by Alison Tyler
Twin nipple clamps bit into the tender flesh. They looked like little black steampunk alligators. Jaws designed to cause a good amount of pain but inflict very little damage. Any damage they produced would fade in minutes to hours. But at the moment, my pulse was pounding away, a savage drumbeat, between my thighs.
“Say your word,” Jack said.
I sighed. “Red?”
“Is that a question?” he asked, smirking.
“Um…” Damn, damn, damn; my mind raced. I could never remember my safeword. Jack’s theory was that if I truly wanted things to stop, I’d remember.
My eyes roamed the room. He always left a reminder of the word somewhere. The problem was we traveled a lot, and every room in our home was packed full of art and trinkets and…stuff.
“I’m waiting. And I’m getting annoyed,” Jack said. He touched my clit with the grip end of his nasty black crop.
I had that terror to deal with, but in the back of my mind I pondered what would come after the crop… Could I do it?
“It’s red,” I said, nodding. My eyes had settled on a red batik wall hanging.
“Wrong,” he said, nudging the nipple clamps with the grip of the crop. The pressure caused a biting pain to shoot through my nipples. Between my legs, the wet flex of my sex became even more distracting.
Jack took his time walking around me. He prodded my rib with the crop tip and I jumped. Then he slid the business end down the ladder of my spine, slipping it between my asscheeks before dragging it lower down the backs of my thighs. Every time he slowed or paused, I braced myself for the blow…and then he moved on. He reached my calves, stroking me with the slender crop, and just when I sagged a little, wondering if he was ever going to do this thing, he delivered. The blow fell along the meat of my right asscheek.
“Jesus fucking Christ on a hobby horse!” I hissed.
“Silence, Virginia, unless perhaps you want to say your word?”
“It’s not red?” I blurted.
Another sharp snap of the crop, this time across the left cheek. A few tears slipped free of my blinking eyes, but my pussy was wetter than I could remember.
“If you wanted this to end, dear, you’d remember your damn word,” he said, pressing his lips to the back of my neck. The pressure right at the nape made the fine hair along my scalp bristle. A shiver shook me from top to toe.
“I…”
“You what?”
“I’m sorry?” I said. After all, it was my stupidity that had me in this bind. It was I who’d told his boss he didn’t leave work early on Wednesdays to go to physical therapy anymore but to hit a bucket of balls and unwind. I was the one who, at a dinner party, had informed the boss that Jack’s shoulder injury had been rectified months ago.
“Is that a question?” he asked for the second time today. Then he laid the crop down right across the flesh of my ass, spanning both cheeks and the crack. I jumped and sobbed simultaneously. I could feel that skin rise up like a candy cane stripe of flesh. The red would accent nicely to my lily-white ass, I knew. I could picture it, and after all was said and done—after the fucking, the soothing and more apologies on my part, he’d take me into the hallway, give me a mirror and show me his handiwork. And it would get me wet and then…he’d fuck me again.
I was eager to get to that part. However…you had to walk through the fire to get to the other side. Or something like that.
“I’m sorry!” I really did feel like a shit for telling on him. I should have realized that he was simply carving out some time for himself alone. That it was a small white lie and he’d eventually stop doing it. My god. Why hadn’t I just kept my big mouth shut?
I twisted in the cuffs that loop through the overhead shelf and hoped, as I always do, that I wouldn’t manage to bring six hundred pounds of handbags, belts and sweaters down on my head.
Jack made his way around me and stared me down. Big dark eyes—almost black—flashed with annoyance but yes, also, arousal. His cock was hard in his trousers, and I could see his pulse jumping like a small fish trapped under his skin.
He wanted to fuck me. I just needed to remember that.
“Say it again, Virginia.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry,” I babbled. My eyes darted around the room, though. Just in case I needed my word. I really had pissed him off this time. So much so that he’d delayed this punishment because Jack believes you never do this bondage thing—that’s what he calls it—truly angry. So at least I knew he wasn’t truly angry…anymore.
