Bound and Bonded

by Kyoko Church

  In his absence I should have been panicky and perhaps outraged, although I didn’t then know of his slight. Instead I was like an inferno. The longer I had to think about what he could do to me on his return, the hotter I got. The more I imagined his cock coming out of his trousers and sliding into me, the more I writhed and wriggled and yearned to sate the burn in my clit. The longer I realised I was there at his mercy – at the mercy of anyone who should walk in – the more it turned me on. I was raging with the shame, squirming from the vulnerability of my position, but getting ever more excited as the minutes ticked by. His absence was a beautiful torture and in truth at least half of me was hoping he would stay away and let my thoughts and passion build.

  In the end it was Madeleine who came to me. I was in such a mess by then I couldn’t even speak. I didn’t actually need to; she could see the state my bonds had put me in. She didn’t free me immediately. Instead she freed my bra and sucked upon each stiff nipple in turn, those touches alone almost enough to drive me over the edge. Then she went down, licking first above my knickers before sliding them aside to get at my bare wetness. Her fingers slipped in me, her hot mouth closed over my clit, and I came. The orgasm was colossal. It was life-changing.

  When she came up again she kissed me softly. She nibbled at my neck and ear as she dragged her skirt up and her panties down. I bent my knees up and dug my heels into her bottom to try and make her grind against me. I could already feel another rise of desire coming on. She whispered in my ear, asking if it was the ties that made me come so hard. I said yes, and prayed she would not free me too soon. She showed me that it was only a single knot, which I could have untied at any time. I was so relieved I hadn’t known this. She asked if she was the first person to ever make me come. I could barely manage a nod, because she was already squashing her soft cunt to my own.

  ‘Then you are mine now,’ she said, and I was.

  * * *

  For three years this has remained so. You might think our arrangement strange but I am a slave to her and what she does to me. She has never actually told me I couldn’t see other people but I just take it that I shouldn’t. I am not her girlfriend, merely one of the many males and females that make up her bevy of playthings. There are no flowers or secret kisses or nights cuddled up together reading the same book. We don’t share each other’s lives much outside of sex. She’s not even a ‘Mistress’ – not in the sense of one who dominates another’s every move and takes pleasure from their abjection. She just lets me know when she is free to be seen and I go, ever willingly. In the meantime I exist completely without her and still quash my rude thoughts in the same unsatisfactory manner.

  She understands my need absolutely. She loves to see just how much of a bubbling, burbling mess she can bring me too. She thrives on depriving me because she revels in the state I get in. The longer she keeps me like this, the more she knows my dirty thoughts are building, and the more hers do too. She loves to dream up new methods to get me squirming. In that sense she adores her control over me, the fact that she can just lie there whispering rude things in my ear as I writhe and beg and practically scream in my need to be made to come.

  She hasn’t ever felt the urge to whip or cane me. She uses no instruments upon me other than her extensive range of vibrators. She doesn’t slap me or spatter me or force me to kiss her feet. I am not compelled or even asked to commit degrading acts for her benefit. God knows she tells me of all the humiliations she will heap upon my person, but she doesn’t act upon her threats. In my head, sometimes even out loud, I beg her to do these things to me, but she just smiles and keeps me bound, and keeps me ever raging.

  In essence all I have to do is turn up, let her tie or cuff my wrists and then lie back while she goes to work. She barely even needs to touch me. Just that simple act of restriction makes all the world of difference. She draws pleasures and emotions from me that I cannot quantify. I feel safe and bold and brilliantly alive. It still seems so strange to me that organisms as massively complex and developed as humans can be rendered useless and vulnerable so simply. She need only tie my wrists to her headboard or secure them behind my back and I am completely at her mercy.

  The first time she tied me was with the soft cotton belt from her dressing gown. She met me at a coffeehouse first and had me tell her all my wanky secrets, which I did without much cajoling. In return she told me what she liked most: fucking with nasty boys; fucking with pretty girls; teasing; talking dirty; watching girls come; making girls come; me. She was so gorgeous and funny, so comfortable with the subject of sex, it just eliminated all barriers. I felt no trepidation. I just wanted to have her recreate that first time she came to me.

