Bound by Lust

by Shanna Germain

  “Yes,” I said, silently thanking the god who’d created a man who was attracted to women who laughed at his name. “Yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

  Before Tuesday I’d tried on at least a hundred different outfits and played with my vibrator almost as many times.

  After Tuesday I’d gained a boyfriend called Wolfie and learned that Wolfie had had five lovers, all of them long term, none of them that interested in sex, only one of his girlfriends had given him a blowjob. This information obviously made me despair for the women of Germany letting such a piece of man go to sexual waste, unless all men looked like him in Germany, in which case nothing would stop me visiting that country again.

  We fell into a routine of seeing each other two evenings during the week and one day of the weekend. This suited me fine, as it created lots of space for allure and anticipation; smiling across at each other when we left for work in the morning, bumping into each other by accident in the street, watching him work in his garden, all the time knowing we had a date set when we’d be together.

  What was more problematic and outside of my experiences was the way he was with me. It was probably my fault for getting carried away with cultural stereotypes, but it was kind of a shock to be given a fluffy pink teddy bear that was bigger than I was. I thought for a while he wanted me to play at being the sweet little girl corrupted by the big bad older man, but what corrupter spends three weeks of dates doing nothing more risqué than pecking his girl on the lips?

  In the end my lust beat my patience down, and I gave up waiting to be seduced. My first encounters were usually passion-fuelled, clothes-ripping affairs that happened in alleyways, on staircases, in toilets, leaving my body raw and bruised. With my new German boyfriend I took his hand and led him upstairs to my bedroom, moved the big pink teddy off the bed, and we lay down together fully clothed and faced each other. I put my arms around him, and we kissed, gentle loving kisses. My hands slid down the back of his jeans, I pressed my tongue between his lips, and as he responded I moved my hand around to the front and began to slowly wank him. He moaned and rolled onto his back; I undid his belt and pulled his pants down. His cock was even larger than I’d imagined. I didn’t attempt to deep throat it, instead sucking and licking the head while one of my hands squeezed his balls. My other hand pulled up my skirt, and I rubbed my thumb over my clit. I was happy tasting him, breathing in the scent of his sex, and waiting for the moment when his confidence and desire grew and he’d put his hands on the back of my head and pushed me down onto the full length of his cock.

  That didn’t happen.

  He stroked my hair gently until the moment his body shuddered and he let out an enormous groan as he shot into my mouth. Then he pulled me up to him and kissed me with the scent of his spunk still lingering on my lips.

  “Would you like me to lick you out?” His accent sounded almost mechanical, and the only answer I could make was laughter.

  I laughed so much that we didn’t have intercourse but fell innocently asleep in each other’s arms.

  The next morning I rectified this by mounting his early morning erection. He woke up with me grinding on top of him, orgasms pulsing through me as I used his cock for my own pleasure. Immediately his hips bucked up into mine, like a reflex, and his own orgasm was much louder and more violent than any of mine.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I smiled down at him and caressed his sensitive body with my lightest touch. I could be patient. He was worth it.

  His lack of experience made him so easy to please. He made me feel like I was the most amazing woman in the world when I swallowed his spunk or finally convinced him I liked it when he came over my face. Young men had never held any attraction for me, but Wolfgang’s face when I oiled my breasts and rubbed his cock between them made me think of a teenage boy experiencing the first joys of illicit masturbation. There was a certain pleasure to this; things I must have done hundreds of time gained a new adventurous quality when I did them with him. Having sex with my German in a secluded field in the middle of nowhere gave the same thrills and sense of exhibitionism as when I’d sucked and ridden three men one after another in the back of a taxicab in central London. But there was a big drawback. An enormous drawback.

  The more my life became mingled with my handsome neighbor’s, the more I thought about what I was missing. It surprised me how easily I fell into a monogamous relationship, and sometimes I could convince myself that I wasn’t missing the sex life I’d previously enjoyed. But as the days, weeks, and months passed, the yearning only got stronger. It’d always been a part of my adult life; it had been part of my very initiation into becoming an adult.

  Not many of my friends believed I’d remained a virgin until I was twenty-two, but it was true. There’d been no need to rush into having intercourse, as I’d already found sexual pleasures elsewhere: a married man who balanced his conscience by never kissing or having sex with me but who spanked me relentlessly. And that experience had just been the beginning. As I grew older I met other men and women, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose, who pushed and pulled my sexuality so far that I was left uncertain what my limits were, and even whether I had any.

  And now I was settling down with a man who made me smile more than anyone else ever had, a man who said his greatest sexual moment was when I rode him that first time. I tried searching for his darker fantasies, hoping they would mirror mine, but whenever spanking was mentioned he responded with some variation of:

  “I can’t see what is fun about that. How is it nice to hurt someone?”

  I tried to turn him on with what I considered to be milder stories from my past, stroking his cock as I whispered into his ear. I told him of the time I spent most of a weekend bound hands to feet and blindfolded with people (I had no idea whether they were friends or strangers) taking turns to spank me. His prick would respond and stiffen under my touch, but I would always say too much, telling him how raw my body felt, how even the soft fabric of clothes against my skin would sting and remind me of the punishment I’d taken.

