Bound for Trouble

by Alison Tyler

  “Almost there.”

  I get to the rope high up on her shoulders and know that if I put my fingers or my cock inside her now she’d be sinfully slick, welcoming.

  “Almost there,” I mutter again, as much for myself as for her. I’ve been sitting downstairs for hours laboring over work spreadsheets, but fantasizing about my Alice, tied up in the closet. Gagged. Getting slicker by the moment. Occasionally, I’d make noise so she could hear that I was there. She told me once it’s her only real fear. That I’d leave the house while she was in the closet. That something would happen. That I wouldn’t come back. I want her worked up, aroused, nearly feral…but not scared like that. Never like that.

  “I’d never leave you,” I tell her, putting my internal thoughts out for her to hear.

  Behind the gag she sighs.

  She’s utterly bare now but for the lines on her flesh. The pale-red streaks that cross her skin like fading tattoos are lovely. I kiss every inch of her, drag my tongue along the paths left by my hemp. When I reach her pussy, I press her thighs to the ground and hold her there. I put my mouth to her nether lips, snake my tongue between, attack her clitoris with eager laps and licks and nibbles.

  She arches up and bucks and makes that frantic noise that always makes my cock just a bit harder no matter how hard it is already.

  “You can come, Alice. You’ve earned it,” I say and I press my fingertips to the shallow trenches from the rope on her thighs. I thrust my tongue inside her and then suck her clit again.

  Alice comes.

  All her pretty ropes are coiled up in the corner. It’s like the nest of some mythical bird in here. Pillows and blankets and now coils of rope. I untie the gag and add it to her pile of treasures.

  “Gabe, Gabe…Gabriel,” she sighs. When she says my full name I know she’s fully gone. Lost in the pleasure. Lost in her own little sex scenario. The scene that works her up, does it for her, gets her off.

  “I rescued you,” I chuckle.

  She shuts her eyes, smiling, nodding. She parts her thighs even more and her knees rest upon teal-colored throw pillows. I angle her hips and study the road map of red left by my bondage. I slide into her slowly, pausing to feel the friction of her skin against mine. It’s my scene. My trigger. My thing. She loves to be trussed up, and I love to see the inscription it leaves on her.

  I kiss her once, twice, and then kiss along the rope patterns just below her neck. I start to thrust. Pull all the way out so that only the head of my cock is penetrating her. And then I drive deep. I do this over and over and over until Alice is bucking under me, muttering my name, dropping pleas and making bargains. She’d sign a pact with the devil if I fucked her just a little harder, and that knowledge makes me smile.

  “Harder?” I ask, just to tease her. I can feel her cunt, gripping me like a humid, silken fist.

  She nods and licks her upper lip. She’s hardly ever aware that she does that, and she has no idea what it does to me.

  I grab her a bit tighter and really start to move. All she needs, I give it to her. All she wants, I give it to her. She finds my face with her small, thin hands and begs me with her mouth for a kiss. I give it to her. I thrust my tongue into her mouth as I fuck her. She clamps herself around me, and the pleasure that floods my lower half steals my breath. It’s my turn to say her name.

  She flings her arms above her head, and I see the lines on her skin flow north with the motion. She’s striped and crossed and dotted with the evidence of my control and I groan. Because seeing that evidence robs me of current control. I’m powerless against the unwound Alice. I’m humbled by her strength.

  If someone tied me up and left me in the dark for hours, I’d lose my mind. I grind my hips back and forth, still buried deep inside her. That friction makes her pussy clench me harder, makes her breath come faster.

  I trap her wrists above her head with one hand. Slide my free hand along her crosshatched flanks. I’m still rocking back and forth and the noise she’s making tells me she’s close—god, so close.

  I give her mouth another kiss, her left breast another suck, another bite and then…I’m lost in her. Driving deep, following the call of my own orgasm. When she bucks up and I force her hands back, not giving her any room to move, that gesture seals the deal. Alice comes in a rapid-fire series of spasms.

