Twisted

by Alison Tyler

  I take Gretchen’s drink and bring it to her lips, watching them part just enough for me to pour some chilled red liquid into her mouth. I picture the singer taking a turn feeding my beautiful wife and then it’s no leap to picture my cock pressing between Gretchen’s gorgeous lips, the singer stroking her hair. I set her glass down and take a sip of my own drink, before picking up my fork. “Hungry?” I ask, as my fingers drift into her lap, brushing against her makeshift bonds—I can’t seem to stay away. The show only lasts an hour and a half, yet I’m the one finding the delicious agony almost interminable. The longer we sit here, the more I want Gretchen, in ways that are fully unfit for public consumption.

  “I’m starving,” she says with a smile, as the next set starts and the singer is back in a pale-pink sheath dress that clings to her perfectly. Gretchen and I have only had a threesome once, but talking about and checking out hot women sets her off. I pick up a deviled egg and bring it to her lips. As she takes a bite, out of the corner of my eye I see a woman at a nearby table looking at us, and I whisper as much to Gretchen. Whether or not this woman knows Gretchen’s hands are secured in her lap, my feeding her is clearly risqué, even for this hip crowd.

  “Do you want the whole thing?” I ask, as she savors the creamy confection. She opens wide and I push the rest of the egg between her lips, her tongue brushing my fingers in the process. I smile at the woman watching us, then give my full attention to the singer. She’s beckoned a man onstage to help her change into an elaborate pair of heels, and he kisses the tops of her feet as he exits.

  We keep watching as the blonde bombshell swoons and flirts her way through everyone from Marilyn Monroe to Britney Spears to Beyoncé. Gretchen doesn’t know it, but I have a surprise for her when the singer asks for a female volunteer. Suddenly, I raise Gretchen’s bound hands above her head, and immediately, the whoops and hollers from the neighboring tables cause her to look up at us, followed by a spotlight. “Oh my,” giggles the singer. “You with your hands tied, get up here,” she says. I pull Gretchen’s hands down so I can undo the bracelet, but I quickly coil it around her arm and send her down to the stage.

  I watch proudly as she gets a whooping round of applause, and the singer admires the bracelet and even sticks out her wrists so Gretchen can show her how it works. Then they go behind a screen and the singer changes outfits while asking Gretchen questions, using the microphone so we can all listen to her responses. Hearing my wife confess to having had her hands bound beneath the table almost makes me come. When Gretchen returns to our table, I don’t care who’s looking anymore, and give her a full-on tongue kiss.

  The show is winding down. We get the check, which also contains a note from our waitress saying, “HOT!!” I give a generous tip and lead Gretchen outside. “Let’s take a cab,” I say, even though we’d normally walk. I’ve already flagged one before she can protest. “Ladies first,” I say, and once we’re settled in, knowing I only have a few minutes, I reach for the bracelet and bring her hands behind her back. Soon her wrists are secured there, her body turned so she’s facing the window, her back toward me.

  “You were so damn hot in there tonight,” I said. “I bet you had all the women jealous.”

  “I just hope nobody we know was there,” she says, as if she really has some problem with it.

  “So what if they were?” I ask.

