Best Bondage Erotica 2015

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  She knew what he was doing—taking her mind off of it all, flooding her system with endorphins—and she appreciated it. After a moment of bliss, Mac pulled away from the kiss and stepped over to the door, rapping thrice against it before rejoining her. He kissed her again, cradling her naked shoulders against his chest as the door behind them opened, and two tattooed men entered wearing surgical masks and gloves.

  “We’re ready,” she said, stepping out of Mac’s embrace. If I can do this, I can do anything.

  The attendants’ eyes didn’t linger on her bare skin, though she felt an electric thrill at their presence. The men very carefully and professionally positioned her beneath the hooks, and began their work.

  Christie and Mac had set up their appointment two months in advance, just in case either party had second thoughts, and to be sure all arrangements were in place. She had been weighed, measured and gauged on their last visit a week ago, so the hooks could be perfectly adjusted for her size and frame.

  The attendants sat Christie on a stool covered in a disposable plastic sheet.

  Mac stood by, offering his hand to squeeze, which she gladly accepted.

  The attendant to her left started the suspension, pulling up a sizable piece of skin on the outside of her thigh and pushing one of the bright, clean hooks in until it popped through and slid out the other side.

  Christie stared at the hook in her skin, clenching tight to Mac’s hand, watching the man slide the shiny curve into position in the freshly pierced hunk of flesh before moving on. She came back to herself after a moment, looking around as if she’d just woken, her whole body tingling with a mix of pain and excitement.

  “Doll,” Mac leaned in, “are you okay?”

  “I…” Christie watched, rapt, as the other attendant did the same, popping the hook through her skin so she was symmetrical again.

  “You what?”

  Christie looked at him, a slow smile spreading over her face, a tightness spooling in her chest, identical to the winding beginnings of arousal. She bit her lip and fought the urge to grind her naked cunt against the plastic-covered seat. “I thought there’d be more blood, that’s all.”

  The attendant to her left looked up, his warm eyes crinkling into a smile over the mask. “Glad to disappoint.”

  She squeezed Mac’s hand for every hook the attendants placed in her thighs, upper calves and knees, and while there was no denying the piercings hurt, the pain was not what she’d expected. It was far from unbearable, and the sensation of cool metal moving beneath her skin was so deliciously novel, Christie barely noticed the pain with so much discovery blooming inside her.

  The attendants worked quickly, their gloved hands deft with practice, but still gentle.

  Despite everything else, Christie felt goose bumps break out along her arms, and she bit back a quip about never having had three men’s hands on her at once. Mac wasn’t really the jealous type, but she felt a new level of bond developing between them in the suspension chamber, and didn’t want to tarnish it with a cheap joke.

  When the technicians finished inserting the hooks, Mac moved behind her, as discussed, and placed his hands on her shoulders. One attendant moved to the side and began to work the pulleys, drawing her knees up, while the other carefully removed the stool from beneath her. Mac’s hands went from resting atop her shoulders to cupping them as her torso moved parallel with the floor, shifting finally to support a fraction of her weight as her head came down to point at the ground.

  “Whoa…” she murmured.

  “Are you o—”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, cutting off the question. He sounded more worried than she felt, and she didn’t have any room for doubt just then.

  The attendant who had removed the stool pulled back the edge of his glove to inspect his watch. “You have eight minutes in the air, starting now.”

  Eight minutes. That’s nothing. I can do eight minutes with my hands tied behind my back. Blood was already rushing to her head; she could feel it heating her cheeks and pounding a sweet rhythm in her ears. She felt Mac’s hands on her inner thighs, pressing them apart. The pressure from the hooks in her skin increased when he took his hands away from her shoulders, and Christie bit back a short gasp. Instead of trying to look up at him, she gazed at the clean white floor, grinning at the strange sight of her short blonde hair hanging down like Spanish moss. She could see the attendants’ shoes at the edges of her vision, but Christie didn’t care. She was floating, like a fairy. Like an upside-down angel.

