The Dark Woods & Other Bondage Stories

by S. J. Lewis

  “Strip,” he ordered.

  That seemed to surprise her. Maybe it even daunted her at first, but if it did it was only for a moment. She had dared him: He in turn had dared her, and from what he knew of her, which was quite a lot, he knew it was unlikely that she wouldn’t rise to that challenge. He saw her smile turn sly. She made a small production of taking off her watch and placing it on the end table next to her drink. Then she removed the thin gold necklace she wore, and her earrings, putting them all down next to her watch. It seemed as if she was stalling, but it was also possible that she was trying to arouse him by going as slowly as she dared.

  She slipped her sandals off, nudging them out of the way with one slender, high-arched foot and then reached around to pull down the zipper of her dress. She slipped one of the small spaghetti straps down off of her shoulder, and then the other, holding her dress up one-handed, and then she paused. Maybe she expected him to tell her to get on with it, maybe she was hesitating before taking that last step. He said nothing. Then something in her pose seemed to soften, and the expression in her eyes became humid. She let her dress slip quietly to the floor and then took one step out of it, towards him. He’d noted earlier in the evening that she hadn’t been wearing a bra, and now she stood before him clad only in flimsy-looking panties. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were high and round and firm. Her nipples, already swelling, were a deep pink, surrounded by the slightly lighter pink of her areolas. She looked at him, her head cocked to the side again. He merely nodded back. She slid her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and pulled them down just far enough so that when she let go of them they slid the rest of the way down her long, shapely legs on their own in a slow, silken caress. For a moment, it looked like she was going to falter and cover herself with her hands, but she didn’t. He sat for a moment, drinking in the loveliness of her body. Her skin looked flawless. His eyes kept drifting back to the curly thatch between her thighs. It was the exact same color as the hair on her head, and neatly trimmed. All the while, she stood still, looking past him, her arms at her sides. He had dared her: Now she was daring him back.

  He stood up, looking down at her upturned face and she seemed to get a little nervous. He took her face between his hands and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss at first. It grew harder as he pressed his lips against hers and began forcing his tongue into her mouth. Her initial resistance melted almost immediately. She moaned weakly, and began putting her arms around him. He immediately broke the kiss and gently pushed her away. She was visibly aroused now, in spite of the sudden question in her eyes. Her face was flushed, her mouth half-open, her nipples swollen and prominent. He smiled at her and loosened his tie. He slipped it off over his head without undoing the knot.

  Perhaps she was expecting him to undress now while she watched, but the look of eager anticipation on her face faded away as he held up the tie before her eyes and ordered her to turn around. It was his turn to dare her now. She understood what he intended in a moment, and turned her back to him. She even crossed her wrists behind her. He slipped the loop of his tie around those slender wrists and drew it tight. She shuddered and let out a tiny gasp at that, but held still while he used the free ends of the tie to cinch her bonds, knotting it snugly. She was a little tense now. He could feel it as he put his arm around her neck and pulled her closer to him. His other hand came to rest on her hip. She shivered ever so faintly at the touch. She shivered again as his palm slid slowly up and down her thigh, then up across the soft, warm flesh of her belly. When he cupped her breast and squeezed it gently, she shuddered violently and gasped. He could hear her breathing raggedly, and he smiled. He had no intention of speaking to her any more, or stopping what he was going to do unless she said ‘no’ or ‘stop’ and he was fairly sure she wouldn’t say either of those words. Her head lolled back onto his shoulder.

  He gave her soft, soft breast one last gentle squeeze and brought his hand up to her mouth. It still sagged open, and he thrust two fingers into it, not deeply enough to make her gag. Surprised, she tried at first to pull away, but as she was up against him, she couldn’t. After a moment, he felt her lips close around his fingers, and her pink, wet tongue lapping at them. Then she began sucking on them as well.

