She knew he was not much for intimacy. But what kind of intimacy did it require to please her? Little, really. She was never in a position to give back when they engaged in a scene for mutual pleasure, so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself with the uncomfortable possibility of relating on a level deeper than sex. It seemed her sexual desires should be perfectly safe for him. But maybe the intimacy wasn’t the problem. Maybe something caused him to avoid her, deny her, evade the subject for so many days until she practically forced the issue and he had little choice but to give her what she desired most.
Almost a week passed following her afternoon with Monsieur before Christopher finally made good on his promise. Jillian had almost given up, although the frustration in her body was becoming difficult to handle. One day she actually dragged her stash of rope from where she’d buried in the closet. The little inanimate friend had given her so much joy when she was a teenager, long before Christopher discovered her fetish.
She stood before her bathroom mirror and tied the clothesline around her waist, shuddering deeply as she tightened the cord so tight that it cut into her skin. She threaded the long loose end through her crotch, between her labia, to the right side of her clitoris, which made the little bud expand with blood and bulge luridly. Drawing the rope up the crack of her ass, she looped it over the rope band around her waist twice to secure it and tugged tight. She gasped longingly as a vile sensation of lust swelled inside her belly.
Threading the rope back down the crack and through her pussy on the other side of her clitoris, she pulled hard before she tied the end off at her waist. The crude look of self-imposed bondage inflamed her desire. She wanted to delve into her crotch, play with herself until she came. But instead, she decided to let her arousal build. She remembered well how it would swell at a feverish, unbearable pace before forcing her to answer its urgent demand. Tossing her blue pleated skirt over her hips, she secured the snap and zipper and then finished dressing, turning herself into the respectable looking young woman that she presented to the outside world. If they only knew what she wore under her clothes!
Jillian went about her day, working with the cook in the kitchen; answering Christopher’s office mail and typing several letters, while the effect of the tight rope worked its magic. She could feel the heat in her soar, as with every move she made, the bindings rubbed against her skin and against her sensitive clit. It soon felt as if the desiring bud would explode, but she resisted the urgings, loving every small sensation that flooded through her lower body. For a time, she closed her eyes, breathed deep and allowed the tingling feelings to rise in her even further. While typing the letters, she lifted her skirt above her hips and sat with her bare, roped ass on the leather seat of Christopher’s office chair. She wiggled about erotically so that her clit would rub against the leather. If he’d been there, would she have been bold enough to show him what she’d done? Likely not, but the thought still passed through her mind to tantalize her hungering body more.
After three hours in bondage, her mind could hardly focus on her work. Once she even reached under her skirt and clutched the clothesline, tugging hard to make it tighten further. The deeper it cut into her flesh, the greater the pain. And how that pain washed through her in a beautiful shower of sensation! The damnable fact of the bondage was that the rope would eventually give, stretching over time; an annoying fact when all she wanted was to feel it cutting ever deeper into her skin, calling to that place in her psyche where the desire was born. In turn, her desperate, yearning psyche whispered back to her compliant body, ‘More Jillian more… harder, tighter, firmer, Jillian. Don’t stop.’
With her efforts at concentration failing, Jillian finally pushed the papers to one side of the desk, rose from her chair and made for the alcove room where Christopher liked to rape her cunt. She’d never used the alcove for masturbating, preferring the safety of her bedroom. This was a risky choice since the door didn’t lock, no telling who might discover her there. But this time, even that prospect naughtily appealed to her sex-starved mind. Leaning back against the paneled wall, she undid her skirt and let it drop to the floor, while her hands snaked wildly over her tantalized skin. The fingers of her right hand flew for her clit, while her other hand tugged the rope hard and made her skin burn underneath. Within seconds, her crotch exploded in orgasm, her head fell back and she softly moaned as the spasming desire skirted her groin, brightening every atom and leaving her physically spent, if not completely satisfied. Afterwards, her fingers slowly roamed her sopping crotch, eking every restless sensation from her agitated body. She tugged a little more at the rope and sighing, began to emerge from the moment of splendor.
Finally, feeling quite sheepish, she wiped her hands on the Kleenex she’d brought with her, quickly untied the rope and pulled her skirt back over her naked crotch. When she exited the alcove room, she scooted up the stairs and hid the soiled rope in the back of her closet until she had time to wash it.
The sad truth came to her just a day later. Getting off by her own hand, pleasant as it was, was not a substitute for the yearning that constantly nagged at her now. It had been nearly two months since Christopher had given her the kind of sexual satisfaction that made their bizarre relationship work. Maybe he didn’t want her any more; maybe it was time for a change.
Jillian was pruning roses in the garden, absorbed in the lovely sensations of heady fragrances, warm sun and cool air. It was supposed to be a tonic to ward off the dangerous ache in her belly and what regrettable choices it might lead to. And yet, nature was a worthy conspirator that day. Everything she touched, every smell, every sound, the feel the air, the look of the earth and sky, set her body off on an erotic flight. She wanted to roll in the cool, rich dirt naked and get off. The image startled her so much that she had to physically shake it off. Doing so, her fingers slipped and she pricked her thumb on a thorn. “Ouch!” she murmured as she sucked the tip where a tiny bit of blood oozed.
