Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (10 page)

Skirting lower, the whip warmed and chilled her skin at the same time, as she struggled not to come until she'd gotten the thrashing she longed for. Tears of frustration gathered beneath the blindfold, and Kristi could feel the vibration of her groans as she continued to beg Mark to be rough, to hurt her, to punish her for speaking.

Rather than the hard smack she craved, all she got was the removal of the fabric and a yielding pair of lips against the flat of her stomach. The affection of the kiss was another shock to her system. This wasn't what their cupboard was about. The kiss morphed into a languid lick that circled her navel and forced Kristi to still her arms, which she'd been unconsciously flailing within the restraints. Every nerve in her body was caught on the edge of expectation.

The contrary nature of her situation was not lost on Kristi. When they'd first been together, she'd have done anything for Mark to be this sensually attentive, but he'd changed her. She'd adapted to the extent that now she longed for his correction. Yearning to be bound, tied and made helpless in his
presence, Kristi relished the climaxes he could engender within her through the exquisite application of pain. Now she had to backtrack madly, as the forgotten effects of sensual touch cloaked her captive flushed body.

Bringing her legs together, flexing her feet, Kristi felt the stickiness of her flooding crotch against her inner thighs, desperately hoping that breaking the nonmoving rule again would bring correction.

It bought nothing. Literally nothing. The kisses stopped. The whip moved away, and the light air of her companion's breathing disappeared.

“What are you doing? Where the fuck are you? What the hell's going on?” Kristi had no idea how loud she was yelling and no idea if Mark was replying. The familiar ache of her arm muscles was beginning to become more pronounced, and the neck collar was irritating her throat. Her mound throbbed with the need to be filled, and since the handkerchief had been removed, Kristi craved its gentle return, as much as she longed to be smacked.

After what seemed an eternity of inaction, calloused hands maneuvered her legs as wide as they would go. Kristi's pulse quickened. Unseen fingers moved with frustrating hesitation up the inside of her legs, making her breath catch in her throat and her body clench with the telltale signs of an approaching orgasm.

She couldn't remember ever feeling this horny. Kristi imagined Mark murmuring to himself as he crouched before her, pushing her tethered body back against the cupboard wall. She felt his hard cock pressing against her snatch. Unable to widen her legs farther, Kristi arched her back and lunged her hips forward, doing her best to bear down.

Just as she thought she'd lined herself up with his shaft, it was
moved away, and her sigh of frustration echoed inside her skull. Mark was probably laughing at her, but she was beyond caring. Trapped in the cupboard, in a world of erotic isolation, Kristi began to move her neck. If she could just catch the back of her blindfold against one of the hooks in the wall behind her, then perhaps she could wrench it free and see what Mark was up to.

On the fifth try, Kristi felt the material snag against the hook, but her escape was halted in its tracks by the application of a supple mouth to her clit. She froze. With hands clasping her hips, and the tongue darting, licking and sucking at her nub, all thoughts of losing the blindfold were wiped out by sheer pleasure.

With quaking legs, Kristi felt an intense orgasm rise in her stomach and rip through her frame—a phenomenon that was doubled when a dick was thrust between her legs. It was a full two seconds before she worked out the physical impossibility of what was happening: to have both a tongue licking at her slit, and solid balls slapping against her at the same time.

The severity of the fuck, and her ass banging the paintwork behind her with the urgency of the thrusting, sent glorious sensations coursing through her tethered body, easily squashing down the facts of the situation as Kristi bucked and juddered between the mouth, dick and cupboard wall. The pounding to her channel was relentless, continuing long after her climax had peaked and exhaustion had engulfed her.

As she hung limp in her restraints, her brain finally accepted the reality of the situation. Mark had company. That was the change he'd warned her about.

The only thing Kristi was sure of was that it had been Mark screwing her. The violence of the pumping was the only familiar thing that had happened since she'd been secured in the cupboard.

