Best Bondage Erotica 2013

by Rachel Bussel

  “Once I have a good hard orgasm, I’ll get the ice pack, and we’ll send Mister Tiny back to Shrivelsville. Then I’ll take that gag out so you can tell me how much you love me, baby, while I fall asleep in your arms. Won’t that be romantic?”

  She humps his leg harder, using it to brace the vibrator against her clit. The vibe is a powerful model. The trembling rumbles up his leg and into his balls. Worse, it makes her leg vibrate a little, so he can feel the sensation when she rams her knee into his balls and grinds it against them. She doesn’t quite knee him in the balls, but it’s something more than just rubbing. It hurts like hell, but he can tell it makes her hot. Maybe it’s the way he squirms and squeals when she rams her knee into his blue balls. Maybe it’s the risk she’s taking; she has to know those vibrations are almost making him come.

  She works the vibe faster and knees his balls harder.

  She mounts toward a screamer while she purrs in his ear: “Seven days, baby. Only seven more days, then you get your revenge…”

  He thinks, Revenge? What she’s going to get isn’t revenge.

  The torments of the last three weeks—and the one to come—were Brian’s idea from the beginning. It took him a good long while to gently cajole Natasha into becoming his chastity mistress.

  See, she’s usually a bottom.

  She’s certainly getting the hang of having Brian wrapped around her finger, all right. But she never stops looking at the big picture.

  She knows it’s her turn next month.

  Brian has her belt ordered. It’s a daily wear model with nice tough straps that won’t even let her hand down.

  It’s harder with women, because you don’t have the useful tool of inhibiting erection. Get a woman horny enough, and she can come from riding a horse or a bicycle. And he knows his wife; when she really gets going, the little slut comes like popcorn kernels going off. By the time he’s had her in chastity a few weeks, she’ll just have to rub her clit against something and she’ll come hard.

  So Brian spared no expense. The chastity belt he’s gotten her is guaranteed to keep her secure. She’ll spend a month in bondage, being teased by him constantly. She’ll be locked up good and tight, secured against orgasm and pleasure.

  But “revenge?”

  Nah, thinks Brian, the pleasant rush of adrenaline hitting him as Natasha begins to shudder all over. “I’m coming…I’m coming,” she moans, her mouth up against his neck, her breath hot and fast and hungry. “I’m going to fucking come!”

  Her breathing turns deep and ragged as her perfect breasts heave. This is gonna be a big one.

  Next month, he thinks, won’t be my revenge. It’ll be her reward.

  Natasha lets out a screamer, shaking the bed. She humps his leg and knee-fucks his balls while she comes. He’s never seen his wife climax so hard. Even the pain in his nuts can’t distract him from the fact that she looks and sounds amazing. He’s never been happier.

  When that gag comes out, it’s easy for him to tell her how much he loves her. She falls asleep in his arms while he thinks, Seven more days…

  A BIT OF A TANGLE

  Monocle

  “I bet I can guess what Boy Scout badge you didn’t get,” Cori said with a smirk.

  They’d moved the dressing mirror over by the bed so Cori could see Jack’s handiwork. Pretty wouldn’t have been an appropriate adjective to describe his knot-craft.

  “Oh, quiet, you. I have enough rope left to make a good gag, you know,” Jack replied. “Tell me, can you move? Can you get free?”

  Cori visibly bit back a snide retort, then wiggled with effort. The muscles in her arms and legs flexed pleasingly between coils of red rope.

  “No. Mmm. No. You’ve got me, Jack.” Her voice actually got breathier over those few short words.

  “Well, that’s something.” He felt mollified, somewhat. This whole “shibari” thing had been Cori’s idea to begin with. She’d even bought the rope, and a book, as a gift for the two of them. Jack had studied up, and appreciated them for what they were— the fancy knots and rope patterns in the examples—but in the execution he would be the first to admit he had four or five thumbs.

  Still, ugly as his rope-work was, she seemed prettily trussed up—and happy about it. Jack may not have appreciated his own artifice, but he found that his Corinna all bound and, yes, helpless, was more of a turn-on than he would have readily admitted.

