by Alison Tyler
“You were sleeping so soundly, I thought I’d make us breakfast first to fuel up,” Zach said cheerfully. Another advantage of staying over with him was that he always insisted on playing the proper host.
Rubbing her eyes, Jillian wandered into the dining room to find a place set out for her in front of the naughty chair. Her pulse leaped. This is absolutely ridiculous. A chair can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. Defiantly she settled herself on the burlap seat. It felt oddly warm against her buttocks, and softer than she remembered—as if she were sitting on a cushion of flesh.
Over Zach’s eggs and toast and fruit salad, Jillian managed to fake her way through a discussion of the jazz combo they’d heard the night before. But she still couldn’t stop thinking about the chair. The way she screamed and thrashed as she climaxed on Zach’s mouth. Her own wrists, bound with a rope that snaked under the chair to keep her in place, so that she was forced to endure more indignities at his pleasure. Then she pictured Zach kneeling between her legs, this time to slide his cock in and out of her until his pubic hair was frothy with her juices.
The seat of the chair began to pulse beneath her.
“Something the matter?” Zach asked with concern.
“Ah, well, I was just remembering our breakfast last Sunday.”
He smiled.
“It’s weird, though. It’s like this chair remembers it, too.”
Zach didn’t laugh as she feared he might. “Maybe it does. It was pretty memorable.”
“Speaking of last week…”
“Yes?”
Jillian swallowed. Then again, Zach did say he liked it when she talked about sex. “Do you really have rope in your car?”
The flicker in his eyes made her stomach do a little flip.
“No, I made that up. It felt right at the time. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no. I was just wondering if…if you’d ever tied anyone up for real.”
To her surprise, he blushed. “I’ve dabbled in it. Pantyhose, scarves. Once I buckled my belt around a woman’s knees, and then I… Well, as I said, I messed around a bit, but I’m no expert.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” she said, a bit too quickly. Silence settled over the table. She shifted in her seat. “Okay, Zach, I have to ask you something else.”
“Shoot.”
“Will you sit on this chair for a while? I swear there’s some energy happening here. Or else I’m still messed up from last night and totally hallucinating.”
“Sure, let’s switch. I’ll give you my professional opinion. Energy flow is my specialty.”
This was yet another advantage of dating a new-age guy—you got the inside scoop on auras and meridians and things like that. Yet when the exchange of chairs was done, she felt a bit silly sitting in his rigid, unexpressive chair while he sat in hers, his head tilted and lips pursed as if he really were making a diagnosis.
“I don’t feel anything yet,” he said, “but let’s give it some time. Since we’re on the topic, may I ask you if you’ve had experience with bondage?”
“Just pictures and a couple of articles. And, well, last week with you, although that might not count. You didn’t actually tie me up.”
“Oh, that definitely counts. Bondage is more about the head space than the actual ropes.” He took a sip of coffee, as if they were discussing the weather.
His nonchalance made her bold. “Have you ever been…tied up by a woman?”
Zach shrugged. “Officially, yes, but there wasn’t much psychological punch. It’s not easy to top, especially for beginners.”
“Maybe that’s why it’s a profession? I read in a magazine that lots of powerful men pay a dominatrix to tie them up and ‘torture’ them because they’re tired of bossing everyone around and want a rest.”
He frowned. “That strikes me as a little too easy an explanation. Masters of the universe are as trapped by their positions in society as the little guy. I worked on a fair number when I was a masseur at an overpriced spa a few years ago—their bodies are a wreck.”
“Because of all those sessions in dungeons?”
He snorted. “They’d be more relaxed if they were having that much fun. I have a different theory. I think BDSM isn’t only about reversing roles. Sometimes it intensifies conflicts that are already there. Being rich and powerful is a kind of prison, but they can’t admit that, even to themselves. It’s the pure honesty of the scene that gets them off.”
“But why was it so effective for me? I’m not a powerful man.”
“You’re pretty important at work, aren’t you?” Zach lifted an eyebrow. “Actually I have another theory about you.”
“Do you now, Doctor?”
“Women are told they’re sluts if they express sexual desire outside of marriage and the missionary position. Only a total slut would give a cunnilingus show to the neighbors, right? I pushed you a little—to enjoy yourself. Apparently you did.”
She couldn’t exactly argue with him there. “And what about you?”
Zach glanced down at his lap. Jillian recognized his “I’m getting a boner” smirk. “Well, I think you might be right about this chair.”
“Good, it’s not just me,” she said.
“Or it could be that talking about bondage and domination with a smart, beautiful woman is simply a total turn-on for me.”
“It’s the chair, I’m telling you. I never came so hard in my life. Maybe just sitting on it isn’t enough? Maybe you have to have an orgasm there to feel a real connection ?”
Zach’s broad grin suggested he agreed.
Jillian’s eyes wandered down to the oaken edge of the chair seat peeping coyly out around his thighs. Taunting her. Challenging her.