“Good.” He gave a nod. “I forgive you, little girl.” He nudged the nipple clamps again with the grip of the crop and I gasped. I had almost forgotten those horrible things. The sting in my ass had distracted me. But he’d provoked them, and they seemed to be biting into my skin ten times harder than before.
“Please,” I moaned.
He reached out and unclipped one single clamp. First he ran the tip of the crop over my nipple, and when I sighed at the pleasantly painful feel of restored blood flow, he leaned in to lick the flushed tip. “Small mercies, Virginia. That was one.”
He left the other clamp and circled me again.
I squawked, I’m embarrassed to admit, like a chicken. Horny, irate and truly sorry. Couldn’t he see that in me?
“Like I said, small mercies, take them when you can. I took that clamp off, but you still owe me seven blows. I wanted ten, you only gave me three.”
“I…you…” I stammered frantically. My eyes were leaking tears I didn’t want to shed.
“Hush,” he said. And then the crop bit me on the ass, laying a new line of red flesh over a parcel that was just starting to calm down from his last blow.
“What was that?” Jack asked.
“Four,” I whispered, my voice hitching.
Five was hard and six was a bit less. By seven, eight and nine, I could tell he had backed off some, but my ass still throbbed like a giant heartbeat. Between my legs I was beyond wet. I was slippery, to be honest. I could feel the slide of fluid at the top of my thighs. The full and urgent feeling of a pussy that needed to be filled.
He pushed himself up against me. His cock was out and hard, pressing to the seam of my ass. He’d take me this way so that every thrust would brush my tender flesh and remind me.
“Yes,” I whispered, beyond ready. “Yes, yes, please…”
His lips brushed over my neck and shoulders and he speared me with three fingers, feeling how wet I was, tsking like he was ashamed of me when secretly he was thrilled.
He gripped my hips and moved me just so and then he drove into me, shaking my handcuffs and making me sob for other reasons this time. Good ones. I came almost immediately, my pussy gripping his thrusting cock and capturing each bit of friction he offered.
He wouldn’t last long, I could tell by the way he was breathing. By the grunts and the sighs and the restless whisper of his fingers on the meat of my hips. And then he reached around and took the end of the clamp in his fingers, tugged without releasing me. Stretching my fragile flesh and making pain slither under my skin.
Jack whispered “Small mercies” and thrust hard and high. He opened the jaws and set my nipple free. I came when he gently stroked my skin. He thrust once more, getting himself deep enough to lift me up off my feet a little.
His lips on the back of my neck, my body humming with the aftermath of orgasm. Small spasms of joy deep inside me. He kissed me once more and moved to uncuff me.
“So what is my safeword?” I asked.
Jack chuckled as he released my arms. “You chose it, Virginia.” He shook his head. “But I stand by my theory. If you ever need it, you’ll remember.”
THE NAUGHTY CHAIR
Donna George Storey
The naughty chair was one of the most unremarkable pieces of furniture Jillian had ever seen. It was made of oak, square and squat with two wooden slats across the back and a worn upholstered seat of a blue material that resembled burlap. Zach had inherited his dining set
from the apartment’s last tenant. Three of the chairs were of a matching black plastic minimalist design from IKEA, making the naughty chair, despite its homeliness, the most comfortable of the lot. This was why Zach insisted she enjoy its comforts when he hosted her for meals. And this was why she was sitting on the chair the very day it earned its name.
Zach was fully dressed because he’d just run down to the corner café for bagels and lattes. Jillian was naked under his terrycloth bathrobe, which she’d purposely tied to show some cleavage. Fresh from Sunday morning wake-up sex, their glowing eyes and knowing smiles suggested round two was soon to follow. Jillian turned her chair toward Zach and lounged back, extending one bare foot to rest on his blue-jeaned thigh. He squeezed her toes in his large, warm hand, but she couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked in that rigid, straight-backed Scandinavian chair.