  “Now, if I pull this up, and tie it off so…I said, tie. It. Off…” The raised rope pulled Cori’s knee up and to the side, and Jack’s fiddling with the new knot wasn’t helped at all with the distraction of her spread legs. He couldn’t help noticing.

  “Oh, my dear, you’re soaking the rope.”

  Jack had to look closer. Two lengths of the jute rope passed between Cori’s legs, pressing between the lips of her cunt. As he moved his head nearer, between her pried-apart knees, he caught the scent of her arousal. His testing, questing finger verified by touch what he’d seen. Wet rope, wet labia. Cori shivered and squirmed with the teasing slide of it. Her hands were bound tightly—and messily—behind her back, which made her chest jut out, but the coils of rope around her breasts prevented their jiggling. Most of it anyway. Jack had to divide his attention.

  Cori hissed as his other hand encircled one constricted breast and lightly pinched a hard nipple.

  “Sensitive?” he asked. She only nodded. Jack played more. Eventually he had to lean forward, palming her cunt with one hand, squeezing a breast with the other, and engulfing her nipple with his mouth. Cari cried out and bucked under him. He felt certain she was trying—and failing—to get away from him, but at the same time, her roped mound pressed hard against his palm. Jack hummed as he sucked hard and nibbled, then shifted his head over to mistreat Cori’s other breast equally. Cori whimpered, and didn’t stop squirming, and Jack found his hands roaming her skin, tracing the lines where the rope pressed into her.

  He pulled back to assess once more. Cori’s cheeks blushed, and her skin was reddened or pale depending on how the rope and ties affected her circulation. Jack himself was hard. Whether or not the fancy-schmancy patterns had artistic appeal, they trapped her and held her for him, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. That turned him on. A lot. Painfully restricted inside his jeans, he got off the bed and got out of his clothes. Cori watched, panting.

  “What do you have in mind, now, love?” How Cori could sound seductive when she was at his mercy was a mystery Jack would ponder later. As it was, he reached for her shoulders and repositioned her by main force.

  “Mmm. I’m going to fuck you, is what.”

  “Umm.” Cori glanced down, as best she could, between her legs.

  “Yeah, I have to untie…something. Here. Suck on this while I figure it out.”

  Jack gently but firmly cut off Cori’s giggle by pushing the head of his cock against her lips. She opened for him and he slid into her mouth as he turned his attention to the two lengths of rope that were suddenly very much in his way.

  Cori’s mouth around his cock distracted him. Her tongue was certainly not restrained in any way, and the sucking sounds raced the sensations into his brain. Maybe that was why he couldn’t figure out how to loosen those damned loops. His groping fingers dug at and tickled her skin, eliciting muffled squeaks. Jack’s frustration, however, increased with his arousal, and he found himself teetering on the edge of giving up and just letting Cori get him off with her mouth. Or, instead of “letting” her, he could grab her head and fuck her face, which he had neither done nor really ever contemplated before—another thought he filed for later. Or, he could go after what he really wanted.

  Jack grunted and pulled away from Cori’s mouth.

  “Giving up?” she asked. It wasn’t really a taunt, but it was close.

  “Wait there,” Jack said, and walked over to the bureau.

  “Ha-ha.” Like she was going anywhere.

  Jack rifled the sock drawer, then the pajamas, underwear, su
ndries.

  “What are you looking for, yesterday?”

  “Just a minute.” Jack stepped from the bedroom, his cock leading the way.

  “Where are you going?” Cori’s voice was less certain now, and Jack found himself smiling at the imbalance. He took a little longer than he might have going through the kitchen drawer.

  “Jack?”

  There.

  “Aha!” His Swiss Army knife. They’d last used it as a corkscrew.

  He reentered the bedroom, but stopped when he caught sight of Cori. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten how he left her, but walking back into their familiar space to see her like that took him aback. With her trussed up and unable to do anything but wait for him, the quality of his tying really didn’t matter. His attention was caught on her skin, her immobilized limbs, the look on her face.

  “What were you looking for?” she asked.

  He showed her, opening the shorter of the knife’s blades, and her eyes widened.

