Best Bondage Erotica of the Year, Volume 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  They said nothing for some long moments. Cara wasn’t sure what to say, then figured there was one bit of information they could share.

  “I’m Cara. What’s your name?”

  “Michael.”

  Cara supposed she could have asked Snow White’s name, but decided she didn’t really care, and quite liked thinking of her as something out of a story. A little less real.

  Michael started to say something when Cara shushed him. She’d spotted the officer coming across the grass.

  She was strolling with a smile. She looked ready to tip her hat to gentlemen and wink at children. Cara couldn’t help staring at her with fear.

  The officer glanced at them, then kept looking, and frowned, puzzled. Cara looked away quickly.

  “You saw?” she said to Michael.

  “Yeah. It probably looks a little odd,” he said. “You standing there in front of me with your hands in your pockets.”

  Cara took them out, but wasn’t sure what to do with them now. She was picturing the officer coming up to them, and tried to think what kind of explanation might be acceptable.

  “I think you need to come a bit closer . . . ” Michael whispered.

  “I’m doing what I can,” she muttered back.

  “Maybe if you put your arms around me . . .”

  His blush suggested that he was well aware this would mean she’d be pressed right against his hard-on, and that he didn’t really want to ask, but didn’t think there was much of a choice.

  “If you’re sure—”

  “Yes.” The word was a sharp breath out.

  Cara tilted forward, and found herself almost hanging off his neck, pressing against him for support. The pose made her think of rom-com film posters—the woman flinging herself at the man, arms swept around his neck as he caught her. Only this one couldn’t catch her, so she was forced to lean up against him a little more than she would have. Her arms brushed the cold links of the chain, and she wondered if it was heavy on his neck. He stifled a sound, something that sounded like a plea and also arousal. As if he couldn’t bear her eyes on him yet relished it all the same.

  Cara’s chest swelled with heat. This close, she could properly discern the color of his eyes—yes, they were gray but with a hint of iridescent blue, and how his lips were red and flushed and he, unlike Snow White on the fountain’s edge, didn’t need anything to enhance them. He looked tough with the spiky cut, the strong features, and with her arms laid across his chest and around his neck, she could sense just how strong he was. But now she could also see more than a hint of vulnerability, and just like that, she knew why Snow White wanted him like this. So everyone could see all of him, not just the big strong man he appeared to be.

  “Will your . . . will she mind?”

  “Probably. Definitely. This was meant to be a punishment for forgetting to buy flowers for her this morning.”

  Cara was stunned. “That’s just . . . that’s so damn petty.”

  He shrugged, lifting her hands a little on his broad shoulders. “That’s how it works.”

  “You said so before. But . . . why do you put up with it?”

  He gazed back at Snow White over Cara’s shoulder. “She’s beautiful.”

  Cara bit down at the back of her mouth, wishing the words were for her.

  “Well,” she said, aiming for flippant but sounding petulant, “you like her, that’s what matters.”

  The corners of Michael’s lips lifted a little, and she thought he was going to tease her for her jealousy. She thought about pulling away, telling him to sod off and deal with the officer alone so she could go back to her flat after all and come up with some kind of plan for a better job, when he said, “I like you too. I . . . liked the way you spoke to me.”

  Their eyes locked. His cock was now right against her stomach. The thin material of his yoga pants couldn’t hide how hard and large he was, and her own skirt was far more flimsy than she’d recalled. She found her thighs wanting to part, and had to force herself to be aware of her body so it didn’t do anything stupid of its own accord. That made her hyper-aware of how her nipples were hardening against her bra, how she was tingling right to the soles of her feet. This close, if she leaned up just right, she could have kissed those lips, and he couldn’t have stopped her.

  But she couldn’t do that, not without asking. She met his eyes again, about to speak, but no words came. The hint of blue was on fire, and Michael breathed in. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Like he’d read her mind. Cara’s lips parted, she pressed the balls of her feet down as hard as she could to make herself as tall as she could—

  “Behave, you two.”

