Best Bondage Erotica of the Year

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Mistress grinned at me, waving it in the air like a trophy. “Think this will hurt less, do you? We shall see.” She strutted toward me.

  “I punish each infraction separately. You must thank me at the end of each and repeat your error so you’ll remember. For your potty mouth, five swats. And know this, if that isn’t enough for you to learn to speak appropriately, next time I’ll use your mouth as a potty.”

  My mouth snapped shut. Would she really do that? I’d never seen that either, but then she did her early novice training in private. I didn’t really know what all she might do to me.

  A new thought occurred. “Oh, no, not that. Please, not that!” Gagging, my face contorted in disgust.

  Mistress laughed, a delicate tinkling sound that belied her absolute authority. “I can see you’re thinking it through to the correct conclusion.”

  Then, without preamble, she spanked me. Hard. A walloping blow on my ass that rocked me forward. A half second later, pain flared—like a hot iron, it burned my skin.

  “Oww!” I squealed. No previous experience compared to this. My ex had just been playing at BDSM, I realized, and Meredith wasn’t.

  Wham! Wham! Wham!

  I shrieked, hardly able to catch my breath as I shuddered from the foreign agony.

  “Almost there, my sweet. In the future, we’ll work on keeping quiet, but this time make as much noise as you want.”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” I squawked between pain-induced pants.

  Wham!

  I howled, tears filling my eyes. She’d put double the effort into the last one. I shook my ass, trying uselessly to lessen the fire.

  A toe tapped near me, and I focused on the sound. It meant something.

  “I would hate to have to start all over.”

  Fear gripped me as I remembered.

  “Thank you, Mistress. I promise to not swear again. Ever.”

  “Good. As my sub, you reflect on me whether we’re together or not.”

  “Yes, Mistress. I understand.”

  “Now ten more for disobeying me twice. When I give you a command, it could be for your safety. If you move at the wrong time, I might accidentally hurt you.”

  My ass throbbed with the pain of a thousand bee stings, but the misery that flayed me had nothing to do with that. “I’m ashamed that I failed you already.”

  “Punishment teaches, but it also washes away guilt.”

  Then Meredith, my secret lover of two years and friend for nine more, resumed teaching me. She was a devoted teacher, raining down fiery chastisement.

  Wham! Wham! Wham!

  Each worse than the last. No part of my ass was spared. I needed to tell her that I couldn’t handle the pain.

  Heat! Fire! Agony!

  I screamed and screamed, tears streaming down my face. I pulled on the restraints, shuddering against the unbearable bite. I opened my mouth to shout red, needing it to stop.

  But, somehow, I pulled grit from within and clenched my jaw. I would not safeword out of a deserved correction. I needed to learn.

  Pain! Anguish! Misery!

  Each lick of the paddle was a lesson, but reality started to grow distant—faint—as if my mind floated free of my body. The inferno of hurt, so all-consuming a moment ago, morphed into something softer, a glow of existence that almost felt . . . nice? What was happening to me? I smiled, the relief intoxicating, and I eased into the vortex. Let the pain wash over me. Live within it and let it fill me with something else.

  Euphoria!

  Mistress put everything into the last one, making the bench jolt.

  I sighed. My body relaxed and even my soul smiled. This was good. I could do this. For her, the woman I loved, for my Mistress, I could do this.

  From a great distance I heard her . . .

  She pleaded over and over. “Sophie, are you there? Are you okay? Talk to me!”

  That hurt my brain. It wasn’t right. I needed to tell her she needn’t worry about me. If the floating oblivion would let me.

  I inhaled deeply several times and opened my eyes. The bench was wet from my tears and . . .

  Shit, shit, shit! The pain.

  Holy shit it was back!

  It swamped me and I convulsed. But I’d been there.

  Subspace!

  I beamed at her, my smile blazing and happy. “Mistress. I’m sorry I didn’t immediately respond. Thank you for punishing me. I promise to try my best to obey you, always.”

