by Fulani
ADDICTED TO ROPE
FULANI
Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2011
ISBN 9781908262301
Copyright © Fulani 2011
The right of Fulani to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
* Winner of Jade Erotic Awards:
Erotic Fiction Publisher 2010 & 2011 *
* Winner ETO Best Erotic Book Brand 2010 & 2011 *
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Chapter One
It felt weird. Exotic. Slightly dangerous. It felt like a challenge. It put a tight knot of anticipation in the pit of Ruth’s stomach, because the little demon inside her that automatically rose to a challenge was bouncing around in there.
Challenges were good, though. They made her feel real, alive, fulfilled.
Ruth was used to casual sex in anonymous hotels. Experienced at it, even. She was single, and her personal life was on hold. Her job as a corporate trainer meant a lot of her time spent on the road. She was driven by ambition, relished the challenges of her work, was talented at what she did.
But she didn’t cope well with a lack of sex. Fucking, though, was easy enough. She just had to accept some boundaries on what was possible. Emotional closeness, a relationship: it wasn’t going to happen. Sex had to be instant gratification, the satisfaction of a bodily need and a mental hunger, because every encounter would be with a different guy.
She had rules: no sex with clients, no sex with the people she trained, no solitary hunting in pubs and clubs. Whatever hotel she was in was her hunting ground. The gym, the pool, the restaurant, the bar … And Ruth had become as talented at casual sex as she was at her job.
Tonight was a thin night. Just one guy sitting quietly at the bar, reading a book.
She ordered a white wine. He looked up briefly, and Ruth had the sudden sense his eyes not only stripped her mentally of clothing, but saw into her soul, her desires. And that it was nothing personal, but somehow a professional assessment.
She wished she’d brought a book with her as well.
He flashed her the cover.
‘Thomas Pynchon. He’s quite an experimental writer. You’re never quite sure if there’s even a plot. The language is brilliant, though.’
‘You’re a writer yourself, or an artist?’
She hoped he was. It would make him more interesting, because she’d never fucked an artist. Mostly these hotels were populated by salespeople, management consultants, engineers.
When he smiled she suddenly felt little-girlish, as though he was weighing her up.
‘An artist in rope, you could say.’
Ruth frowned, just a little, because she wasn’t sure she followed his meaning.
‘Sorry. An artist in …?’
‘Rope. Specifically, what I do is tie women up. And men, occasionally. For adult photographers, websites, video productions and so on.’
For once, Ruth was momentarily lost for words. Was he joking? Trying to offend? Trying to make her leave him alone?
‘Apart from that, I act in some of the videos as a dominant, make dungeon equipment, write erotica, stuff like that.’ He sounded almost apologetic. ‘I’m sorry if that shocks you, but I don’t hide what I do.’
Ruth took a deep breath, recovered her composure.
‘Well,’ she observed casually, ‘I guess the adult industry is one of the biggest retail sectors these days.’
She didn’t feel as composed as she sounded. She knew that porn existed, of course. There were several channels of it on pay-per-view right in her hotel room. And she knew about bondage, because a couple of times guys had asked if they could tie her up. They’d been amateurs, though, just using belts or neckties around her wrists.
Now, apparently, she was confronted by the real deal.
And didn’t quite know what to make of it.
‘So what is it you do?’
‘Oh. I’m a trainer. I run training courses for retail, customer services, call centres, that kind of thing.’
‘I imagine that keeps you busy.’
Her turn to smile. ‘Busy enough.’
They exchanged names. His was Leo. And despite his rather startling occupation, he seemed a gentle and genuine person. Her gut wasn’t giving her any warning signals about him. He’d driven quite a way, and in the morning he’d be delivering a cage to a production company on a nearby industrial estate. And then doing the bondage for a video shoot.
They talked about books, films, music. He seemed cultured. He asked what she did outside of work, and she had to think.
‘Well … nothing, really. I guess I’m very career focused.’
‘Everyone needs to do something for relaxation. And for excitement. Otherwise life can get boring.’ He smiled. ‘Even if it does involve a lot of tying women up. Me, I read, I study yoga, do some photography.’
‘Of tied-up women.’
‘Sometimes,’ he allowed with a slight incline of his head. ‘Also urban-industrial landscapes, flowers, whatever takes my fancy.’
‘So that means pictures of tied up women in urban landscapes with flowers in their hair?’ Ruth didn’t know why she was suddenly in a combative mood. She didn’t have to prove anything to him. And then it came to her: she was trying to needle him, test his mettle.
Leo looked at her with a sudden, special darkness in his eyes.
‘It strikes me you’re intrigued by the bondage thing. And if you don’t relax any other way – well, that would be a good way. May I demonstrate?’
Ruth laughed out loud.
‘You mean you happen to have some rope in your pocket?’ Said perhaps slightly too loud, too aggressively.
‘No. But if I may, I can prove my point with another technique.’