  He had the sudden urge to put her on her back, right there on her living room floor, and take her now. He was sure she wouldn’t resist, but he had more elaborate schemes in mind. He let her lick and suck his fingers for a moment longer before he took his hand away. She gasped when he thrust them between her legs, feeling his way along. She was already wet, and unmistakably ready, her bound hands groping at his groin as he held her against him and continued fingering her. He didn’t know what she liked, exactly, but he had enough experience to make some educated guesses. His fingers probed gently between her swollen outer labia and began toying with the soft, hot, wet flesh behind them. Now she held still, breathing heavily as he explored her, teased her, and stimulated her. She shuddered and groaned when he first located her clitoris. It sounded like she moaned in frustration when he moved from it to less sensitive areas. In fact, he wanted to feel her shudder like that, and groan like that again, and she did when he moved back to her clit. This time he stayed there, brushing and rubbing against that sensitive little nubbin until she sagged in his grip, moaning. He quickly put his whole hand against her pussy and lifted. She came upright with a startled squeak. When he went back to fingering her, she shuddered and moaned, but stayed upright.

  The noises she kept making took on a whining quality and he figured he had teased her long enough. Now he set to work in earnest to make her come. She did almost immediately, shuddering and jerking and moaning over and over again. When she gave out a long sigh and began sagging against him again, he smiled. Things were off to a promising start.

  He helped her down until she was on her knees. And kept her from sinking any lower by taking a grip on her hair. Then he stepped around in front of her. It isn’t always easy to unzip a zipper one-handed or fish a swollen cock out of your pants that way either, but he managed. She stared blankly at his cock for a moment, until he took it in his hand and pressed the head of it against her lips. She turned her head away at first, closing her eyes as if she couldn’t bear the sight of it, so he slapped her with it until she turned her head back. Eyes still closed, she opened her mouth in submission and let him stick his cock into it. Once he was in her mouth, she began sucking his cock, slowly, awkwardly, putting on a convincing act of reluctance and revulsion at what he was making her do. He could see her bound hands. They were relaxed, not clenched into fists as he expected. She kept sucking, never taking him in all that deeply, and he let her continue. It felt very, very good, even as clumsily as she was doing it. He let it go on long enough for her to begin wondering if he meant to come in her mouth, but no longer. It was still too early for that. Still, when he withdrew from that sweet mouth, she looked up at him, bewildered, keeping her mouth open, just in case. He smiled down at her and pulled upwards on her hair. She came to her feet unsteadily, her face flushed, her eyes a little glassy, her legs a bit weak, a little bit of her saliva dribbling down her chin. She grunted once as he bent down and put his shoulder into her midsection. He almost grunted himself as he straightened up. As slender as she looked, she was still a bit heavier than he expected, and it took a little effort to carry her slung over his shoulder. He gave her rump a friendly pat and started walking towards the stairs. Her bedroom was on the second floor, and that was where he meant to continue things. He went up the stairs slowly and deliberately. He hoped she would see it as a show of strength, but his real concern was not to make a misstep and send them both tumbling back down. That would put an end to things in a hurry.

  He reached the top of the stairs without mishap and carried her into her bedroom. She started to wriggle in his grasp, so he gave her ass a friendly swat before dumping her onto her bed. She landed with a startled little yelp, and before she could do anything he was on top of her, pinning her sho
ulders down, working his knees between her legs and pushing them apart. She struggled against him, but nowhere near as hard as he knew she could have. And, aside from assorted grunts and gasps and pants, she made no noise. She didn’t shriek, she didn’t scream, and she certainly did not say ‘no’ or ‘stop’, so he kept going until he had finally mounted her. He tried to kiss her once, but she turned her head away, so he held her down with one arm and all of his weight while he guided his cock into her with the other. She was still wet, and he was still hard and he slipped it in easily. At that, she let out a tiny shriek and renewed her futile struggling.