  I breathe hotly against her neck, and maneuver myself so she’s close enough to feel how hard I am. We pull in, and I give the driver a thirteen-dollar tip on a seven-dollar fare. “I’ll come around and let you out,” I tell Gretchen, and then do so, lifting her up and keeping my arm around her, nudging the cab door closed with my hip. I walk behind her, my hand on her lower back, and guide her up to the elevator and into our apartment.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I tell her, easing down her skirt and panties. She wiggles out of them, and I can’t resist reaching between her legs to make sure she’s as wet as I’ve been imagining. No—she’s wetter, and I ease two fingers in and out a few times until she moans and starts to buck back against me. “Later,” I growl, and instead of going into the bedroom, I pull her onto the living room couch. “Now you get to see what that did to me,” I say, as I slip off my pants and briefs to reveal my cock at full mast. “You’re going to suck my cock the way I thought about you doing under the table tonight. Maybe next time I’ll have you actually do it.” I guide her to the ground, and pull her toward me so she’s in the perfect sucking position. Watching her ease her tongue up my shaft, knowing she is achingly wet, hungry to have me fill her up and can’t do anything about it, adds to my arousal. I let her get my cock nice and juicy, but when she goes to deep-throat me, I pull her upward by the hair. “Just the tip, baby,” I order, and she dutifully runs that sweet tongue along the hard ridge of my cock. Her mouth is wet, too, the saliva dripping onto me, and the heat so intense I might come before I’m ready. When the sensation is almost too much, I pull her off of me and slap my cock against her cheek, making her moan.

  The look she gives me is one of pure longing. “I know you love feeling me fuck your mouth, but I want to fuck that hot, tight pussy of yours.” I’d been planning to finish in the bedroom, but I can’t wait. I lean down and lift her up, settling her legs on either side of me, her wrists still secured behind her back. We’ve never fucked quite like this—usually she’s bound to the bed, spread-eagled, but this is wickedly arousing too. I lift up her shirt and bite her nipples through the lace of the bra, while Gretchen raises her hips and slams herself down onto me. I bring my mouth to kiss her lips, her tongue racing to meet mine, and reach for her bound wrists behind her. I don’t need to order her to come; I can feel the heat and trembling building inside her, and I crush her fingers in mine as the sensation builds before she collapses against me. “That’s it, good girl,” I tell her before I explode inside her. I ease the bracelet off her arms, letting it drop on the couch next to us, then pick her up and carry her into the bedroom. I pull her close, kissing her wrists, fully aware this has been one of our hottest date nights ever.

  Later, before we drift off to sleep, I say, “You’ll have to tell me the name of the store where you got that bracelet. I want to see what else they sell.”

  We both know we don’t technically need any additional toys to embellish our bondage fun. All we really need is each other, but some extra help can never hurt. Plus, I know the perfect pair of nipple clamps she can wear while we shop. Now that we’ve ventured into “playing” in public, I certainly don’t want to stop. The fun has only just begun.

  SYLVIA’S TRANSGRESSION

  Tamsin Flowers

  I blame it on the weather. It had been raining intermittently all day and even when it stopped for an hour, the sky remained gray with no sign of the sun. Days like this are always bad for me; I’m at a loose end if I can’t be working on my tan while he’s out at work. Three days like this in a row and cabin fever’s hitting hard.

  So, as I say, it was down to the rubbish summer we were having. But maybe I was a little foolish to do it so close to his getting home. I didn’t really allow any time for hiding the evidence, so I suppose, when push came to shove, I got my just deserts. And he did get back a little early....

  I was still down in the kitchen when I heard his car pull into the drive. I ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell; if I’m not in position when he walks through the door, things can go wrong from the start. I made it into his bedroom and quickly stripped down to my bra and panties, shoving my jeans and tee under the bed. Then I lay down on my front on the bed with my arse hanging over the edge, just the way he likes to see me when he comes in from a hard day in the office.

  I’d barely caught my breath when I heard his footfall on the stairs. I closed my eyes, willing myself to calm down. He couldn’t know that I’d only just made it up here ahead of him. He liked me quiet and ready for him, waiting patiently in position with plenty of time to spare, not flustered and flushed. That would come later. I cla
mped my mouth tightly shut and breathed slowly in and out through my nose as I counted his steps along the landing.

  The door handle clicked and then I sensed he was in the room, but I didn’t dare look. No minor misdemeanors until I’d worked out what sort of day he’d had, what sort of mood he was in. God, I hoped it had been a good day so we could have some fun this evening. I hated it when he came in cross because of problems at work and took out his anger and frustration on me. The balance between pain and pleasure is a fine line, and when he’s angry he takes me right to my very limits.

