Best Bondage Erotica 2014 (22 page)

“I can't!”

When he brought the silver brush down, he didn't see her other hand swooping in to block it. Until he'd slammed the business end against her ass, he didn't even realize her fingers had gotten in the way.

“Dell!” Genevieve's body tensed, visibly, as she brought her fingers to her mouth. “Shit, that hurts.”

“Sorry. Are you okay?” He dropped the brush and walked naked around the bed. “Here, let me kiss it better.”

She held out her finger and pressed it against his lips. “Hurts like hell.”

He kissed it better, then kissed her lips. “You obviously can't be trusted to keep your body in check.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Dell untied the thick ribbon that held the bedroom curtains open. “It means that you need a little help.”

The black satin looked like a million bucks against Genevieve's pinkish skin. He wrapped it around her wrists, securing her hands above her head.
There
. Now she couldn't swat at the brush while he whacked her. She looked good facedown on the white duvet with a long black ribbon tied around her wrists.

“That's better,” he said, rubbing his erection across her hands. He leaned over and kissed her hair while her fingers struggled to grasp his dick. “Now back to work.”

“Is it work, making love to me?”

Genevieve's question struck Dell as passive-aggressive and displaced, so he ignored it. He wasn't going to engage. Picking up the brush, he stood between her slightly opened legs. His cock pointed the way like a dowsing rod, but he wouldn't surrender to her pussy. Not just yet.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“For what?”

He brought the paddle down on her firm ass. “For that.”

Genevieve whimpered as he spanked her. His paddling fell in measured beats against her cheeks—one, then the other—and he sort of wished she had more meat on her bones. Her body was neat and spare. Her flesh didn't ripple when struck. Dell
wouldn't mind spanking a Jell-O body and watching the fat flail. But he wouldn't tell Genevieve a thing like that.

“It hurts,” she whined, straining to look at him. Her eyes widened. “Let me suck your cock.”

Dell struggled against his dick's desire. He spanked her hard. “Not yet.”

“Please?”

A meek shudder ran down his spine as he gripped the brush tighter. “Soon.”

He whacked her ass, watching her hands struggle against the satin ribbon. He'd tied it well. She couldn't escape, no matter how hard she tried. She cursed him and cried as he paddled her.

When he heard tears in her voice, he said, “I can stop.”

She whimpered, but didn't say a word.

Turning the brush around, Dell gripped the big silver paddle. Slowly, he pushed the bulbous handle into her pussy. “How's that?”

She groaned, like she couldn't bear the intensity. “Ohhh...”

He fucked her with the brush—not too slow, not too fast—and, god, his cock was jealous. “Tell me if I should quit spanking you.”

“Ohhh...”

“You need to tell me, or I'll keep doing it. Your little hands can't stop me. They're all tied up in pretty black ribbon.”

Genevieve moaned as Dell turned the handle in her wet pussy. Her feet didn't touch the floor. Strung across the mattress like that, she was pretty much immobilized. Totally in his control.

“You don't want me to stop, do you?” Dell pulled the handle from her cunt, making her whimper. “You want me to paint your ass pink. You want me to carve all these pretty little flowers into your flesh and make you cry.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What's that?” He traced the wet handle around her pussy lips, nudging her clit. “I didn't hear you.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Yes, please?”

Genevieve squirmed against the bed. Her fingers fluttered. “Yes. Please.”

Dell's palm slipped on the brush handle. It was slick with pussy juice. The paddle's rosebud pattern carved its way down the fat base, and he wondered if his hand would end up tattooed with flowers. Genevieve's ass certainly would be.

He smacked her hard. After all her shy pleading, Dell knew what she wanted. Every time the paddle met her ass, a resounding crack danced around the room. That sound turned him on almost as much as Genevieve's unhindered screams.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, taunting her.

“Yes!” she shrieked even before he'd brought the brush down on her raw flesh. She shrieked even louder when the silver paddle kissed her ass. “Fuck! Oh god, it hurts.”