  Above her, Mac’s breath tickled her thighs as he laid a quick succession of kisses down to her left hip bone, then the hands returned to her shoulders, lifting her just a little, taking some of her weight off the hooks.

  Christie groaned, not out of pain, but out of need, wanting nothing more than to have him, right there. Her head swam, and she felt dizzy with desire.

  Mac lowered his mouth to her aching cunt, sucking her clitoris gently between his teeth and flicking his tongue across the engorged pearl until she gasped and cried aloud, unconcerned with their audience. Working in tandem with his tongue, Mac lifted and lowered her shoulders in time with each lap and thrust, easing her weight on and off the hooks, sending ripples of pain and pleasure coursing through her suspended body.

  “Five minutes,” the attendant said from the corner. His voice sounded far away, faint and unimportant.

  Had three minutes already passed? Her head spun. Christie could hardly catch her breath. Between the pull of the hooks, the blood rushing to her head, and the sweet magic Mac was working between her legs, she felt the most powerful orgasm of her life building in her core and rushing forward on a tidal wave of sensation. Christie’s body was wracked with waves of shuddering climax, shaking so fiercely in the clutches of ecstasy that the chains rattled and chimed like sleigh bells, drowned out by her echoing cries of shattering joy.

  Christie awoke cradled in Mac’s arms, feeling safe and loose and content. He’d wrapped her in a blanket. She rolled her head back onto his collarbone, pressing a kiss to his stubbly ginger jaw. “Why are we on the floor?” she asked sleepily, feeling like a contented cat in a sunbeam.

  Mac’s arms tightened. “Because you passed out for a minute and scared me half to hell. The technicians brought you down and patched you up.” He flicked the blanket aside to show her the sterile gauze squares taped to her right leg. “They think all the blood rushing to your brain, coupled with the orgasm, must have overloaded your circuits.” He kissed the top of her head. “Are you—?”

  “I’m okay,” she finished for him. “I’m more than okay. I’m… amazing.” She snuggled deeper into his arms.

  “Yes, you really are.” Mac squeezed her tighter. “Can you stand? We need to get you home.”

  With Mac’s help, Christie rose on wobbly, tender legs, and got redressed, grateful for her lack of underwear—one less article to pull up over her new bandages. As she buttoned her blouse, Christie gazed at her lover through her eyelashes, shy as a coquettish schoolgirl. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Mac paused, holding up his shirt. His moss-brown eyes widened. “What?”

  Christie crossed the three short steps to his side and stretched up to plant a sweet, soft kiss on his mouth. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Mac stared at her for a moment, the corners of his mouth slowly creeping up into the mischievous grin she loved. “Do you dare me?”

  “I dare you.”

  Mac swept her into his patchwork-sleeved arms, holding her close against his chest, her flushed cheek pressed to the MacMillan family crest, as if inviting her to join the legacy.

  TRINITY’S NEW HOBBY

  Lucy Felthouse

  Trinity heard Colton’s key in the door, then him calling out. “Hey, Trinity, I’m home!”

  “In here,” she said, continuing to concentrate on what she was doing, her hands moving methodically, rhythmically.

  Footsteps on the wooden floor, then his voice again,
closer. “What, not meeting me at the door? Flinging yourself into my arms and welcoming me home, sexy style?”

  “I’m not doing anything until I’ve finished this row,” she said without looking up.

  Colton tutted. “What are you doing, anyway? Crochet? Did an alien steal you away and replace you with a granny that looks exactly like you?” Moving around the sofa, he dropped down next to her.

  “Hey! Watch it! You nearly made me drop a stitch.” Clutching extra hard at her needles, she inspected the work carefully to make sure she hadn’t, in fact, dropped a stitch.

  Sniggering, Colton shot back, “Sorry, granny.”

  “It’s not funny. I’ve worked bloody hard on this, and there’s no way I want to screw it up now. And in answer to your question, no I’m not crocheting. I’m knitting. I’ve just started recently. And I haven’t been a victim of an alien invasion. I just enjoy it, all right? It’s relaxing, and unlike your favorite hobby of watching TV, I actually get something out of this at the end.”

