Best Bondage Erotica 2014 (6 page)

Anna's muscles flexed—legs, arms. She tested the strength of her bonds in earnest, and I listened to the leather and wood creak as she strained. I rocked her gently back and forth, my cock nudging her ass, then her cunt, and back again. Her sounds changed as I pressed against each entrance.

“This—ah! This isn't fair, Lazslo.” I heard how upset, even angry, she was. But underneath it...underneath it was that tremble, and each time my cock slid between her cunt lips, it sluiced into a new flood of her juices. I knew if I looked there'd be a veritable rivulet dripping down the wood between her legs.

“No. It's not.” I said. Butterflies turned in my own stomach—something I hadn't felt in a long time. Transgression. We both knew I was, right now, changing something that had been a comfortably edgy, stably twisted given for each of us for over twenty years. I'd thought about this for a long time.

“Tell me, Anna, which one are you more fearful of?”

“I'm not afraid of you, Lazslo,” she whispered.

“Liar.” God, I wanted it to be a lie. And I wanted it to be the truth at the same time. The turbulence of that conflict and the others within me—within her—was the Now I sought, a place and time where everything outside the sphere of the physical senses and base reactions was just static. “Pick.”

Maybe she
was
afraid. Or just mad, or defiant. Whatever the case, she didn't answer as I rocked her back and forth, the wood creaking deeply, ominously, but her body told me what I wanted to know. It was the way she tensed whenever my cock slid up and settled in to press against that lubed hole, and the little whimper she couldn't suppress.

“I think it's...yes,” I locked the lever in place, feeling the
sharp snap of the wooden ratchet even through Anna's body. She groaned and shook her head as my cock stopped sliding and instead nuzzled against the little pucker of her ass. Until that moment, I hadn't decided what
I
had wanted more: to fuck Anna bareback, and play the serious game of roulette, or to take her ass—really take her—for the first time. However, when I heard that first soft, high-pitched keen as I tested her, it all collapsed into a single driving want. I positively hummed.

“Anna. Have you any idea what a
gratifying
sound that is to hear from you? How I love hearing it?” I think she knew, because she shuddered and pulled hard again at the leather. I brought my hands back to each of her cheeks, digging in just a little and pulling them apart.
Fuck
, the sight of that “forbidden” connection, the menacing potential of it, the feel of being poised right there—it made me boil. I leaned gently forward.

“I'm not going to fuck you—yet. I'm going to let gravity do the work first.” I kept speaking, because we both like words. “God, Anna, I got the angle just perfect. The only thing keeping me out right now is the resistance of your muscles.”

Anna groaned, her whole body clenched.

“It's true. With all that slippery stuff, I should slide right in to you. I
feel
you all tense and closed under my hands, against my cock. But you're already shaking with the effort of keeping me out.”

Everything about this scene said I was doing something wrong, something bad. I didn't care. Hell, the exultation, even gloating, in my voice was pretty clear. Anna, I'm sure, heard it, too.

“D-damn you, Lazslo.” Her teeth clenched as she spoke.

“I know, love. I know,” I said soothingly, disingenuously. “You have me so damn wound up. I want to fuck you so bad, so
hard
. I'm aching for it, Anna. But I won't—I can't start until you've let me in. All the way in.”

By now I was almost not recognizing my own voice from the tension in it, and I knew it was affecting her, as well. This game of word and want is what we played, though I'd raised the stakes unilaterally this time. “Anna, it's no small act of will, on my part, not to grab your hips and just force myself into you.”

I let my hands slide up to caress and settle gently into the familiar, delicious swell of her hips. Her moan choked into a gasp followed by held breath. It
would
be so easy. But no. I dragged my fingers back to her ass and spread it again. Had the head of my cock made just a little progress, her passage giving and opening just a little for me?

“We have all the time in the world, Anna. Whenever you're ready, just let me in. Just a little bit. If you relax your ass, I'll start to sink in, and it will all take care of itself.”

“It's g-going to hurt.”

“It might, Anna. Less if you let go.”

“God!”

“God is right. You look so fucking heavenly from here. Your whole backside is a temple, my Anna.”

“F-fucking cliché.”

I chuckled. I couldn't help it. And Anna's ass trembled and relaxed the smallest bit.

“N—!”

“Ohhh, yes, Anna. I'm in the perfect place. Fight it as much as you want.”

She did—oh, how she did. Every millimeter was a struggle of renewed frantic efforts, clenching her ass, pulling at her bonds. I was so sensitized and attentive to that junction that I felt everything. My breathing changed, deepening as I felt and watched my flared head pushing her inexorably open. Every new nerve touched as I penetrated her seemed to result in a new, tremulous whimper from her.

“You know it's inevitable, Anna. We both do.”

She shook her head, but the groan that came from her wasn't of denial. Another followed it, lower pitched, as the widest part of my cockhead made its way past her failing resistance.

“Oh, Anna, this is so wrong. So hot. I mean how can you let this rigid thing into your ass? Look at your muscles distending around my shaft. It's just awful. But there it is; I'm almost there. You're flaring open around me.” My voice was rough enough almost to be a growl.

“Lazslo—” It was almost a whine, followed by a little grunt as my cockhead passed into her and her ring muscle closed around it.

“Mm, that's it, Anna. That's it.”

“It...it hurts, Laz.”

“Relax.”

“I...”

“Try. Relax and it'll go easier.” We were both educated. We knew the truth and limitations of that statement, and what her relaxing would mean.