  Finally, after more nagging and teasing and persuading and promises than you’d believe, I convinced him to at least try it out.

  I wore a black bra under a white shirt, over-the-knee socks, and a short pleated skirt with no knickers to complete the look. Nothing too hardcore, no PVC, no bondage, and the only leather was on my shoes. I opened the door to him in character, giggling and teasing but backing away when he tried to kiss me. I knocked a pen onto the floor and bent over in front of him to pick it up, giving him a full view of my naked rump. He put his hands on my hips, but I wriggled away and made him chase me, letting him catch me long enough for me to rub my ass against the growing bulge in his trousers before I twisted out of his embrace and ran away again. It took a lot of willpower not to drop to my knees and suck on his cock, but I’d worked so hard for this moment, I couldn’t let it pass so easily.

  “I’m a very very naughty girl,” I said. “You need to punish me. You need to spank me.”

  It was difficult to play at being a coy little cockteaser when I had to push my big muscled man down onto a chair and position myself over his lap, but I think I just about pulled it off.

  I imagined his excitement at having my body in his power, at looking down and seeing the curves of my ass and knowing he could leave the red imprint of his hand on my naked skin. I could feel the barely contained aggression of his prick pressing against me, desperate to pound into me. But when his hand struck me it was more like a friendly pat I would expect from a drunken uncle, not from a passion-filled lover.

  “I’m a wicked girl,” I said trying not to sound disappointed. “Maybe you need to punish me a bit harder to make me into a good girl.”

  He patted my ass again; it might have been a bit harder but it was a very close call.

  “I’ve been really really bad, really really really bad. Punish me.”

  He sighed and gently lifted me off his lap. “I’m s
orry, Audrey, you know how much I love you, how I want to do anything and everything to please you, but this isn’t working, is it?”

  I managed to give him a small smile. “Perhaps you’d prefer breast bondage? I thought that might be a bit difficult to start with, but lots of men I know go mad for it.”

  I looked at the expression on his face and did what I probably should have done from the start, dropped to my knees and released his erection from his jeans. I let all the words disappear and instead filled my mouth with his prick.

  I’d only gone to see Rozalyn to catch up on a bit of a gossip, maybe to ask some advice; I wasn’t sure how I ended up naked in her basement with my back curved over a barrel and my hands and feet bound to metal hooks in the floor. Although it might have been triggered when after about five minutes of listening to me she said, “Enough whining, slut, take your clothes off and go to my dungeon.”

  Rozalyn had been wearing your average office clothes when I arrived, but now she was clad in a black PVC cat suit that covered all of her body and head with holes for her eyes, mouth, breasts, and cunt. She leaned over me, making her dark nipples caress my pink ones. My body tensed as I knew what would be coming next, whenever she kissed or stroked my breasts it was always the prelude to the same thing: big heavy iron pegs clamped all over my chest.

  And that was what she did now, pinching them onto my skin faster than normal so I could barely breathe between each gasp of pain.

  “Rozalyn. I’ve forgotten the safe word. I’ve never needed it before. But I think I’m going to need you to take things a bit easier on me. I’m out of practice.”

  Rozalyn gave a small shake of her head. She put the peg she was holding in her hand onto the side of my breast but did not place any more.

  “You’ll have to please me in other ways then,” she said and stood above my head.

  She started by rubbing her clit against my nose, then she pushed her pussy against my mouth. Obediently I thrust my tongue into her and enjoyed the feeling of being enveloped by the heat of her sex. She ground down into me, and I realized how lazy I’d got having a lover who was so easy to please. I worked my mouth hard, pressing back up into her as she pushed down on me. She flicked her nails against the pegs as I tongue-fucked her; when I flicked my tongue over her clit she yanked one off and we both screamed out.

  “Now that pleases me,” she said.

  I concentrated on her clit, grazing it with my teeth and working my tongue over it again and again as she pulled the pegs off my skin until there were just two left on my nipples. She put one hand on each clip, and I pushed my mouth against her, kissing and licking her pussy and waiting for the irresistible pain. In the same instant she wrenched the pegs off and came in a big squirting gush into my open mouth.

  We both panted deep heavy breaths for a few minutes before she moved away from me.

  “I enjoyed that so much, I think we should do it again.”

  I smiled and sighed and cried out as she put the pegs back onto my now more tender skin. Somewhere deep inside me was a voice wondering what my German lover would think if he could see me. I buried the pangs of guilt and focused on the wet pussy that would soon be on my face again.

  I lay naked on my bed with my German boyfriend, watching the tears in his eyes that were falling onto my skin as he ran his fingers over the marks on my body. I’d explained what happened with Rozalyn three times now, but with each explanation instead of reassuring him I was making both of us feel worse.

  “It’s not cheating or being unfaithful, Wolfie, Rozalyn and I are old friends, we play together now and again. It’s nothing serious, just sex. Not like me and you at all, nothing to be jealous or upset about.”