  Now he began to fuck her in earnest, his hips pumping hard and fast. He knew that he’d postponed his pleasure for so long that he could keep thrusting for a good long while before it had the desired effect on him. Beneath him, her struggles slowly faded away to nothing and her grunts turned to moans. He felt her spreading her legs wider, raising her knees higher for him, and then she shuddered just like she had when he was fingering her and moaned and moaned and moaned as he kept thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. When she felt him shuddering and heard him groaning as he finally came, she clamped her knees around him tightly, whimpering: “Yes, yes, yes, oh, please, yes!” He was past caring what she meant by that.

  ***

  “Wake up. Wake up!”

  He drifted up from sleep groggily, wondering why his bed smelled faintly of perfume and who was prodding him awake with a sharp little elbow in his ribs.

  “Wha’?” he muttered. The prodding continued. He realized that he was naked, and he never slept that way, and this wasn’t his bed at all: It was much too soft.

  “Please, wake up!” He recognized her voice and finally knew where he was, and who was prodding him. He rolled over and found himself staring into her lovely green eyes.

  “What?” he asked as he slid an arm around her. She was naked too.

  “I…” her gaze dropped. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said. “And I need you to untie me.”

  “Oh. Roll over so I can get at the knots.” She complied and he struggled with his tie. He hadn’t made the knots as tight as he could have, and he was grateful for that now. As he loosened the loop and took the tie from around her wrists he heard her sigh with relief. She slid out of her bed rubbing her wrists.

  “Thanks,” she said just before she padded off to the bathroom. He thought that she smiled at him when she said that, but the illumination coming in from the streetlight outside wasn’t bright enough for him to be sure. He laid back and sighed. It had been very exciting, and very pleasurable for him, and, he thought, for her, but right now it felt like they’d both been caught up in some temporary madness that had afflicted them both. If they were still able to look at each other come the morning that would be good, but their friendship had changed irrevocably. He would hate losing that.

  He dozed. He had no idea how long she was in her bathroom, but when she woke him she smelled of talcum powder and perfume, and not the same perfume as her bed did.

  “I’m back,” she said brightly, squatting down alongside the bed so that she could look into his eyes. She was definitely smiling now, which was a good sign, but he was still too sleepy to comprehend anything beyond that.

  “Hi there,” he smiled back, wondering why she had woken him to give him the news. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then stood up and turned her back to him. She crossed her wrists behind her and looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes humid again. “I hope you’re not too tired,” she purred. That brought him fully awake as nothing else could have. He groped around in the dimness for his discarded tie. Yes indeed, things had changed between them. It would be very interesting to discover how much.

  Seeking The Oracle

  The party halted in front of two great brazen doors. In the flickering torchlight the strange, fantastic figures carved on those doors and on the surrounding stonework appeared to caper and dance. There was a long silence, broken only by the hiss and crackle of the torches.

  “It is still not too late, your highness,” the old priest said. In his long black robes he seemed almost a creature of this darkness far, far below the great temple overhead. In one bony hand he held a massive brass key. “You may still return safely to the world above.”

  Ampanae looked at him with cold blue eyes. “I did not come so far merely to turn back like some frightened girl, Omazan,” she said. She stood proudly in her long white gown. If the priest seemed a creature of the darkness, she seemed to be a creature of light, out of place and vulnerable in this vast underground warren. Around her, holding the torches, stood the six ceremonial guards, warrior-priests in black armor, their faces hidden behind black-plumed helms. They looked as much creatures of the darkness as did the priest.

  “I mean no disrespect, your highness,” Omazan bowed his head. “But what you plan to do is most dangerous. Not all who pass beyond those doors return.”

  “I appreciate your concerns, Omazan.” Ampanae relented a little. She smiled wanly. “I know full well how dangerous this is. But it must be done. Our lands are beset on all sides by foes. If we are not to be destroyed, we must seek counsel from our long-silent oracle. I am the only one who can do this.”

  “Your highness, there are other virgin priestesses.” Omazan protested. Ampanae held up a slim-fingered hand to silence him.