  I watch her face and when she opens those big brown eyes, she’s never looked more lovely. Or more honest.

  “Gabriel,” she says again and that’s that. I manage to bury myself in her three more times before I tip forward into my own release. I rest my head on the X on her flesh and listen to her heart.

  MY PRETTY PONY

  D. L. King

  He loved the feel of Elizabeth’s naked cunt against his skin; leaving her wet, fragrant scent on his body; marking him as hers. Being much stronger, he wrestled her around, making sure his legs, chest, waist and arms were marked before settling down to drink from her, marking his face with her juices.

  They liked having marathon sex sessions, rolling around in bed for hours on a Saturday, until they finally got hungry enough to get up, take showers, dress and go out for dinner. It was during one of these sessions when she managed to climb on his back, with legs thrown over his hips, biting and licking the back of his neck, that he got the idea. It just felt so right. He bucked up on his forearms and shins, raising her above the bed.

  She sat him like a horse and wiggled. “I think all I need right now is a riding crop,” she laughed. And before he could think about what he was saying, he blurted out, “Yes, that’s exactly what you need.”

  She went still. “What?”

  “Well, it’d be fun, don’t you think?” He collapsed and rolled over to face her. “Don’t you think it would be fun? Sort of an adult form of horsey.” He grabbed her by the waist and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. He lifted her off him and rolled off the bed. “Where do you want to eat?” he asked, on his way to the bathroom.

  “I don’t know. You decide. Hey, how come you get to shower first?”

  “That’s what happens when you’re bigger and stronger.”

  “Yeah, well I guess all that hard work makes horses all stinky and sweaty.”

  It was a good sign, that horse remark. Maybe she didn’t think it was all that weird, after all.

  Bart was his own boss. He was a CPA and worked out of a home office. He was well organized, great with money and with time management. Elizabeth worked at an art gallery in the city. She loved her job but was sometimes envious of Bart for not having to wake up early every day or make the rush-hour commute.

  It was one of those days.

  He was sleeping all too peacefully. She gave him a shove and when he rolled over and looked at her, bleary eyed, she said, “Oh, did I wake you?” He grunted something and began to roll back over. “Since you’re up, why don’t you join me for breakfast?”

  Grumbling, he rolled off the bed, put a robe on and stumbled after her into the kitchen. Elizabeth wasn’t really a breakfast person but everyone said breakfast was important so she forced herself to eat something every day. Usually she only had coffee at home and then had breakfast at the gallery, but today she decided to make toast and peanut butter for both of them. As he drank his coffee and munched on food he didn’t want, he realized he wouldn’t be able to go back to bed when she left.

  By the time he was fully awake, she was ready to leave. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” She grinned and kissed him.

  “I’m onto you, woman.”

  “Sometimes I just don’t think it’s fair, that’s all. Why should I be the only one who has to get out of bed? It’ll be good. You’ll get a lot done. You’ll see.”

  After she was gone, he poured himself another cup of coffee. Though a little pissed off to be up so early, he figured he could indeed get some work done. So he sat down at the computer in his shorts and robe and began searching for erotic equestrian sites.

  A week later, in bed, he presented her with
a black-leather riding crop and a pair of beautiful, black-leather riding boots.

  With a curious half smile, she said, “What are these for?”

  “I thought, maybe, we could play with them. Like, you know how I like it when you’re on top, right? Maybe we could, like, play horse—or something.” He wasn’t sure this was going right. It wasn’t unfolding the way he’d imagined it in his head.

  “So, you want me to hit you with this?” She held up the riding crop. “On your butt? The boots are nice. Mind if I try them on?”

  She seemed much more interested in the boots than the whole sexy, horsey thing, but she was always interested in shoes and boots. “Sure, that’s what I got them for.”

  She leaned back against the pillows and pulled the right boot on. The sight of her, naked, legs spread, pulling on a leather boot forced a good-sized tear of precome from the tip of his cock. “How does it feel,” he asked.

