by Kyoko Church
Confidence surged through her. She started the arm-binder by wrapping his body at armpit level, exhaling hotly against his neck as she dragged the hemp across his nipples on its way around his chest. She tied the starter knot the instructor showed, positioning it over his spine, but made sure to adjust the loop of rope several unnecessary times, just to scratch Jeremy’s nipples some more.
‘Oh, my God, you’re evil,’ he breathed. ‘What are you doing to me?’
‘Just what I like done to myself,’ she said sweetly, then yanked at the encircling loop to get his attention. ‘Now be quiet. You’re distracting me. Put your hands behind your back so I can get this sleeve going.’
Jeremy moaned a little as he obeyed. Rachel smiled to herself.
She followed the interlacing pattern that would bind his arms together behind his back, pleased to discover that the knots she had to tie matched the pattern she’d woven in her lap moments before – the only difference was that now they contained Jeremy. They came easily to her, as if she’d learned them long ago, and Rachel reflected that she must have picked up more than she thought at those previous conferences.
Having the technical aspect figured out for the moment, she could concentrate on enjoying him. Rachel copped feels of his back muscles as she wound a series of loops around his arms that would eventually stretch from armpits to wrists. She tugged hard as she tied, forcing his body to sway from one side to the other in a rhythm she determined, and providing her with plenty of opportunities to place a steadying hand over his cut abs or at the base of the bulge of his biceps. She stroked him as she worked and murmured encouragements – she’d always preferred her top to interact with her while he tied her.
Getting bolder, Rachel rested a hand on the firm curve of Jeremy’s ass while checking the tension of her most recent knot.
‘Oh, come on,’ Jeremy teased. ‘You’re not going to try to pretend you have to touch me there, too, are you?’
‘It is necessary,’ Rachel argued, laughing. ‘I have to make sure you don’t get bored.’
‘Believe me, I’m not bored.’ Jeremy gave a subtle thrust of his hips. Rachel rested her cheek against his biceps as she peered around him to look. Indeed, a thick bulge strained the front of his jeans. ‘I haven’t been this entertained in years,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you’ve never topped before?’
‘Beginner’s luck,’ she said. ‘Now, quiet, or I really will have to do something about the way you’re distracting me.’ She gave his ass a threatening promise of a squeeze, listening for the submissive sigh that let her know she’d got to him successfully.
She wanted to work her hand down the front of his jeans and feel that bulge, and had to forcibly remind herself they weren’t alone. She bit her lip. How bad could it be to do that at a kinky event? Couples all around her in the repurposed conference room were earning mock-serious glares from the instructor every time they burst into brief flurries of slapping or moaning.
Rachel had never been comfortable with losing control in front of a room full of people, but a wild sensation rose in her chest. How could she lose control? She had control right now – over gorgeous Jeremy as well as over what they would do together.
She could not resist the temptation of the idea. She glanced from right to left. Even with her teasing, she’d completed the tie much more efficiently than most of the other tops. With the exception of the tall top – who had begun an extended improvisation involving artfully arranged twists of paracord and the elegant brunette’s light brown nipples – they stared helplessly at tangled ropes, waiting for their turn to troubleshoot with the instructor. Their bottoms gazed with thinly veiled longing at the tall top.
The schoolteacher blonde had taken off her blouse and bra for the exercise, but her partner seemed oblivious to the sugared pink beauty of her bare nipples, cursing at the ropes snarled around her and tugging at them. The blonde rolled her eyes and shifted from one foot to the other.
Rachel imagined the splendid blonde also at her mercy, perhaps tied to keep those nipples pushed forward and available to Rachel’s mouth. Then she straightened with a shock. She wasn’t simply making an exception so she could get her hands on Jeremy’s muscular physique, or even enjoying the empowerment of her new-found skill with rope. Sometime in the last 25 minutes, she’d gotten truly and torrentially wet, because topping really turned her on.
