Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (7 page)

At last the flogging scene ended, and the aptly named Titiletta finished her titillation and took her tits offstage, followed by “Sir,” who was obviously so enamored of his submissive showpiece girlfriend that he could barely keep himself from drooling. But that was their game, and it just reinforced for Nick his awareness of the delightful dance everyone did around preferences and pleasures. Who was he to judge? At the moment, he was wondering if he could steel the courage to do anything with all of these people watching. That Paolina was willing to take the stage and perform was suddenly a new and compelling reason to worship her.

The twenty minutes between acts—as a huge wooden frame, crisscrossed with white nylon rope, was lowered from above and bolted to the stage—seemed far longer than the hour-plus of flogging as Nick grew increasingly nervous and did the will-I/ won't-I? dance inside his troubled head. He ruminated in frantic
patterns that didn't seem logical even as they seemed inevitable. There were three likely outcomes here, he told himself as he looked longingly at the set that was obviously the web for Paolina's fly. If he did not volunteer, he could secretly observe her with someone else and judge for himself whether fidelity meant to her what it did to him. He dubbed this the doomed-relationship option. A guy who played games like that was fooling himself more than his girlfriend. If he did volunteer, she could fail to see him or choose someone else intentionally. He dubbed this the hopelessly insecure option. He'd make sure she saw him, and why the hell wouldn't she pick him? She'd asked him, quite directly, several times, to be part of the scene with her. And if she did pick him…he'd have to get on that stage. He swallowed hard. All those people, watching them together. It felt like such a breach of privacy, and yet, wasn't it just another form of submission, just another way to please Paolina and grow closer to her? There really was no other choice.

The introduction to Paolina's act was simple and brief, but it seemed to Nick that the crowd had grown in size and energy as The Spider and the Fly was announced. The lights went down and then came up again in blue, and in the beautiful glow of the now silvery ropes, Paolina took the stage. Her thigh-high boots with their spiked heels clacked, and Nick was entranced, dismissing easily and entirely how he'd judged all the other women for wearing similar footwear. Her catsuit had a webbed design of straps and cutouts, and where it might have looked like Halloween finery on another woman, it was perfection on his Paolina.

She toyed with a length of rope as she began to speak. “Good evening, everyone. I'm honored to perform for you tonight.” Her voice was soft yet commanding, and Nick was entirely under her spell before she'd truly begun to weave it. “Before I
get to the physical part of the act, I hope you'll indulge me in a little discourse on spiders.” She casually weaved some ornate form of slipknot and released it. “Is there anything more poetic than the way a spider builds its web from the very stuff of itself, with such loving symmetry, such lyrical perfection?” Her eyes fell upon various members of the audience, seeking agreement before she went on. “Then, having caught her prey, she binds it with such precision and speed, such dedication to her own satisfaction.” She passed the rope around and around her own wrist. “I think we Doms can relate to that, yes?” Nods came in reply from around the room.

“Once the poor little submissive—I mean insect—has been wrapped up nice and tight, she gives the kiss of death, paralyzing and poisoning the prey so she can take its very lifeblood into herself. An exchange of power, however nonconsensual,” she concluded with a light laugh. The audience laughed with her. Nick smiled and scooted to the edge of his chair. Paolina had them all in the palm of her hand, wooing with word and graceful gesture. She was amazing. A star. His star. She let the rope slip from her wrist to coil at her feet. “But as I will allow my victim to leave with his life tonight,” she added, “this spider seeks a voluntary fly.”

Nick didn't wait for further cue, pushing his chair back with an audible scrape on the tiled floor and raising his hand like a schoolboy. He had no more doubts, nothing but adoration, the desire to please, to give his spider the eager prey she deserved. Paolina turned in surprise and blinked out over the lights at the sudden sound, but she quickly regained composure, smiling broadly and commenting on the pleasure of having such willing prey. The audience laughed again and some turned to gawk at the overeager volunteer. Nick approached the stage in even, deliberate steps, gazing up at Paolina as she gathered
her rope until he finally saw recognition in her sparkling eyes. “Well, well,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Come into my parlor,” she enthused, tossing a loop around Nick's shoulders and pulling it taut. He gasped at the unexpected advance, and she smiled in delight at the sound.