Wrenching the headphones off her sweat-dampened head, Mark then removed his wife's collar. Kristi instantly sagged against him, her feet aching as they relaxed against the flat ground. Both her arms were freed at the same time, telling her that Mark's invisible companion was still there. Calmer now, her orgasm quieted, it seemed embarrassingly obvious. The men's hands had felt so different, one set far smoother and smaller than the other.

Lifted swiftly from the cupboard, Kristi was laid upon the sofa, her blindfold still firmly in place.

Mark spoke, but not to her. “That was an interesting display, Dave. Thank you. I enjoyed that, and Kristi obviously did as well.”

His wife's mind raced.
Who the hell is Dave?

Her question was partly answered by the sound of a mild Irish brogue. “I certainly approve of the adaption of the cupboard.”

“Bondage without punishment?” As if Dave hadn't commented, Mark spoke thoughtfully to himself. “A concept I confess it hadn't occurred to me to explore.”

Not daring to move, Kristi felt the heat of two pairs of eyes boring into her naked body. A flicker of arousal seeped down her spine.

“Now that I've seen your technique in my domain, perhaps you'd like to see mine in yours. You favor the living room rather than the bedroom, I believe?”

“I've always found it convenient.” There was something about the way Dave said “convenient” that made Kristi's stomach flip.

“Perhaps you'd like to take a seat?”

Kristi could visualize her husband gesturing his guest toward the armchair, and suddenly she didn't want him to remove the blindfold. She didn't want to see the self-satisfied grins of the
men who'd put her at the center of their mutual experiment. All Kristi knew was that however incredible the last fuck had been, she was more than ready for another one. She wanted it now. She wanted it thrashed out of her, and she wanted her unexpected audience to watch.

Without saying a word, Mark wrenched up Kristi's hands and fastened them behind her back with handcuffs. Bending her as if she was some sort of rubber doll, he threaded a rough piece of rope around her breasts in a figure-eight pattern, pulling it so that the hemp scratched her skin.

As the first blow came to her bound tits, Kristi smiled through her cries. It looked as if she was going to get what she most desired after all….

Teresa Noelle Roberts

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martin said, “I want to suffer for you.”

I smiled. I tried to make it an aloof, catlike one, but my heart ached with a combination of tenderness and lust and I'm sure it showed on my face. “You're such a good boy,” I said, continuing to stroke his long, brown hair. “And so beautiful. Why would I want to make you suffer?”

He was sitting at my feet, his head in my lap. He looked up at me, his eyes huge and lost, almost tragic. “Please…I want to be worthy of you, Ma'am. I want to suffer for you.”

Martin was younger than me and new to revealing his own submissive nature. The admission had released a streak of dark romanticism, abetted by much erotica read with too little grounding in reality. I could chuckle about it, remembering my own early, fantasy-fueled explorations ten years ago, and yet his leather- and hemp-scented romantic fancies, his yearning devotion, had swept me off my feet just as much as my firm but sensual control had swept him off his. Now we were trying to
figure out where to go from here. I was the experienced one, and I had definite ideas where I
wanted
things to go with my beautiful, biddable Martin, but a responsible Domme finds a balance between her own needs and those of her sub. This was especially important at Martin's delicate exploratory stage, where a wrong move could sour his fascination not just with me, but with kink.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging cruelly. “If you weren't worthy of me, you wouldn't be here,” I said, dropping my voice to a low, ominous register. “Do you question my judgment, or my taste?”

“No. I…I…I'm sorry.” He froze, his entire body rigid with tension. I was sure his cock was rigid as well, caught up in imagining the painful punishment he was sure was on its way, half dreaded, half longed for. “I just thought…” his voice dropped off and he almost whispered the end of the sentence, “I thought maybe you wanted me to beg for it, Ma'am. I mean, you control me, and you tease me, and you make me take care of you in different ways, but you've never really hurt me and I thought…”

“That's your problem, Martin. You think too much. I'll make you suffer when I want to, in my way, in my own time. Meanwhile, sweet boy, put that tongue of yours to better use than saying silly things out of bad porn.” I lifted his head off my lap long enough to raise my skirt. He didn't need further encouragement, and whether or not the delightful alchemy between his tongue and my clit stopped him from thinking, it stopped me.