  I lay down on her bed still clothed and offered up my wrists without question. It was, after all, for my benefit. She fastened them individually, looping the material around the back of her iron headboard so that I couldn’t touch myself. She said she would never tie my ankles because she loved to watch me wriggle and squeeze my thighs together in my horny frustration. I never once asked her what she planned to do to me once tied. I trusted her implicitly.

  She didn’t even touch me for the first half hour. She just stayed beside me, poring over photos of erections in a dirty magazine, showing them to me, talking excitedly about how they would feel in her hand, in her mouth, deep up her pussy or her bottom. Her eyes shone when she spoke of them. She was so in love with cocks I couldn’t believe she could sacrifice even a minute of her time with me when she could have had any cock in town at the click of her fingers. Her hunger for them was so palpable I could almost taste one – something I had yet to do in reality. She stripped until she was fabulously naked beside me and masturbated while she talked of pricks and of being fucked by them. I just had to lie there and listen and watch and imagine.

  She let herself come before she stripped me of my jeans and knickers. She got on top of me. She kissed me just once, to remind me how wonderful it was that first time. She didn’t grind or press. She just stayed still, whispering in my ear, talking specifically of Pierson’s beautiful prick, of the treat that had so nearly been my birthday present. This would be her favourite topic over the months and years, the thing she knew got me most het up, and it never failed. I never once felt jealous that she knew Pierson’s prick so well, I simply felt ecstatic to hear all about it, to let me picture it one more time.

  I tried to buck up against her but she just lifted her hips and resisted all but a light contact between our bare quims. She told me how Pierson loved to be in control, how tying people up gave him that control. For him it was all about mastery. He adored making girls do rude things for him. If a girl refused him anything he would be onto the next one in a second. Madeleine quietly, unhurriedly told me of the time she first made out with him. She had that gorgeous erect cock in her hand and she said to him,

  ‘I expect you want me to suck this for you?’

  ‘You are not going to get that in your mouth,’ he had answered with calm self-assurance, ‘until you bend over and show me your anus.’

  That was the very word he used, and what a filthy one it is. She said she knew in that instant they would be the best of fuck-buddies. She said it was probably the rudest thing she had ever heard. It was definitely the rudest thing I had ever heard. It made me quake. It made the thoughts pour through my head and the blood fizz in my veins. Imagine a guy actually saying such a thing to you! Imagine having to do it! With that in my head, after maybe an hour of being tied up, she shuffled down upon me, grasped the flesh of my hood between thumb and forefinger, and squeezed it hard to trap my little bud. It instantly gave me another enormous climax to match my birthday gift. That was all it took: mere seconds of concerted attention at my most sensitive place.

  In essence it was a whole hour of foreplay but the actual physical stimulation was minimal. It was all down to her being so beautiful and free with her sexuality, to her rude words and the images they produced. To show how turned on she had got me she used her finge
rs inside me and made me come again before the last climax had even died down. That would be the blueprint for all our couplings for a while. I yearned for every next visit. It would be embellished over time. Her words would get ruder – things I cannot begin to tell you about. The dirtier she got, the more it turned me on, the harder I came – when she finally allowed me to do so. It never took more than a single hard pinch, or a few sucks, to have me howling.

  Oftentimes she would masturbate right above my face, so the droplets of her lovely cream would splash my lips and cheeks. She would tell me about all the filthy acts she had committed with her boyfriends and girlfriends, of the threesomes and orgies she had instigated. Porn stars would have blushed at her antics. In my head I had done a million disgusting things, stuff so rude I could barely think about it unless my pussy was hot and naked – and if it wasn’t, it certainly would be, the second such thoughts arose. That beautiful girl whispered things to me that you would not hear on any internet site, sometimes while kissing me tenderly, or gently nibbling my earlobes or my engorged nipples, sometimes whilst blowing on my hot, desperate clit. However, no matter how much she drove me to distraction with cock-hunger, I never resorted to getting one for myself. I left myself entirely in her hands.