  Colton shrugged. “Whatever. I like to watch TV to relax, you like to knit.” He paused. “You’ve got to admit it’s kinda old-fashioned, though.”

  Trinity reached the end of her row, carefully put the point-protectors on to stop the garment slipping off the needles, then placed the whole thing down on the coffee table. Turning to her boyfriend with a wry expression, she said, “Actually, I’ll have you know, knitting’s cool again. Crafting in general is experiencing a massive revival. Something to do with the recession, I think. People staying in more, wanting to save money. Making gifts instead of buying them…”

  “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up. “I get it. Knitting’s cool.” Pointing at the mass of wool on the table, he asked, “What are you making, anyway?”

  “A jumper. For myself, before you panic. I’m not going to start making cutesy things with animals or bobbles on and forcing you to wear them.”

  Colton huffed out a breath. “Thank god for that. Just ’cos you’re a granny all of a sudden, doesn’t mean I want to start dressing like a granddad.”

  Fixing her boyfriend with a look that should, by rights, have turned him to stone, Trinity snatched up her knitting and flounced out of the room. She headed for their bedroom, where she kept her knitting stuff neatly in a corner of her wardrobe. Putting her hard work away carefully in her bag, her fingers brushed against a spare length of cut-off yarn. The thick blue wool gave her an idea. Grinning, she gently pulled it out. Yes, it would do nicely.

  Just then, she heard Colton muttering to himself, then his progress from the living room to their bedroom. He was probably coming to apologize. She smirked. Well, she’d make him grovel, all right.

  Quickly, she grabbed the chair that leaned up against the wall and shifted it into the large space between the bed and the door, with it facing the bed.

  Colton walked in just as she’d stepped back, and his gaze landed on the chair. He frowned, then looked at her. Shaking his head, he adopted a gently smiling expression. “Look, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just teasing you, which I know doesn’t excuse what I said, but I definitely wasn’t trying to hurt you. I don’t mind what hobbies you have, as long as you’re happy.” He paused, his smile growing wider, more hopeful. “Forgive me?”

  Giving him a cool smile, she pointed at the chair and snapped, “Sit down.”

  Frowning again, Colton stepped over to the chair and lowered himself into it. “W-what are you doing?”A look of realization crossed his face, and his confusion morphed into pure delight. “Ahh, are you gonna give me a lap dance?”

  Trinity resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “Yeah, babe,” she said lightly, much more lightly than she felt. “Something like that. Close your eyes.”

  Clearly convinced it was his lucky day, Colton did as she ordered, still smirking.

  Letting her irritation and frustration show on her face now, Trinity crossed over to the chair and stepped behind it. Swiftly pulling the wool out to its full length, she then set about securing Colton’s wrists to the chair. The yarn was super chunky, but she wasn’t sure quite how strong it was, so she wrapped it around twice, making sure it wasn’t so tight it would cut off his circulation. Examining her handiwork, Trinity was surprised at herself. They’d never fooled around with bondage before, and yet she’d managed to tie Colton up, quickly and safely. Apparently those smutty books she’d been reading were informative as well as erotic.

  “Ooh, getting a little kinky are we, sweetie?” Colton asked. He sounded excited rather than worried, which made Trinity’s job easier, not to mention much more fun.

  “Yes, darling,” she purred, standing and moving to his side, leaning down and nibbling his earlobe, eliciting a guttural groan from his throat. “I thought a bit of bondage would be fun. So I’ve tied you up with wool.”

  “With wool?” Colton’s eyes flew open—wide open—and he gazed at his girlfriend. “Seriously?” He fidgeted in the seat, wriggling his arms and trying to twist his neck to see the unusual form of bondage.

  “Yep. I thought it would be a good idea to show you that knitting isn’t as boring or as granny-ish as you seem to think.”

  Colton groaned, this time in disappointment and frustration. “So I’m not getting a lap dance. You’re going to sit there, knitting, and make me watch, aren’t you?”