But not before I'd come up with an idea. He wanted to suffer for me, and a delightful, obedient, clever-tongued morsel like Martin deserved to get what he wanted. I wasn't that fond of inflicting serious pain, though; too much work for too little enjoyment on my end. It was only worthwhile for me if a boy
really craved pain, needed it to be fulfilled, and my gut instinct was that Martin didn't. He just thought he should, based on the one-size-fits-all lesson of porn.

But there was more than one way of making a man suffer exquisitely. And the way I had in mind we would both
enjoy
exquisitely in the end.

 

“You look so good like that,” I purred, running my nails lightly across Martin's straining abs. I surprised myself with the husky, lusty quality of my voice, but he took my breath away. I was no mistress of intricate shibari, and the way I'd tied him to the bed wouldn't earn any prizes for beauty or elegance. The way his body looked, spread-eagled and taut with desire, was another story. He was so gorgeous in his helplessness, yet at the same time, he didn't seem helpless at all. Martin had gentle hands and a quiet demeanor, at least around me, but he also had muscles, and the way I'd positioned him made those muscles stand out. He looked like a bound, tattooed young god who chose to be exactly where he was for mysterious reasons of his own.

Maybe not so mysterious: the straining cock was a pretty good clue. But he looked no less divine for his obvious desires. Hell, he looked more so.

I couldn't keep my hands off Martin, but luckily I didn't have to.

That was the whole point of this exercise, the whole point of having my beautiful boy tied so securely to the bed—to touch him, to tease him past what he thought he could bear and prove to him that he could bear it, and to make it end in pleasure that was also almost past bearing.

I began with his nipple.

When I caught it in between my long red fingernails, he braced himself for a twist, a cruel pinch. I could see in his wide,
entreating eyes that he both feared and hoped for it.

Instead, I caressed first one then the other with all the delicacy I could muster, applying just enough pressure so it pleasured rather than tickled. Then I took one into my mouth, licking and sucking and teasing the little nub, nipping down enough to vary the kind of pleasure he experienced, but not enough to push it over into real pain.

It occurred to me as I did that that I'd never played with his nipples this way. I'd bitten them, put clothespins on them, dribbled a bit of hot wax on them, but never simply caressed them. In fact, it had been a long time since I had thought of doing this to a man, and I was surprised by how much I was enjoying it.

“Ma'am…” he said, something in his tone sounding like the beginning of a protest, as if he didn't think it was right that I lick and kiss his body.

I shut him up with a kiss. “I don't want to gag you,” I explained as I pulled away from his luscious lips. “Not today. But I swear I will if you say something stupid, like you're not worthy of this kind of attention.”

He shut up, confirming my suspicions of what was going through his silly, subby head.

And once he was quiet, I went back to work on his nipples until he wasn't quiet anymore. Soft moaning, though, was a perfectly acceptable noise, a delicious noise—in fact, the very reason I hadn't wanted to gag him.

I raised my lips from a nipple now swollen from suckling and red from my lipstick. “Sweet music, Martin,” I murmured.

Then I started kissing my way down his body.

When my lips reached somewhere around midbelly, he jumped as best he could in his bonds.

When my lips brushed the tight, dark curls of his pubes while entirely avoiding his straining cock, he let out a stifled noise that
might have been a bitten-off curse. I chuckled, and continued kissing and stroking down one muscular thigh, nipping and running my fingernails lightly down the more sensitive skin of his inner thigh until he shivered against his bonds. When I reached his bound ankle, I outlined the rope with my tongue. He shivered at that and sighed. I told him, rather than asked him, “I bet you'd forgotten that I might be gentle with you, but you're still at my mercy.”