  “Good. You did well.” She undid my restraints, before strutting like a queen back to her throne. “Come here.”

  Happy that she was happy, I hurried to stand naked before her, resisting the urge to rub my behind.

  “We have a lot of work to do, before I can have you out during club hours.”

  My head dropped. “Yes, Mistress. I’ll try harder.”

  “However, I’m pleased with your effort tonight. And I think we proved that you’re capable of experiencing subspace. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Mistress. Thank you.”

  “I’m giving you a new slave pose, one I call ‘worship.’ Don’t assume it until I give the order.”

  I nodded.

  “You will slowly, gracefully, lower yourself to the floor, bending at the knee and easing down. When your knees touch, spread your thighs wide and slide your hands forward, stretching out, forehead to the ground. This is how you will abase yourself before me, show your devotion and gratitude, and how you’ll show others you’re my slave.”

  “Yes, Mistress. Thank you. I will practice until it’s perfect.”

  “Look at me.”

  I raised my seeking eyes to her, and she smiled. Her domme persona lifted, like a sheer curtain, to hover over her, and for a moment she was my Meredith again. “I love you, Sophie. Very much.”

  My body lurched, needing Meredith, but I held myself back, obeying Mistress. I was too far gone to drop my new subservient role. “Thank you, Mistress Strong.”

  Then, the curtain lowered, like a partition separating us, and her bearing altered, growing regal and formal. She watched me, taking in my naked subservience, her pleasure apparent. “I’m going to park you in the worship pose for a while so you can think about what it means to be my sexual submissive.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” I melted, lust flooding me, making me wet again. I wanted to be fucked by her. I wanted to serve her. I wanted to love her.

  I was right where I wanted to be.

  “Prepare to worship me.”

  I readied myself, eager to serve her in this small way, ecstatic that she desired dominion over me.

  At last, my Mistress’s voice rang loud.

  “Kneel.”

  PRETTY TIED UP

  Zak Jane Keir

  KK couldn’t get to sleep. They’d tried some of the stretching and relaxation exercises they’d learned at the intensive rope weekend last summer; they’d had some green tea and a warm bath, but it felt like they’d been lying on their back, gazing up at the dark ceiling, for hours and hours. They rolled over and looked at the digital clock: quarter past two in the morning. There was arousal, rising and falling; intermittent flares of throbbing, sticky heat, but they weren’t touching themselves. It wasn’t what they wanted.

  Okay. Maybe. They knew what the problem was, and it couldn’t hurt to at least try and do something about it. They wouldn’t necessarily be making a fool of themself: they could pull back or step away if they needed to. Miami was five hours behind the UK, so it would be the middle of the evening. She might be out for dinner or something, but she might be back in her hotel room, taking it easy. KK sat up and kicked the quilt onto the floor. If she wasn’t online, they could send her a friendly message, or something. Maybe a link to something interesting on Tumblr, or—oh, for fuck’s sake—just a funny gif.

  Out of bed, not bothering to look for anything to put on, they stabbed at the power button on the laptop and went to switch on the main light. Before they’d got back to the table, the laptop had booted up and
was asking for a password. KK grinned to themself. They’d finally upgraded to something less than six years old, and still wasn’t quite used to the speed of the new machine.

  They logged in and went to the email account first. This was just force of habit: she wouldn’t email them. She didn’t have their email address, for one thing. Communications with her were mainly via KinkLand, the fetish website everyone used these days, though the two of them had swapped mobile numbers recently, and added each other on Facebook after a long discussion in the pub after Rope Lab, when everyone had been talking about social media and accounts and proof of identity and outing. KK was a little twitchy on the subject, but generally tried not to be: everyone had stuff to worry about, and it didn’t make you many friends if you brought every conversation back to your own issues.

