Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (14 page)

“Your geekiness is always useful,” I say. The boning of the corset is rigid under my hands, as inflexible as my boss had been when I'd begged to be let out of dressing up like this. It still feels warm from Stefan's hands when he loosely ran the laces through the eyes for me, knowing I'm fucking clueless with this and taking pity on me. Not for the first time, I wonder what it's going to feel like, wrapped tight around me. I swallow, throat gone dry. “Help me get this on?”

We undo the buckles down the front and release the hooks
to spread it wide; it doesn't look so bad like this, I think, and maybe it won't be as weird as I've been thinking. Still, it seems to be a
thing
for goth guys to wear corsets, so I got one as part of my outfit, all in the name of authenticity.

Goody.

But then Stefan's hands are all over me, tugging the corset into place, closing up the hooks and buckles again, smoothing it down over my waist—I'm skinny enough already, I don't get why I need something to do more for me. It covers me from the tops of my hips to halfway up my chest in a half-snug embrace that only pulls at me where I've got bones in the way. And still Stefan keeps
touching
me, adjusting me, asking me how it feels until I finally roll my eyes at him to cover the fact that I don't want him to stop this, even though I've never wanted him to touch me before.

“It feels good.” I roll my shoulders a little, shimmy my hips like I'm on the dance floor. “Kind of comfortable, actually.”

“Good.” Stefan spins me toward the bureau again, kicks my feet apart to shoulder width. “Hold on tight. This is where it gets fun.”

I think I'm prepared for it, but the first couple of tugs on the laces still have me stumbling backward a little. Eventually, I find my new center of gravity, bending over and grabbing the bureau to present my back more cleanly as Stefan pulls the sides of the corset closed. Stefan's summers with all those jousting nerds, selling corsets and bodices to suburban housewives who thought they were kinky because they dressed up one or two weekends a year, made him the perfect person to help me out with this. That's why I'd asked. But as I look in the mirror and see the look of intense concentration on his face, his blond hair short and spiked in perfect contrast to my dark buzz cut, I realize that I feel safe like this. Stefan knows how to lace, he's my friend, he'll
make sure that I don't look like an ass and that I'm comfortable while I do it. That's why he suggested this dry run tonight.

We don't talk while he works, I'm not sure why, but the room is still full of the quiet shushing sound of laces being pulled through metal eyes with ruthless efficiency. I hadn't paid attention before, but I think the laces are actually satin. Somehow, the thought of small satin laces slipping through Stefan's long fingers as he pulls them tighter, cinching the corset closed around me in a delicately caged prison, makes the blood run south on me, filling my dick slowly.

With each tug of the leather around me, so tight and confident, I let myself sink into the hypnotizing bend and flex of his arms and shoulders in his reflection. He doesn't meet my eyes in the mirror, doesn't do anything but just his thing with a steady quiet that suddenly makes me want to hum or babble or crack a stupid joke; something, anything that will disturb the pond-stillness settling over us.

Instead, I just hold the sides of the bureau until my knuckles go white, forgetting to breathe for a few long seconds until finally, suddenly, much too soon, Stefan gives the laces one last tug and steps back, those elegant hands falling useless by his sides.

“There you go,” he says. “Comfortable?”

I pry my fingers loose and try to take a deep breath, but my lungs won't obey. They can't, not now. I can feel the leather through the fine mesh of my shirt, as warm as the flesh of a lover but tighter than any has ever held me, and I smooth shaking hands down my sides, finding that Stefan's actually managed to give me something close to a waist. It's just a shallow indent, barely there at all, but I can feel it, and it makes things tighten inside of me, like a coiled spring around the base of my spine.

“Wow.” I can't help running my hands over the new curve of
my alien waist, amazed that something so simple could change me so much. “Impressive.”

When I look up, I catch a look on my friend's face. I know that look, although he's never looked at me this way before: hunger. His eyes are following the same route I took, but with more intent, and what little air I had in my lungs just seizes on me.

