Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (2 page)

Dropping one handcuff key into the empty spot in the ice-cube tray, she filled it with hot water from the tap, since she'd read that hot water, strangely enough, froze faster.
And this water can't freeze fast enough,
she thought as she put it back in the freezer compartment and shut the gleaming silver door.

Taking the bowl containing the single ice cube into the living room, she sat on the couch and watched the ice. It hadn't even begun to melt. How long would it take? Just the idea that it would be a while turned her on.

Because tonight, she was going to be handcuffed, unable to free herself, until the cube with the key in it melted. Her pussy clenched in anticipation.

While she waited for the handcuff key to freeze in the tray, she took the second key upstairs with the cuffs to practice.

She was so turned on that just walking made her clit rub against the seam in her pants, and she had to stop and take a deep, shaky breath.
Save it for later
, she told herself.

There was a simple floral comforter on a queen-sized bed in the center of her bedroom, positioned to accentuate the feng shui of the space. She had paid handsomely for a beautiful wrought-iron bed frame with lots of decorative swirls, imagining how her future boyfriend would make use of it to tie her up.

But there was no boyfriend and hadn't been for a long time. And when there was a man in the picture, somehow Amanda couldn't quite find the courage to reveal her basest desires.

With self-bondage, there was no way out if things went wrong. No one to save her. No safewords to stop the game. She supposed that should have made her less interested in trying it out, but instead it made her even more turned on. The thought of being completely bound and truly helpless made her wet.

She took the cuffs to the bed and snapped one cuff around her wrist, shivering with excitement at the sound of the metal clicking into place, even though her other hand was still free and holding the key.

She pressed her wrists together, pretending both her hands were cuffed, and practiced using the key in that awkward position to unlock the cuffs and free herself. It was so simple she laughed.

Downstairs, she watched the clock, determined to wait two whole hours to make sure her ice was fully frozen around the key. In the meantime, the other ice cube she had set aside in a dish took one hour and forty-five minutes to melt completely. That was surprising—who knew it would take one measly cube so long to melt?

She kicked the thermostat up a few degrees. That way she'd be comfortable naked, and the ice would melt a bit faster. She wasn't sure how much faster—but there was no time for another experiment. The key was frozen in the ice, and if she didn't get to come now she thought she might die.

Soon, she knew she'd have more than her fill of orgasms—because she was going to cuff herself to the bed with a vibrator tied to her. The thought alone was enough to make her panties damp. Plucking the cube with the key frozen dead set in the center out of its tray, she slipped the ice into a shallow custard dish and carried it upstairs to the bedroom, placing it by her pillow. The clock was ticking, the ice imperceptibly melting already.

Amanda stripped off her slacks and cotton button-down blouse, kicking off her low heels. Sitting tucked away in her underwear drawer was her favorite toy: a pink dildo with rolling beads in the perfect place, and an attached clit vibrator that looked like a bunny, the long bunny ears buzzing to life and the entire dildo rotating enticingly as she flicked on the wireless remote, checking the batteries. She shut it off.
Save it,
she thought.
For the bondage.

There was no need for lube; she was so wet the length of the dildo slid inside her easily even as it stretched her. Next she pulled her tightest jeans over her naked cunt, trapping the vibrator in place against her flesh. Holding the grey wireless remote in her hand, she brought it with the handcuffs over to the bed.

The ice was still frozen, not even shimmering wet yet on the outer surface. Suddenly she was frightened. What if she was cuffed to the bed and she changed her mind, and wanted to be set free, but had no choice but to wait until the ice melted?

The thought was terrifying—and such a turn-on that she thought she might come right then, even with the vibrator off. The dildo in her pussy nudged her as she squirmed, and she smiled.

Amanda rechecked, one last time, that the key in the ice was in easy reach of her hands. She placed her cordless phone by her pillow as well, within reach, just in case she had to call the police or something. She'd never do so, of course, but she'd
done enough research to know that things could go wrong. She supposed she should call a friend to let him know he should check up on her in a few hours, but since she'd never done that before, the conversation was bound to be awkward. So that wasn't going to happen.

