“Oh god,” Calvin moaned. “I won’t run. More. Take charge. Work those muscles, babe.”
The cuffs above Calvin’s head chirped, the pink filling another notch. Fikayo grinned. “Oh, I’m taking charge. We’re going to take this nice and slow, aren’t we? You’re going to grind on me. Moan like a slut, rub your thick cock against mine.”
Calvin nodded, shakily, hips moving to the tune of the imagery fashioned by his boyfriend. His cock felt heavy, dribbling against his thigh as he rocked, picturing himself grinding on Fikayo’s cock.
“So horny,” Fikayo chuckled. He stared at Calvin’s gyrations, at a loss for words for a moment.
Fikayo hadn’t expected the sight of his boyfriend going all submissive to get him this hot. They’d played around with bondage in the bedroom before, but this was something else entirely.
“Give me something too, babe,” Fikayo groaned. He yanked on the chains with shaking hands. “Fucking cuffs, if I wasn’t tied up I’d be all over you right now. Give me something to work with . . .”
“What do you want me to do? Anything! I’ll do it to you . . . I’m on my hands and knees, waiting for you to do whatever you want with me . . .”
“Calvin, god, I want to fuck you. I want you to sit on my cock, and ride me, and beg me to let you come . . .”
Calvin panted like a beast, moving as wildly as the slack of the chain allowed, wishing for the first time in a long time that he could run into Fikayo’s arms instead of away.
In this padded room with the clink of chains, secrets melted away in favor of achieving a common goal. The more they spoke, the less taboo the words felt. The mystery evaporated, until Calvin couldn’t even understand why words had been so difficult before.
“I love you,” Calvin rasped, tugging on the chains, circling his hips. “I wish I was right across this room, touching you . . .”
“I love you too . . .” Fikayo’s chest heaved, his head lolling from side to side. An urgent sound chirped from his cuffs. “I want to touch you! I want to be with you, and never let you go . . . fuck!”
Orgasm struck him by surprise, a hot bolt shaking him from his cock to his very core. Fikayo panted, jerking his hips as he splattered come against his thighs and all over the floor. He didn’t expect the sudden clink from the cuffs and his arms dropped like dead weights at his side. He’d made it out of the cuffs.
But he wasn’t done.
Now free, he bolted across to room to Calvin.
The kiss was like their first, full of fire, almost bloody in its ferocity as Fikayo smashed their lips together, shoving his tongue inside Calvin’s mouth as he found Calvin’s cock and stroked it. And then, using Calvin’s own desperate pleas from just a few minutes before, he sank his teeth into Calvin’s collarbone, the skin hot against his lips. “Come for me, you sweet little slut . . .”
A short groan of primal relief was followed by the chirp and the thunk of cuffs hitting the floor. Calvin’s aching arms wrapped around Fikayo’s body, holding on to him for dear life. He’d earned his freedom but had no desire to run.
They clung to each other, losing track of time until a knock came from the door and Leni’s voice drifted in. “Do you boys need some towels?”
They left Carnelian’s Room twenty minutes later, cleaned up and dressed, hand in hand. They hadn’t done that in a while. Calvin had never known how much he needed the contact until it was briefly taken away from them.
“Did you know that was going to happen?” Fikayo asked.
“The thing with the cuffs? Honestly no. I had no idea. Are you glad it happened?”
Fikayo grinned. “Yeah. I am. You?”
Calvin smiled back, tugging his boyfriend’s arm, bringing him closer for a kiss. Maybe Carnelian’s Room wasn’t about to solve all their problems, but it was a start.
BYOB
Elizabeth Coldwell
“Looks like we’re going to have to get some nice wine to take to Teresa’s party.” I glanced over to where Mick had emerged from the bathroom, scrubbing at his hair with a towel.
“I thought we’d already decided on a present. Those silver earrings, right?”
“Yes, but she’s sent over the official invitation, and it says BYOB. So, I was thinking maybe a decent Beaujolais? She and Brian both like red, don’t they?”