  But today wasn’t going to be like that. Please...

  I waited, listening to him taking off his jacket and pulling off his tie. He hadn’t said anything, but he often liked to keep me guessing. I pushed the front of my hips against the edge of the mattress to make my arse even rounder. I knew he found it irresistible. I could smell the day’s sweat on him, mingling faintly with this morning’s cologne. A hot shimmer of desire tightened deep within me.

  I felt him sit on the edge of the bed and then his hand slipped inside my panties to caress my arse. His skin was warm against mine and his touch so soft... I pushed up against him but immediately regretted my action as his hand drew away. I knew I had to be completely limp; any sign of a response to him would result in punishment later and I still hadn’t worked out what sort of mood he was in.

  Suddenly he grabbed my right wrist and yanked my arm back hard. I gasped as a muscle tore in my shoulder, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He sniffed my hand, my fingers; then he licked them. The air went out of my lungs as fear extended an icy grip around my chest.

  “These fingers have been where they shouldn’t have been, haven’t they?”

  I didn’t dare answer, instead pressing my face into the duvet.

  His hand was in my hair, pulling my head up. I winced.

  “Haven’t they?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He let my head go and smelt my fingers again.

  “It’s not even you, is it? It’s Merta I can smell on you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir.” It was practically a sob.

  If only I’d done it earlier in the day, so I would have had time to wash myself and get rid of the smell. What had possessed me and Merta to mess around just minutes before he was due home from work?

  His weight lifted from the bed.

  “I had a long day, Sylvia, and I’m tired.” His voice sounded angry. It had that clipped, bitter tone that I’d learned to fear. “And now this, you thoughtless bitch. Move up the bed and take off your underwear.”

  I wriggled from where I was lying bent over the bottom of the bed up to the center, shimmying out of my panties and discarding my bra as I did. I knew what he was going to do. The cuffs jingled as he lifted them from each corner of the headboard and I held out my arms compliantly. I didn’t want this; I didn’t want to be hurt when he was angry with me. A moment later my ankles had been fitted with a spreader bar extended to its widest setting. I gasped a little as he strapped it on and instantly felt the weight of his hand across the back of my thigh. A sharp sting followed by a long, slow burn reminded me to keep my mouth shut.

  I heard him leaving the room and wondered where he’d gone. I didn’t have to wait long; two minutes later he came back in and there was a second set of steps with him.

  “Come in, Merta,” he said, as they both entered the room.

  Merta was our maid. She was slim and pretty and spoke little English, and sometimes I couldn’t resist touching her, especially if he’d left me feeling horny when he went out to work. She didn’t seem to mind and never shied away from my exploring fingers.

  I could sense them standing at the end of the bed.

  “Show me, Merta, what she did to you. How she touched you.”

  A second later I felt a soft, feminine hand running up my thigh. I tried to stop my hips from moving in response to the dull ache that started up in my pussy. Her fingers stroked and caressed my buttcheeks as I’d done to hers and then silently slid down between them to push gently between my swollen labia. My breath was ragged and I clamped my jaws tightly together, even though I wanted to lift my head and groan out loud. The sensation of her cool fingers delving into my hot cunt was exquisite, and I knew that she would only have to slide them in and out a couple of times to bring me to the brink. But that would never be allowed.

  “I see,” he said. “Thank you, Merta. That will do. I will see to it that Miss Sylvia gets punished for her behavior.”

  I heard Merta leave the room and when she was gone I heard him locking the door. Panic bubbled up through my chest, and without realizing it I whimpered a little. His hand was in my hair in a second, gripping tightly, pulling my head back sharply.

  “If you’re going to be noisy, you know what will happen?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

  “Do you want to be gagged?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, Sir. I won’t be noisy.”

  He slapped me sharply on the butt with a flat palm as if to test my resolve, but I was biting my lip and stayed quiet.

