Bound and Bonded

by Kyoko Church

  When he was done, he stood back and looked at me. ‘I said you are to sit here, quietly, and think. Hollerin’ doesn’t help you think, it helps you not think.’

  With that sentiment, he left again.

  * * *

  I imagined him going down the back driveway to his house, getting ready for bed, taking off his clothes, maybe even sliding that massive body of his in between the cool sheets completely naked. Maybe he’d turn over onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling but seeing other things. Maybe he would cup his balls, feel the skin tighten up and pull back, feel the stirrings of need. Without rushing he’d take his cock in his hand, draw his palm over it, up and down and around it, and sigh into the quiet of his bedroom. He’d jerk off in the night, undoubtedly pushed to the brink in minutes, knowing he had a girl tied up in the barn down the way, waiting, suffering his order to sit and think. And he would consider all the things he could do to me, knowing I was at the mercy of whatever it was that had developed between us, knowing I would give in to all of it.

  I conveniently ignored the truth that he didn’t want the control over me – he wanted me to hand it over, to be completely conscious of my acquiescence to him, to embrace it. Sitting there in the dark, I pushed any thought of that away. I accepted that I was seduced by him. But I still hadn’t accepted whether or not I wanted to be. I managed hours of torturing sexual fantasy about him, without once asking myself why I was really tied up in his barn.

  Hours later, he came in quietly. My eyes adjusted to the lights, revealing his imposing form over me, jaw set as sternly as it had been when he’d left. Without a word he unbuttoned his pants. The outline of his rigid cock in the glaring light was utterly divine. He took it in his hand right there in front of me and began stroking it. For a few seconds I was caught in the pull of his gaze while he not only looked at me but saw me too, until I felt a burn of submissive humiliation begin to pulse through my veins. He knew every one of the dirty fantasies I’d had, as sure as if I’d said them out loud.

  His hand quickened, drawing my attention. I felt so strong a need to suck his cock, I could have cried.

  ‘Have you decided?’ he asked.

  My mind was a mess, even as I tried to reason an answer to his question. Had I? It was hard to think with that noise – the fleshy noise his hand made as it flapped over his cock right in front of my face – echoing in my head over and over.

  ‘Have you, Gail?’ There was an urgency.

  I felt a huge pit opening in my stomach, the fear swimming round and round. I shook my head; I couldn’t decide. His features were a mixed battle of arousal and growing disappointment. He took some steps back and rested against the stall door as he jerked himself off furiously. His withdrawal from me made me feel twice as consumed, and I whimpered at him a little through the makeshift gag.

  ‘What a shame.’

  His eyes turned to slits as he neared his end, narrowed but locked on mine just the same. Shame, shame, shame, they said. He didn’t tear his glare away from me for a second, not one second. No matter how desperate his need for release grew, he showed the desire to me openly and without a straw of hesitation. What a shame.

  And then I found my way past it. I nodded hard, saying, ‘Yes, yes, yes’ through the bandana that had dried my tongue out. I wanted the shame, I wanted the cowboy to shame me, or I’d suffer a deeper, more painful sort of shame, the kind that wasn’t nearly as pleasant. I desperately tilted the chair, thinking maybe I could hop over there before time ran out. I wanted his come in my mouth, over my face, mucking up my hair, more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

  Mr Barrett must have been convinced, because he ripped the bandana off me, aimed his cock at my face and split open the night with a roar of orgasm that scared the horses. It was so intensely erotic that I felt my clit surge. Any stimulation to it would have set off my own climax, but I couldn’t worry about that right away, because I was too busy sucking on his cock, slurping up the last remains of his release.

  ‘That a girl,’ he whispered, taking my head in his hands and gently urging his spent cock to the back of my throat, deeper, deeper, deeper. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

  OOPS!

  Flora Dain

  Like it’s in slow motion, I watch spellbound as the tall porcelain cup tilts on my tray, slips over sideways and sends a warm gush of coffee all down his gleaming white shirt-front. It soaks his flies and spatters the financial journal he’s reading.

  This is a whipping offence.

  ‘Oops!’ I lean forward with a playful grin and flutter my eyelashes. My breasts, all size-40-double-D-worth, bulge temptingly over the rim of saucy white lace and brush his cheek as I bend over to mop up the mess.

  I’m wearing my newest French maid’s costume, the one with the cutaway front and the frilly apron that stops just short of my stocking tops and flutters away from my pink, exposed slit at the slightest movement.

  ‘Accidents will happen,’ I giggle and dab at his flies with a teeny hanky, clearly inadequate.

  Another offence – a caning? ‘Shall I get another cup, sir?’

  He glances up.

  Aha! A reaction. But not the one I expect.

  Instead of a glint of fury or an explosion of temper he simply picks up a notepad and writes very clearly the number 8.

  Oh, no. Not again. My heart sinks.

  ‘OK.’ He sighs and carries on reading.

  He doesn’t even look at me. And I’ve made a real effort tonight – full make-up, pouty expression, highest heels, tightest basque under my naughtiest maid’s uniform – and he’s barely noticed.