Mick placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned over me to read the laptop screen. “You might want to take another look at what she’s written, sweetheart.” He pointed to the asterisk I hadn’t noticed next to the abbreviation and down to the bottom of the invitation. In discreet lettering, it read, Bring Your Own Bondage.
I should have known. Teresa would never have an orthodox celebration for her fiftieth.
“Might be the excuse we need to play with those new silk ropes.” Mick’s voice was a low purr in my ear. He grabbed both of my wrists and pulled them round to the back of the chair, encircling them in his big hands and mimicking the feel of restraint. Desire shuddered through me as my cheeks flushed, my body responding the way it always did when he made even the subtlest demonstration of his power over me.
“That sounds like fun, Sir.” I could have let him hold me there forever, but he had a meeting with a potential new client to get to. I tried not to sigh as he released his grip and went to put on the suit he’d left lying on the bed.
As I typed out our RSVP to Teresa’s invitation, my mind was already filled with thoughts of the fun and games her party might bring, and how it would feel to be trussed up for Mick’s pleasure. Or Teresa’s. Or . . .
I shook my head and made a mental note to visit the wine merchants on the high street before the end of the day.
Teresa and Brian owned what had once been a Victorian parsonage in that outer belt of London where built-up streets give way to the countryside. Close enough to a rail line for a commuter to be in the center of town within twenty minutes but surrounded by green fields and churchyards rather than supermarkets and fried chicken shops. Brian wrote incidental music for TV shows, catchy little snippets that made him money every time they were played. The theme tune for a long-running property program had earned him enough to buy and renovate their home.
His silver Jaguar stood on the graveled drive, alongside a black SUV with personalized plates.
“Oh, looks like Gavin and Kim are already here,” Mick commented as he pulled up behind Brian’s car. “Did Teresa say who else was coming?”
“No.” I checked my reflection in the driver’s mirror and patted an unruly curl back into place. “Just that it was going to be a select gathering.” I grinned and mimicked Teresa’s soft-spoken tones. “I only invited the perverati, darling.”
“Ha, I like that.” Mick cut the engine and we got out of the car.
I hugged the red-and-gold gift bag containing the wine and Teresa’s earrings to myself as Mick rang the doorbell. The October air held a distinct chill. I wished I were wearing something warmer than the black satin evening dress and thin chiffon wrap I had on, but Mick had chosen my outfit for the evening, and he hadn’t said I could bring a coat with me. On nights when we were in role, I followed his instructions to the letter. Well, almost to the letter. Sometimes I disobeyed on purpose, just to earn an extra punishment from him. But this night wasn’t about me and what I wanted. It was Teresa’s celebration, her rules, her pleasure above all.
Teresa opened the door, stunning in a silver cheongsam that outlined the curves of her petite body. Her family were originally from Hong Kong, though she’d been born in London. I’d always envied her hair, which fell in a straight, glossy black curtain to the small of her back. Tonight, she wore it up, twisted into a knot and held in place with long wooden pins.
“Mick, Rosie. How lovely to see you both. Come on in.”
We followed her down the hall to the living room. Kim and Gavin sat together in an antique love seat, Gavin’s big, muscular body stuffed a little awkwardly into a dinner suit. Kim wore what my dad would have called a “gownless evening strap,�
�� a baby-blue lace number that stopped indecently high on her thighs. I noticed Brian casting admiring glances at her long legs, glistening with body oil, as he cradled his whisky glass.
“Well, everyone’s here. The evening can officially begin.”
Only the six of us? A select group indeed. Intimate, you might call it. As I looked around at my fellow guests, I thought of the coiled lengths of white silk rope in Mick’s trouser pockets and wondered how they had responded to Teresa’s BYOB request.
“Happy birthday, Teresa.” I handed her the gift bag and she enveloped me in a hug.
“Oh, Rosie, you shouldn’t have.” She pressed a kiss to each of my cheeks before examining the bag’s contents and holding up the wine so Brian could see it. “Very nice. I think you should uncork that, darling. It’ll be nice to have . . . afterward.” The word lingered between us all for a moment. “Now, would you like an aperitif, or shall we get straight down to dinner?”
“Dinner sounds good,” Mick said, and I knew he was already thinking about what would come after it.
