you can keep it. I just think something this amazing should be recorded, even if it doesn't last.”