  I finish dabbing, lingering a little over his flies in a suggestive sort of way, and brush his face with my breasts again. But he stares absently at the notepad and taps his pen against his chin as if I’m not even in the room.

  I bend over his lap to reach the cup, now lying on the carpet. An ugly brown stain has soaked the fluffy white pile. I pose gracefully over his knees with my bottom high up almost under his nose and wait.

  Nothing happens. I ease myself upright, summon what’s left of my shredded dignity and flounce off to the kitchen to make another cup.

  When I glance back he’s looking thoughtfully at the mess on the carpet. He writes another number on the pad.

  Grr. This is serious.

  It’s been going on a while now. I’m a nervous wreck.

  I’ve never seen him like this before.

  I don’t know what to do.

  * * *

  We’ve been together nearly a year and we’ve fallen into a pretty regular routine, like any couple, I guess, except that for us it’s a little more so. My partner is also my Dom.

  I still come up in goose bumps when I think how we met.

  I’d been playing around in some chat rooms before an evening out with some friends. He was sitting on the next table and quite by chance I’d brushed against him and automatically said, ‘Sorry’ before I realised who he was.

  One of the senior partners. He was with friends too.

  He looked up for an instant. He’s really, really attractive – sort of tallish and distinguished looking.

  I thought it would be years before we met – I’d only started that week as an office junior. And here he was, just inches away. The rest of the evening went by in a daze, until I got home and fired up my computer to check my email.

  Suddenly this message popped up with my name on it – ‘Cally?’

  Who was this? I typed ‘Hi’ back and then ‘It’s very late. Have you been having a good time?’

  Instantly the reply came back. ‘I’d be having a better one with you over my knee, Calliope.’

  He – or she – knew my real name.

  I stared. Who was this?

  Without stopping to think about the risk I was taking – that’s how hyped up I was – I typed right back, ‘Wow. Do I know you?’

  Instantly a message ribboned across the screen. ‘Not as well as you should. Shall we meet
?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Come back to the Club and I’ll tell you.’

  So it was somebody there. They’d seen me.

  And they wanted to spank me.

  Wow. I mean, how could I resist? I hightailed it back to the Club, thinking it would be a waste of time. All my friends had gone home. How could I even walk in there on my own? It would look so – brazen.

  Just then a man moved out of the shadows. And it was him – the sexy senior partner. My legs turned to jelly while he stood there like he’d stepped out of a movie poster.

  He reached out a finger and drew it lightly across my cheek. ‘You’re very punctual, Calliope. I like that.’

  Pow. I melted. From that second I was his, utterly and completely. But I did my best to seem unconcerned, knowing all the while that whatever he was going to ask me to do, I’d do, and fast.

  Probably twice.

  We went back into the Club and he ordered champagne. He talked to me quietly, his hand moving gently along my thigh. I could hardly keep still, I was so excited. He knew my name from my application form. When I looked surprised he murmured that all staff emails and online Internet searches are monitored and he’d found my search history very, very interesting.

  My face burned as I recalled some of the hot bondage sites I’d looked at on my first day. The firm’s Internet access is – how shall I put this? – very sophisticated. He even knew my passwords.

  And come to think of it, every time I’d passed him in the corridor I’d blushed. Maybe he’d noticed that too.

  After a while he took me back to his apartment. And before long I was over his knee, and I was getting the most severe spanking I’d ever had in my life, and when he’d done and I’d slithered to the floor emotionally exhausted from all the crying and laughing and wriggling about, he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth.

  He kissed me like he was starving, a deep, full invasion, tongue to tongue, like he’d never tasted anything so good in his life. When he finally let me breathe he smiled down into my eyes and I melted all over again.

  ‘We’re going to be terrific together, Calliope. You’re delicious.’

  * * *

  Needless to say, spanking wasn’t all he wanted. After that first night, when he tied me to the bed and took me every which way and then some, we settled into a kind of routine. It soon became clear exactly what he liked.

  He’s very strict. What he likes is instant obedience. And if he doesn’t get it he gets angry, period. And when he’s angry … wow.

  The first time it happened was our first morning. I’d tumbled out of bed, all tousled and bleary and a bit stiff from all the tying up, found the kitchen and made us both a cup of coffee. While it was brewing I’d sashayed round the kitchen, humming a little, dressed in his last-night’s shirt I’d scooped up off the floor and admiring myself in the glossy surface of the cooker.

  I looked pretty good, all wild hair and big eyes and wide, come-and-fuck-me-again smile.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  I jumped about a foot, spun round and knocked over one of the cups. It smashed on the granite worktop and coffee ran all down the pristine white laminate doors to the spotless white floor and oozed into a brown, tarry puddle.

  He was leaning in the doorway watching and he looked gorgeous, all biceps, broad chest and mussed-up hair, like he’d just fought off a lion in the Colosseum.

  I grinned back, feeling playful. ‘What does it look like? I’m making coffee. And, um, spilling it.’

  His face seemed to darken like thunder in the distance. ‘Did you do that on purpose, Calliope?’

  Whoa. He said it so softly I stared at him. A sort of smile was making the corner of his lips twitch, and his eyes were gleaming again, with a kind of weird glow that sent a surge of electricity straight through me.