“Come through to the dining room, then,” Teresa said.
The food was simple, nothing that would lie heavily on the stomach. A delicate soup with beetroot and tiny pasta shells, poached salmon with butter-glazed vegetables, and a frothy lemon dessert, flavored with Marsala wine. I barely tasted any of it, too busy studying everyone around the table. Anticipation hung thick in the air, stirred up by the party invitations and Teresa’s suggestive words. This meal, however exquisite, wasn’t the real point of the evening. That would come later, when Teresa judged we were all in the right state of eagerness for the game—whatever it might be—to begin.
We were an interesting combination of couples. Teresa the dominant, with Brian her adoring sub. I recalled an evening when Mick and I were first getting to know them. After meeting them in a fetish club, we’d invited them over for dinner. When we reached the final course—chocolate mousse, my never-fail dessert—Teresa had placed Brian’s dish on the floor and ordered him to eat from it. I would never forget the sight of him when he’d finished, gazing up at her as he waited for his next command with rapt attention, chocolate smeared over his cheeks and chin.
Gavin and Kim were switches, the only ones I’d ever met, both equally happy to take the dominant or submissive role. I’d once asked Kim what happened if they both wanted to submit at the same time and she’d laughed and said that’s what pro dommes were for. I still hadn’t worked out whether she was joking.
“So, ladies and gentlemen . . .” I turned in Teresa’s direction at the sound of her voice. “Thank you all for helping me to have such a wonderful birthday, but the evening’s only just beginning. I hope you followed the instructions on the invitation.” As if we might have been in any way confused by that, she added, separating each letter for emphasis, “B-Y-O-B. You see, as my present to me, I’ve decided that I’m going to kick off proceedings by putting one of the submissives here tonight in bondage. Give you all a little demonstration of my skill. But who to choose? There are four such perfect candidates.” She looked at each of us in turn, like an amateur sleuth in a detective novel preparing to unmask the murderer. “Will it be my darling Brian, who’s been my devoted sub for over twenty years now? Or bratty Kim, who’ll struggle and complain then get the punishment she so richly deserves for trying to top from the bottom? Maybe Gavin—big, strong Gavin, reduced to helplessness by being placed in restraint . . . Or Rosie, so perfect and obedient, and who looks so good in ropes, right, Mick?”
“You know me too well.” Mick grinned and removed the lengths of rope from his pockets to place them on the table. Was he giving me over to Teresa as easily as that? My pussy clenched hard at the prospect.
“I thought we’d let Lady Fortune decide.” She went to the sideboard and returned with a small silver tray. On it were four fortune cookies. “Three of these contain regular fortunes. The fourth . . . something a little different. Whoever chooses it will submit to being restrained by me. I take it no one has any objections to this plan?”
We shook our heads, the mood of excitement in the room cranking up a notch. I shot a glance at Mick and he winked at me. He’d enjoy Teresa’s display, whoever was chosen, but I knew part of him hoped it would be me. No one apart from him had ever tied me up, and I guessed he was keen to see how I would react, and whether I would reach that same state of blissful helplessness I did whenever he had me restrained.
Teresa offered the tray to Gavin, who sat next to her. He pondered for a moment and plucked a cookie from it. My heart beat a little faster as I waited for him to break it open. When he unrolled the scrap of paper inside, I couldn’t tell whether relief or regret flickered across his craggy features.
“A clean conscience is a soft pillow,” he read aloud, before popping the pieces of biscuit into his mouth and crunching on them.
“Who’s next?” Teresa mused, almost to herself. “Kim, will you be the lucky one?”
Kim didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a cookie and opened it. Her fortune fluttered to the table and she picked it up.
“‘Being alone and being lonely are two different things.’ Hmm, how could I ever be lonely with all you amazing people in my life?” She raised her wineglass in a toast to us.
“So, whoever chooses next has a fifty-fifty chance . . . Are you happy with those odds, Rosie?”
“Of course.” Like Kim, I picked one of the remaining cookies without considering my decision. I snapped it in half. Instead of paper, I found a tiny piece of twine nestling inside.