“Can you breathe all right?” he asks. He walks around behind me, hand on my new, narrow waist.

“Enough,” I say, even though I can barely fake anything close to normal right now. It's got nothing to do with the corset, anyhow. “I could…I could probably go tighter. Wouldn't be able to tend bar like that,” I add in a rush. “But I could take it.”

I feel Stefan's fingers in my laces, pulling the corset tighter across my waist just by being there. “Do you want to try?”

“Sure,” I say. My voice isn't as confident as I think it'll be. In fact, it kind of cracks a little at the end, and I want to be embarrassed, but Stefan doesn't give me time to think about it. He just moves right in, and I don't know if I should be grateful or not that he's moving fast enough to keep me from getting in my own way.

“If you can't breathe,” he says, leaning in so close to my ear I can feel he's hard right up against my ass. That should freak me out—this is my
friend
; we don't do shit like this—but instead it just makes me suddenly aware that I'm as turned on by this as he is. It's weird and different, and probably just adrenaline or something, but I'm still at full attention with nowhere to go. “If you can't breathe, stomp twice in a row and I'll loosen them. Deal?”

This time I nod. Fuck trusting my voice; obviously, it's not going to be any help here.

“Kevin.” Stefan jerks on the laces hard enough to make me stumble back. “I'm fucking serious. Are we good?”

“Yes!” I say, annoyed that he's making me say it. “Yes, I
fucking get it. God. Just. Whatever, okay?”

Stefan laughs, but it sounds weird. Hell, this whole thing is weird to me, and I should just undo the corset and get the hell out of here. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, and I've always been fucking terrified of heights. But before I can get my shit together, Stefan's up against my back, pushing that hard-on against my ass again as he presses my hands to the sides of the bureau again.

“Hang on,” he murmurs.

And damned if I don't whimper.

He starts pulling the laces tighter and it's not so bad at first. Like some kind of full-body bear hug, but I'm good, even as the leather creaks when I shift, sighing quietly. But then he does it again, and then a third pass, each one going tighter, squeezing at my ribs, cinching me tighter and tighter. My head falls down, hanging heaving on my neck; I can't meet his eyes while we do this. I can't even meet my own.

“Exhale,” he whispers in my ear, and I can feel his hand on my stomach, heat seeping through like a fucking brand. “And hold it.”

I do what he says, not breathing for the long, long seconds it takes Stefan to do a fourth pass, and I swear he's taking extra long just because he can. And then he tugs even tighter, and I look up, startled.

“What the fuck are you…” I start to say, my voice wispy as the air trickles from my lungs. But I can see now, and I can see Stefan's tying off the laces, to hold them in place. To keep me like this until he lets me go.

“Hush now.” He shushes me, and kisses my neck. “I've got you, Kevin. You trust me, don't you?”

It takes a couple of tries and me licking my lips, but I manage to answer him. “Yeah. I do.”

Stefan looks up and looks at me in the mirror. The heat I see there, in both of us, makes me groan as I push back against him. Later on, I'm going to have to seriously revisit a lot of shit, but right now I don't care. I only care that I can feel my brain and body sinking into this and I don't know when I stopped wanting to stop it.

He slides a hand along my right arm, helping me lift my fingers. “More?”

When I nod this time, he lets me get away with it.

My arm is putty in his hands as he pulls it back and pins my wrist to the small of my back with one hand. I start breathing in fast, shallow pants, not enough air, too much panic, but still I let him bring my left arm back as well, tugging down so my shoulders are back, my chest is out, with my back starting to bow backward despite the boning in the corset.

“Relax,” he says, that voice of his a cool breeze I don't know how to catch. “Relax, Kevin, I've got you.”

The pull on my arms eases just enough so I can straighten, and I gulp for breath, even though I have nowhere to put the air. Stefan keeps my wrists pinned in one of his hands, holding me close, petting my stomach with his other as he kisses my neck, kisses my collar.