  Judy had been quite up front that Judy Heaven wasn’t the name on her birth certificate, and that she had two separate accounts due to not wanting her employers to get any ideas about her private life. She’d said something about it being hard enough to hold on to the job in the first place, for all sorts of reasons, and some of the others had made comments about the whole system being rotten, though a few had been more sympathetic. KK’s own current employers never seemed to care one way or the other, as long as they showed up for work and didn’t slap the customers or call the drivers cunts—and if the company did develop a problem, KK could probably move on. Being a cab controller might be a long way from the sort of thing Judy was involved in, but it paid enough to rent this studio flat in the outer London suburbs rather than having to share a house, and they didn’t have particularly expensive tastes otherwise. KK knew Judy was a high-flyer, something in finance, but they’d not wanted to pry for details that she didn’t appear all that willing to give.

  Judy had been on Facebook about twenty minutes ago, they found. She’d posted a picture of an elaborate cocktail with the comment “Work all done, finally . . .” KK nearly switched the laptop off straight away—why the fuck hadn’t they got out of bed half an hour ago?

  Knowing they probably shouldn’t, they clicked on her page, to see what else she’d been up to. There wasn’t all that much to see; she’d shared a couple of funny memes and a photo of the bathroom in her hotel. KK didn’t know what they’d expected.

  Hey you. Shouldn’t you be in bed?

  The laptop beeped, and a message window popped up. KK nearly fell off their chair. Judy was back online—and sending a message.

  Can’t sleep. How’s Miami? they typed, with shaking hands.

  Mm. Okay. Raining, actually. Sitting in my hotel room, bit bored.

  Thought you were having cocktails. KK cringed as soon as the message showed up as received. How to look stalkerish and desperate . . .

  Room service. Because . . . reasons.

  KK’s heart was thumping. They remembered that Judy had said something about being the only one of her team who was not taking their spouse or partner on this trip. They knew she hadn’t been all that keen to go, though so many of their mutual friends had been mildly envious.

  Anything wrong? they typed.

  Agh. I sort of expected it to be like this.

  Too much work, not enough fun?

  Not that exactly. I don’t know. Do you want to hear this?

  Of course. We’re mates. You can talk to me.

  They hadn’t really expected her to say that she was missing them, much as they would have liked to know it. It wasn’t a dating situation. They hadn’t even talked about dating. Judy and KK were rope partners, regularly meeting up at Rope Lab, both relatively new to the whole business, getting to know each other, liking each other . . . KK couldn’t be sure there was anything more to it than that, despite the way they felt.

  One of the things the two of them had bonded over, without ever discussing it explicitly, was a sense of outsiderhood. Judy’s dad, she had once told them, was the son of a couple who had come to the UK on the Windrush, in the 1950s; her mum’s family had been “proper Cockneys” who moved out to Essex. KK wasn’t exactly unaware of the increase in racism and nationalism over the past year or so, but it was probably fair to say that it wasn’t their biggest concern. KK could still pass, in fleeting interactions like buying groceries or traveling in public transport, or at least pass unnoticed, and KK had never been hugely gregarious, even before deciding to acknowledge their true nature. They had purposely, repeatedly, chosen the types of jobs that kept encounters with the general public to a minimum, and their family had never been particularly close. Passing—or pretending that nothing had changed—was an option if there was any need for a visit. Now, as Judy sent a flurry of messages describing how miserably uneasy and self-conscious she found herself feeling—the stares and comments, the almost continuous putdowns, the fact that client meetings kept involving people who either ignored her or told her to fetch coffee or take minutes when she was the senior executive—KK struggled to think of anything to say that wouldn’t be crass, or glib, or make her feel worse.

  That’s shit, I’m so sorry, was all they could come up with.

  Thank you. Sorry for dumping it all on you like that.

  You’ve got NOTHING to be sorry for. Fury on her behalf suddenly made KK eloquent. You’re a wonderful, beautiful person. How DARE those fucking idiots make you feel bad. They are disgusting. It’s horrible.