  I licked my lips and eyed him from under my lashes. ‘Yes.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Good.’

  Just that.

  He walked into the kitchen, peeled his shirt off my back like it was a banana skin and fell on my mouth, hungry all over again, running his hands all over me, into places he’d explored in other ways and very energetically last night. And all the while his erection was beating its own rhythm against my belly like it would burn me up.

  But instead of making me kneel in front of him there and then and take him in my mouth he pulled away with a groan and led me past the bedroom, past the living area, and opened a door in another part of the apartment I’d not seen before.

  ‘This is my office. I do a lot of work here.’ He tilted an eyebrow towards a desk, a computer and a fax machine at one side of the room. ‘But the business end is over there.’

  The other end was straight out of a porno, with a state-of-the-art spanking bench, rails, posts and a trapeze. The rails held whips, paddles, two or three riding crops, floggers and a selection of scary masks.

  I stood very still, taking it all in, and when I finally dragged my eyes back up to his face I saw he was eaten up with excitement. His eyes positively danced.

  ‘When you make mistakes you’ll come in here and we’ll do something about them. Do you understand?’

  I breathed out very slowly, not realising until that second how long I’d been holding my breath. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He smiled then, a grin of pure, animal satisfaction. He took my face in his hand and tilted up my chin, gave me a long, searching look and then touched his lips very lightly to my forehead. ‘You have to want to improve, or there’s no point. So you have to want to come here. Nothing happens in here unless you consent.’

  I was already throbbing, moisture gathering between my legs. He sounded so damned hot.

  The sight of all this stuff, and the thought of what this gorgeous man did in here, was overwhelming. I’d dreamed about it, I’d seen pictures of it, I’d read it in stories – but this was real. He really did this – and he wanted to do it to me.

  ‘Are you – we – going to do it now?’

  ‘Not unless you want to. If you do, I’ll punish you now for spilling the coffee and you can see what it feels like. If not, I’ll draw up a contract first and we’ll talk about what you want and don’t want and we’ll go from there. Which would you like to do?’

  I drew my tongue along my bottom lip and saw his jaw tense.

  Was it me affecting him so much, or just being in this room? It was certainly having a startling effect on me.

  Deep between my legs I felt like I was on fire. It was a crucial moment. A lot of things hung in the balance here.

  I chose my words with care. ‘I think – I’d like to taste what you do. And if I don’t like it I’ll leave.’

  His eyes widened, like I’d surprised him.

  Did I sound assertive? Did his girlfriends never question this setup?

  ‘Leave? What, for good?’

  I held his gaze. ‘For good.’

  He looked thoughtful for a moment as if the idea of me leaving had never in a million years occurred to him. That threw me a little.

  This was still a one-off, surely? What did he expect?

  ‘Fair enough.’ He led me over to the bench and within two minutes I was securely strapped down, wrists and ankles cuffed to the floor, legs wide, ass in the air.

  As he worked he became remote, absorbed, and when he spoke it was from somewhere else, like a voice-over on TV. He almost quivered with excitement. From where I was lying, I could see he was very erect.

  He caught the direction of my glance and grinned. ‘You’ll get up close and personal afterwards. First, to business. You’ll get six strokes of the belt and you’ll accept them in silence. If you cry out you’ll get six more. Understood?’

  ‘Don’t I have a safeword or something?’

  He stood next to me, his erection looming in my face. Then he turned away and I heard the rail on the wall clatter a little as he selected one of the items hanging from it. There was a faint swishing sound, the hiss of leather.
He drew it through his fingers and then trailed the end of it along my back towards my splayed ass.

  I writhed like a cat. The touch was so sinuous, so gentle.

  So unexpected.

  ‘We’ll discuss etiquette and permissions and limits when we go through your contract. For now you can use the word “finish” and I will stop. Got that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I felt a snap on my left buttock as the end of the strap made contact. It stung like mad, and it occurred to me that I was still tender from last night’s spanking.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  Too late now.

  ‘Yes what?’ He was waiting, standing over me with the strap in his hand, and he wanted me to say something.

  My mind raced. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That’s better.’

  He gave me six strokes. I gasped and bucked, desperate not to cry out and earn another six. By the fourth I felt sweat dripping off my jaw from the effort of clenching my teeth, but I did manage it.

  When he’d finished he leaned over and put his face close to mine, all concern. ‘Now you know. So tell me, are you leaving?’

  I was still gasping for breath. I felt like a chicken trussed and ready for the oven and my backside felt like I’d already been roasted, and so did somewhere else. The blows had been harsh, the pain much, much worse than a sting, for sure, but each one had fired something else, something very, very exciting.

  I was aroused.

  ‘No, sir.’

  For a long minute all I could hear was his jagged breathing, as if he’d just run a race, and then he leaned over and kissed me on the back of the neck. His lips felt hot and wet – and so did I.

  ‘Good. Now I want you to thank me.’

  He stood in front of me, legs astride and instantly I knew what I had to do. As I took him in my mouth I wondered if I’d manage him. All the night before I’d marvelled at his size as he’d plunged inside me, over and over.

  But now, as I opened my throat to take him deep, I knew that I wanted very much to do this right.