  “It’s good, I think. I just want to try the other one on, too.” Once she’d gotten both boots on, she hopped out of bed to walk around in them. “Wow, these are nice. These aren’t cheap, crappy boots. These are the real deal. I think I love ’em.”

  Looking at her standing by the bed, naked except for a pair of black leather boots, hands on hips, legs slightly spread, made his cock lurch forward like a divining rod. He climbed off the bed and handed her the crop. “Oh god, you are so hot.” Down on his knees, in front of her, he ran his hands up the sides of the boots and buried his face in her pussy. He parted her lips and began to lick before grabbing her ass and trying to force as much of her as possible into his mouth.

  He felt a light tap on his hip. “Hey horsey, I’ll give you some sugar for a ride.” He almost melted into a puddle in front of her but managed to get down on his hands and knees and whinny. It wasn’t a very good whinny, but he supposed he could work on it.

  She rested her hands on his shoulders, to balance herself, and lifted a leg over. The feel of her hot, wet pussy on the small of his back forced more precome from his cock but when she smacked his rear with the crop and said, “Giddyup!” he thought maybe he just might lose it right there.

  She led him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen before dismounting. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned back down to him, a cube of sugar in the palm of her hand. It wasn’t what he’d been thinking of in terms of sugar, but his lips took it from her, nevertheless.

  “Okay, I can see where this could be fun,” she said. “Want some water?”

  He shook his head.

  “All right then.” She climbed onto his back again and said, “Back to the bedroom, Flicka,” giving him a little smack with the crop. Once back in bed, she took control and rode him hard, keeping her new boots on the entire time.

  ***

  Thinking back to that day, Bart realized it was the most exciting sexual adventure of his life, at least, up to that point. It wasn’t just the sex, which was definitely hot, especially with her on top; it was the whole idea of her embracing his fantasy, or at least giving it a chance. Seeing her in those boots, remembering her wielding the crop during their trip to the kitchen. He’d never realized how hot the whole pony play fantasy was until he’d gotten a chance to make it a reality.

  He still wasn’t sure whether Elizabeth was just trying to please him, or if she was as turned on by it as he was. All he knew was that they spent a lot of time looking at Internet sites and equine paraphernalia, both together and, at least on his part, alone. They bought some gear, things like rubber bits, bridals and halters with reins and horseshoe mitts and boots. Elizabeth was getting pretty adept with the riding crop and so Bart bought her a few more, along with a dressage whip.

  Elizabeth balked at the whip. She said she didn’t want to hurt him, but she began practicing with it and, after a while, got up the courage to try using it on him. It seemed to transform her and after a while, it became an extension of her hand. He loved the feeling of it on his back, buttocks and thighs and he especially loved the little red marks it left on him, even though they quickly faded. Just feeling the little stings as he pranced around the house on hands and knees excited him like nothing else.

  Elizabeth called those times his training sessions. She’d guide him through the house, sometimes riding on his back and sometimes walking beside him, using the whip or the crop, finally driving him back to the bedroom, where she’d take control again and fuck him senseless.

  Bart was sure he’d reached the pinnacle of happiness. He couldn’t imagine things getting better. How could they? Then, one day, he and a couple of friends went to a baseball game. He left the house late morning and didn’t get home until just before dinner. Waiting for him, at the door, he found his horseshoe mitts, bridal, bit and halter and a note, telling him to get ready and meet his rider in the den. Thankful he hadn’t brought anyone home with him, he dutifully took off his clothes and transformed himself into Flicka (the name had stuck) and made his way, on his hands and knees, to meet Elizabeth.

  The first thing he noticed, of course, was her booted feet and legs. Allowing his vision to travel upward, he saw that she was wearing a pair of camel-colored jodhpurs—but with a difference. The crotch was completely open. They were almost like chaps, but the rich wool jodhpurs had been beautifully tailored that way. It seemed she, too, had been busy on the Internet.

  He whinnied and snorted and sidestepped closer to nuzzle her pussy. His tongue snaked out around his bit to give her a few licks before she smacked him lightly with her crop and backed up. “You have to see the whole package,” she said.