  “Good girl.”

  I heard him pacing round the bed.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  I lay wondering what sort of punishment he had in mind. Then his arm swooped under my waist and he pushed a bolster cushion in underneath me, drawing my legs up slightly and raising my arse a foot or so above the bed. I knew what that meant; with the spreader pulling my legs wide, my butthole and labia were fully exposed and vulnerable to whatever pain he devised for them. I shut my eyes and chewed on my tongue, determined not to cry.

  He must have been aware of my distress because then I felt his hand gently stroking my arse and down the back of one thigh.

  “Don’t be frightened, sweet girl,” he whispered in my ear. “You know I’ve got to do this for your own good. You know you’ll feel much better when it’s over.”

  “What will you use?” I managed to say, finishing with a slight sob.

  “No, no, no. Nothing given away beforehand.”

  He moved silently in the darkening room and as the light faded, I felt as if I was losing myself, sliding into a deep pit from which I would never be able to claw free. All I could hear was his breathing, deeper and heavier than when he’d first come in. He was getting ready to punish me now, psyching himself up, deciding what he would use, how many times he would strike and how hard.

  He opened the cupboard where he kept his toys and I heard him rifling through his collection: whips, crops, paddles, belts, a flogger.... He’d been collecting them for years and he’d tried them all out on me. I knew exactly how much pain each would cause and as I wondered which one he would pick, a dull, grinding ache of need made itself felt in my clit and my cunt and my arse. I breathed deeply; I was starting to sweat now with the anticipation. I wanted it to start, but I wanted to wait like this on the brink forever. I longed to hear the whoosh of air and feel the first the blow but I was scared, frightened of the pain, frightened of his anger and of his desire. I pressed my forehead into the bed as time seemed to stand still and all sensation was lost apart from the throb of longing that pulsed from my cunt through to my chest.

  Then I heard it. The thin, high-pitched whine of his bamboo riding crop. Instantaneously, I felt it too; a shard of pain that seared through my left buttock and up to the base of my throat. I gasped, and then I wretched as the after-burn kicked in. I fought for breath, desperate to regain my equilibrium before the next inevitable blow. This was one of his favorites; a harsh bestower of pain, of bright red welts that stayed for longer than any others in a sharply delineated pattern.

  “Look at you, you’re so wet for it,” he whispered near my ear and at that moment I became aware of hot juice that was dripping from my cunt and running down the inside of my thigh.

  Swoosh!

  And again. And again. A white-hot flood of pain. And soon I could no longer tell where t
he crop was falling on my bare arse—the whole area was swollen and burning. Until he lowered his aim slightly, and I felt the sting of the crop slicing across my labia. Exquisite, burning pain. A fire that cut through me like a laser and made me crush my face into the duvet to muffle my scream. He hit me there again and again, while I ground the soft fabric with my teeth, hardly able to breathe, my insides like a molten pool of lava. I was no longer conscious of the room or of him, or even of the individual blows. I was adrift in pain and breathlessness. Unable to articulate. No longer me. Just sensation.

  Then suddenly the salvation of cold lotion. Two hands massaged the burning skin, fingers slid into my cunt, transporting me to the cusp between pain and pleasure. Seconds later, as I felt his hard cock power its way forward to my very depths, my world exploded and shattered with shock waves of pleasure. Now I let myself scream as he pulled himself back and plunged deep again. My legs were trembling, but he hooked an arm around me to keep me in position as he slammed into me again and again. With every wave of pleasure my muscles tightened around him, grasping his cock, pulling it in as he pulled it out and finally I felt the hot surge of his release as he groaned long and loud, still pumping hard for the duration of his orgasm.

  He let go of me and I slumped forward on the cushion he’d put underneath me earlier. His cock, no longer hard, slipped out of me followed by a rush of hot semen running down my legs. I gasped for breath, once again feeling the pain he’d wrought as the pleasure subsided.