Never Say Never

by Alison Tyler

  “Zachary?”

  I wasn’t bound like this when we went to bed. It truly is amazing what I can sleep through.

  Of course, once you grow accustomed to playing with ropes, there are so many ways to extend the pleasure. Like being tied down and shaved in this scene from my story called “Reunion”:

  “He was a bondage geek. He loved tying girls up. God, I miss college. Everyone seemed to wear their fetish on their sleeve. Do you know what I mean? You could tell when people were discovering something that worked for them.”

  “I don’t know…” I drawled. “There were also a lot of shaving-cream fights, and bringing beer into the dorm in big suitcases and that incident with the Jell-O in the washing machine.”

  “Sometimes people need a little beer to discover what works for them,” Jill said matter-of-factly. “Like after one of those shaving-cream fights, Jason tied me down and shaved my pussy.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “He didn’t even tell me what he was going to do. He simply asked if I was okay being bound, and I told him I’d never been before. He took four ties—university ties, I swear—and he bound me down on his bed.”

  Or being tied down and spanked, like in a short I wrote called “Obsessed”:

  “After he came to the bedroom, he tied me down to his bed and he used his bare hand on me.”

  “Only his hand?”

  “That night, yeah. Later on, he used his belt. But that first night, he simply gave me a hand spanking.”

  “And you liked it?”

  “I loved it.”

  “Slut.”

  Or being tied down, stripped and flogged, like in my story “The Last Goodbye”:

  He carried me back to the bed, spread me out, and tied me to Janelle’s bed frame like the bondage pro he was. He cut my skirt off, cut my T-shirt away, then ran his fingertips over the shaved skin of my pussy. I had only my thigh-high fishnets on now. Nothing to protect me.

  “You know you’re a bad girl,” he said, “don’t you?”

  I nodded, and then immediately whispered, “Yes, Connor.”

  “And you know tonight I’m going to make you scream.”

  Tears started running down my cheeks. I was shivering all over, but I managed to say, “Yes, Connor.”

  He reached for the suede flogger, and then he looked at me, fiercely, and said, “And you know you need this.”

  Or even being tied down in a place you shouldn’t be, like in Lucia Dixon’s “Quiet, Quiet”:

  Joshua found a rhythm that went dark and velvety in my head, taking me to faraway places with his cock, with the heat that was still in my skin, with the shame that colored my face and made me shut my eyes together even more tightly.

  He whispered things to me while he fucked me, told me how pretty I looked captured to the bed. Captured so simply and purely to his mother’s bed. The whole fantasy was mixed up, messed up, twisted and dirty, and it made me come, as he must have known it would. Made me come in a series of rapid bucking movements that almost drove him out of me. He held on, though; he’s a fighter, kept on going until it was his turn, until he gripped into my arms, bit my shoulder hard through the silky fabric of my dress and hissed, “Dirty girl. Such a dirty girl. Coming in my mother’s bed.”

  Joshua cradled me afterward, brushed my hair out of my eyes, slid the cuffs off and rubbed the skin on my wrists. He kissed my blushing cheeks and my forehead and the tip of my nose and then whispered to me of how long he’d planned it, how much thought had gone into this tryst. How I couldn’t have avoided it if I’d wanted to.

  Happily, you don’t have to follow any specific rules when you try bondage. In “Confession,” author Jenny Lyn writes:

  Cuffs of thick leather or strips of fragile lace. I honestly do not care. Rough hemp rope or sticky licorice whips. The material is immaterial, sometimes. It’s not always about the marks, although I love those too. I don’t always need souvenirs. We all know what it’s really about: my acquiescence, your control. It’s about trust, yours and mine. I won’t struggle, not if I’m a good girl. Your long strong fingers wrapped around both my wrists or simply words. Doesn’t really matter to me. You could tie me down with overcooked spaghetti noodles and I’d happily obey you.

  In “Clingy,” Giselle Renarde’s characters get creative:

  When Jack appeared at her bedside with a box of plastic wrap in hand, Lollie laughed. “What is this? You’re going to make me a dress out of cling film?”