She had never questioned her ex’s assumption that she would be the bottom, and she’d liked that enough to continue pursuing kink on her own. But no previous thrill compared to the high of a bottom hanging on her every gesture and longing for the strict touch of her hand. Rachel felt invincible, and ready for much more.
Rachel had caught Jeremy’s attention. Could she secure the blonde’s, too? A heady, reckless rush drove Rachel to catch her eye. She wound her right hand through the taut strands of rope holding Jeremy’s arms behind his back and gently pulled him off balance, forcing him to lean against her for support and displaying him to the other woman.
Rachel ran a tickling finger through the trail of hairs leading to the button at the top of Jeremy’s fly. He gasped and jerked, but she shushed him. ‘You certainly look strong. All these muscles.’ She licked the skin above his left trapezoid for emphasis. ‘Why don’t we find out how strong you are? Do you think you’re strong enough to hold absolutely still and not make any noise while I do something to you?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What are you afraid I’ll do?’ Rachel whispered, and slid her hand into his jeans, right where it wanted to go. His cock greeted her fingertips with a slick welcome of pre-come and a hard shaft ridged with veins. Rachel closed her fingers around it and nudged his foreskin up and down over his cockhead, very, very slowly.
Jeremy let out a broken moan and nearly lost his balance. Rachel stabilised him, holding the arm-binder tight and making sure he leaned steadily across her shoulder. ‘I would make you suck that,’ she mouthed to the blonde, nodding toward Jeremy’s groin. The other woman grinned and shook her body in an exaggerated tremor of arousal that confused her distracted top.
Rachel winked, feeling victorious, and returned her focus to Jeremy. Whatever games she played with the blonde, she didn’t want to short-change her current captive. Rachel slipped her hand out of his pants and hoisted him into a standing position. ‘I think I like seeing all that strength fail because of little old me,’ she told him. He rewarded her with an ardent glance over his shoulder.
She ran her fingers down the sides of his arms and torso, grinning at his ticklish jerks. He looked good in her purple rope, she decided. She liked the sight of his intense masculinity trapped within her very feminine cage.
‘How are you doing?’ she murmured, checking the points of contact between the rope and his arm.
‘Good,’ Jeremy said. ‘Really good. Thank you.’
Rachel rested her fingers in his palm. ‘Squeeze my hand,’ she said, testing his grip to make sure she hadn’t pinched a nerve when she tied him. He responded with strength. ‘Nice. Good job.’
‘Do you have plans for the rest of the event?’ Jeremy sighed.
‘I think so,’ Rachel said. Seeing the disappointed drop in his shoulders, she clarified. ‘I think they involve you.’
She grabbed a spare length of rope and dragged it across the web tied around Jeremy’s arms, making the entire lattice sing and buzz. The aching tremble of the rope passed into his body, then back through the rope and into her hands.
‘I want to touch you so bad,’ he said, punctuating the passion in his voice with a hard, visible swallow. ‘I want to reach inside that little black tank top of yours.’
‘That would be awful,’ Rachel said, leaning forward to rub her chest against the side of his arm. Her nipples were so hard she was sure he could feel the tips of them even through her shirt. ‘You see, I’m not wearing a bra.’
‘I know,’ Jeremy groaned. ‘And I bet you have redhead nipples.’
‘At least you’re
not asking me if the hair is natural.’ Amused as she was, Rachel refrained from investigating the specifics of ‘redhead nipples’. Instead, she gave the arm-binder another tug to remind Jeremy of her control. ‘This is why we have to keep you tied up,’ she said. ‘A boy like you won’t behave on his own.’
‘No,’ he agreed.
Rachel smiled and broke contact with him. The instructor was still working on his seemingly endless circuit of the room. He wouldn’t have time to teach another tie – she could use the remaining fifteen minutes of class to whet Jeremy’s appetite for things that might happen later.
Another scan of the room supported her assessment. The tall top and the brunette had absconded somewhere, probably to his hotel room, and many couples had given up on practising the arm-binder and were chatting softly with each other while toying with their ropes. Rachel considered following the tall top’s lead and taking Jeremy out of there, but noticed the blonde’s eyes on her again.