  That is the thing, you see. In my head I was the most depraved of harlots but in reality I had barely seen a stiff prick in the flesh, let alone had one inside me. Between us, through her words and my insatiable imagination, we had committed acts so unspeakable that you might think we both needed locking up. Yet in truth I had licked and fingered one single beautiful, delicious pussy, no more. I had sucked one pair of wonderful soft tits. I had been gagged a few times – with my knickers, my tights and also with a shop-bought ball gag. I had had vibrators pressed to my clit or slid inside me. That was the true extent of my kinkiness, nothing compared with most girls I knew.

  My one true claim to kinkiness was that I had been tied. I had done bondage. Mainly it was to her headboard but it had also been to radiators and stair posts, to her oven door and, just once, to a railing on her balcony overlooking the city. One time she left me bound naked to her bed whilst a party raged downstairs. Before the guests arrived she had spent half an hour telling me who she was going to send up and what she was going to have them do to me. For over three hours I writhed around, awaiting a visit, with the pictures she had conjured in my head. She never sent anyone. When she finally came up she wordlessly slipped three fingers right up my dripping hole, sucked upon my little clit and made me scream. Then she untied me and sent me home. Ten minutes after she had walked back in I was dressed and going out the door, on legs that could barely hold me up.

  For my nineteenth birthday I was promised a treat. I thought I was finally going to get what I constantly dreamed of. She told me to show up in a bikini. She cuffed me behind my back and had me lie across the back seat of her car. She drove me around for ages in daylight, telling me she was going to find me some lovely cocks to suck. I remember my face was aflame, half from embarrassment at my state of undress if anyone should see me there, half from the heat of her dirty talk.

  She told me all about the truck drivers who stopped at the various lay-bys and how fat and hard their pricks were. She said the first time she had ever taken two hard cocks at once was in the very lay-by she was heading for. She didn’t let me have what I was inwardly begging for. She pulled up, sure enough, but she didn’t drag me out as I had hoped. Instead she just climbed in beside me and pressed a vibrator to my crotch, not even bothering to pull my bikini bottoms aside. I came so hard that day I wet myself. It would be another whole year before she finally relented and let me lose my virginity.

  So you see I am not the wanton fuck-bitch my head keeps telling me I am. I was tame by today’s standards, practically angelic. It is not what I did when I was tied up and restrained, but the potential of what could be done. Very little happens other than the fantasies Madeleine and I build together, but I promise you, the orgasms it gives me are earth-shattering and utterly addictive, all because I am bound. Even if I could cure my little wanky problem I would still wish to be restrained because of that naughty potential for anything to happen. Outside of my own fantasies I was practically chaste, certainly a vanilla girl in practice, although after the lay-by incident Madeleine did start to up the ante.

  A few weeks later she blindfolded me after tying my wrists. She left me in my underwear and told me Pierson was coming round. He never spoke so I don’t know if it was him. I do know that someone fucked my beautiful Madeleine right next to me. I could hear his grunts. I could hear his cock slapping against her soft bottom and wet flesh. All the while she told me what was happening, what the cock felt like inside her and how it would feel in me. I didn’t get it that time. Pierson left shortly after I heard him finish in Madeleine’s mouth.

  The next time I was summoned another visitor called – ‘a punk with a fat cock’, to use Madeleine’s words. I never saw this one either. He fucked her noisily and she gave me a commentary. This time she was above me on her hands and knees, whispering the words at my ear, her hand down the front of my knickers. This time I was given the cock to finish, and she talked me through it, telling me exactly what to do and how fabulous it looked in my mouth.

  Similar episodes followed over my next visits. I would be blindfolded and she would have sex beside me with anonymous men, or sometimes with girls armed with strap-on cocks. Sometimes she would chain me in the corner to the radiator, if she needed the whole bed for her filthy games. I would get myself all het up with wanting.

  ‘If it’s Pierson, please let him fuck me,’ I used to plead as they went about their noisy business. ‘Please let me have that beautiful cock.’