  “Uhm…are you sure, Jack? I bet you can loosen…” She was a little scared. He could hear it in her voice.

  “No,” he cut her off. “I’ll never get those things loose. And I don’t have the patience. I’ll buy new rope if we need it. Now, don’t move, really.”

  He went to her and dug two fingers between the ropes and her skin, just above her mound. Those two ropes barring his way into her. Carefully, he slid the knife between them, dull side against Cori, sharp side biting into the rope. She’d squirmed at the tickle of his fingers, but froze at the touch of the metal, watching balefully as Jack sawed gently back and forth. The point of the knife touched, barely scraped her.

  “Jack.”

  “Shhh.”

  The chords gave way, cut strand by strand. First one, then the other. Both of them gasped as each taut rope finally severed and sprang apart. Jack carefully laid the knife on the bed table and turned back to marvel at the impressions the rope had left on Cori’s body, a small double stripe from lower belly to slit. He traced the marks with his fingers, over her hard clit, down to her wet, wet cunt.

  “Mmm, that’s more like it,” he said, and moved to bring his cock up to her entrance. He placed his hands back on her bound breasts and squeezed as he sank into her. Cori moaned loudly, her inner muscles clamping down hard on his intruding cock. He pushed passed that resistance with his own groan.

  She tried to move as he pressed fully inside her, and failed. Jack sensed the effort as a tensing of her body but couldn’t tell what direction she was trying to go. She wasn’t saying anything. Her face, though, blushed fiercely. There wasn’t just arousal there, but he couldn’t tell if it was anger, or embarrassment, or something else, until she jerked under him.

  “Fuck!”

  Her eyes had an almost panicked look about them, but the hard squeeze on his embedded cock told the story. Cori was coming, hard. Jack squeezed his hands, catching her nipples between his fingers. Cori shrieked and arched into him as much as she could. He held there as she gasped and spasmed, relishing the coaxing ripples around his cock, letting her ride it out. As she subsided to panting and blinking, Jack moved to stroke her cheek. His fingers left behind white impressions on her breast.

  “Ahh. That was a surprise.” He leaned down to kiss her. She barely responded. “My turn, now.”

  Her blank, postorgasmic stare followed him as he pulled back and dug his fingers between rope and skin, one hand at her hip, one under the opposite shoulder. He wormed his way until he had a good grip, like he was getting ready to heave a parcel over his shoulder. Instead, he started to fuck, deep and hard. Jack used his grip and leverage to bring Cori to him, to augment the thrust of his own hips. It was the strange sensation of using, a term only ever encountered as wrong, or disrespectful. However, here, now, it was nothing but apt. His restrained Cori, body jolting with the impact of each fuck, wasn’t his wife or lover, or rather she was, but she was also his gift-wrapped fuck-thing, and quite possibly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen or felt.

  Cori was making noises, too, low and bestial, like she knew how he saw her now, and felt more than just being taken. Her cunt fluttered and flooded around him, in shared arousal or self-defense didn’t matter. It was doing what a cunt was supposed to do, and it felt good. Jack came, yanking hard on the rope, jamming Cori on his hilted cock and snarling right at her. Cori’s eyes held his with some ineffable expression as he filled her with his come. Jack wondered, as he came down from his high, if this was the kind of thing she’d been thinking of when she handed him the rope and book. He kind of doubted it, but then, he’d ask. Later.

  Panting, sweating, Jack let himself collapse over Cori, feeling the rope press against his own skin as he lay across her. They were both silent for a few minutes as their breathing returned to normal and he softened inside her.

  “Let me get you out of this,” said Jack, before kissing her cheek and pulling off of her. Cori nodded up at him.

  “I know the unwrapping can have some kind of significance to it. But…” Jack was examining his tangled knots.

  “It’s okay. Cut them. It’ll be fine. And you’ll buy new rope.”

  So Jack did. It was actually pretty impressive how much he could cut and unwind and still have Cori pretty much immobile. However, each careful dig of the knife blade revealed more skin, imprinted with the inverse texture of the twine. It was a texture Jack enjoyed running his fingers along, so the whole freeing process took longer than it might have. And though she winced or sighed when something particularly tight or biting was finally released, Cori didn’t try to hurry him.