Rachel leaned forward and allowed her lips to brush Jeremy’s ear. ‘Do you see that blonde over there to the right? She has nice nipples, doesn’t she?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are they “blonde nipples?”’ she teased. She took another moment to admire the pale pink standing out against the bare blue-white skin of her breasts.
‘I think so,’ Jeremy said.
‘Do you know she’s been watching us this whole class?’
‘No. I was focused on what you were doing to me.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, Jeremy. I’m glad you could be so focused. You’re lucky, though, that I’m paying a little more attention.’ She jerked the ropes again. ‘I think maybe she wants to play with us. I was thinking about making a lunch date for the three of us, in my hotel room. Would you like that? Maybe I could tie the two of you together face to face and tell her to rub her blonde nipples all over this big chest of yours.’
‘Rachel, I cannot figure out how you never discovered your dominant streak until now.’
She kissed the back of his neck. They both shivered, and she squeezed his ass. ‘Maybe I needed the right bottom to motivate me to unleash myself.’
‘Oh, God. I may not be enough of a masochist for all those puns.’
Rachel snorted. ‘Fair enough. But tell me, Jeremy, do you want to invite her to play with us? In my room at lunchtime?’
‘Hell, yes.’
‘Then you’d better help me show her it’ll be worth it.’ Rachel punctuated her sentence by brushing her crotch across his bound hands. ‘Of course, you’re a gorgeous man. I want to tie you down and lick those washboard abs of yours until you can’t stand it any more. I’m just not sure that’ll be enough for her. She looks like she has high standards. I think you’d better show her you can do more than stand around looking pretty.’
‘I’m good with my tongue,’ Jeremy volunteered, and the associated flash of mental imagery broke the rolling dominant patter Rachel had managed to establish. She took a breath to steady herself, keeping him occupied by rubbing her crotch against his trapped fingers and plucking the taut loops that held him.
Rachel stood on her tiptoes to get as close to his ear as she could. ‘That’s nice to know for later, but at the moment I’m going to make myself come using your fingers. Right now. Right here.’
‘In front of everyone?’
‘In front of her.’ She pressed another kiss to the side of his neck.
‘Please do.’ Jeremy wasted no time helping her, wriggling his hands within their bindings to find an angle that allowed him to undo the top button of Rachel’s skinny jeans. She wiggled her hips to let him ease her zipper down, and gasped quietly when his fingers settled against the damp cloth of her underwear, barely separated from her clit.
Rachel braced herself with both hands on his rippling arm muscles. She liked feeling them struggle within the rope’s constraints, contracting and releasing with Jeremy’s effort to please her in spite of the bonds she had imposed.
‘Make your fingers as stiff as your cock,’ she whispered. ‘And hold them still.’
‘I wish you were rubbing against my cock right now.’
‘Do a good job, and we’ll see what happens.’
Rachel made eye contact with the blonde again, steering Jeremy to turn slightly to reveal the open flaps of fabric at the top of Rachel’s jeans. Kissing the indent of flesh where the rope pulled Jeremy’s shoulders together, Rachel leaned into him and embraced him. She knew the pleasure of being held and restrained like he was, but now she revelled in her discovery of how good it felt to hold him, to please herself using his body.
The blonde seemed riveted by the scene, staring openly. Rachel sighed and ground her hips against Jeremy’s bound hands, floating on a fantasy of tying them both into this arm-binder, then weaving the two sets of rope together so Jeremy and the blonde were trapped back to back. After that, she would make them kneel and grind her clit against their mouths, first one and then the other, until she got tired of coming. Then she would allow them to pleasure each other until she was ready for more.
Rachel gasped and bit Jeremy’s shoulder to silence her groan as she came. He grunted and absorbed her weight as she rested on him a moment, catching the last of her pleasure with rhythmic rubs against his hand.
‘You’ll get your turn, too,’ she promised, pulling back and slipping her hands quickly between their bodies to fix her jeans. She glanced at the clock. Two more minutes until the end of class, and she felt sure the blonde would be headed their way.