  He tossed the covers off the bed, exposing everything, right down to the shimmering pink polish he’d put on her toenails last time he was over.

  “Not a dress,” he said, tearing off a sheet of plastic. He fought with it, trying to get it to stop sticking to itself, but ultimately it was too clingy for its own good. Picking up the box again, he pulled out another sheet. This time he didn’t tear it off until he’d wrapped it four times around her ankles. Her bones knocked together, and she tried to shift her feet, but the cling film allowed little give.

  She smiled at Jack as he lifted her shoulders up from the bed. With her ankles bound, she had to steady herself with her hands against the mattress. It was odd, though, how he’d cling-wrapped her legs shut. Maybe he planned to flip her over and take her from behind. Her insides tingled with anticipation. “I love being tied up, you know. It makes me feel totally at your mercy.”

  “That’s because you are,” he said.

  Total mercy. Oh, let’s say those words together. Total. Mercy.

  Can anything be sexier than that? Why not find out for yourself.

  TANTALIZING TIPS

  •Bondage begins in the mind. Start with a simple command, such as “Stay.” See how that works for you and your partner before moving forward.

  •See how creative you can be with household equipment such as scarves, ties, rope, climbing cables, or wallet chains. Do-it-yourself takes on a whole new thrill when referring to sex!

  •Visit your favorite sex toy store to explore the wonderful world of bondage toys. From utilitarian steel cuffs to pink leopard-print, there is definitely something for every type of desire.

  FICTION: BONDAGE

  SILK

  TERESA NOELLE ROBERTS

  Dan tucked in the ends of the red silk scarf that adorned Jessie’s right wrist. “There,” Dan said. “Very ’80s rocker.”

  “This one is more ’80s yuppie.” She brandished her left hand, adorned with a yellow and red paisley scarf-bracelet. The scarf had been a gift from her grandmother, something she never wore, but didn’t have the heart to give away. It had been the only other long, thin scarf she could dig up on short notice when Dan had the Idea.

  Dan had lots of Ideas. It was one of his charms, along with a roguish smile, intense blue eyes, and the ability to re-create just about anything they ever tried and liked at a restaurant. He had a tight, muscular body, a clever tongue, and a fantastic cock, too, but without all the Ideas, Jessie wouldn’t have found the physical attributes nearly as interesting.

  This particular Idea was simple in concept.

  Jessie would wear the scarves on her wrist while they met friends for dinner.

  When they got home, Dan would use those same scarves to tie her wrists to the bed.

  Simple, but as it was turning out, devious and devilishly effective.

  Jessie was already wet. She’d started getting excited when he’d first told her about the Idea. She’d been twitchy and shifting in her seat so her clit and pussy lips rubbed against each other once they began working out how to make the scarves look like accessories (misguided ones, but fashion wasn’t the point), and her nipples rubbed plaintively against her bra as soon as the silk touched her skin. But now she was slick, her little red panties damp and warm.

  And they hadn’t even gotten out the door yet.

  Knowing she’d be tied to the bed for wild weasel sex when they got home would be tantalizing. They’d already proven through several of Dan’s previous Ideas that she loved being t
ied down, and she had an active imagination. But the subtle reminder at her wrists was going to make her crazy long before she got home.

  Dan ran his index finger along her jawline and down the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. Jessie shivered. The finger continued its journey, tracing along her collarbone to the hollow of her throat and from there dipping down toward her cleavage.

  Dan’s touch made the silk on her wrists snugger—dangerous somehow, but in a good way. She couldn’t help imagining her wrists bound together over her head and attached to the bed frame as Dan lightly, teasingly, caressed her. Before his finger reached below the V-neck of her shirt, Jessie was breathing raggedly. She arched her back like a cat, seeking more contact.

  Dan grinned. “It’s already working,” he said, his voice smug.

  “No, not really.” She couldn’t help playing with him when he sounded so damn pleased with himself. “That just felt nice. You know my collarbone’s sensitive, and it’s always sexy when you do the teasing-at-the-neckline thing.”

  “Right,” he said. “Sure.” Then, without warning, he cupped his hand between her legs. “Very warm. Warm and a little damp.”

