Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  The first pendulum thrust into her slick hand triggered a contented sigh from him. Then he was stretching against his bonds and thrusting his hips forward, searching for her hand. But there was no way to for him to facilitate a rhythm adequate to do anything other than tease himself.

  She wanted to freeze the moment. Wanted to remember the way he looked. His lightly muscled torso stretched and desperate, swaying into her hand. Hers.

  But she wanted more. She wanted to take more of him. “Stop.”

  His single toe flexed, reaching for the floor, to slow his movement.

  “I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Even in your leathers when you were tugging someone into rope bliss. You’ve always been beautiful to me. And I’d never want to break you. Not in a way I couldn’t piece back together. But right now, Ollie—right now, you are fucking stunning. You are enforced grace. Beauty carved out of your skin with the rope.

  “And I’m torn. I’m torn between how much I want to soak it in, bask in the sex of your movement and sound. And how much I want to cut you down and fuck you on the floor while the knots dig into your skin and your legs start cramping. I want to be cruel to you. I want to take your dignity and grace away.” She yanked on his cock, pulling him toward her.

  He had no words, only a tormented growl.

  “Feel the floor beneath you.” When he stilled, his single toe grazing the ground, she wrapped an arm around his waist and released the main knot that stretched him so tight. When his free foot had full contact with the floor again, he sighed. She hooked the edge of the bench with her foot and pulled it behind him so its long axis was straight back from him. “Lean on me and I’ll get you there.” She settled him at the edge of the leather seat. His tied leg lagged out to the side as she grabbed a condom from the bag off to the side.

  “Lie back.” She seized his cock and rolled the condom on, almost viciously. Almost but not quite.

  He groaned and arched up off the bench. Whether it was to push his cock at her or to drive the knots into his spine harder, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She slipped her panties off from under her dress and straddled him, engulfing his cock.

  She didn’t move immediately, only let herself feel the singular pressure of him inside her, only let him acclimate to her weight on him, driving him down on the rope. When he moved his arms to touch her, she grabbed the ties between them and laid herself across his chest, pulling his arms over his head to tie them to the customized D-ring on the underside of her bench.

  “There we go. That’s lovely.” She rolled her hips on him, grinding her clit down on the rope over his bare pubis and enjoying the feel of the jute against her sensitive flesh.

  “It’s like you’re all around me all at once.”

  “That’s the ropes talking, Ollie.”

  He smiled. “I like what they’re saying.”

  She chuckled and rocked her hips on him, building momentum, until they were both breathless. She planted her hands on his chest and leaned down to lick his lips until he reciprocated. She pulled back enough that he could feel her breath but couldn’t make contact with her lips.

  “Sarah,” he moaned. “Please.”

  She laced her fingers into his hair and, when he relaxed into her touch, she yanked his head back to lick his lips again.

  “Oh my god!” His mouth contorted, cords of muscles in his neck bunching and tightening. His breathing hitched and she sensed he was close to climaxing.

  She smiled as she stood up off him. “That’s my cue.”

  His frustrated groan only made her grin wider as she dug through her bag for her tiny vibrator and mounted him again, this time facing his legs. “You thrust up against me now. Make me come, Ollie.”

  He planted his free foot and followed her order while she ran the buzzing toy over her clit, pulsing it, experimenting with pressure until she felt her orgasm looming. “Harder, Ollie.” She knew his leg would be getting tired, knew he would be getting stiff and cramped, but it didn’t matter. She wanted to get off and she wanted to get off on him.

  She leaned back on him, feeling the pattern of the ropes in her back separating and connecting them. When it hit, her climax crested through her in waves and she came silently.

  She languished on him, knowing he was tortured, still hard and buried inside her. She hummed her satisfaction and twitched her hips over him, earning his stuttering breath against her neck.

  “You never took your dress off.”

  She stood up, appreciating the glistening wet cock that jutted out from his body. “Nope, I didn’t. I don’t undress when I’m rigging. Neither do you, if I remember correctly.”

