Best Bondage Erotica 2 (10 page)

I slid my glasses down my nose and observed him taking charge. He was attractive, not in the classical, good-looking sort of a way. He was strong and presentable, yes, but it was more like he had an underlying aura of power. Was it that quality that appealed to me?

His expression had a constant weathered look. You know, he’d been around the block a few times and his frown looked as if it was welded on. Even when he broke into a disarming grin, the frown was still there, like a testament to his intensity. His eyes were piercing blue, his hair a no-nonsense cut. Beneath the sleeves of his Saville Row shirts, I could see that his muscles were large and strong. Oh yes, Carl was every bit the veneered brute.

He walked from desk to desk in our open-plan offices, delivering snappy orders and tearing a strip off anyone who hadn’t been performing to schedule. I was lucky, I had a ring-side seat but I wasn’t due for any flack. As the CAD assistant, I responded to the needs of the departments that were actually having the scheduling problems. And boy, did I enjoy watching Carl flex his muscles in the workspace. It was midsummer and steamy hot in the city; you know, sex was always on my mind. When he finally paced my way, I sat back in my chair and swiveled to face him.

“Megan Brody, now you don’t appear to be on my list.” He paused in front of my desk. He had a lopsided smile, very suggestive. “Shame,” he added.

I gave him my best come-on smile and crossed my legs high on the thigh. “I could easily cause some trouble, if that’s what you’re after,” I offered, hopefully.

“I’m quite sure you could,” he replied, eyeing my bare legs
where my wraparound skirt had fallen open when I moved. He winked as he sauntered off. We had connected. I couldn’t be more pleased.

By lunchtime that first day, I was entertaining full-blown fantasies about him. By the Tuesday, I’d snagged him for after-work drinks. By Thursday, we went for a bite to eat and then he asked me back to his place.

Dinner was light, by necessity—the heat, and the distraction of bodies wanting a different kind of feeding. We hit a noodle bar, sat on stools in front of the steaming kitchens and drank bottles of iced Asahi in an attempt to keep cool. I quizzed him about his work. The noise level grew as the place filled. He increasingly leaned toward me to chat. The smell of his aftershave and the musk of his body raced through my senses, dancing alongside the smells of food cooking and exotic spices. Every sentence was laden with double entendre, each discussion about power interchange and snapping people out of their daily routine. But you don’t want me to tell you about our conversation; you want me to get to the juicy part. You want to know about the rope and how I found out he was one to play with. Okay. So he invited me home and we abandoned our food.

The air moved through the tube stations like a sirocco, a welcome breeze all the same. We stepped out by his riverside apartment block and a breath of air from the water gave my mind a moment of tingling clarity. It was short lived. It was a humid night, and his high-rise location only seemed to magnetize the heady atmosphere of the city.

He flicked on light switches as he walked inside, revealing a sparse bachelor pad with low leather sofas and a coffee table made out of a sheet of Perspex standing on stacked shot glasses. Cute, I thought. He leaned down to the stereo and flicked it on. Music sprang out, feeding background beats to me from every corner. I dropped my bag on a chair and smiled
at him, and then I stalked closer to him, my hands on my hips. His gaze roved over my little black dress, my heels, and my thin, angular frame. The atmosphere between us was high with sexual tension.

He paused rather deliberately, as if to make sure I was watching, before hitting another switch.
What was this about?
A series of spotlights flashed on one by one in the far corner of the room, throwing into stark relief a gym area complete with weights bench, free weights, workout bars ranging high up the wall and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Imagine my surprise when the area was fully lit and I saw the giant skein of wine-colored rope in the corner, knotted to the wall-mounted bars and dangling to the floor. I glanced back at him and noticed he was watching me, subtly, waiting for my reactions.

I strolled over, my stacked heels clacking on the polished floorboards. I felt very self-aware, but why wouldn’t I? We’d done more than enough flirting to flag up reciprocal interest. I’d taken his invitation to come into his space, and now I discovered he might be the perfect person with whom to explore my curiosity about rope. Besides, his eyes were boring into my back; my entire skin was taut with tension. He’d put himself and his toys on offer. It was up to me push things on; I could sense that. I supposed that I could choose to ignore the presence of the rope or I could give him a signal.