Jeremy twisted his body as much as the arm-binder allowed, looking back at Rachel. ‘So, have I converted you to a top?’ he asked. ‘Because, God, I hope so.’
Rachel pulled him into a quick but passionate kiss. ‘Let’s just say, I think the interlude we’re about to have with that blonde is only the first of our adventures.’
Getting Somewhere
Maxine Marsh
As long as I could remember, I’d always had a thing for the sight of a man in a hat and leather boots – the kind worn on a horse, that is, not on a bike. Something about the drawl in their voices and the dust in the air, the sun and the smell of farms coming in through an open car window, seduced me without fail. I felt at home in those places. So when I graduated college a year early, completely uninterested in pursuing a job related to my major, I typed up my meagre résumé and sent it out to five ranches that I’d seen were hiring hands for the summer. I had a little experience with equines in the short year my dad had been stationed in the Lone Star state. By some sort of luck I’d landed a menial position at Barrett’s Rehabilitation and Boarding, and found myself smack dab with two feet firmly on the ground in small-town Texas.
Excited to start out my life, I guess I had expectations about the type of men I’d find populating the place. Those expectations fizzled out when I discovered that the men my age here just weren’t any different from those I’d come across before. Not the quiet and tough, silently intimidating men I’d craved; no one that made me feel beside myself with longing. After a couple of months at my new job, I sank myself into my work, happy to be around the horses and the countryside, figuring that whatever it was I needed just wasn’t available.
After a few months, I forgot I was lonely. At least I thought I had. But that was before Mr Barrett, my boss, hit me.
He was making rounds in the middle of the afternoon when he came in and found me fiddling with a horsewhip. It was decorative, something left over from the real cowboy days, but the iron hook it had been mounted on had fallen off onto the floor of the barn.
‘Gail.’
Mr Marshall Barrett was an intimidating man. He was tall and broad as a bull, but had some age on him, sporting neatly trimmed silver-streaked hair that clashed with his black eyes, like a storm brewing. He always seemed to be evaluating me. He was one of those old-school ranchers – quiet and disciplined, traditional in his love of ranching, hardworking and expecting everyone else to be just the same way. Being raised by a military father
myself, I reacted to such expectation by doing my very best job, whether it was shovelling manure or dressing down the horses. Since I’d started at Mr Barrett’s ranch, I’d felt that familiar itching of wanting him to be pleased with me, an embarrassing tendency, but one I couldn’t much help.
‘Mr Barrett, this fell.’ I held the piece of iron, two loose screws and the attached whip out to him sheepishly.
He took it, then looked at the spot on the wall where it had been hanging. ‘The holes gave. I’ll find another spot for it,’ he said.
He pulled at the whip, but it wouldn’t come out of the little metal ring that the handle end had been set in. With those thick arms, which I could see bulging even underneath his long-sleeved work shirt, he pulled at it. The stubborn leather began to bend and loosen up as he applied more pull to the handle end just under the start of the whip strands. Suddenly, the whip came loose from its bond and Mr Barrett’s hand flew back with it, sending the strands of rawhide leather straight across my right cheek.
I gasped, took a step back and put a hand to my cheek. A wretched burning flared from my jaw to my temple and after a few seconds began throbbing.
‘Are you all right?’ Mr Barrett asked with only the barest concern in his voice.
I wasn’t sure I was, but like most people I answered on autopilot. ‘Yes.’ I was able to make myself take my hand off the burning line buzzing across my skin. I wanted to get on with things, flee from the embarrassing incident, but I couldn’t make my feet move.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said steadily.
I shrugged. ‘No big deal, it was an accident.’
Still, I couldn’t move. It was like my body had detached from my brain and was waiting for permission from him. How could it be that my body had interpreted the lash as some kind of command? My feet, my legs, the spot between them I refused to believe was involved in this coup, my torso, my breasts and the nipples aching against my bra, my arms and neck and head – all of it was standing at attention. For him. And I didn’t know why.