Dell's cock throbbed wickedly as he punished her. His tip glowed almost as deep a red as Genevieve's rosy cheeks. The only difference? His dick wasn't painted with roses.

“Look at me, Little Miss.”

She turned her head, though it was obviously difficult with her arms tied up. Tears streaked her face, but her lips wore a grin. She whispered, “Don't stop.”

Her raw ass radiated such violent heat that he could feel it against his thigh. He turned the brush around, relishing her whimpers as he slowly fucked her with the handle. His dick throbbed indecisively—pussy or mouth? God, her asshole puckered, too, begging for a little something. How was he supposed to decide?

“I think you've had enough,” he told her, pulling the handle from her cunt.

She whined, but Dell stood firm. He could give pain like a gift, but he had no desire to harm her. Anything more would tip the balance toward injury.

“Anyway,” he said, “I thought a certain someone wanted to suck a certain something.”

He walked around the bed, greeted by the smile on Genevieve's lips. Grabbing her arms, he yanked her tiny body forward until her laced-up wrists hung down the side of the mattress. She chased his bulging cockhead with her tongue as it slapped her face, spilling precome across her cheek. God, she looked great like that—anxious, aroused, yet somehow alleviated.

She took his cock between her lips, and her mouth was so wet and warm he struggled to stay upright. He could have filled her throat right away, but he held out, digging his fingers into her hair. She sucked gently, then harder, drawing his dick in deep. His hips moved of their own volition. He fucked her face. God, she was beautiful. Those sweet little pixie lips sucked the life out of him.

He didn't want to come yet, but he couldn't hold out. When his climax took hold, he felt it in his balls. He felt it in his knees. His whole body pulsed with orgasm as he flowed into her.

“Dell?” Genevieve shook her head, dropping his spent cock from her lips. Droplets of come spilled down her bound arms. “Dell, can I ask you a question?”

“Huh?” His ears hummed so loudly he could barely hear. Dizzied by orgasm, he swerved onto the bed. “What's up?”

“You would tell me, right?” She looked up at him beseechingly, flashing her barely there lashes.

“Tell you what?”

“You know.” She looked away, down at the carpet. “If you were gay.”

Dell's brain buzzed. Genevieve asked that question pretty
much every time she got off the phone with her mother. She would never stop asking. When people perceived you as gay, it was a lot like them thinking you were in denial—you couldn't disprove their opinions without protesting too much.

MIND FUCK

Kissa Starling

Quinton stands at the foot of the bed, gazing. She wears nothing, as instructed. Plumped-up pillows prop her arms on each side. More padding lifts her calves and feet, thighs parted, displaying her luscious center. Her chestnut hair cascades behind her head, curling on the ends close to her shoulder.

He steps over to her, opening his fingers wide above her wrists. Two small pieces of packing tape and a ball gag lie in his hand. He touches his warm lips to hers, mimicking the insertion of the gag. Cool air passes where their lips part. The gag sits beneath her chin as a reminder.

“I hereby secure you, Cari; my fingers weave bindings across your forearm.” He bends to kiss the inside of her wrist; his tongue trails to the crook in her elbow. “Your wrists and arms are immobile. The tape secures you to the bed.” His fingers pause at her breasts. The tiny amount of adhesive bonds to her delicate skin.

“Your pink rosy nipples will be scarlet red when I finish
with them.” His palms push her large breasts together until the nipples touch. He covers them with his mouth, raking down with his front teeth over the peaks. She gasps beneath him. Her shoulders press into the sheets and her pelvis tilts. Her breathing quickens. His tongue lathers thin marks left behind. Cari shakes her chest and whimpers when the bindings limit her reach.

He rises, pinching her right nipple with his nail and setting a piece of twine across her breasts. It is attached to nothing. “Don't let that fall, my sweet,” he whispers.

