Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (23 page)

And then another thing struck me—she hated the word
slut.
Well, she loved it as part of a stream of dirty talk, with my cock deep inside her and my hands in her long, brown hair, pulling it in the way I knew she loved. But the feminist in her hated the double standard of it—that men were “studs” and women “sluts.” I absolutely agreed with her, of course, but I also knew that double-edged word got her off like a rocket under the right circumstances. For her to write it on her own body, though, was significant. She'd never called herself a slut before, and here it was written in all caps in permanent marker on her ready flesh. She trusted me and was making herself vulnerable to me in a profound way, and it took a moment for the full weight of that to settle on me.

I set my things down, doffed my coat and started running my hands lightly down her body. My little Aussie dream girl had left her “map of Tasmania” unshorn for months for just this occasion (I found out later), and I pulled lightly at the tufts of dark
hair as I shifted into the frame of mind to best give her exactly what she wanted.

She was dripping wet well before I lathered up her pubic hair, and I commented on it, on the ease with which she could've taken the giant cock of any man or dildo-wielding woman who happened to come through the door before I did. Each touch of her swollen pussy, as I washed and readied her for shaving, elicited a moan through the panties in her mouth. The panties were sopping, and I suspected they'd been dripping before she'd even stuffed them in there.

I tortured and pleased her by lathering slowly and gently, fashioning a shaving cream Mohawk, laying the razor against her skin, then changing my mind and lathering some more. I stretched her lips tight to expose every little wisp of hair, my hand gentle with the razor, but rougher on her sex. I used another loaded word as I cleared away swaths of hair, telling her that her
cunt
was getting cleaner by the moment, well, except for all that slut-juice pouring out of it.

I eased her onto her back on the carpet, removing the handcuffs long enough to recuff her hands above her head, threaded around a convenient table leg. I had her lift her knees up to her chest, exposing her ass and pussy in a way I knew she found intensely vulnerable. I shaved around her asshole, putting a finger inside to “hold her in place” since she was squirming so much with the delight of it all.

Finally, when she was completely denuded and rinsed and lightly oiled, I undid my pants, slipped out my painfully hard cock and slid inside her in one smooth motion, declaring, “The slut is clean now.” She came hard on my cock, the little mini-eruptions earlier as I'd stretched her pussy lips this way and that and brushed against her clit mere phantoms compared to this epic orgasm, one that made tears come to her eyes. Later,
uncuffed, ungagged, and cuddling, I reprimanded her again for binding herself when I wasn't there. “What if there'd been a fire, Jen? Or someone had broken in?” She just smiled and said, “Danger gets me hot,” with that accent of hers.

If I sound smitten, I am. Honestly, I think she's “the one.” She's way smarter than I am, no joke, and I feel no shame admitting it. Kids and animals love her, and she literally wouldn't hurt a fly. She even bought this little vacuum bug wand, so that she could safely deposit house spiders—which she's deathly afraid of—outside without getting near them or harming them. (I haven't had the heart to tell her that indoor spiders can't survive outside.) She genuinely has a kind word for everyone and everything, whereas I'm largely a fair-weather grumpus monster sprinkling sarcasm on a bad day like others sprinkle salt. So, in addition to being the ravening lust monster I've described, she's just about the nicest person I know.

Well, except for tonight.

See, I'd had a bad day at work. Everything broke on the server at once and it took me hours to pinpoint the problem. Meanwhile, everyone needed something, and the mail was stacking up in my inbox while I dealt with one fire after another. If there'd been a banana peel on the floor behind my desk and I'd slipped on it and given myself a concussion, that would have been the perfect capper. In the end, I got on top of it all and fixed everything, but I came home late and exhausted. She, however, was ready to play.

“Jen, I'm sorry. All I want to do is take a nap right now,” I said.

“I can make you forget all about your bad day, Kevin,” she said, kissing my neck and rubbing my chest. I would not be betrayed by her skillful manipulation of my erogenous zones, though, and I was firm.