I didn’t really have a choice, now did I? You know my curiosity had well and truly got the better of me. I stroked the rope with one tentative, curious hand. It wasn’t hemp, like the samples I had enjoyed; it was synthetic, slicker, and somehow stronger. I glanced back at Carl. The hatchet man; all rippling muscle and contained sexual energy.

“Is it dyed to match anything in particular?”

His eyebrows lifted, but he was smiling. “Ah, I can tell you’re a connoisseur.”

I had to turn away so he wouldn’t see me smile to myself. “Just curious,” I replied, running it through my fingers. How many willing victims had he bound with it, I wondered?

“The weights bench,” he replied, indicating the bench that stood alone beneath a spotlight.

The color did coordinate. Dark reds; like wine, like blood. I had a sudden image of a naked, pale body, spread-eagled over the vinyl bench, bound and trussed in the wine-colored rope, being fucked from behind. I glanced at him over the top of my glasses, and smiled.

He groaned. “I’m sure others have mentioned this, Megan, but the way you look over your glasses is such a turn-on.”

Well, I know some men have a thing about girls in glasses, but his remark still surprised me. Was that why he had responded so readily to my flirting?

“In fact, it makes you look strong…powerful.”

“Really?” I couldn’t contain my surprise. Now there’s a twist, I thought to myself. Is that what he wanted? For
me
to be the powerful one? I was thrilled! I love sexual role-play and power interchange. How could I not totally love the idea of dominating a brute of a man like Carl? Arousal sped through my veins. My inner sex kitten was up and out, skidding across the floor with claws out, ready to pounce. I was well and truly interested now.

I unlatched the skein of rope from the bars and began to unwind it as I walked back toward him. When I drew up in front of him, he grasped the rope and tugged. I held tight. The rope went taut between us. He had a wild look in his eye. For a moment I wondered if he had changed his mind. Did he want to take control, after all? I reached for his head with my free hand and pulled him down for an open-mouthed kiss. He moaned into my mouth when I slid my tongue along the inside of his lower lip, very deliberately, sensitizing him and beckoning his tongue into my mouth. I was loading up my arsenal
of domina tricks. When I felt his hold on the rope slacken, I tugged. His body was against mine. Powerful, masculine: cocked and ready for action. I felt a surge of triumph. Oh yes, I was going to enjoy binding him up in his rope, gaining full control of his testosterone-fueled physique.

“I want to play, and I’d like you to strip,” I murmured, as we pulled apart. I had said my thoughts aloud and almost jolted at the sound of my own voice. But my body was pulsing with arousal. I was on a roll. “I think we both know what’s going on here, Carl, don’t we?”

He nodded, his eyes bright with interest, his fingers quickly wending their way through his shirt buttons. He kicked off his shoes and abandoned his clothes.

“Sit here,” I instructed. I patted the weights bench, while eyeing his body. My heart was racing, my focus closing in on bench, man, and rope.

His eyes never left mine.

I reached over and locked the back support into the upright position, so that his upper body would be on an incline. His cock was rising before my eyes, his body rippling with movement. He was flexing his corded muscles, preparing for what was ahead. I had to drag my gaze away as he took his seat and I moved to stand behind him.

Arms first.
I braced myself for action and threw the rope out across the floor, shaking out the loops. Snatching up one end, I squatted down behind him, pulled his wrists together, and secured them inside a figure-eight knot. The rope coiled and twisted across the floor as I worked, alive and supple as a serpent.

He was watching me in the mirrors. “You’re adept with knots,” he commented and shook his head, disbelievingly, as if he’d made a real find. His expectations were now very high. My hands trembled slightly. I hoped I wasn’t going to let him down! I silently ordered myself to go with the flow
and follow my instincts.

“Blame the childhood holidays spent boating. My father was a fanatic.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining.”

I walked around him at that very moment and pulled the rope across his chest.

“Far from it,” he added, as I began to truss him to the bench in true earnest.