  Cara turned sharply to see the police officer stroll past, hands behind her back, winking at the pair of them, before moving out across the grass. Cara craned her neck around to watch the officer disappear behind the fountain. Beyond that was another exit. She was gone.

  The moment had snapped. Cara stumbled back off Michael, and he exhaled.

  “I think we got away with it,” he said.

  “You. You got away with it, because I was here. You owe me!”

  “Yeah, I guess I do.” His eyes dropped to his groin, and back to her. “You want to help me out?”

  It took Cara a good long minute before she was able to hiss, “Here! Are you crazy?”

  “No—I feel like I’m about to burst.”

  The swelling had grown; he was fully hard and the strain against the cloth couldn’t be hidden without her.

  “It’s not like I can ‘help you out.’ You’re with her.”

  “We’re not exclusive.”

  “Oh, I see!”

  He gave her a pitying look. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You just got me out of trouble, and I’m grateful.” He smirked. “And you seem like you want to ‘help.’”

  They were, she realized, the words of a man used to being cuffed and bound. He may have given up his power in one way, but he could still taunt. Irritation pricked at her cheeks, but then she thought of the serene lady with the unicorn on a leash.

  Be that lady, she told herself, a plan forming.

  Cara leaned up to his ear. “Beg me.”

  Michael twitched. His cock hardened more. Cara smirked, and waited.

  “Please . . . touch me.”

  His plea was so sweet and poignant. So damn sexy that she considered crawling onto his lap and dry humping him that second.

  She held herself in check. Focus on the plan.

  Cara let her lip curl cruelly. A puppy-dog eagerness came over Michael, but Cara instead reached up and grabbed the chain and dragged him to her. The thick, heavy links felt good to grasp. He yelped and scrambled as she bent him forward so she could whisper right in his ear.

  “I could touch you right now. I could undo that drawstring and rub it up and down your cock, maybe wrap it right around and tug it. I could do anything I liked to you and you wouldn’t be able to stop me. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes . . . fuck yes . . .”

  The desperation in his voice drove her on. “But isn’t that a very naughty thing to ask me to touch you in public? Isn’t that a very bad thing? Especially since I was so nice and stopped you from getting arrested?”

  “It is, it is! I’m so sorry, I’m just so turned on right now and . . . you’re really pretty. I couldn’t believe it when you spoke to me . . . I’m sorry!”

  And damn her if that didn’t send jellyfish flashes up her spine and make her neck burn.

  Not letting go of the chain, Cara leaned away from Michael. His eyes were wet with sincere apology. She relaxed her grip a little, and he exhaled.

  Looking down, her cape was skirting the tops of his thighs, and in fact would have hidden her hands as well as his cock.

  Cara ran a thumb across his jaw. “You’re sweet when you’re not being cheeky.” She dropped her hand, hovering just above his crotch. “Ask again.”

  �
�Please, Cara. Touch me.”

  He’d not used her name before, and it was delicious to hear him say it while begging.

  Her free hand ducked beneath and found his dick. Michael gasped. His cock was raging with heat and straining hard against the thin material.

  She squeezed, slow and intense, moving her hand down to the base and back to the head. His eyelashes fluttered, he tilted his chin up and made a low humming noise, his Adam’s apple exposed and bobbing.

  “Good then?”

  “Yeah, yeah . . . God, I want more, but . . .” his eyes opened, his full lower lip plump as he bit down and met her eyes. “That would be—” He stopped moving.

  “Shit. She’s coming over. She’s seen us.”

  Not him, but “us.” Cara hadn’t meant it to be an “us” but now it was.

  Cara stepped away from him. Michael straightened up.

  The woman approached with a sense of regal grandeur; even holding a pair of men’s sandals, she looked elegant. Head high, almost haughty, walking in a straight line. People shifted out of her way. Her eyes were piercing right through both of them, and she wore a smug grin. As she got closer, and the beauty of her features became clearer, Cara knew exactly why Michael was afraid of her, why he was terrified of upsetting her, and why he’d allowed himself to be chained to the fence.

  Snow White, Cara thought, was wrong. She was the Wicked Queen, and enjoyed being wicked.