  Shaking her head, Trinity replied, “No. Though I hadn’t thought of that. Any more of your cheek and that’s exactly what I’ll do. In a way, though, what I have planned is worse. Much worse.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then seemingly thought better of it, and kept quiet.

  With a curt nod, Trinity flashed Colton what she hoped was a seductive grin and began to undress. He remained silent, transfixed, as she tugged off her jumper, then the T-shirt beneath. Bending slowly, giving Colton a tantalizing view of her breasts hanging heavily in her bra, she removed her socks, then kicked the pile of shed clothes away from her. Next, she spun around, undoing her belt, then the button and zipper of her jeans. She unhurriedly inched them down, now treating him to the vision of her exposed buttocks, bisected by her lacy black thong, and her thighs, too, as the jeans bunched up around her ankles.

  Before long, she stepped out of them, shoving them toward the other items she’d removed. Now, with equal speed—or lack of it—she slipped down her panties. Once they were on the pile, leaving her utterly naked, she flashed Colton her wickedest grin, biting her bottom lip.

  He strained at his bonds, but it was fruitless—the super-chunky yarn was doing a job, albeit not the one it had been intended for.

  Satisfied Colton wasn’t going anywhere, Trinity settled back on the bed, still facing him. She was going to give him a show and a half. First, she sucked the index and middle fingers of her right hand into her mouth, getting them good and wet. Slicking the saliva over each of her nipples in turn, she repeated the process, then began to tweak the rapidly hardening buds.

  It wasn’t long before she felt slickness between her thighs. Because her plan had formed and been carried out so fast, there’d been no anticipation, no time for her body to catch on. But ever since she’d tied Colton up and begun stripping in front of him, her libido had gradually been ramping up. Now, as she plucked at her tits, zings of delicious arousal licked their way along her nerve endings, pooling in her groin. Already her labia were growing fat, and her clit throbbed.

  Forcing herself to hold on longer, just a little bit longer, to draw out Colton’s agony, she grew rougher with her nipples. Her rolls and squeezes became full-on tugs and pinches, elon gating the sensitive flesh and drawing moans and groans from her parted lips.

  A glance at her fella told Trinity that she was most definitely having the desired effect, and she hadn’t touched her pussy yet, or even shown it to him. She decided it was time for both of those things. Leaning back on her left hand, she parted her legs and slipped her right hand between them.

  Colton made a strangled sound as her sex was reveale
d to him, already wet and swollen, so close but ultimately out of reach. Trinity played around, dipping her fingers just inside her cunt and swiping the juices over her vulva and clit. Again and again she touched and teased, until she couldn’t hold back any longer. Her boyfriend’s expression, his blatant need for her, were as arousing as her touch, and now her clit ached so much it was almost painful.

  Scooping up more of the copious fluid that flowed from her, Trinity stroked it over her clit, jolting slightly at the sensitivity she found there. It wouldn’t take much to make her come, that was obvious. Zoning in on the tiny spot near the bundle of nerve endings that really got her going, she rubbed, building up to exactly the pressure and rhythm that got her off. At the same time, she watched Colton watching her, and got a huge kick out of how he reacted to her every move, his eyes wide, jaw slack, his fidgeting and the probably unconscious jerking of his hips.

  Splaying her thighs even wider to ensure Colton was getting a really good view, she continued masturbating without holding back, every movement bringing her closer to climax. It wouldn’t be long…

  Throwing her head back, she picked up her pace, not caring about the discomfort in her right hand. Coming was more important in that instant, and as the tightening in her abdomen increased, the tingles between her legs began; she knew she was on the precipice.

  Apparently Colton knew, too. “God, oh god, babe, you look so fucking hot. Please let me fuck you.”

  Blatantly ignoring him, Trinity let her fingers push her over the edge, an almighty climax crashing into her, making her cunt clench, her juices flow and her throat grow hoarse. It took all of the energy she had to stay relatively upright, as she wanted to watch her boyfriend’s reaction as she came right there in front of him, not allowing him to do anything except watch.

  Her pleasure held her in its grip of oblivion for several long seconds, but as soon as she broke free enough, she opened her eyes again and looked at him.