  He babbled a moment, thoughts scrambled in the synapses of ropes surrounding him. “Yeah. I know. You’re right. I don’t know what I’m even trying to say. I just…this is different.”

  “It is.” She eased the condom off his unspent dick. “I don’t usually fuck people when I tie them. Never wanted anyone’s come on my ropes. But you, I want you splattered on these ropes. Wanna only use them with you from now on.”

  She stroked him, adding lube to her hand until his hips came up off the bench.

  “Nope, none of that.” She grabbed a towel to wipe the lube off her hands and made him wait as she cinched another rope down under the bench to the ropes around his pelvis, immobilizing him.

  The tie was tight enough to dig the ropes into his pelvis, tightening around his cock. She warmed another portion of lube in her hands before she started again, stroking him until he writhed in his limited space.

  “That’s it, Ollie. Fight it all you want.”

  He made a soundless cry of frustration, shifting his hips. “I’ve gotta taste you.”

  She slowed her strokes as he whined.

  “Please, Sarah.”

  She leaned down to lick his thighs in the spaces between the ropes where skin bulged. She hitched a leg over the bench and straddled his half-rope-covered face, keeping her pussy close enough to flick with his tongue, but not close enough for him to get buried in.

  His frustrated sounds became more insistent, more frequent until they were continuous. She nipped his inner thigh once and he jerked, but then she squeezed his cock again, harder, tighter, made her hand a velvet vise around him.

  His legs and ass flexed under the ropes and he howled a groan. He turned his face and licked and nipped her thigh. “Fuck, Sarah! Please!”

  She dropped herself down a fraction more, kissing her lips to his. His balls seized up as she licked the head of his cock. His satisfied moan reverberated through her pelvis and he started to pump his hips against the ropes. She pinned him down with her mouth, swallowing his length, making space for his pressured passion, encompassing him within the slick confines of her throat.

  His twitching became insistent, then erratic, while his cunt-muffled sounds grew desperate. Sarah sat up and tugged his balls away from his body just as he came. His hips jerked again, and his come shot up across his chest, splattering the black chest harness, another study in contrasts.

  When she expected him to be spent, he became frenzied, his mouth and tongue going wild on her softest parts. He licked and sucked and nipped until she was the one who twitched and writhed. She was the one who was desperate. On a particularly vehement spasm she grabbed at his chest, fingers getting tangled in her ropes sticky with his come. It was enough to send her over the edge and she came again, pussy clenching.

  Once they had caught their breath, she unwound the rope from his body, kissing his skin where indentations gave the impression of still being tied, rubbing him down with a warm, wet cloth.

  Ollie’s eyes fluttered open when Sarah removed the blindfold last. She pushed him to sit up and massaged out his cramped, tight muscles. He smiled a sleepy smile that told her he was still flying.

  “That’s a good boy. You did such a good job.”

  “Make me yours again. For good.”

  ON SOME MAPS, BUT NOT ON OTHERS

  Annabeth Leong

/>   My girlfriend likes to tie men up and torture their cocks. When we started dating, that wasn’t something I thought much about. It was just stuff she did with partners who weren’t me, using equipment I didn’t have.

  If I ever felt insecure about it, I just made sure to remind her, using my hands and my tongue and my cunt, of all the things I could do with the equipment I did have.

  That was before I started binding, when gender was so scary to me I never thought about it at all. That was before I saw her CBT table, with the sinister hole in the middle of its surface, and before I got her to show me her boxes of clamps and twine and needles.

  I’ve tried to pinpoint the moment when the things she does to cocks became a source of fascination for me, but the change didn’t work like that. The more I heard her stories about men and strength and the paradoxical vulnerability of their cocks and balls and the bravery of their submission, the more I started thinking about those things on my own—masturbating over them, even. I didn’t know what it meant at the time. I’d never slept with a man, had never even been slightly attracted to one, but part of me worried I was turning straight. Another part of me feared I was becoming that man-hating lesbian I’d grown up hearing about—without the lust my girlfriend felt for men, it was easy to see my obsession as simple cruelty.