  Jack was half hard again by the time he freed her of the last strands. In a way, he’d just stripped her with his knife. Cori gave him an arched eyebrow before stretching luxuriously, plainly pleased and relieved to be able to move.

  “You made a mess of me,” she said, looking herself over.

  “I hope that’s all right.” He had on his lopsided smile.

  “It is, love. It is. I need three things, though. A kiss, a towel and dinner.”

  Jack’s grin grew larger.

  “Deal!”

  After delivering on the first two items, he asked Cori what she wanted him to make, or if she wanted to go out. She named the recently opened, ritzy, nouveau French place she’d read about in the paper the other day as she started—gingerly—getting dressed. No shower, so Jack didn’t either.

  On the way out the door, he snaked his arm around her waist to pull her in for a kiss, and she hissed, her hand grabbing his to loosen his grip.

  “Sorry!”

  “No, it’s okay.” She kissed his cheek. “But I’m buying you a book on basic knots. Maybe a video. And you’re going to practice.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Good. Okay, I’m starving.”

  Everything was good. They would talk over wine and fine cuisine. The blouse Cori wore had sleeves that weren’t long enough to cover her wrists, Jack noticed. He almost said something, but stopped himself.

  Of course she knew. It was going to be one of those dinners.

  Jack always loved the desserts.

  WHEELBARROW POSITION

  Danielle Mignon

  Linda watched her men empty dark soil into the cherry-red wheelbarrow, which gleamed like a new car under the morning sun.

  Everybody back home asked why she was living way the hell out here, a four-hour drive from the nearest Starbucks. Why indeed? The benefits were too many to name. Small towns were one thing—no privacy in a small town—but it was different in the middle of nowhere.

  No neighbors. None. When she looked out her kitchen window, there were no skyscrapers to mar her view. Her plot of land extended beyond the organic garden, which was her reason for moving here in the first place, out into those woods. The forest was largely coniferous, with tall pines reaching up to the sun like children seeking a mother’s warm embrace. And everything smelled like nature.

  “What is there to do?” her sister had asked the last time Lin
da visited her in the city. “No nightlife, I bet.”

  “No nightlife,” Linda had agreed, remembering those evenings when the northern lights made their way to her land, painting the sky with streaks of color like glistening starlight. “But when you work the land, all you want is your bed come nine o’clock.”

  Linda’s bed frame was solid oak, sturdy, and it had to be. It slept three.

  Since moving up north, Linda was quieter than she’d once been. She embraced her newfound silence. Talking just seemed so unnecessary most of the time.

  “You’ve taken on field hands?” her mother had asked, probably just to make conversation.

  “Two,” Linda told her mother. “Two guys from the Reserve.”

  A collective gasp from her family, like she’d admitted to hiring Freddy Krueger and Hannibal Lecter. It was her mother who’d said, “Indians?”

  “Yeah, they’re Cree,” Linda shot back. She wasn’t taking any prisoners. “You got a problem with that?”

  Her mother had looked around the room for support, but everyone took a sudden and extreme interest in his or her own cuticles, so her mother said a simple, “No, not at all.”

  And that was that.

  Linda remembered that conversation as she looked out across the land they’d be working today. Gorgeous weather. They were very lucky this year. Growing conditions were ideal, or so said Albert and Roy. What would she do without them?

  Stripping off her robe, Linda walked out the back door, letting the morning sun kiss her naked flesh. Roy had on a dusty pair of jeans, but Albert wore nothing at all. They’d finished filling the wheelbarrow with the first round of dirt and were now washing their calloused hands in the basin. When they looked up and saw her, their eyes grew dark with lust, like they hadn’t made love to her last night before going to sleep and again this morning before any of them were quite awake.

  This was different. Out here, it wasn’t making love; it was some sort of makeshift organic farming ritual. They told themselves and each other it made a difference, but even if their crops didn’t grow any better after they’d worked their collective magic, Linda loved the process too much to ever give it up.