  The Queen stopped before them. She first looked at Michael, who hung his head and said nothing. She then turned to Cara. Probably expected that Cara would back away too. And Cara did shift her feet, and tilt her body away instinctively, but she held her gaze.

  That grin didn’t leave, but slithered into a gleeful one.

  “I can see why he likes you.” She held out the key to the cuffs, dangled them just out of Cara’s reach. “This was supposed to be his punishment, but I can see that it hasn’t worked. So if you want him so much, bitch—” She flung the key into the ferns behind. “Go fetch.”

  Cara gaped as the Queen winked at a horrified looking Michael, flung his sandals on the ground, and simply walked away, stately and calm and visibly refusing to give a single fuck about what she’d just done.

  “Um . . .” Michael said.

  “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!”

  Somehow Cara managed to get over the fence without spearing herself on the row of barbed fleur-de-lis. She tried to remember which fern frond shook as the key flashed past it and into the mulch and wood chips.

  “Thank you—”

  “Shut up!”

  When crouching wasn’t effective, she ended up on her hands and knees, feeling her way. She wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually she spotted a glint half-buried in the dark soil.

  She flung herself back over the fence, grumpy and irritated and now messy from crawling on the mulch and wood chips. Michael smiled sweetly at her, full of gratitude. It didn’t dispel her anger, but it softened it. She found the lock, and wrenched the cuffs off him.

  Michael rubbed his wrists, exhaled with relief. His hard-on had deflated as well. The cuffs in her hand, Cara wasn’t sure what to do with them, so she shoved them and the key in her handbag.

  He put his sandals on, and looked up at her with a grin.

  “Thank you. Really, thank you.”

  That did it. Cara went right up to him, anger spilling out. “You better be bloody grateful! I stopped you from being arrested, came this close to getting you off, and then had to spend ten minutes scrambling to find the bloody key to let you out because you and mistress are playing games!”

  “And you didn’t have to do any of it. But you did. So thank you.”

  Cara groaned, and threw her hands up. “Well, you’re out now. I’m going. I’ve got to change my clothes.”

  “I could make it up to you.”

  His voice was gentle, deep, and full of promise. Cara fidgeted. Yes, that would be good . . . but what to say?

  “You did say I owe you . . . and as I said—”

  Cara said, “You say you’re not exclusive, but you’ll get into trouble if I ask you back to my place.”

  “Lots of trouble.” He winked at her.

  Cara groaned. “I’m still second fiddle to her.”

  “We’ve only just met; of course you are. You also don’t know what she knows.” Michael grinned. “I think you could learn. Be even better than her.”

  She was sure he’d just said that to convince her of his plan. The sod, but it worked.

  Cara beckoned and started walking away. Michael followed, keeping in step but a little behind as if they were walking separately rather than as a unit.

  He followed her to her apartment a few streets away. She paused at the front door. Now was the time to choose. She glanced up at him over her shoulder. There was an eagerness to him that hadn’t been there in the park, the fear and arousal replaced with a keen pleasure.

  Sexy as fuck.

  She let him in, led him upstairs to her flat. Once in the living room, she said, “You like it when women give you orders, don’t you?”

  “Um . . . um . . .”

  Cara grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Yes or no?”

  His hard-on reappeared as his eyes widened. “Fuck . . . yes . . .”

  “Then take out the drawstring and hand it to me.”

  She let go of him, and he looked down to obey her, tugging the drawstring out from the waistband. It came free, and he held it out to her.

  Taking it from him, she threaded it around her fingers for a minute or so. He was looking, waiting, his cock sitting back up to attention. Cara grabbed either end and snapped the taut string between her hands.

  “Take your shirt off.”

  He did it slowly, purposely, and let the shirt tumble to the floor. He stood, proud of his taut and sculpted body. The chain caught the light spilling in through the window, glinting like treasure. Cara let her eyes rake over him but didn’t touch him. Her hands itched to do so, but she could wait a little longer.

  “Turn around.”

  He did. She took his wrists, freshly freed, and crossed them, using the drawstring to bind them together. He sighed as she tightened and tied the knot.