  They lifted their hands from the keyboard, chewing on their lip. There was a long pause; it was obvious the message had been sent, but there was no sign of a response. Had they said the wrong thing? Racism wasn’t something that got discussed much around the rope scene, at least not in a way that referenced the rope scene. It had rapidly become not very polite or relevant to talk much about Brexit, and everyone had been appalled, to some extent, at Trump winning the election, but it had still been something that was happening far away, among other people. If KK was to be honest about it, gender identity wasn’t discussed all that much, either. People were kind, and polite, on the whole, but how much of that politeness came from acceptance and how much was simple distancing from potential trouble wasn’t always clear.

  The little green dot beside her name showed she was still online, and then came the flickering indicator that she was typing a reply.

  I feel a bit better. Just dumping it on someone and not being told I’m imagining it. Thanks again. Anyway, enough of that. You’re right, they are idiots.

  Enough. So, what have you been doing this week? Did you go to the kinbaku jam?

  No, had to cover for Graham, he was off sick.

  KK hadn’t really minded having to work an extra shift. While they had enjoyed the last two jams, that had mainly been because Judy had been there. Being tied by someone else just for the sake of being tied was not that much of a thrill. But saying so might be pushy, or selfish.

  Aww. So you don’t have any pics of yourself in rope to show me? She’d added a winking emoticon, and one with devil horns.

  Sorry. Maybe you can take some the next time you tie me.

  It was okay, surely. She’d been the one who mentioned pictures first. Quite a lot of the people on KinkLand posted pictures of themselves—some nude, some in all kinds of fetish gear and, among their rope-loving circle of friends, pictures of people tied and suspended were pretty frequent. Judy had a few unidentifiable pics of people she had tied on her page, though her own profile image was of a corseted cleavage that she refused to confirm or deny was actually hers. KK’s pic was a line drawing of a rabbit. That was all they were prepared to share with strangers, for the moment.

  I’d love that. I meant to ask if I could take pictures before.

  It’s fine. If you want to. Totally fine.

  I like the way you look in rope.

  That brought an instant rush of arousal, almost painful. They typed, Really? and then deleted it before hitting send. Then they typed, Thank you, and did the same. Rope Lab allowed people to wear as much or little as they wanted; the last few times with Judy they had taken off their T-shirt as i
t was getting in the way, and that had been both terrifying and wonderful. KK’s head was suddenly full of memories: Judy placing the first wraps of a standard chest harness against their bare skin. Their arms behind their back in a single column tie, and then the rope moving up and over and pulling tight around them. They groaned out loud.

  Um, hope I haven’t upset you . . .

  They hadn’t replied to her. She’d just told them that they turned her on and they hadn’t replied.

  No, really no. I like it that you like it.

  They shivered.

  I like it when you tie me.

  The messages were faster now, back and forth, telling each other how much they enjoyed doing rope together, and some of the things they might like to try at the next session, once she was back in the UK. KK didn’t know whether it was the physical distance between them, or the fact that Judy was alone and had been feeling down, that was making the chat flow so easily, but sleep was the last thing on their mind.

  I have an idea. Do you have a webcam?

  New laptop, it’s got one built in.

  KK’s heart was racing. Up popped a new screen, announcing a video call from her and inviting them to answer it. Seconds later, there she was, onscreen. They could see her face and her shoulders; she seemed to be wearing some kind of silky robe in black, with her hair loose round her shoulders. She had no makeup on.

  “Hello, can you see me?” she asked. They put their hands on the keyboard to inform her that they could, and then remembered that it wasn’t necessary.

  “Yes,” they said, gazing at the screen and fighting back feelings of self-consciousness. She probably couldn’t see any more of them than they could see of her—head and shoulders only. No naked body, nothing too private or scary.

  “Nice to see you,” KK said, feeling slightly foolish.

  She grinned, from however many miles away. “It’s nice to see you, too. Even though I can only see a little bit of you.”

  “Uh, I didn’t want to, you know, freak you out.” She laughed, and something about that laugh made KK’s toes curl with pleasure and anticipation.

  “Are you completely naked?”