His palm encases one nipple, creating a suction pocket. The other hand rubs rapidly, heating the flesh beneath. Fingers come together, grasping the hardened nipple. “I circle this perfect piece of flesh with twine that only you and I can see.” One nail touches the base of the valley, circling her breast. Faster and faster, circling until the peak is reached and then two nails dig into the flesh. He lifts the twine and tugs. Cari closes her eyes, moaning. He turns on the monitor by the bed. “My finger hooks and yanks the taut twine connection.” One shrill scream fills the room.

A few minutes later silence replaces the scream. “I crisscross your fleshy belly using my special braided rope and fishhook around your thighs. Settle into your position, my sweet. There's no escaping now.” Quinton sucks the skin surrounding her belly button and his tongue delves in. He lays the rope in a circle to surround her button. Cari squirms, her bottom wiggling. His ministrations continue along the inside of her right thigh. She attempts to raise herself closer to his mouth, but is stopped short. He laughs at her bungled endeavor. “You do remember the rope.”

Her fingers bend. She motions for him to come closer. “No, no, my pretty. I didn't eat when I got home. I hope you left dinner in the microwave as I noted on my list.” Cari nods yes.
He turns the light off. A nightlight leaves a soft glow by the bed. Her eyebrows draw together, her pupils grow wide and her lower lip pokes out.

“Now, dear. You know I need sustenance if I'm to please myself this evening.” She sobs as he closes the door. Quinton finds roast and mashed potatoes in the microwave. He flips on the companion monitor to listen. Other than heavy breathing he hears nothing.

He punches the button down, mic on. “The rope pushes into your delicate skin. Fraying ends prick like needles, leaving irritable red dots behind. Your nipples harden and your full breasts strain against the twine I've bound around them. It cuts into the bumpy areolas, creating staple-like marks. These signs indicate ownership. You are mine, my sweetest Cari. Never forget that.”

The monitor goes back into the charger while he finishes dinner. He longs to see her reaction to his words, but there's plenty of time for that later. Unbeknownst to his beloved, a hidden camera tapes her every movement. They'll watch it together, cuddled, once he unbinds her.

Quinton checks the clock above the range; ten thirty. It's been fifteen minutes. Anticipation builds, but he won't leave her much longer. Waiting is the hardest part for him. She plays the part so well. He washes his hands and then undresses, folding each piece and laying it over the chair, listening in case she needs him. It's time. His hand turns the knob of the bedroom door. He no longer needs the monitor to hear her sniveling cries of desperation.

“Oh, Cari. I'm here.” His words are long and drawn out. He slams the door behind him and pounces onto the bed. “I plan to devour you.” Quinton lifts his leg to straddle Cari's middle. “I'm removing your gag. Stretch your mouth and lick your lips.” He
lifts a glass of water to her lips and she drinks while he throws the real gag to the carpet. “Good girl.” Her lips expand into a smile. She rubs her head against his thigh. A tongue pokes out, lifting toward him. She isn't speaking yet, but he knows what she wants. He strokes his cock in front of her mouth. Saliva forms around the corners of her mouth. She licks repeatedly.

Please?
Her mouth forms the word, but no voice accompanies it.

“Of course, my dear.” Quinton rubs the head on her lip and across her cheek. She inhales, eyes closed. “Excites you, doesn't it?”

“Rose.” The word is spoken so softly he almost misses it; her timing surprises him. Five more minutes is her limit in this position. He demanded new safewords when they found out about the degenerate muscle disease. Quinton wants to stop, but that isn't what she needs. He will give her a few minutes and then change things around. No embarrassment for either of them.

Cari holds her tongue out, flat. He loves how she continues the scene without missing a beat. His cock lies on top of her tongue. She draws it into her mouth, matching his long thrusts in and out.

Quinton leans back to unwind the rope from her thighs. No words are needed. He holds the real rope in his hand, sliding it along her innermost areas and then throwing it to the side. Cari stretches her legs, straight and taut above the pillows. Her torso relaxes onto the mattress. He props himself back on his hands, lifting his cock to fuck her slick mouth. Faster thrusts, in and out. At the last minute, he leans forward, holding to the headboard, fucking her warm, wet tunnel.