“You looked too tempting to ignore, Jillian.” Christopher’s voice rose above the din of sounds in the open air and the whir of thoughts that filled her mind. As she turned around to face the man, her mind quickly emptied. Her heart beat a little faster, and her body quickened with hope.
“I was watching you from my reading room…” He stopped talking, as he saw her eyes light on the items he carried: the black rope, the gag and the cuffs. “Yes, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” she answered, trying not to sound anxious when her entire body thrilled to the wickedness that swept her.
He viewed her for several seconds more, and having finally made up his mind, whisked past her saying: “Come with me.”
Jillian wordlessly followed the man into the trees and then deeper into the wild woods where she’d never gone. He never allowed her to venture into the unmarked places of his property alone, claiming that there were no safe paths through the dense part of the forest. And yet now, they easily negotiated a well-traveled path that Christopher had obviously taken before, without her.
He stopped in a small clearing where a heavy oak branch hung like a mighty arm ready to scoop her in its grasp.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
Unlike the many times she was ordered to service him or his friends, there was no quarrel, no question of obedience in a scene like this. This was what she’d been waiting for and thus she quickly disrobed, leaving her clothes on a nearby stump. The cool air hardly mattered; her body was flushed with desire and growing hotter by the second.
Christopher began dressing her in a harness of black rope, weaving a familiar diamond pattern across her chest, through the crack of her ass, up through her crotch, on either side of her open labia lips and then along her back as well. When he finished, she looked as though she was wearing an elaborate body harness. The feel of the rope closing in around her body gave her chills of pleasure, making her lightheaded with joy.
Pleased with his work, he then ran a second slightly thinne
r black rope around her upper torso above her breasts first, then beneath them. He pulled it tight and connected the ropes above and below at the center between her tits, and on either side so that the fleshy orbs were oddly stretched, looking like two fat missiles projecting from her chest. He pinched her puckering nipples with metal clover clamps; the effect sending biting ribbons of pain on a journey through her roused nerves as she tried to absorb the pain. Her breathing became more labored before it settled again. She could feel her heavy crotch turn liquid, and her juices ooze from the opening between her legs.
Inspired by his feeling of control, he bound her wrists behind her and strung them up to the sagging oak branch above, so she was awkwardly posed. The position would eventually cause havoc to her shoulders, but that was not his concern; she’d learn to live with the discomfort. Finally, he forced her legs apart and bound her ankles to either end of a bare, straight branch that had fallen to the ground some time ago—he loved to improvise.
Her body was left vulnerable to the elements of nature, to the sun that occasionally peeked through the leafy canopy above, the air with its infernal, buzzing insects and the eventual chill as the day slid slowly toward evening.
Forcing a thick rubber ballgag into her mouth, he effectively gagged her speech. Her eyes were open wide in wonder. He’d never bound her in the out-of-doors. Would he leave her here alone? Let the forest ravage her? Let her mind torment her with fear? As much as she worried over the possibilities, the awful prospects were pure pleasure to a mind engaged in sexual submission.
Still, Christopher wasn’t yet finished; there was more in his devious mind, like his hand at her ass, forcing its way into her cleft where her anus puckered tight. He fished his fingers toward the doorway, thrusting beyond it and demanding that she relax.
“The more you clench, the worse it gets,” he warned.
She tried to calm to herself, but that was useless, with her excitement and her fear billowing freely.
Christopher smiled, loving the way she suffered for him.
She twisted awkwardly in her bondage to get a better glimpse of what he’d effected, and then watched as he methodically worked a thick wooden shaft into her ass. He had to pull the rope aside, which chaffed the skin inside her groin.
“Humgh, umgh.” She grunted from behind her gag, and winced with pain when he shoved the projectile hard. But she finally relaxed, her body eased and the hefty thing slid all the way inside.
“There. Was that so bad?” he inquired in his mocking singsong.
“Un uh,” she groaned and shook her head ‘no’. Yes, the shaft was bearable, but its size would not let her forget that it was there.
“Good. Then you’re ready for the rest, I think.”
She had no idea what extremes he had in mind that day because he’d never done anything like this before. Her heart beat with excitement; her fear turned her on and the pressing eroticism made every nerve, every skin cell burn.
Christopher set several hooks along the sides of her rope-dress, which in turn, were snapped to rings at the ends of ropes he hung over the tree branch. Her torso was lifted upward so that her feet and the branch that bound them no longer touched the ground. Before the strain on her body became too great, just several seconds later, he lifted her legs upward and attached the spreader bar to a thick hook that dangled from the hefty branch. To help bear the weight of her legs, he wrapped ropes around her thighs and attached them to the branch as well.
Knowing that her neck and head could withstand the physical stress for more than a few minutes, Christopher attached a pre-made cradle of rope about a foot and a half square to the ropes at her shoulders, attaching the opposite end to the tree. With that in place, she’d been effectively hung in bondage from the huge oak, her pussy splayed and like the rest of her free-swinging in a prison of rope.