Making his way up the steps at the side of the platform, Nick was entranced as Paolina murmured, “Yes, my prey, come to me,” and took up the slack of the rope as he neared. A hush fell over the audience; the spell was being woven so deftly. “Take off your clothes,” she commanded. Nick flushed from head to toe, or at least felt overheated and overwhelmed, but he could not disobey, not even for a moment. He stopped when he was standing before her clad only in olive boxers. Paolina tsked and shook her head. Surely she didn't expect him to be stark naked in front of a room full of people? Before he knew what was happening, she'd pressed a knee to his back and had him on his knees. Her hands were all but a blur as she swiftly and neatly bound his wrists and ankles and laid him on his side. The crowd murmured approval as they watched the spider expertly immobilize her prey. Nick was gasping…and hard as a rock.

Paolina stepped back a moment, admiring her catch. “What a fine meal I've caught myself. But he should be laid bare before he is bound and devoured, shouldn't he?” There was more whispered approval that only grew when Paolina took a large, shiny knife out of a pouch tied to her waist and slit Nick's boxers from his body. He made a sound he was quite sure he'd never made before as he felt cool metal touch his flesh and then cool air surround his now-exposed genitals: vulnerable balls and hard cock. “Quite a meal, that,” Paolina quipped, touching the tip of her blade to the tip of his cock. “I could devour him now,” she went on, talking about but not to him, eyes on the audience, “but we wouldn't want to risk his escape, would we?” The audience
tittered their disapproval of such a loss, unsure of whether their participation was truly desired but growing bolder at her encouragement. “I thought not. I'd better bind him well.”

Nick felt a whirl of conflicting emotions: Embarrassment. Arousal. Shame. Delight. The complex and heady mixture touched the very heart of submission, and he gave himself up to it while Paolina retreated to the back of the stage to grab several more coils of white nylon rope. Nick watched her movements with rapt attention and bated breath. She bent forward and tipped Nick's face up so he met her hungry gaze. “You won't try to escape me, will you, little fly?”

Nick shuddered, shook his head. He couldn't speak. Though he knew this was a performance, the emotions he was feeling were genuine and powerful. “Good boy,” she said, words of praise she often used when they were alone. It did not keep him from being nervous, but it reassured him that this was still his Paolina, and he was safe. Licking her lips, Paolina released his chin. Then, with a studied precision, she crouched and began to bind her passive lover as a hundred pairs of eyes looked on. He could feel but not see her work, but he knew from experience that she was well trained in both Eastern and Western styles of rope bondage. He could not help but delight in her manipulation and control of him while feeling pride in what he knew must be the audience's enjoyment.

Paolina grew serious and silent as she worked her ornate artistry, entwining and cocooning, combining deftness and delicacy, precision and power. She caressed Nick's flesh as she wrapped it, evincing small whimpers and moans from him as she moved up his body. He surrendered as entirely as he could, fighting to dismiss anything but the intimacy between them. The audience couldn't matter when her hands were on him. From feet to shoulders, Paolina the Spider worked her way up
Nick's naked body. His legs, still bent at the knee, were wrapped precisely and practically, a mummy at its finest. The sensation was new, and a moment of claustrophobia washed over him. She pressed a hand to his hip and whispered, “Easy now,” calming the jitters instantly. Moving from predatory spider to animal tamer, she controlled him perfectly.

His genitals were bound next, and most delicately, cock and balls left provocatively half exposed as an openwork web radiated outward from his groin. He felt the brush of her fingertips and basked in her little sounds of pleasure as she worked. She loved that he was uncut, and loved to tell him how much she loved it, then watch his response. A guy didn't get compliments on his cock all that often—or he didn't, anyway—and he loved it. Her warm gaze on his body and thoughts of her warmer mouth and hot pussy kept him from being overwhelmed by self-consciousness.