“You can do whatever you want, as long as you don't wake me.”

It wasn't until later that I realized my mistake. We'd often enjoyed the pleasures of a sleepy fuck. One of her favorite things was to be woken up in the middle of the night to an orgasm. It short-circuited any inhibitions she had, she'd told me, and she loved that feeling of coming in her dreams and then waking up and realizing it was real and that my fingers were inside her. At our house, a lazy Sunday often started with Jen sucking on my morning wood until I woke, her hand pumping me until I spurted into her waiting and eager mouth.

So I took my nap, using her sleep mask, as she'd suggested, to block out any light. I woke up and was almost surprised that she wasn't sucking me off. And then I was very surprised to realize that my hands were bound to the rail of our bed.

“Uh, Jen?” I asked.

“Oh, good. You're awake,” she said, and stuffed something into my mouth.

I tasted the tang of her pussy and knew it was her panties, premoistened.

“Baby?” I said, or as close as I could get to that through the damp silk gag.

“Shh,” she said. “You said I could do what I wanted. This is what I want.”

Her hands worked expertly on my sleep-dazed body. My cock, never far from erection, quickly grew hard in her hands. She slicked it up with her mouth, then with some cold lubricant, and then slid a cock ring down it until it rested at the root.

“Hmm,” I said.

“Shh,” she said, and slapped my chest lightly.

She touched something on the tight, rubbery ring on my cock and I felt a vibration. It felt good. Not enough to make
me come on my own, but enough to keep me very aware of my own hardness.

She moved her hands up to my nipples, pinching each in turn. On our very first date, we'd kissed at her door and her hands had rested on my chest, until she'd discovered my nipple hardening under her touch. I was betrayed by my sudden intake of breath, and she instantly knew just how sensitive they were. Tonight was the first time she'd ever used clamps on them, though.

The metal bit pleasingly into my flesh, just on the edge of too much. I groaned and she tugged on the chain between them, testing how hard she could pull before I cried out. To my surprise, she could pull pretty hard before I did.

She'd done all this quickly and without speaking, except for the occasional admonishment to me to be quiet. Then she started talking.

“See, I could have just woken you up with a blow job. Or I could have gotten you hard and mounted you and ridden you awake. But I was patient, so very patient, and now we play the way
I
want to play.”

There was an edge to her voice that I'd never heard before. I was aroused for sure, but I was a little scared, too.

I heard a wet sound and then her fingers smeared something on my nostrils, and I smelled her musk invading my senses.

She climbed on top of me and teased the tip of my cock inside her slick hole. I groaned in anticipation and she denied me, brushing that tip against her clit. I was never more aware of just how little she needed me in order to get off, as she used me like this. I wished the gag wasn't in my mouth so I could beg her to slide down. I tried to say, “Please,” but it just came out as muffled nonsense.

She slapped me, surprisingly hard, for my transgression.

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up, cock?” she asked me.

I toyed with saying something else. To my surprise, I'd felt that slap on my cheek all the way down to my erection, and I realized I'd loved it.

“There, that's a good little cock,” she said. She teased and rubbed her clit with her human dildo. I could hear her wetness and feel it, but I was denied the fullness of her wrapped around me.

She came then, a short, little, sharp orgasm—a prelude, really. She cried out in pleasure, and I wished I could see her face. I love to watch her come. I love watching her do just about anything, but coming is one of my favorites, the way she scrunches up her eyes and opens her mouth, and then her eyes fly open as if she's surprised by it all. I thrust my hips up to try to slide inside her, to give her more sensation in that moment, and give myself something more than the tease I was getting now. She lifted off me like I was on fire, and slapped me again.

“Uppity little cock,” she said. “I determine the course of your pleasure tonight, and whether you get any at all. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded.

“I'm going to remove the gag now,” she said, “but you are not to speak.”