With the bondage finished, and satisfied that her body was adequately supported, Christopher stepped back and admired his work. A thrill of satisfaction moved through him quickly—if only he had another submissive at his knees to satisfy his aching cock, he’d come. That climax would be worth the many hours of mental foreplay. But for the moment, it was enough just seeing the object of his skewed lust dangling before his eyes, immobile, confined and looking like a high-tech spider wrapped in a web of rope. The clamps on her nipples hung down, tempting him to tug them further, which would send throbbing twinges through her awakened body. But he contained the desire, forcing himself to relish the slow, difficult torture she was obliged to endure. This was all he’d hoped for and more. After weeks of fantasy and careful planning, he felt that he had created the perfectly bound woman.
He loved the way the rope held her pussy open wide, and how it was further widened by the position of her body. Her wet cunt glistened in the muted sunlight, while the tiny hole between her inner labia lips seemed to pulse with anticipation.
Taking a stick from the ground, he nudged the end of it just inside her juicy opening.
She gasped behind her gag.
“You like this, don’t you?”
She could only shake her head in reply.
“Good, because I like it, too.” He fucked her with the stick for several seconds, sadistically watching her squirm.
The strain in Jillian’s muscles was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was only mildly painful, and nothing was initially too agonizing to endure. And how beautifully her lust feasted on the texture of the rope while her body moved inside its stringent form.
“How about these?” he asked, as he showed her another pair of glimmering clamps. “For your pussy lips. They look naked, don’t you think?”
She stared at him blankly.
“Oh, of course, you can’t see yourself. Too bad. But take my word for it…” His hands moved under her as he attached the clamps to the plump flesh of her sex lips. “… And don’t worry; I have a plan for that, too.” He was about to move away, but he’d thought of something else. “One more thing, just one and you’ll be ready.”
Ready for what? She asked herself.
He pulled something else from his pocket, which she couldn’t see, although it was painfully obvious a moment later when the hood her clitoris felt the biting pinch of something metal clamped over the sensitive slip of skin.
“I won’t crank it up too hard just yet. I want you reasonably cognizant for a while.”
It took a couple of minutes for the effect of the last clamp to ease, and yet, that one and the other clamps tugged firmly on her privates in a way she’d find difficult to ignore. It was hard to ignore any one of the many tortures—and perhaps ignoring them is the wrong way to describe the bizarre experience. Together, the compounding sensations fueled her pressing hunger. No specific one annoyed her more than the others, and there wasn’t one she wished weren’t there.
“I had in mind, Jillian,” her tormentor strolled in front of her, gazing into her eyes, through the web of rope across her face, “that this scene is much too extraordinary not to share. What do you think?”
Of course, she couldn’t answer his question.
Smiling deviously, he disappeared from view for a couple of minutes, and when he returned, he held his digital camera pointed in her direction.
“I found a website on the Internet where I think you should be immortalized.” He clicked off shot after shot as he informed her of his plan, working his way from one end of her body to the other, and then continuing his trip down her other side, taking her picture from every possible angle. “I wish I had someone here to work the camera while I work you over, but I imagine we can do just as well on our own,” he continued, as if she were an active participant in this scene. “I want to be sure that we have a good shot of your pussy.” He moved to the ground beneath her and began taking pictures from that direction. “Ah, beautiful! I’d like to capture how your pretty cunt glistens.” He laughed. “But you know, you’re leaking so much, I’d better move away, or I’ll drown in your juices.”
Her ar
ousal and the deep humiliation soared, as she realized what the man was scheming to do. He’d always threatened to expose her bondage fetish on the Internet—claiming that there was so much porn on the Net that no one she knew would ever find her. She never believed he’d actually do it. Obviously, she’d been wrong!
“Here, why don’t you look?”
Christopher pointed the digital camera screen toward her amazed eyes, so she could see the images he’d taken. She would have dropped her jaw in awe if it had been possible. Instead, her heart beat a little more frantically and the muscles in her cunt tightened as she saw the color pictures of herself crudely bound to the tree. Her crotch throbbed wantingly, feeling desperate for something to fill the awful emptiness that clawed at her insides, tormenting her with the hoped-for orgasm Christopher was sure to withhold. She’d never been one to spontaneously erupt without the direct stimulation of her clitoris, and he knew that. It only added to his satisfaction watching her body squirm in desperation.
As soon as Christopher finished taking pictures, he laid the camera down and took off into the woods, leaving Jillian alone. There was always a period of time during her bondage sessions when he left her by herself. She marked the time by the beats of her heart—although she’d always lose count, as the sensation of restraint took over. This time, her mind was gone the moment the forest stopped rustling from his footsteps. Her thoughts drifted as she swung a bit on the breeze that began to rise around her. She felt like one of the fluttering leaves or the insects drifting in the air.
The gentle tug of the ropes made her skin burn hotter and her nerves became more sensitive, so that she could hardly stand to feel herself—especially where it was worst, in her lower belly. The strain on her muscles added to her arousal. She’d always loved it when Christopher forced her arms and shoulders back and tethered them firmly. Though it made no sense to her why she would find so much satisfaction in the cumbersome pose, it did, regardless.
Bounty Hunter Page 4