He gasped as Paolina pulled the rope upward hard between his legs, maneuvering his passive body with skill and sureness. She manipulated and toyed with her fly, up at last to his chest and shoulders, which she decorated with a honeycomb of ornate knots, his arms pinned tightly to his back. When she finished, she lifted her prize to a sitting position, and, with the assistance of two stagehands, bound him, upright, to the web at the back of the stage. The sensation of being carried, unable to move himself even if he were dropped, was both terrifying and exhilarating. This was Paolina's game, and he had no choice but to trust her.

Testing knots and his weight against the web, Paolina took the opportunity to press a kiss to Nick's ear. Then, obviously pleased with her own handiwork, she turned back to the audience. “He looks good enough to eat, doesn't he?” There was a smattering of applause, incongruous with the setting but, thought Nick, very much her due. He admired her back, silhouetted against the blue lights. This Paolina was his and yet not his, bold, proud,
entirely in control. He embraced his discomfort, and admired openly the woman who gave him this gift.

Almost as if she could feel his adoration, Paolina turned and approached him once more, took his face in her hands, and kissed him, long and hard. He was gasping when she released him, hungry for more and deliciously unable to act. Paolina pivoted, opened her arms, and asked, “Should I leave him here awhile to soften him up, or shall I slake my thirst now?”

“Take him,” cried one woman. “Take me, too,” called a man. Paolina took out her knife again and held it aloft. There were giggles and a few cheers. She summoned the bulkier of the two stagehands and swiftly cut Nick down. He was thrown over the man's shoulder and the three vanished backstage. Nick heard the audience applaud in a daze as he was carried down the hall, trussed up and bouncing, able to glimpse only Paolina's boots as she led the way into one of the private playrooms. He was dropped onto a cushioned mat, watching and panting as Paolina thanked her assistant in a soft voice and closed the door behind them.

Unable to find words, Nick moaned as Paolina took out her knife once more to neatly slit the crotch of her catsuit. “Just this once, I think the fly should eat the spider,” she said, crouching down and pressing him to service. Nick licked and fed, cock hard and aching in the rope web, dizzy and exhausted and grateful for Paolina's generous sounds of pleasure as he teased and aroused her. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured with breathy sincerity, “my sweet prey.” And while he hoped the spell would not be broken for hours yet, Nick knew that when he was unbound and the mundane returned, he would adore Paolina no less.

Elise Hepner

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It's over, Lexie,” Marley purrs.

It doesn't matter that it's the most expensive restaurant in town. Marley's got a scowl on her puss that could piss off a mime. Those gorgeous cheekbones could cut me if I get too close and her light blue eyes burn with an intensity that makes me squint. But her model looks won't detract from the problem, a slight bump in our road that has my stomach twisted in panic, even as my pussy gets wet and eager from her taunt.

There's a pile of her “relationship notes” sitting in between us and, where her water spilled, purple ink stains the white tablecloth. All the reasons we shouldn't be together, just
there
—as if we're sitting at a business meeting. Maybe I can still work this exchange to my advantage. She's always had a sticky sweet soft spot for my kind of lovin', even from the beginning.

But it's okay—she's biting her lower lip. That means there's hope. Even if it isn't laid out on the pros and cons list next to my lobster that I ordered to be spiteful—across from the water
Marley just spilled in her nervousness. Her nervousness is beautiful ; it's an emotion that rarely pushes through to the surface of her domineering and perfectionist tendencies. It's a tiny chink in her armor, but I'll take it. This is the most serious I've ever seen her. My chest tightens reflexively as I nibble on the inside of my cheek. Underneath her hard exterior there's something gentle in her gaze as she considers me across the table. Could those three rapid blinks mean this is another sexy game?

My thoughts are a blur of confusion until I focus on her face. She's pulled back her curly red tendrils at the nape of her neck severely, like a noose: one request I've made since we first started dating years ago. Is this her version of a last request before she emotionally executes me? A gift? Lack of control makes me lick my lips with excitement. I focus on my trembling hands and ball them into fists in my lap so she can't see the desire that flushes my cheeks and brightens my eyes. Because I mean what I say, even if it is taken from an old script.