  “You are correct,” she said sternly. “But I am the high priestess, and of royal blood. Should I send another to do what I am afraid to do? I think the oracle would forsake us if I acted so cravenly. I cannot shirk this duty, not while my uncle and cousins lead our armies in the field.”

  “You are right, of course, your highness,” Omazan bowed more deeply. “Please forgive me. I am thinking only of your safety.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, dear Omazan,” Ampanae smiled. The smile was fleeting. “Since we are here, let us do this. If we stand here too long I fear that my courage will fade.”

  “As you wish,” the old priest sighed. He stood as straight as his years would permit and lifted his staff of office.

  “Who comes here?” he challenged.

  “Ampanae, high priestess of the temple at Rhaen and blood kin to the king.”

  “Why do you come here?” Omazan demanded.

  “I come to seek the counsel of the Dark Oracle,” Ampanae answered. Inwardly, she quailed. Once begun, the ceremony could no more be stopped than one could stop one’s fall after stepping off of a cliff. She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

  “Do you come here freely, without threat or coercion?” Omazan continued.

  “I do.” Ampanae held her head high. Omazan sighed wearily and lowered his staff.

  “Then let us begin,” he said. He walked slowly over to the doors and inserted an ancient key into the lock. In spite of all the long years that the lock had lain idle, the mechanism turned easily, with a loud click. To Ampanae’s ears, that sound was as loud and as startling as a thunderbolt, but she did not flinch. Her mouth went dry as two of the warrior-priests set aside their torches and pulled the massive doors open. No one now living had ever seen what lay behind them.

  “My lady,” Omazan bowed deeply and gestured for Ampanae to enter first. She gathered up the skirt of her gown and passed through the doorway, the stone floor cold under her bare feet. Omazan followed closely behind her. The six guards followed them. They left their torches in sconces set on the walls outside and for a time Ampanae could see nothing in the chamber beyond dim, fantastic shadows that moved like great, insubstantial beasts. Two of the guards took up their posts at the doors. She knew that if she tried to flee now they were duty-bound to stop her lest untold calamity follow. She had no intention of fleeing, though the longer she stood here the greater the urge to do so grew.

  The four other guards each went to a brass lamp hanging from the walls within and filled it with the oil that Omazan had blessed beforehand. They each used flint and steel to light those lamps. As the shadows melted away, Ampana
e was finally able to see what she had walked into. The chamber was smaller than she had expected. It was also round, which she had not expected at all. The wall was covered with painted bas-reliefs, every one a scene depicting a naked woman, some bound, some chained, some free, consorting with or in the grip of dark and monstrous creatures. She shuddered inwardly. She was a virgin, but she was not ignorant. She knew quite well what was going on in each and every scene.

  Two fluted columns stood near the center of the room, as far apart from each other as a tall man lying on his side. They were not decorated as the walls were. A heavy iron ring was set in each column, with matching rings set near each column’s base. Ampanae shuddered again, but not inwardly this time. She went and stood between the columns, licking furtively at dry lips. “I seek the Dark Oracle,” she whispered to herself. It helped to strengthen her resolution.

  She heard Omazan, behind her, call for the tools and the bindings and she closed her eyes. She hoped that she would be able to endure what came next. As for what came after that, she would have no choice. She heard the great doors swing shut. Now she was alone with the old priest, though it seemed to her that there was another presence nearby, hovering somewhere overhead, beyond her sight, watching and waiting.

  “It is time, your highness,” Omazan said quietly.

  “Yes,” Ampanae nodded. She kept her back to the old priest as she began unlacing the bodice of her gown. Her fingers were unsteady, and it took her longer than it should have. Omazan waited patiently, saying nothing and no doubt averting his eyes until his part in the ceremony came. Finally the last lacing was undone. Ampanae pulled the gown down, slipping her arms out of the long, close-fitting sleeves, baring herself to the waist. She raised her arms, reaching towards the rings set in the columns. They were just out of her reach.