And right there, right then, a little piece of Ruth’s personality kicked in. She was being challenged. And any kind of challenge was a Ruth-magnet. It was how she’d become successful in her work. It was, though not relevant to the immediate situation, how she’d first experienced anal sex. And it was how she’d acquired her gut instincts of who would and wouldn’t be a safe and satisfying one-night-stand.
This guy? Leo was calm, relaxed, open. Confident, but not overbearing. Didn’t get annoyed at her needling. Was interested in her, clearly, but his tongue wasn’t hanging down to his knees and he wasn’t trying to feel under her skirt. He’d be a safe, if perhaps unusual, one-night-stand if she wanted it.
Ruth knew she was being driven by her little personal try-anything demon. She didn’t try to repress it. Instead, she consented to something that in almost any other circumstance would be unthinkable. She consented to be on her knees, in front of him, right there in the bar. He asked her to fold her hands behind her back. Pulled some coins from his pocket. One rested on her right forearm, behind her back. One on each shoulder. One on each thigh. He was very gentle, and she had no sense he was trying to grope her.
‘Normally when I do this, there’s a threat involved. Stay in exactly that position for ten minutes, and ten strokes with a cane for every coin that falls in that time. And of course I could use many more coins. But for now, the point is just to demonstrate that holding the positio
n requires you to still your thoughts, direct them inwards to your body, and relax. So there is no penalty if they fall. Unless you desire it.’
Surprisingly, he turned back to the bar and opened his book.
‘By the way, I’m now timing you.’
Within the first few seconds, Ruth had got the point. She did indeed become much more conscious of her body. Specifically, of the fact she was kneeling at his feet in a public place, her skirt hem almost indecently high on her thighs because of her position. Of the fact that she was relaxing, and breathing more slowly. And of the tingling sensation in her nipples and the distinct sense of juiciness between her legs.
She could move at any time. Say she understood what the technique was supposed to achieve and leave it at that. But something stubborn in her made her stay there. She wanted to see out the full ten minutes.
And then the rebel in her was telling her to shift position slightly, to allow a coin to drop. It wouldn’t result in ten strokes from a cane, of course, but she wanted to feel as if it would. She wanted the anticipation, the vulnerability.
This was a hotel bar. A public place. Anyone could walk in and see her, on her knees, in a submissive posture. That in itself set up all kinds of complicated feelings, gave her a rush of blood to the head.
The bar was slow that evening. No one else came in. Even the bartender seemed to have disappeared into a back room.
Just before she judged the ten-minute period was up, Ruth sensed an involuntary shiver in her right shoulder. And one coin dropped and rolled on the carpeted floor.
Leo turned to her.
‘You only have thirty seconds to go,’ he said accusingly. ‘You did that deliberately.’
She could only nod mutely in agreement.
Leo seemed amused.
He removed the other coins, helped her back onto her bar stool.
‘I hope it was instructive,’ he said. ‘I sense you may be more interested in what I do than you’re trying to show. So if you do want to be tied up, or indeed to receive the ten strokes, I’m an insomniac and will be awake for at least the next three hours.’ With that he flashed her the key card to his room. One zero six. Then he closed his book and wished her a good evening.
So: what was weird and exotic, what had put that knot in her belly, was how Ruth felt when she was back in her room. She’d half-expected he’d try to seduce her, she’d accept, and they’d have an hour or so of sex fun before she kicked him out of bed and got some sleep. Instead he’d intrigued her, then given her another proposition. If you feel adventurous, come to my room. Get tied up and caned.
The knot in her belly was about whether or not she had the nerve to make the short walk along the corridors and knock on his door. Whether or not she felt she could be that submissive. Whether she desired to be made helpless and vulnerable. She felt restless, unsettled, skin crawling with possibilities and potential.
She stripped, intending to climb into bed. Instead she found herself on the floor, on her knees, adopting the position he’d put her in with arms behind her back. Closed her eyes, felt the way the pose pulled her shoulders back and pushed her breasts out.
The only mirror was in the bathroom, above the sink. It wasn’t the right height or place to see herself in a kneeling position. Improvising, Ruth propped her mobile against the writing desk, used the camera function and set it to ten-second delay. It was the first time she’d photographed herself naked and she felt self-conscious. She examined the results critically, feeling like she’d done something transgressive. And surprised herself by liking the results – both the pictures and the way looking at them made her feel.
She pulled her vibrator from her bag, tried to use it while kneeling, still with one arm behind her back. It slipped inside her easily; her pussy had become ridiculously wet. The unfamiliar pose and the feelings it gave her were distracting, though. Instead she ended up taking more pictures of herself, on her knees, on all fours, holding her wrists to the camera.
What she focused on, when she looked at the pics, was her face. The concentration, the quiet but desperate need.
It was too late to phone him. No it wasn’t. Yes it was. She had to be up early.
Picked up the phone anyway and called his room number. First, though, she placed the vibrator inside her, on a slow throbbing speed.
He answered on the second ring.
‘So how are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Erm … distracted. Confused.’