  I had myself worked into quite the identity crisis by the time I got up the courage to ask her to show me what she did to guys. I was braced for a shocked reaction, or at least for her to ask a lot of the questions I’d been asking myself. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully. “I know a guy who might be into that. Do you want to touch?”

  “No.” The idea of touching a live cock made me feel kind of sick, actually.

  “Do you want to participate in any way?”

  “Like talk to him? No. I just want to sit in a corner and watch.”

  My girlfriend cocked her head to one side and redid her ponytail. “Yeah. I think Alex would be into that. Let me check with him, okay?”

  “Okay,” I stammered. That had been so easy it made me uncomfortable.

  As if she understood, my girlfriend pushed me onto my back, brought her cunt to my lips and let me drink her until I forgot my worries.

  Alex had a live cock, all right. It twitched and pulsed under my girlfriend’s fingers as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to get closer or bounce away. I bit my lip and shifted on my seat in the corner. I still didn’t know why I wanted to see this; I just knew I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  Alex was a slight Brazilian guy, with nothing about his build that impressed me when he had his clothes on. When my girlfriend ordered him to strip, though, his naked flesh had a lot to say. He was grooved like a canyon, as if he worked out not to build his body up but to wear it down, repetitions of biceps curls and lat pull-downs cutting into him like rainwater dripping down rock over the span of eras. But he’d also been marked by a force more dramatic than erosion. The unmistakable shine of burn scars twined up his left side until it reached his arm, where fire had eaten away a good part of what had once been muscle.

  “Are you ready to hurt?” my girlfriend hissed, and I wondered if he heard the lick of flames on her lips the way I did.

  He didn’t look directly at her, only up through his lashes, and I noticed then how pretty he was. Alex had delicate cheekbones, a gorgeously pointed chin and the big, luminous eyes of a Disney princess. My girlfriend tore away the band that fastened his hair, freeing long, luxurious black locks that all the girls in my long-ago high school would have killed for. I made a small sound—of wonder? Of lust? I wasn’t sure.

  His eyes snapped to mine. I felt more naked than he was, terrified of what he might see. Then my girlfriend stepped between us, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking him into a breathtakingly graceful backbend. “Don’t look at her. Don’t pay any attention to her.” She slapped him casually across one cheek, the way she might have offered a kiss to me. “I’m the only thing that matters to you right now. Understand? And I asked you a question. I’m still waiting for an answer.”

  I watched his Adam’s apple move when he swallowed. There was something heartbreaking about the stretch of his neck. Seeing his throat exposed to my girlfriend like that made me hungry for terrible things. I let out a relieved sigh when he answered, “I want to be hurt.”

  That answer wasn’t good enough for her, though. She slapped him again, more sincerely this time. “I asked if you’re ready. You can be damn sure I didn’t ask what you want.”

  “I’m ready,” he said quickly.

  My girlfriend only laughed. “We’ll see.” With a sudden motion, she swept his legs out from under him. Only because I knew her and her kindness did I notice the careful way she supported his back and head while she knocked him flat to the floor. Alex’s eyes widened as my girlfriend produced a length of rope from one of the voluminous pockets of her sweats and began to restrain him.

  Her rope looked rough and wicked, and Alex sucked in his breath and held it as she dragged the fiber mercilessly over his skin. She noticed and dropped a knee into his rib cage, as if she couldn’t even bear to let him have a measure of air to himself.

  She tugged his shoulders upward and tucked a block under the upper part of his spine, emphasizing that vulnerable curve in his throat. She tied his hands behind his back, pushing them into the space the block had created. His legs, she bound together until they looked like a mermaid’s tail, his cock and balls trembling atop the juncture of his thighs. “I want to see you gasping like a fish,” she murmured, her voice tender in contrast to the cruelty of her words.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She stroked his cheek. “Of course it’s okay. Unless you use your safeword, pretty Alex, anything I do to you is okay. Remember that.”