It was time. Lying back across her floral comforter, she cuffed one wrist, pulled the other cuff through behind the iron bed frame and took a deep breath. The key was within reach, encased in ice. She tossed the second key she'd been practicing with across the room. It made a little sound when it hit something, probably her dresser. The remote to her vibrator was in her hand. Okay.
Now.

She cuffed her other wrist, feeling the satisfying click as it snapped in place. And then she thumbed the remote to the vibrator, starting off by making the dildo inside her pussy slowly circle. It hit her G-spot perfectly and she gasped as it automatically rotated away, and then back again, pressing her G-spot once more. Then again.

She turned the vibrating bunny ears on low, moaning as it came to life, buzzing directly on her swollen clit.

She'd been so ready for this. The entire afternoon had been her foreplay. She thumbed the remote in her cuffed hand and pushed the vibrator to high, coming instantly, the orgasm pulsing through her body. She turned her head toward the pillow, thrashing, and screamed in ecstasy.

This was the moment, once she'd had her orgasm, that she usually called it quits.

She'd always loved the idea of being bound, forced to orgasm over and over again. It was her go-to fantasy, one that played out in her mind night after night. She'd often pretended, even going so far as to wear the very same vibrator in her with the same tight jeans over it, grasping the top of the headboard and
vowing to herself that she wouldn't let go until the alarm she'd set went off.

She never made it more than a moment or so past the first orgasm, even if it had only been a few minutes. Feeling the vibrations against her overstimulated clit always inspired her to let go of the headboard, despite her best intentions, and tear her jeans off, turning off the vibrator.

But not tonight. Tonight, she wouldn't give herself the option of backing down—because her hands were locked in place, and she'd only be able to free herself once the ice melted. She had to get rid of the remote before she changed her mind.

The moment the thought flitted through her mind, she dropped the remote behind the bed before she lost her courage. There was no way to reach it now. Hell. She probably should have turned the vibrations on low at least before doing that.

No way to go back in time. Nothing to do—but wait.

She realized she was holding her breath, her abdominal muscles clenched tight. It took all of her concentration to focus on breathing slowly in and out. Her belly relaxed and she let herself sink into the sensations assaulting her, teasing her, making her entire being feel centered around the tiny bundle of nerve endings in her clit. The dildo inside her thumped mercilessly against her G-spot, and she gasped as every muscle in her body tightened at once. She snapped her head forward, curling herself up as she rode the edge of her climax.

Another orgasm rushed through her, her pussy clamping hard on to the dildo inside her, and she bucked her hips.

Her clit felt rubbed raw, her insides thoroughly pounded by the rotation of the dildo. She moaned as the pleasure overtook her and looked over at the digital clock on her bedside table. It had only been twenty minutes. What if the ice really took an hour and forty-five minutes to melt?

There was no way she could handle any more of this. The vibrations were too hard, too much—her body spasmed without reaching a climax. She cried out, no longer sure if it was from pleasure or frustration as she rode the edge of release. Surely she had hit her orgasm limit. The vibrating bunny ears on her clit were jangling her nerves, making her legs shake uncontrollably.

She gasped as another orgasm hit her hard. A gush of fluid covered her inner thighs. Had she wet herself? Panicked, she looked down at her jeans, which had a definite wet spot seeping through.

It's not pee, silly,
she realized.
It's come.
She'd never come that hard in her life, never so hard that a stream of ejaculate drenched her. Being cuffed, at the mercy of a block of ice, made her so hot. But she was going to cheat a bit, because there was no way she could wait until the ice melted naturally.

She pulled herself up in the bed so her head was right next to her hands. Picking up the ice cube with the key in it, she popped it in her mouth. The cold shocked her senses, her mouth overwhelmed by the large cube on her tongue. Tentatively, she sucked.