His nipples were already hard. I wanted to see them trapped between two twists of rope. When I did exactly that, I thought he was going to raise the roof with his enthusiastic grunts.

“Fuck you’re good,” he muttered, his eyes going to the ceiling and husky laughter escaping from his lungs.

“Why, thank you.” I was loving every moment of his submission.

The humidity levels only seemed to rise by the moment. I was creaming, my thighs slick with sweat, my G-string clinging to the damp heat in my groin.

I wound the rope around his torso and across his hips and thighs, carefully arranging it on either side of his cock, lifting his balls between the lines of rope to ensure a snug fit. He cursed under his breath, but I took a deep breath and didn’t let it distract me from my purpose. When I had secured his ankles, tying him to the struts of the bench, I stood back to admire my handiwork.

What a sight!

His cock was dark with blood and distended to its limits, poking out demandingly between the ropes that contained him, the ropes that applied enough pressure to keep him on edge. His muscles seemed even stronger in their containment. His torso bowed under the rope, instinctively working against its enclosure. He was a gorgeous brute of a man, and I had him restrained.

Oh, it fast grew even hotter under those spotlights, fast grew even hotter when I stalked around him, admiring the sight from every angle, watching his growing anxiety with my hungry eyes. I stripped off my dress, my bra, and my G-string, kicking them across the floor. I kept on my stacked heels because they made me feel powerful enough to take him on, and the glasses, as a concession for Carl.

It was then that I caught sight of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. For a moment, I was shocked. The chic designer frames perched on my nose were the only nod to socialization. I looked rampant, totally animal. My long, dark blonde hair had gone stringy in the humidity; my eyes were wide and hungry. My breasts, small and pert at the best of times, rode high on my rib cage, nipples hard and primed. A tide of heat was growing visible on the surface of my skin, from groin to neck. My body was on fire, but what was going on in my mind was way worse. I was almost totally out of control, and yet… so in control. That’s what this had done to me: this power.

I looked back at Carl and I forgot to be aware of myself, totally. He was struggling with his burden; he was struggling with his need to come. He was so much a victim of my whims. It was that, I realized, that strength contained, that I hungered for. I wanted to feel its potency roar inside me, I wanted to trigger the final release and feel it where it counted most. I threw one leg over his tethered body, straddling his hips, steadying myself with two fingers latched over the rope across his chest. The air rushed between my thighs, over the hot, anxious skin of my hungry pussy.

“That looks so good in your hands,” he blurted. He was looking down at my talons, where they bit into the rope. “Oh, yes, that’s good,” he said, as I flexed my fingers, scratching my nails over his chest. He went to say more, and then his words slipped away and instead, he roared aloud. With one swift gliding action, I had taken him inside.

I was so wet. My inner muscles clasped at his bloated cock. I could feel his balls primed beneath my buttocks when I ground down against his hips. I didn’t have long; his face was contorted with ecstasy. I gripped the rope that bound him, and rode him, hard and fast, crushing his cock inside me again and again. The bind of rope along the upper side of his cock added its own pressure and I arched over him, my clit sparking against the surface of the rope, my entire body wired into the multiple stimuli.

“Oh fuck, fuck me,” he shouted, rolling his eyes. It was barely perceptible, given his status, but he began to buck his pelvis against his constraints and then his cock lurched and spurted inside me. I grabbed his head in my hands and leaned over, kissing his mouth, crushing my clit on the rope and squeezing his cock hard as he came. Moments later, I threw back my head and roared with my own release.

 

“You know that handmade bondage rope you mentioned?” I said. Lizzie looked up from her latte and frowned. Georgina’s head snapped round, her eyes bright with interest. She knew me; she knew I wouldn’t mouth off. “It really is special isn’t it?”

Lizzie grinned. I sipped my café negro, whilst winking at Georgiana over the rim of the cup.

“Especially when done with
true style
,” I added, smiling, and glanced at my newly manicured fingernails—wine-red, of course, to match Carl’s rope. Because it was weeks later and we were still playing. As for my inner sex kitten, I reckon she had become more of a lioness, what with Carl and his rope to toy with, but perhaps I’ll let you decide on that score.