  He whinnied again and whined just a little, but dutifully looked up. She was dressed in an English riding outfit: leather riding boots; jodhpurs; white, tailored show shirt; black jacket and helmet. She held a pair of black-leather riding gloves in her hand, along with the ever-present riding crop. She was a goddess. He couldn’t help it; he collapsed onto his butt, sat down and just gazed up at her. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he said, around the bit in his mouth.

  “Bad horsey, if you keep talking, I’m going to have to change your name to Mr. Ed—and he wasn’t at all sexy. And horses don’t sit down like that.”

  Bart got back on his hands and knees and Elizabeth approached him. Reaching down, she unclipped his bit. This time, she pulled his head against her cunt, pushing his nose into her slit, allowing him to bury his tongue inside her before he began licking and sucking her already dripping sex.

  When he wrapped an arm around her thighs, she smacked his rear hard with the crop. “Ponies can’t wrap a leg around something, and they can’t effectively stand on three legs.” He put his arm back down and Flicka snorted against her cunt, teasing it with his nose and tongue again.

  “That’s better,” she said, letting him lick and suck her a little more. “I have a present for you, but it’s far away and we’ll have to ride there.” She replaced the bit in his mouth and clipped it to the side of his halter.

  Flicka whinnied and nodded his head up and down. Thoroughly wet, both from her own juices and his mouth, she climbed onto his back and rubbed herself against his bare skin. She took his reins and guided him through the house, first to the kitchen for a sugar cube and then around the living room—twice—down the hall and into the bedroom where she dismounted and retrieved a wrapped box from the dresser.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll open it for you,” she said. He watched as she ripped the paper off and opened the box. Inside was a shiny, stainless-steel butt plug with a beautiful, long, brown horsetail attached to it. “I think this works better when you’re standing on two legs,” she said. “Do you want to try it on?”

  Though his eyes had gotten big, he nodded his head again and snorted. Up to this point, Bart had only had Elizabeth’s finger in his ass, so the plug was a little scary, but the tail was so beautiful, he really wanted to try it.

  Elizabeth decided it would be a good idea if he could talk, in case he needed to, so she removed his bit again and had him bend over the be
d. “Let me know if I hurt you, baby,” she said.

  Using plenty of lube, she teased him open with her finger and played inside him until he was relaxed and opened enough to try the butt plug. It took a bit of effort and Bart gasped as the largest part of the plug slid past his sphincter, but once it was fully in him, he said it didn’t hurt at all.

  Elizabeth had gone all out and gotten a special plug, with an elbow that angled up and away, so the tail would sit like a real horse’s tail. As he moved he noticed first the sensation of the plug moving inside him, which made him hard, and the feeling of the tail brushing against the backs of his knees, which made him even harder. The whole experience threatened to make him lose control altogether.

  She led him to the mirror so he could admire himself as she stroked his hard cock and fondled his balls. “What do you think, baby?”

  “Oh, my god. This is amazing,” he replied, looking at himself from all angles. The whole I’m a horse and can’t talk thing went right out of his head, but she didn’t seem to mind. They had gone past the first game, into a whole new game; this one even more sexual than the last. He held his hands out. “Please?” he asked.

  She removed the horseshoe mitts and he enveloped her in his arms. As her hands explored his ass, the plug and the tail, he ran a hand slowly down her back, over her butt and between her legs to finger her exposed cunt. It was obvious that the whole thing had turned her on, as she was even wetter than before.

  Bart wondered what it would feel like to fuck her while the plug was in his ass. It was an imperative; he needed to know.

  He walked her back against the side of the bed and laid her down. As he bent over her, kissing her, he could feel the plug slide inside him. It made his cock jump in her hand and he felt her smear his precome over the head of his shaft. She slid back farther onto the bed and he followed her, kneeling over her. The opening in her pants was just the right size and in just the right place to allow him access without her having to remove the jodhpurs.