And the ice began to melt in the heat of her mouth.

Thank goodness
, she thought, sucking hard even as she bucked her hips wildly, alternating between trying to dislodge the vibrator and trying to come yet again. Now it was starting to hurt, the pain mingling with the pleasure to create an erotic sensation that left her breathless.

The ice was down to a sliver and she crunched, her teeth hitting metal, tangy on her tongue. She spat the key onto the pillow by her head and grasped it with her trembling fingers. It took longer than when she had practiced, but she finally freed herself.

Ripping her wet jeans off, she pulled the vibrator out of her
pussy and tossed it across the bed. It was still buzzing, hitting her comforter with a
thwop
. The clock said she'd been in bondage for the past thirty-four minutes—the most intense thirty-four minutes of her life.

She lay back on her pillow, her breath coming in shallow pants.

As intense as the experience had been, as scary as it had been, she had to admit being handcuffed was even more exciting than she ever could have imagined.

I should really punish myself,
she thought,
for cheating at my own game.
Sucking on the ice cube was a definite no-no. Next time, she'd use a bigger block of ice. She might even drop a key into a plastic water bottle and freeze the whole thing before she handcuffed herself.

There were so many ways she could torment herself. An anal plug, perhaps. Nipple clamps. A ball gag, holding her jaw painfully open, muffling her cries and ensuring that she didn't try to suck her way out of her predicament.

She grinned up at the egg-shell white ceiling. She didn't need a man to give herself exactly what she craved. The possibilities were endless—and this was just the beginning.

Elizabeth Coldwell

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jonathan has always hated opera. In every other respect, he's the perfect husband, but on this one subject we've never been able to agree.

Nothing thrills me more than to hear a beautifully performed aria, with a world-class soprano conveying the deepest of emotions in every note. It's almost as good as sex, if that doesn't sound trite. Unfortunately, he's never been able to understand why it moves me so deeply.

In the early days of our marriage, I actually persuaded Jonathan to accompany me to a handful of productions. But while I sat entranced, lost in the music, my darling husband fidgeted in his seat, bored and clearly wanting to be almost anywhere else. On one occasion, he even smuggled his personal CD player into the auditorium and listened to
Dark Side of the Moon
all the way through the first act of
Tosca
. He earned a severe thrashing for that when we got home. I rather suspect it was why he did it.

After that, I as good as gave up on trying to educate him in
musical appreciation. We would have carried on plowing our separate furrows, mine highbrow, his unashamedly lowbrow, if I hadn't seen the advert for Opera South's latest production. They were bringing their acclaimed version of
Lucia di Lammermoor
to our local opera house. I had been desperate to see it ever since I discovered Martin Bellehewe was the company's new director.

Martin and I were at university together, longer ago now than I care to admit. We met when I'd auditioned for the choral society's production of
The Mikado
. He was the show's conductor, filled with an energy and love for the music he couldn't fail to transmit to all those around him, destined for a stellar career in music once his degree was completed. With my thin if tuneful voice, I would never be anything more than one of the chorus, swaddled in a dressing gown masquerading as a kimono and fluttering my paper fan in time to the beat. To almost no one's surprise but our own, we embarked on a passionate relationship that lasted for nearly two years.

I didn't discover the delights of domination and submission with Martin. That came later, with my darling Jonathan. Martin's inclinations were purely vanilla, though he did love to go down on me for long, delirious spells. I always joked that with his superb breath control, he should be up on stage, rather than in the orchestra pit.

Jonathan knew all about Martin. He displayed no jealousy when it came to my ex. Quite the opposite. My dear, sweet, subby husband never got more excited than when I was telling him about my former lovers, and how much more proficient they'd been than him. That was almost entirely a lie, though the story of being fucked on a Majorcan beach by a waiter who spoke no English but more than compensated with his eight-inch cock was no exaggeration. Simply put, for Jonathan,
sex was always sweeter when it came with a side order of humiliation.