“Do you want to finish eating in bed?” she suggested.
“Well, I was planning to finish by eating you in bed.” Zach wiggled his eyebrows.
“Why wait?” Jillian replied. She envisioned an immediate shift from the dining room to a picnic on his futon, but Zach interpreted her words differently. He nudged her foot from his leg and fell to his knees before her. Looping his hands under her thighs, he opened her legs, tugged at her belt and let the robe fall open around her.
Giggling in surprise, Jillian glanced guiltily toward the dining room window. The faded lace curtains would probably hide them from all but the most prying eyes, but the very thought that someone might see made her blush.
“Not here, Zach.”
Smiling mischievously, he bent over and planted a kiss on her brown curls, right above her clit.
She let out a squeal and tried to get up off the chair. While the idea of someone watching made her belly clench with dark pleasure, she’d never been as bold in her actions as in her fantasies.
“Give me two minutes, Jillian. If you don’t want me to continue after that, I’ll stop.”
She nodded, not wanting to seem prudish so early on in a promising relationship. Yet no sooner had he lavished one long, slow lick along her cleft than she instinctively put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. Zach sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes.
“Naughty girl. This time I want you to hold on to the edges of the chair. Tightly. So you won’t sabotage my efforts.”
To her own surprise, Jillian obeyed, curling her fingers around the cool, oaken edges of the chair seat. Oddly, the sensation of the sturdy wood soothed her, making her feel grounded and safe.
Zach made no move to continue. He seemed to be enjoying the view. If he only has two minutes, why is he just staring? Then it struck her that there was no clock in the room, nor were either of them wearing a watch.
“Look, you’re so excited, you’ve already made my robe damp,” he murmured.
She let out a soft “oh” of embarrassment as her right hand reflexively moved to cover herself.
Clicking his tongue, Zach grabbed her wrist and moved her hand back to the edge of the chair. “One more slipup and I’m going out to my car to get some rope to tie your hands to this damned chair.”
Jillian’s body jerked as if she’d been slapped. Yet the image of Josh marching back into the apartment with a coil of golden rope made her cheeks flame and her vagina flutter.
“But you won’t make me do that, will you, Jillian? You’re going to be a very good girl and cooperate. Because you know you want this.”
Jillian squirmed, but she dutifully kept her hands clenched around the edges of the chair. She wasn’t quite sure how he got the idea she wanted him to eat her pussy in front of the window, but his game was arousing her intensely. Her breasts were flushed, her belly churned with lust and her clit was impossibly stiff, as if it were preening before his gaze like a tiny cock.
“You do want it, don’t you, Jillian?”
She whimpered and bit her lip.
“Tell me you want me to lick your tasty twat right here on my dining room chair until you come so hard you scream.”
Zach had whispered dirty things to her in bed before, but this was different. His bold words seemed to slither up inside her, hot and hard and nasty.
“Say it, darling. Say you want this.” His voice was softer now, almost pleading.
He was right, she did want it. She opened her mouth to speak. “I…” She tried again. “I want…” Her throat closed up around the shameful confession.
“I understand,” Zach said. “It’s hard for a woman to admit these desires out loud. But as long as you hold on tight to the chair, I’ll know I should keep going. As soon as you let go, I’ll stop. The power is in your hands.”
Her fingers clutched the chair tighter. She closed her eyes. It was as if she were at the crest of a roller coaster, waiting for the bottom to drop out.
Hot breath tickled her thighs. Then a gentle hiss of air caressed her vulva.
“Good girl. You’re showing them you want it. All the people looking in at us through the window with their binoculars. Now, if I did tie you to the chair, they might think I was forcing you. But this is voluntary bondage. One woman’s struggle between her desire and her inhibition. It’s really something to watch. I wonder which side will win?”