  She pressed forward into his hand. “Okay, Okay, it’s affecting me. I’m already horny and if you keep teasing me like that, I’m going to tackle you right here in the living room and we’ll never make it out the door.”

  He pulled his hand away. “And miss half-price tapas at Alicante? Steve and Mary said the Groupon was expiring, so it’s now or never.”

  She tried one more tactic. “Alicante’s good, but you could make better tapas at home.”

  “If we had the ingredients, and about a week to plan, and a bunch of friends coming over to share them with, maybe. But tonight we’re going out.” He laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that stroked her clit as precisely as a finger. “And you’re going to be thinking about being tied to the bed, and my cock in you, the whole time.”

  Jessie was doomed. Lucky her.

  Dan wasn’t entirely correct. Distracted by catching up with their friends and eating tasty, garlicky tidbits, Jessie managed to push erotic images to the back of her mind for a few minutes at a stretch.

  Whenever she caught a glimpse of her wrists, though, she clenched as she imagined them straining above her head, bound to the headboard by the same scarves, or tied together behind her back. She’d flash to thoughts of what Dan might do to her when she was deliciously captive, or dream of being more firmly restrained, legs spread-eagled as well, so she’d feel open, vulnerable, helpless by choice and not wanting to be any other way.

  Jessie’s nipples would perk, her clit would start to ache, her pussy would throb.

  And then Steve would pass the cerdo Ximenez or Mary would ask her to pass the gambas al ajillo or the flavor of the chorizos diablillos borrachos would explode all over her tongue, or someone would start telling a funny story, and she’d forget, for a minute or two, about what was to come.

  Just when she thought she was safe, as they were all busily talking about what might be in a particular sauce, Dan ran his fingernail, delicately, gently, along the edge of the silk band on her left wrist.

  Her wrists weren’t normally an erogenous zone, but they lit up at his touch. She swore she felt little tongues of delicious, erotic fire licking where he touched, then the same tiny tongues laving her nipples and circling her clit. The light silk felt, suddenly, like heavy leather cuffs, or at least how she imagined they’d feel. Maybe even polished stainless steel ones, something straight from some of her kinkier fantasies.

  The innocent necklace she wore, a BELIEVE IN MAGIC pendant on a light silver chain, morphed in her mind into a steel collar. She imagined herself a helpless but happy slave, on display in public because it amused her master.

  And god help her, her panties flooded.

  “Earth to Jessie. Come in, Jessie,” Mary teased. “Or Dan? Would one of you stop being all lovey-dovey and pass me the sangria?”

  While Jessie passed on the half-full pitcher, Dan kept stroking her wrist. Jessie hoped that any blushing could be passed off as mild embarrassment at being a space muffin.

  When Steve asked, “You guys up for trying a few more tapas? Half-price, remember,” Jessie answered, “I’m all set” at the same time Dan chimed in with a yes that, to Jessie’s ears, sounded a little too enthusiastic. Suspiciously enthusiastic. Teasingly enthusiastic.

  At least he turned down Mary’s suggestion to continue the evening with cocktails at their place.

  Dan stroked her wrist all the way back to the car.

  “Hold out your hands,” he said once she was buckled in.

  No; he commanded.

  Jessie wasn’t used to hearing that tone in his voice, for all their games, all Dan’s sexy Ideas. Right now, the silk and steel in his voice made her all the more aware of the symbolic silken bonds on her wrists. She obeyed, picturing again the sexy slave girl of her fantasies.

  Deftly, Dan untucked the ends of the two scarves. As he knotted them together, binding her hands in her lap, she held her breath. Her body throbbed with need.

  “Now you’re my prisoner,” Dan whispered. “All night long.”

  She clenched and shuddered with hot, helpless pleasure, almost but not quite an orgasm. So close to release… She raised her hips, curving her pelvis up, and opened her legs. “Please touch me.” Her voice sounded alien, throaty and needy.

  Dan shook his head. “Not yet. Not until I get you home.” Holding her bound wrists, he kissed her on the forehead. That soft, almost chaste caress provoked another fiery wave, another near-orgasm.