All eyes settled on me as I held up my “fortune.” I swallowed against the sudden constriction in my throat.
“Happy birthday to me,” Teresa said, a smile tugging her full lips upward. She stood and gestured to the center of the room. “Take your chair and set it down over there, Rosie, then bring your Master’s ropes to me.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I didn’t object, didn’t make refusal a part of the game, as Kim would have done. I wasn’t that kind of sub. I did as I was told and relished the joy of following my temporary Mistress’s commands to the letter.
When I handed her the pristine white ropes, Teresa traced a finger along the line of my cheek. “Good, good. Now take off your dress.”
Was it my imagination, or had all the men in the room just shifted in their seats as if their underwear had grown too tight? I didn’t look at any of them as I reached for the zipper at the back of my dress and slid it in a slow glide all the way down. My pulse hammered in my ears as I pushed the straps off my shoulders and let the black satin puddle at my feet. I couldn’t wear a bra with this dress—one of the reasons, I was sure, Mick had chosen it for tonight —and my bare breasts were displayed to everyone, my nipples hard, tight points.
“Very nice.” Teresa stood behind me and cupped my tits in her hands. I stared straight ahead, not meeting anyone’s gaze, as she played with my nipples, rolling the end of one of the pieces of rope over them. The sensation caused me to stifle a groan of need. “Panties on, or off?” Again, the question seemed to be addressed to herself. “On, I think. Sit down, Rosie.”
I retook my seat.
“What is your safeword?” she asked.
“Pelican, Ma’am.”
“Good, though I don’t believe you’ll need to use it.”
Protocol out of the way, I sat waiting and wondering what she would do next. I got my answer when she wrapped rope around one of my ankles and secured my leg to the chair. She tied off the knot, then did the same with the other leg. In this position, my thighs were spread wide. My panties were flimsy, lacy things, and my wet lips peeked round the edge of the crotch. The effect was somehow ruder than if I’d been naked with my pussy on full display.
“Put your hands behind the chair and grip the back,” Teresa ordered me. I took hold of one of the slats, and she looped a third piece of rope over and around my wrists, tying my hands in place. The knots were loose enough to be comfortable, but I knew they would tighten and let m
e feel the bite of the rope if I struggled.
Teresa walked around me, regarding my bound form from every angle. “How pretty you look, but I can’t help feeling there’s something missing.” She went over to the antique sideboard and opened it. Walking back toward me, she held out another rope for me to see. This one was twice the length of the ones she’d used already, and a deep shade of red. Working quickly and efficiently, she weaved it over my shoulders and around my chest, creating a makeshift bra that left my breasts and aching nipples exposed. The bondage put pressure on the tender flesh and had the effect of making my tits look even bigger than usual. I had never been tied like this, and I could see from the expression in Mick’s eyes that he liked what had been done to me very much.
Normally, Mick would go for simple but effective ties around my ankles and wrists, enough to keep me secure in place but leave me in no doubt he was controlling the situation. This extra level of bondage, with the rope cradling me in such an intimate way, seemed to turn me into a bizarre object of desire. It left me feeling vulnerable but with a strange sense of what I could only call empowerment. Teresa had turned me into the center of attention and I liked it.
Heat built between my legs. I looked down, helpless and turned on and anxious for more.
“So beautiful . . .” Teresa murmured in my ear. “You have a gorgeous body, Rosie. It almost seems like it was meant to be bound and displayed. And from what I remember when I’ve watched you playing with your Master, it’s very responsive, too. Am I right?”
As she spoke, she slid her hand down my chest, over the ropes that bound it, and lower. She skimmed the curve of my stomach and pushed her fingers under the waistband of my panties. They settled in the wet folds of my pussy, making me whimper. Teresa and I were such close friends, but there’d never been anything sexual between us—until now. Maybe in my fantasies I’d briefly considered what it might be like to have her stroking me, teasing me, doing what it took to keep me in line. It had been an idle fancy, nothing more. I hadn’t dreamed I’d react with such abandon to her wicked caress, or the scent of her perfume. Her touch was so different from Mick’s—lighter, her fingertips soft on my skin—and I leaned into it, needing more.
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