  She made him face her again. “You like this, don’t you? Being handcuffed, tied up?”

  A vigorous nod.

  “And you like doing as you’re told?”

  “Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I don’t. But I do it anyway, for my mis—”

  Cara pulled him closer to her lips, as she stood on her toes, and hissed in his ear, “I’m not your mistress. I’m your fucking queen, and you will kneel in front of me right now.”

  Yes, she was his queen. Even if just for a little while.

  Michael didn’t wait. He dropped to his knees, eyes up at her, waiting for her next command. Cara tore off her dirty clothes, flinging the cape aside, whipped away her skirt and pulled her knickers down. She had known she was wet, but just how much wasn’t clear until her cunt was exposed to the cool air. Michael licked his lips.

  “What do you wish, my queen?”

  Cara cupped the back of his head, and guided him toward her labia. “Lick me until I come.”

  Michael smiled and kissed her cunt. As his tongue and lovely lips teased and delighted her, Cara decided that while she no longer had a job, and didn’t know what was happening next, taking charge was the best bloody thing she’d done in a long time.

  BALLAD OF DESIRE AND SACCHARINE MELODIES

  Sonja E. DeWitt

  Talia’s fingertips danced across the black and ivory keys, the notes growing quieter as she reached the final rolled chord. A silence washed over the stage hall and she brushed her carmine tresses back over her shoulders before turning to Dimitri, who sat in the front row of an empty audience.

  His legs were crossed as he leaned against the arm of the auditorium chair with his cheek pressed against the palm of his hand. His eyes were closed, and he let Talia suffer in the quiet a mom
ent longer before finally looking up at her. He clapped as he rose from his seat. “Magnifique, ma chèrie.” Dimitri trotted up the steps to meet her on the stage. “Your technique is much improved.”

  Talia could tell he had more to say when he looked away from her. “But?”

  “But you lack charisma.” Dimitri sat beside her on the piano bench. “You’re stiff . . . plain to watch. I must close my eyes to imagine the piece as it should be played. Unfortunate, no?”

  “What does it matter? You’re supposed to focus on the music, isn’t that the point?” Talia flipped the score back to the first page.

  Dimitri caught her wrist and forced her attention back to him. He stared intensely into Talia’s green eyes as he spoke. “No, Talia, this is about you.” He gently touched her cheek with the backs of his fingertips. There was a smokiness to his soft voice that she found captivating. Dimitri’s melody was one she could listen to forever. “The audience seeks a show. If I wanted to listen to Chopin played to perfection and nothing else, then I would listen to Chopin.”

  Dimitri turned and held his hand out to the empty seats. “They want more than just technical excellence; they want to be moved, and it is your job to invoke that emotion.” He brought his attention back to her. “You should want for them to see you . . . to enjoy all of you, not just a piece of music. It would be a shame for them to close their eyes, no?” His dark blue gaze left hers and he focused on her mouth as he brushed his thumb along her bottom lip. “Considering your beauty.” He glanced up at her and she looked away, her face flushed. “I will not stand for such tragedy, ma petite minette.”

  “If I focus on showmanship then I’ll get distracted and mess up the piece.” She glanced at Dimitri from the corner of her eye, still too embarrassed to face him fully. It didn’t matter how long she’d known him or how many times his lips had met hers, she still found herself shy in his presence. Dimtri intimidated her . . . as a pianist, a teacher, and lover, but she welcomed every moment.

  “Impossible n’est pas français.” Dimitri stood and pulled his brunette, shoulder-length hair up into a quick ponytail. “You could play this piece blindfolded.” He loosened his cerulean tie that mirrored the blue depths of his eyes. “And if you can do that, then you should have no problem performing properly.” He stood behind her and draped his tie over her eyes, blindfolding her. He whispered in her ear, the warmth of his breath kissing her skin as he finished tying off the silk, blackening her vision. “Play it again . . . just as before.” He slid his hands down her shoulders and guided her hands to the first set of chords, his chest pressing against her back. “I trust there will be no mistakes.”