  The drive home took only fifteen minutes, but for Jessie it might have been fifteen seconds or fifteen hours. She stared at her hands, squirmed against the colorful fabric connecting them, not to free herself but to be sure she couldn’t. The quick tie allowed play between her hands—she thought she could loosen the knot if she had to—but she wasn’t going anywhere without an effort she didn’t want to make. Soft, sensuous, secure, the scarves held not just her hands but her whole body and some portion of her soul.

  When they reached the condo building, Jessie assumed Dan would untie her hands until they were safely inside. Instead, he left her to cross the parking lot and go into their townhouse with her hands tied in front of her. She couldn’t help imagining someone running into them in the parking lot: Jan Feldman the librarian, or the retired minister from 6B, or better/worse yet, the hot young black guy, the new basketball coach at the college, who’d moved in next door a few months ago. No one was around, as it turned out, but the thought of being caught in bondage turned her on so much she was staggering by the time they got in the door.

  Dan placed her hands on his crotch. Hot, hard, straining against his jeans, his cock seemed as captive as her hands. “You’re not the only one,” he said. “I’ve been like this on and off all night. I feel like a teenager.”

  “But unlike a teenager, you know what to do with that hard-on.”

  “Yeah. I do. Bedroom, now.”

  He didn’t need to say it twice.

  As he untied the knot that fastened her hands together, Dan’s hands seemed more awkward than they had before, as if arousal was making him clumsy. Jessie moved to undress, but Dan shook his head. “Let me.” His voice was deeper and harsher than usual—more erotic, even though she loved his normal voice.

  She could definitely get used to this, at least in the bedroom. Impatient, though, she was glad she’d opted for a simple T-shirt and skirt, and a front-clasp bra, making the whole process faster.

  Wearing only her drenched panties, she lay down on the bed. Her breathing was irregular and she couldn’t seem to control it. Her heart was racing and that fast pulse beat in her clit as Dan drew her panties over her hips and down her legs. She opened her legs, begging with her body because she couldn’t seem to form words. “Not yet,” Dan soothed.

  No, of course not yet, not until he tied her hands to the brass headboard.

  The scarve
s weren’t long. She doubted he could make a completely secure knot. But once Jessie’s hands were stretched over her head and tied, she felt as effectively immobilized as if he’d locked her in place with steel. Steel: there was that image again, of steel cuffs and a steel collar.

  Language seemed far away, but Jessie made herself speak. “I keep imagining metal cuffs and a collar. And maybe a spreader bar or something, like we saw on that website.”

  Dan’s laugh came from his cock. “Hot image, but I like knowing I get us both to this state without anything that fancy. Spread your legs, Jessie. I don’t feel like looking for more scarves, so I want you to imagine I’ve tied your ankles to the bedposts. Don’t move until I tell you to.” Her legs were already open. How could they not be, excited as she was, hot as she was for Dan’s touch, his tongue, his cock? She spread them wider and imagined them forced open, locked in place, soft, body-warmed silk on her ankles or even cold steel. “You just got wetter,” Dan said, and she nodded. He ran two fingers over her slick, swollen lips, making her mewl with need, then brought them to her mouth.

  She sucked eagerly, tasting herself, imagining Dan’s cock in her mouth, basted with her juices. From the noises Dan was making, he was imagining the same thing.

  When he withdrew his fingers, long after they were clean, she raised her head, trying to follow, but she could only go so far with her hands tied to the bed frame, her legs free, but effectively bound. Dan chuckled.

  Then he began to strip, slowly and teasingly.

  Jessie always appreciated Dan’s body, but now, unable to touch, she looked at him in a new way, seeing the play of muscles under his skin, the dusky color of his tight nipples, the faded scar on his thigh from a childhood mishap, the slight curve to his straining cock and the way it rose so strongly out of its nest of pubic hair.

  Unable to move more, she undulated on the bed. A noise came out of her throat, halfway between a purr and a growl. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this turned on, this needy—and Dan wasn’t even touching her, except through the silk ties on her wrists. She clenched and unclenched her fists, wanting to beg but unable to remember how.