I felt her. Her muscles fluttered, squeezing, trying to prevent entry, pushing to expel me, and, when she could assert the control, relaxing to let me slip deeper. It was an exquisite battle to feel around my cock, to see in the shaking and sweat of her body, to hear in the ragged breath and tortured sounds coming from her throat. I slid my hands up to rest on Anna's rump as gravity brought me into her.

As I bored in, the contractions of her muscles mattered less and less, though they still affected how quickly I impaled her. Anna's sounds changed, too, coming deeper from her chest as my cock found its way deeper into her ass. When my legs first touched hers, they were trembling even though they weren't supporting her weight.

“Oh, Anna, can you feel me? My cock loves this so much.”

“Yess...you're taut as a spring.”

“I'm trying not to fuck you like an animal. Just yet. Not until I'm all the way in.”

“And then...”

“And then I'm going to let it all go, Anna. Everything. I promise.” This time it was my teeth that were gritted.

“Oh, yes, Lazslo.” Fuck. There it was. That tone in her voice. Beyond hunger or fear.

Then, for the last few moments there was silence, except for our labored breathing. I slid my hands up Anna's back, sweat-slick now as my hips first touched and then pressed into the flesh of her ass. My eyes were half-closed, and I imagined hers were, too. When I felt my weight settle against her, my cock buried in the squeezing heat of her ass, I groaned louder than the creak of the wood, and she hummed, laying her head on the smooth wood between her outstretched, slack arms.

My hands reached her shoulders and gave her a masseur's squeeze before dragging gently back down over her sides to settle on her hips once more. This time, as my fingers found their grip there, it was with purpose and finality. Anna knew that grip well. I closed my eyes, just feeling everything. Potential. Inevitability. The forever and ephemeral nature of this moment—of us two here, now.

“Anna,” I whispered.

“Yes, Lazslo,” she responded, equally quiet.

“I'm going to fuck you now. Fuck your ass. Until...” My words trailed off because my heart was hammering too fast to figure out what to say. I heard a sound. It might have been her; it might have been me.

I heard another sound. It might have been “Show me.” It might have.

THE NECKCLOTH

Annabel Joseph

The Countess of Waverly backed across the candlelit bedroom. “If you were a gentleman, you would not do this.”

Her husband chuckled. “If you were a lady, there would be no need.”

He strode toward her, a column of stark black and pristine white formal evening clothes. She scrambled behind a settee, gathering up her pink silk skirts with her heart beating in her throat. “I did not write that letter to Lord Eversham. I swear to you, I didn't write it.”

“My dear, your perfume was all over it.” He flicked the paper in his hand. “As was your atrocious handwriting. You are caught.” He surveyed the chintz-upholstered settee between them. “Do not infuriate me by making me chase you.”

She feinted left, but he moved right and caught her easily. Curse him, he knew all her tricks. His hands fastened on her shoulders and he gave her a little shake. “Eversham, Posey?
Eversham?
If you must throw yourself at one of my contemporaries, let it be someone worthy of your”—he threw a look
down her plunging bodice—“prodigiously wanton charms.”

She cracked him across the cheek.

“Oh, do it again with the glove off,” he murmured. “That was pathetic.”

She ripped off both gloves in a temper and pushed against his chest. “You are so cruel to me, Thomas. You mock me. You ignore me and run around London with your friends. At least Eversham notices me. You only notice me when I'm bad.”

“Someone has to keep you in line, wife. Now, you will kindly untie my neckcloth.”

“No,” she cried. “I will not.”

His fingers tightened on her arms. “If I have to send for my valet to do it, I will allow him to stay and watch what happens next.”

“Oh, I hate you.” But she knew he was a man of his word, so she did as he asked. Her fingers trembled, moving through the copious folds of starched white linen to locate the knot.

“The pin first,” he reminded her.

“I know.”

“We have been through this enough times.” He tilted his chin so she could slide her fingers inside his collar. “You should be an expert at neckcloth removal by now.”

She hissed as the end of the pin pricked her finger.

“Let me see,” he said.

She held up the injured digit. He kissed it and slipped the pearl-tipped pin into a pocket. “You'll live. Proceed.”

She blinked and pouted and went back to her task. From time to time, her knuckles brushed against the fair stubble on his cheeks. He was tall and blond, haughty and handsome. Posey knew that other ladies talked about her husband behind their fans. They whispered that he was sinfully pleasant to look at, a fine figure of a man.

They didn't know what he was like behind closed doors.

“The longer you take, the more time I have to hone my jealous outrage.” He shook his head as she unraveled the intricate folds. “
Eversham
. I cannot countenance it. I really cannot.”

“Eversham has kind eyes,” she said with a sniff. “So much kinder than yours.”

His pale blue gaze fell on her like ice chips. She swallowed hard and focused on her task. When she nearly had it loose he drew her fingers away and unwound the remainder of the neckcloth himself.

“Undress,” he said, his fingers sliding down his coat to pop open the buttons. His waistcoat followed, thrown over a chair. He scowled when she didn't jump to obey him. “Undress or I shall do it for you, and you seem to dislike that.”

“Because you always rip my dress!”

“I bought it,” he said, turning his attention to his shirt buttons. “I buy all your clothing. I will rip it however and whenever I wish.”

Oh, he was intolerable. But this gown was her favorite so she decided to obey. She put her fingers to the fastenings she could reach and grudgingly accepted his help with the rest. He stared in a lurid and ungentlemanly fashion as she shimmied out of the dress.

“Everything. Underthings. Stockings,” he said when she paused. “Have I ever let you keep anything on?”

She stripped down to absolutely nothing, muttering to herself about the trials of being married to an uncivilized tyrant.

“Give me your hands,” he said. “Hold them out before you.”

She did, with the greatest reluctance. Was it so bad to write a letter? A tame one at that?