  “Are you a lesbian? Do you get more pleasure being with a woman than with me?” His voice was unusually soft. I strained to hear his words.

  “I guess I don’t believe in labeling people in that way. There’s a quote from Simone de Beauvoir that I found and memorized ages ago when I was a student, ‘In itself, homosexuality is as limiting as heterosexuality: the ideal should be to be capable of loving a woman or a man; either, a human being, without feeling fear, restraint, or obligation.’ And that kind of influenced me, or it summed up how I felt about relationships. And, oh, I don’t know why I’m quoting at you. I know you don’t want me to quote at you. I just don’t know what to say or do to make this better. I’m not used to feeling like this.”

  “Do you love me, Audrey? Can you love me as I am?”

  He stared into my eyes. I felt like every beat of my heart would be the last.

  “I love you. Forgive me and I’ll be better. I can change and learn how to be a traditional girlfriend. I love you and I want you more than anything else.”

  He put his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. “You’re vibrant and beautiful and amazing. I don’t want you to change for me. Share your experience with me, teach me how to become the lover you desire.”

  “I do desire you.”

  “I know. And I know you desire more, so show me this more.”

  “Would you like to see some of my porn? I’ve got books and films, it might help you to see the kind of things I do.”

  He pushed me away from him and again stared into my eyes in that way that made me feel so vulnerable and so alive.

  “I want you to show me. I want to experience the things that excite you, I want you to do to me the things you like done to you.”

  I considered how to explain to him that I was the submissive, that I wanted to have my body forced and tied into the most prone positions, to feel the tip of a whip caressing my skin before it lashed against me, I wanted my nipples clamped, my mouth gagged, I wanted to wake up the next morning to a reflection that was covered with scratches and bruises.

  “You’ve got to obey everything I say without question or hesitation,” I said. “And if it gets too much the safe word is Simone, you say that and then I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. If you’re sure you want to do this, then turn away and let me prepare.”

  “Thank you,” he said and he turned his face into the bed while I walked over to my wardrobe.

  I put on a red corset, stockings, and stiletto heels. Carefully I reapplied my makeup, choosing dark sultry colors, hoping that if I could create the right look I could become the right woman. I slowly chose a selection of toys, giving him as much time as possible to change his mind about this thing before it even started. Then I took a deep breath, imagined I was Rozalyn, and turned to my lover.

  “I want you on your hands and knees on the floor. Dogs should know better than to get on the furniture. I think you need more training.” I bit down on my lip. Was the thing about dogs too much? Was it too early?

  But he obeyed me, kneeling on the floor, resting on his elbows, his naked buttocks presented before me. I wished I didn’t feel so nervous. Before Wolfgang moved in next door it wasn’t an emotion I was familiar with sexually. Sex was about losing all your inhibitions, it was pure id, the most primal, bestial force. It wasn’t about pausing in front of the beautiful body of your lover wondering how to proceed. He was willing to do anything I told him, to obey my every command, and instead of arousing me it made me feel weighted with responsibility. I liked the sensation of having all control taken away from me, the liberation of doing nothing except enjoy, but now I needed to think about his feelings. Standing with him prostrate before me, I realized how important it was that this man who’d become entwined in my life could share this part of my world with me.

  I looked at the toys I’d selected, but they all looked too severe for my gentle lover. I slowly walked around him, my heels clicked on the floor. It was a sound that had aroused me many times, bound and blindfolded, shivering in anticipation at the knowledge that someone was approaching me. I looked down at my German, and his figure made my breath stop. It seemed unbelievable that one person could be made so flawlessly. His broad shoulders tapering into that narrow waist and the perfect curve of his bottom. And he was all mine
. For the first time I experienced a sense of ownership, that at some level this strong man belonged to me, that he had never done this for anyone but me.

  I raised my hand and slapped down on the fullest part of his buttocks. He gasped, but I gave him no time to breathe before I brought my hand down for a second and third time. The thwack of my skin meeting his filled the room. My sexual side didn’t just awaken; it took complete control of my being.

  I spanked him five times on each buttock, creating red blushes on his tight cheeks. But it wasn’t enough; my inner beast demanded more before it’d be satisfied. I picked up a black riding crop, one that I’d brought years ago with the intention of employing it for its proper use, but it’d found its way into my first lover’s hand and had since become one of my favorite pieces of equipment.

  With the tip of the crop I lightly traced the clean line of his spine, down from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, then let it rest in the secret valley between his buttocks. I watched his muscles waiting for him to relax, for the tension in his shoulders to be released, before raising the crop and whipping it sharply down on his ass. My pussy was moist, but I contained my passion. I bought the whip down on his skin several more times, watching the marks form on his toned buttocks, and knew I had to stop or I’d whip his whole body. I imagined his strong thighs and back decorated in the same manner as his ass, and it gave me a sensation of both incredible power and humbleness at how much he trusted me.

  He was silent as I whipped him. When I took my punishment I liked to scream out, living the full intensity of each stroke. I pictured him staying in this posture, not uttering a sound, as I fulfilled all my dominating fantasies on his passive body. He might be hating every moment, willing it to end, but he would endure it all for me.