‘Ah. Perhaps our meeting in the bar reached a part of your sexuality you haven’t properly explored before?’
‘Perhaps it did.’ The vibrator hummed quietly, a small projecting knob on it against her clit. The sound of his voice, the insistent pulse of the device, made her voice tremble.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
She found herself admitting she was using the sex toy. Didn’t know why. It wasn’t something she’d wanted to say. There seemed to be a pressure in her brain that forced the words out.
Leo just laughed. ‘The next thing is, you’re going to tell me you’re kneeling on the floor, in the same position I had you in the bar.’
‘How did you …?’ she blurted out. Then realised that was an admission of need.
‘Much as I’m happy to do phone sex with you, it might be better if you put a coat on and come down to my room?’
His words made her gasp softly. They took that knot in her belly and twisted it viciously, ruthlessly, until she moaned out loud. Nothing to do with the vibrator.
She wanted to say no. She wanted to pull back from the abyss. Instead, she rose to the challenge. She propelled herself right over the edge, felt herself falling. And liked the feeling.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
And put the phone down.
Chapter Two
Ruth had a vodka from the room’s mini-bar: something to stiffen her resolve. If she was really going to do this, she was going to do it properly. She touched up her make-up, brushed her hair. She had long, straight, dark hair, falling to the middle of her back and cut in a fringe at the front that gave her face a slightly punky, witchy look. Men sometimes told her it was her most striking feature.
She dithered over shoes. The regular work ones she’d been wearing in the bar? No. Her bag contained a pair of red high heels with ankle straps, the ones she privately called her fuck-me-now heels. She put them on.
And a small dab of perfume.
Clothes? She was already naked. Was that too risqué? Too slutty?
Come on, girl, she told herself. You’re going to his room to be tied up and fucked. You want it. Your pussy’s twitching and damp. You’re going to be naked with him anyway in ten minutes. Plus, he’ll be bowled over by the fact you had the guts to do it. So just do it.
Her favourite coat: a soft black leather trenchcoat, falling to mid-calf, with a wide belt. It had a satin lining. Cool on her naked skin, moving sensuously. How come she’d never worn it against her skin before?
In red high heels, wearing a long coat unbuttoned enough to prove she had nothing underneath it, she stalked along the corridor. Feeling like an escort, a whore, like the ones she’d seen occasionally in some of the big-city hotels. Feeling keyed up, almost sick with nerves, yet adventurous and proud of herself.
She stood in front of his door for some time. Was this really wise?
Nothing bad, she thought, could happen. The bartender had seen them together. There’d be a record at reception of the phone call she’d made. If he was in the hotel they must have his real name and credit card details, his van registration. Leo wasn’t anonymous. He was traceable. This reassured her.
Plus, her own gut instinct said he was someone she could trust. Trust not to abuse her; but at the same time, trust to fuck her brains out.
He made her wait about ten seconds between her knocking on the door and his opening it. She counted. He was playing games with her already. Giving her the opportunity for bad thoughts to form in her head. She resented it,
found it exciting all the same.
His room was exactly the same as hers, right down to the mass-produced prints on the walls. Where it differed was in the possessions scattered around. Bundles of rope spread over the desk, different lengths in brown, red, black and white, in a variety of fibres. Beside them, an old ice-cream carton containing ordinary clothes pegs. Gags and blindfolds on the armchair, again in different sizes and styles. A set of canes propped up in a corner, and a long, sinister-looking bullwhip coiled up on the bed.
Ruth’s instinct was to gather her coat around her.
Leo smiled, shook his head.
‘I’m not going to tie you up with your coat on. May I …?’ Holding out his hand for her to give him the coat.
Well … It was what she’d come for, right? She shrugged off the coat, passed it to him. He hung it on the hooks next to the door.
Considering a great deal of her sex life involved being naked in front of men she’d only just met, she shouldn’t be self-conscious. And yet suddenly, she was. Usually being naked meant lying on a bed with a naked man, bodies close together. Now, she was naked but he was clothed, and she was open to inspection. She didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. Ended up folding them in front of her.
‘Like what you see?’ Slight sarcasm in her voice.
‘I don’t know yet.’ His voice was mild. ‘Can you fold your arms behind your back instead, please, and stand with your ankles wider apart?’
The tone of his voice belied the fact it was a command. She obeyed.
He walked around her, scrutinizing her body closely.
‘No piercings?’
She poked her tongue at him. It wasn’t a rebuke, but to show him the one piercing she did have, apart from her ears.
‘Men tell me it’s a real turn-on for oral sex,’ she commented.
He chuckled. ‘I’ll take that as an offer, later.’
Ruth had no particular body issues. She wasn’t athletic, wasn’t anorexic, wasn’t overweight. She was average, with boobs that could have done with being a little larger but not so much so that the idea weighed on her mind. She shaved her pubes, completely, because in the bath it was so much less complicated than trying to leave a thin strip. And because she liked the feel of a bare mons against the expensive panties that were one of her few indulgencies.