He doesn't ask me if I'm good, but I really am when he stops petting me and starts wrapping my wrists in the tail ends of the corset laces.
Jesus fuck
, I think, and flex my fingers as he binds me to my clothing, my arms behind my back. Now there's no getting out of this without him, no quick release of the corset unless Stefan decides it's time. I am completely at his mercy.

It should scare the hell out of me, and it does, but at the same time, it feels so goddamn good to let go of it all. Every last responsibility is his now, and all I have to do is just fucking enjoy it. And I really am; my body feels like it's been plugged into a live
current, and if I had enough room in my lungs, I'd say I feel like singing. I want to tell Stefan all this, but how do you say that you feel the most free you've ever felt in your life by being tied up, and please, please, don't fucking stop?

Instead, I twist in both his and the corset's grips, and offer him my mouth. He kisses me back, a warm and wet invasion that takes what little breath I have away, and we're both panting when he pulls away and yanks on my arms, forcing me to face front again. He's just as flushed as I am, grinning as he rubs his cock against my ass; I'm pretty sure he got my message loud and clear.

“Your collar isn't on right,” he says. “It shouldn't be so loose.”

Oh, god.
I swallow, suddenly aware of the leather and metal weight around my neck in a much sharper way that I'd let myself think about it before. If I play into this, it could be dangerous, so very dangerous, and I might be almost hard enough to bust my zipper, but I'm not stupid. But I said I trusted him, and he said he had me. That has to count for something, and that something is probably whatever I'm still missing. Fuck it, I figure.

“Fix it for me?”

I don't have to ask him twice. Stefan's hands are fast, his touch burning against the back of my neck as he pulls the leather tighter, tighter, the O-ring digging into my tender skin just enough to make me nervous. And then he fastens it, high and tight around my throat, kissing the clasp like some kind of blessing.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispers. And his hands, his hands are all over me. It's like before, only now I feel possessed instead of petted, and it's a million times better. I try to squirm, but too much movement makes the collar dig, so I try to hold still. I would have thought that with the leather and the mesh
shirt, not to mention all the touching already, I'd be at least somewhat desensitized, but I can feel every last caress like it's on my bare skin, and I can only lean back against Stefan's chest and let him do whatever he wants as his hands go lower, lower, heading straight for my cock, which is harder than ever and clearly happy with this new turn of events.

When Stefan's hand closes over me, I cry out as best as I can, twisting until the collar digs into my windpipe. I need more. I need flesh on flesh. I need what he can give me, something I don't understand but I can only hope and trust Stefan does. God, one of us has to, otherwise I'm fucked, and not in a good way.

“So perfect,” he whispers in my ear, but maybe he's shouting. I can't tell over the pounding of blood in my head, the
thud-thud
of desire and low oxygen that's settling into my bones.

He reaches under the front of the corset and frees the button and zipper of my slacks, pulling my dick out into the cold air of my bedroom and into his warm, tender hand as he strokes me.

“Yes,” I hiss, pushing my hips into his hand, desperate for whatever he'll give me, whatever I can have. I pull on my ties, but that only makes the corset tighter, makes me gasp for breath louder on the next twisting upstroke, his thumb sliding over my head and making me jump. The added tension feels so good, like the embrace of a lover, like Stefan is wrapped all around me while he jacks me into complete insanity, and I can't resist the urge to pull and release again and again, the ties digging into my wrists until I'm sure I'll be bruised tomorrow. I'll have thin purple and red welts all up and down my wrists and forearms and whenever someone asks me about them at work, I'll make something up, but inside I'll be thinking about this moment, this feeling of being so completely cradled by Stefan.

“You like that.” I can hear pride in his voice, and then Stefan's free hand is over my hands, touching me, making me sob
breathlessly in anticipation. “You want more.”

“Please,” I beg him, even though it wasn't a question. “Please, yes. Please.”

I feel those nimble fingers hook into the back of my collar just as Stefan kisses my shoulder. “You're going to love this,” he promises me. And I know I will, because he'll give it to me. He has to know what I need. Has to.