  ‘It isn’t Pierson,’ she would say, although sometimes I am sure that it was.

  On later visits I would be stripped during their games, to be naked for the benefit of the visitor I couldn’t see. I would beg to suck Pierson’s cock, and would occasionally have one stuffed in my mouth to gorge upon, only to be subsequently informed that it wasn’t his after all. I don’t know whose they were. Some would empty into my mouth, others onto my belly and breasts. I was obsessed with having him. I was clearly in love with her, but all my fantasies involved him, because of the things she said and did to me when I was tied and at her mercy.

  She promised me the ultimate treat for my twentieth birthday. I couldn’t wait. A hundred or more frustrating orgasms were wrenched from my body in the build-up to that visit. I knew what she was going to give to me. She tied me and blindfolded me and then stripped me bare.

  ‘Pierson is coming to fuck you,’ she said.

  I almost came just from her next kiss. This time there would be no jealous bitch to steal him away. I lay with my legs open and with her gently stroking me wet, and then I felt his weight upon the bed. He didn’t speak. He didn’t do anything to me except hold my legs apart as he pushed his way in. Two years after the promise was first made to me he slid inside me and fucked my virginity clean away, making me wail and shudder. I couldn’t even put my arms around him and hold him. In all honesty, to this day I cannot hand on heart say that it was him for sure who took my cherry, since I never actually saw him. It had to be him, though, because it was a beautiful, beautiful cock inside me that day, giving me perhaps the biggest climax of my life so far.

  In the last year since losing my virginity I have been entered a further ten times. Three times it has been by an unknown woman with a toy at her waist. The other seven times it has been Pierson, or so Madeleine says. Each time has been similarly wonderful although doubts have crept in. One time he was definitely bigger than the last. The grunts are different, the smells too. The power of his climax varies. If I could free my hands I could whip off the blindfold and be sure. It could be that he has never visited me even once, that eight different unidentified men have been inside me, including the one who took my virginity. I couldn’t see why Madeleine would lie to me, as she and he were such good friends and it wa
s something she could bring about. I got to thinking that after my eighteenth, when he saw me partially naked, he decided he wouldn’t make a return visit.

  So, when Madeleine decided to offer me anything I wanted for my twenty-first birthday, there really was only one option.

  ‘I want Pierson,’ I declared. ‘Just me and him, and without the blindfold for once.’

  ‘Why change?’ she asked. ‘You think the reality so much better than the fantasy? He has a very particular way with girls that you may not like. He doesn’t do the build-up or the dirty talk like I do. Perhaps you should let me pick your treat?’

  I stuck to my guns and so now, this very hour, I am to live my fantasy in full at last. It is still to be in Madeleine’s bed, not my own. She is still to prepare me, although she will leave straight after to give me the privacy I require. She holds me briefly because I am shaking with the anticipation. She asks me if I want to be tied. For the first time, if I choose, I can embrace a man while he is on me, hold him to me and feel his heart against mine. I can make love without restriction, take half the responsibility, impose myself, defend myself if need be. However, I refuse all this and tell her yes, I still want her to tie me.

  ‘It will be his way, not mine,’ she warns.

  I smile and say that is what I want. I have to know for sure, to see him and it with my own eyes. She looks a little disappointed but shrugs and sets to work. She oils me first, all over my naked body, saying it will prevent the bands from chafing. I don’t yet know what she means, but the thought of these bands keeps my heart racing. They prove to be thick belts in shiny PVC, fastened tight with a buckle. She secures one at my ankles first and then another just below my knees, then upwards, up to my shoulders, eight in all.

  My legs are squeezed together and I can feel the warm throb of excitement between my constricted thighs. My arms are tight by my sides, my hands flat against the outside of my legs. There is one right across my chest, squashing my breasts, practically stopping my racing heart from beating at all. It’s like when you are zipped into a sleeping bag, except this time I am naked and thus completely vulnerable between the bands. I can be got at. Suddenly I realise this is not about the potential for things to happen, but what actually will happen. My breath falters and I feel a cold sweep through my body.