I nodded again, and her fingers pulled the sodden panties from my mouth.

She climbed on my face and ordered me to use my tongue. “And use it well, or there will be consequences.”

She'd never been this imperious with me before, and I found that I was slowly sliding into a deeply submissive version of myself that I barely recognized. I had a sudden sense of myself when I was young, and I'd first been exposed to bondage, playing
“Han Solo frozen in carbonite” by wrapping myself tightly in an afghan and lying on the couch, not moving for hours at a time. It was almost meditative, my current predicament, and I had only the sensations of my tongue inside her wet, slick pussy, and my cock vibrating slightly from the rubber ring around it.

It snapped me out of my reverie when she came again, this time even harder, and she ground her face against my mouth and nose until I was gasping for breath. I felt used; I was merely a tool to provide her orgasms. I was always, I felt, a selfless lover, but at that moment I felt barely necessary or regarded, and it was an immense turn-on for me.

“How's this little thing doing?” she asked, flicking my cock.

I didn't answer, for fear of reprisals. She slapped me.

“I asked a question, cock,” she said.

“Sorry, Jen,” I said. Before I could continue and answer her question, she slapped me again. As before, I could feel each slap in my cock.

“For tonight's pleasures, you will address me as Mistress, or Ma'am. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You may continue.”

“My cock is hard and aching, Mistress, and it desperately wants to be inside you.”

“Just what I like to hear,” she said.

She climbed off of my face and moved down my body. I could hear the click of the cap on a bottle of lube, and then feel the cold slickness slathered on me. She squatted above me and I felt myself slowly sliding into her ass. She groaned in pure pleasure, and I was almost pissed that I still couldn't see her face. We were both big fans of my cock in her ass, although it was almost never performed with me being some toy-like adjunct to her own pleasure.

I could hear and feel her fingers pleasuring her pussy as she slid up and down on my hardness. It would be a lie to call Jen inhibited at any time, but something about my immobilization and lack of sight unleashed something new in her and she sounded almost animalistic grinding away on me.

“Mistress, can I come?” I begged.

“Absolutely not, cock,” she said, and ground extra hard on me and on the vibrating part of the cock ring. I thought about databases and baseball (I don't even like baseball) and anything else I could that was not the slick sensation of my sweet, kinky girlfriend riding me with abandon. She stopped still, except for her fingers furiously sliding in and out of her pussy, and groaned and quivered as she came again. I held on, digging my fingernails into my palms in an effort not to come inside her.

After a moment, she rose off of me, causing me to groan in frustration and pleasure. She collapsed onto my chest, our sweat mingling as she took the clamps off my nipples (
ow)
and snuggled against me.

“What do you think, is my cock ready to come yet?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress, fucking please, yes,” I begged.

“Very soon,” she promised.

She got off of me, and the bed, and then told me to pull my knees to my chest. I hesitated for just a moment, and she slapped my thigh. I quickly complied. She tied my thighs to my calves with some rope she pulled from somewhere. I marveled at how thoroughly she'd prepared this all while I innocently slept. I wondered if I should forever be napping with one eye open after this.

I heard a jingling of something and then the bottle of lube opening again. She smeared a liberal amount around my exposed asshole. My cock, which had flagged just slightly, jolted upright again.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” she laughed.

“Yes, Mistress. I love it when you put your fingers in my ass,” I said. I felt bold and confessional, and although she'd had her fingers in my ass plenty of times, I'd never outright told her how much I liked it, relying always on my gasps and moans to let her know how I'd felt.

“Oh, if only it was my fingers tonight,” she said. That little irrational fear gripped my heart for a moment. I could trust her, right? I felt very vulnerable with my cock and balls and ass exposed like that, and I wondered if she was prepared to go farther than I was or could.

“This needs to be slightly slicker,” she said, and climbed up the bed toward my face. She pressed something stiff and rubbery against my lips and I opened up to take it inside.