  I shivered. She’d explained the basics of BDSM to me, but I didn’t like the sound of that. Couldn’t she do things that weren’t okay even if he didn’t stop her? Alex seemed to like her mean talking, so I held my tongue, but I hoped that last thing was just talk to them.

  She grabbed his cock then, stopping my thoughts in their tracks. I’d heard about stroking a cock, but I was pretty sure most people didn’t do that with the points of their nails. Alex screamed and twitched, muscles straining, cock seeming to writhe in my girlfriend’s hands. I couldn’t honestly tell if his cries were of pleasure or pain—though I guessed that meant they were both. And that brought me back to the beginning. The cock. My girlfriend hurting it. Her cooing at him about how he was brave even as he began to whimper and beg.

  “Let’s keep this nice and hard for me,” my girlfriend whispered. She pulled out a thinner rope this time, but if anything this one looked crueler than the first. Working deftly, she wound it around the base of Alex’s cock, the flesh reddening as she did. By the time she finished, the head of his cock was purple. Alex’s eyes were closed, and his lips moved as if he was praying.

  Something pulsed inside me, somewhere very deep. I wasn’t sure what the feeling was, but I knew I was dripping wet. I tried asking myself what I wanted or what I wished I could do. Did I want to hurt like that? Did I want to do the hurting? Did I want exactly what I had—to be able to watch? I was somewhere in this scene, but I couldn’t figure out exactly how. There was only one certain thing: I wanted to come.

  I tore my gaze away from Alex’s cock and focused on my girlfriend’s face, but she was intent on her victim. We hadn’t talked about me masturbating while I watched this, so I didn’t know if it was okay.

  I decided it was better to be safe, to hold myself back, so I tucked the hands that had been sliding toward the front of my jeans under my thighs. I sat down hard, pinning them in place.

  It was a good thing, too, because my girlfriend began an assault that drove Alex into exquisite throes of pain and carried my confused but intense desires along with it. She slapped and pinched that exposed purple head, driving in fingernails, hitting it so hard it never stopped bouncing. Alex began making strange, high-pitched noises in the
back of his throat.

  “Yes,” my girlfriend moaned, and hit him harder.

  He shook his head when she began to flick near the slit at the tip of his cock, and she paused. “Are you telling me no, pretty Alex? Is this cock not my plaything after all?”

  “It’s yours,” he gasped. I noticed that his hair was plastered to his head now, and a tear threatened to leak from the corner of one eye.

  “Is it? What do you want, Alex? What are you ready for?”

  There was a tense pause. I needed something else, and I hoped to the depths of my soul that Alex knew what it was, that he could give it to me.

  My girlfriend rested the tip of one finger on his slit, and he choked with fear.

  “Tell me with words, Alex. What do you want?”

  “More,” he cried, as she grinned, sharp and final, and began to tear the rope away. “Oh god, I want more.” He made it sound like a confession, a horror, but as she gripped him viciously he began to shoot. Thick, white ribbons spurted up onto his stomach, and I wanted to come with him so badly that my insides hurt.

  Because he’d asked for more, that wasn’t the end—far from it. She pulled out her clamps and her needles and worked him until he cried and bled. I was so overwhelmed by what I was seeing, I can’t remember those events as a narrative. My mind holds only single, secret images: Alex’s face, contorted, his open mouth a negative space that sketched the shape of a dark, unfathomable pain; his cock, scored with scratch marks but still tremblingly hard; his stomach muscles, quivering in time with my girlfriend’s breathing as she put on her glasses, peered at his cock and slid a long needle through his skin.

  Then there was the scream, the most naked thing I’ve ever heard. Terrifyingly high-pitched, but roughened by the throat of a man. That sound broke open a door inside me that had always previously been shut, and I came without being touched at all, in painful ripples that left me shaken, and empty, and clear.