His low, insinuating voice made sweat rise all over Jillian’s body. Strange how these words alone could inflame her desire, creating an obscene picture of voyeuristic neighbors across the alley—a gray-templed man in a Hawaiian shirt, a housewife still glowing from her weekend morning yoga class—studying her wanton sexual display through big, sporty binoculars, their own hands creeping between their legs.
Zach started in again, flicking her clit with lazy, catlike motions. At first, she was still able to worry—faintly—that someone could actually see them. As he picked up the tempo, pleasure overtook caution. The pressure on her hands set her arms tingling with the strain. Gradually the sensation moved into her chest, her torso, swirling down to meet the thrumming pleasure of his mouth on her sweet spot. With each breath the feeling grew, until her whole body was like a buzzing clit. She felt the telltale pressure of an orgasm deep in her core, but she didn’t want to come yet. This taut, raw feeling was too delicious.
Still, it took all the willpower she had to pry her hand from the chair and touch his shoulder.
He pulled back, smacking his lips. “Had enough?”
“No, I didn’t mean stop…” She faltered.
“But you just asked me to stop. Those were the rules.”
She opened her eyes and gazed straight into his. Then she deliberately curled her fingers around the edge of the chair again.
“Ho, ho, it’s not as easy as that. You have to pay a forfeit.” He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes danced with amusement.
“What kind of forfeit?”
He paused.
“Tell me you want it, Jillian.”
Why was this so difficult? After all, it was just a few simple words. She’d already done worse, exposing herself to any stranger with a view of the window. “I want it,” she said softly.
“Even with the whole neighborhood watching?” he teased.
Jillian’s throat tightened. This was still the shame for her—and the thrill.
“I…want them to see me come,” she choked out.
“Right, then. Let’s give them a good show.”
His tongue slipped into the magic groove to the right of her clitoral hood while his hands slid up over her belly to take her nipples between his fingers. Using the chair as an anchor, Jillian pushed her breasts forward provocatively as if she were a stripper performing the headliner show. She closed her eyes again.
There behind her eyelids she could see them. Her audience. Watching her. Watching her body twist and tremble with their desperate, hungry stares. She pressed her fingers into the chair with such force, she was sure she would leave a permanent mark on the wood.
Just then Zach pinched her nipples hard, tipping her over the edge.
&nbs
p; She bellowed as she came, her thighs jerking, her hands milking the edge of the chair in time with her contractions.
Zach pulled her to the carpet and wrapped her in his arms. “Oh, my god, you are so hot. I’m taking you to bed right now to make you come again on my cock.”
“Why not here?” she asked with a playful frown. “Don’t you have the nerve to perform for your neighbors ?”
He grinned back. “The couple in the next house over are on vacation. I saw them get into an airport van yesterday.”
She had to laugh as he led her back to the bedroom. He might have told her a little lie for fun, but he did keep his promise to make her come again—twice—before the afternoon was over.
Jillian didn’t visit Zach’s apartment again for several days. He stayed over at her condo a few times that week instead. Although her place was more upscale—Zach worked at a new-age pharmacy and was studying for his acupuncture license—Jillian actually preferred the Bohemian charm of his Noe Valley fourplex. On Friday night, they finally went back to his apartment after hanging out at a club downtown. Zach retreated to his galley kitchen to get them both glasses of cold water to take the edge off of the martinis.
This left Jillian alone in the darkened dining room with the chair.
There it is—the naughty chair.
A pang of lust shot through her. She and Zach had already decided to sleep off the liquor and make love in the morning, but suddenly Jillian wanted it now. On that chair. She crossed her arms over her tingling nipples. Of course, she was being ridiculous. It was just a chair. A perfectly plain, old, boring chair. Not in the least naughty—why had she just given it that name? If it were fitted out with black leather straps and fixtures to attach self-twirling dildos and vibrating butt plugs, maybe her arousal would be justified. She must be drunker than she thought to react so strongly. Giving the chair a dismissive scowl, she followed Zach to bed.
The next morning Jillian awoke to the smell of coffee and fresh oranges.