Without a word, she rose, closed the curtains and went to get her pantyhose from the bedroom.
“May I tie your hands to the chair?” she asked, keeping her tone as even as she could.
He nodded, a cool smile playing over his lips. “All right.”
“Hold the edges tight.”
Zach did as he was told. Jillian wrapped one leg of the pantyhose around his thick wrist and tied it in a square knot. “Not too tight?”
“Oh, no.” He still seemed perfectly at ease.
She pulled the pantyhose underneath the seat of the chair and secured his other wrist using the other leg.
“Let’s pull down your pants,” she said. “I want to watch your cock get hard.”
Only then did a flush creep over his cheeks. Jillian was surprised at the surge of pleasure in her belly. Maybe she could be as wild in her actions as in her fantasies? Before she could lose her nerve, she knelt before him and loosened the tie of his pajama pants. He obligingly lifted his hips and she pulled them down to his ankles. He was already erect, of course, but she knew he could get harder. Indeed, before her eyes, his penis twitched higher, like a gentleman rising in the presence of a lady.
She stood and gave him a leisurely once-over. She was enjoying this side of it more than she expected. She fixed her eyes on his cock.
“We both know it’s hard for a woman to express her sexuality honestly, but I can see it’s sometimes so very, very hard to be a man, too.”
Zach glanced down at his hard-on with amusement, but seemed to know it was not his place to reply.
“You poor men. You’re surrounded by attractive women, strangers you’ll never touch, but oh, how they taunt you with their pretty faces and their full breasts straining against their blouses and sweaters. As if they’re just begging to be cupped and caressed and kissed by your hungry lips. These women look so innocent, so unaware, but they know what they’re doing. They plan it out in their bedrooms—the low-cut tops that show off the shadowy valley between their tits, the tight skirts that hug their full, round, fuckable asses. They do it all on purpose to see the helpless look of longing in your eyes. They do it just to make you hard.”
Zach sighed and shifted in the chair. The veins in his cock seemed to throb, and the head w
as now swollen to a shiny, purplish-red hue.
“Am I right, Zach? Do you get turned on by attractive women? Do you imagine them naked and get stiff in your pants?”
He nodded and looked away.
“Don’t you want to see me naked?”
His eyes darted back to her face. The eagerness in his expression was answer enough. Jillian inched the collar of the bathrobe down over her shoulders. Her breasts tumbled free. She cradled them and flicked the nipples with her thumbs.
His face was deeply flushed now, and his fingers tightened around the chair.
“Girls aren’t supposed to touch themselves, but they do,” she cooed. “I’m a very naughty girl. After our first date, remember? You were so respectful that you didn’t even kiss me good night. But I was bad. I was so hot for you, I went to bed and masturbated. I said your name over and over when I came.”
“Oh, god, Jillian.”
“Do you want to see what I did that night? Should I reenact the scene right here in front of you? You know how much I like to be watched.”
Zach made a funny sound in his throat.
She smiled and let the robe fall to the floor. His eyes glinted with a silvery light as they traveled up and down her body.
“How am I doing for my first time? Is there enough punch?”
“Actually, you’re doing very well,” he whispered.
“Thanks. But maybe I’ll save the self-love exhibition for next time. Because today I want to make you come in the naughty chair. I could give you a blow job, but I’m a selfish girl. I want to come, too.”
Jillian stepped in front of the chair and turned her back to him. Straddling his thighs, she took his shaft in her hand and guided the knob to her entrance. Then she lowered herself onto him as if she were merely sitting in his lap.
Zach let out a groan.
“Don’t have too much fun yet. You aren’t allowed to come until I’m satisfied. That’s what a gentleman does, right? So just hold tight to the chair and let it happen. Feel the energy.”
She rested her left elbow on the table to support herself, then dipped her right hand between her legs.
“I’m using you for my pleasure, just like a horny, sex-crazed man uses a woman. I’m using your body,” she chanted.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Use me.”
“Remember, all you can do is sit there and stay hard.”
“I will,” he breathed.
Jillian tweaked her nipple with her free hand and strummed her clit faster, rocking back and forth on Zach’s lap. He was part of the chair now, a tool for her pleasure. His cock felt harder and thicker than ever, pushing into soft, new places inside her, like her own custom-ordered sex toy. She tightened her walls around him, raising herself, then sliding back down again and again.
Soon she felt the orgasm rising, up from the fleshy seat of his thighs, fanning out through her belly. She grunted and cupped her mons as her body shuddered around his cock. He grunted, too, and began thrusting into her, his hands still firmly riveted to the chair. She braced herself against the table, letting him use her in return. She smiled as he came with a long, low howl.
They rested there together for a moment, enjoying the glow.
“Okay, I definitely felt something,” he said lazily.
“See, isn’t the naughty chair amazing?” she asked over her shoulder, still perched on top of him.
He planted a kiss on her back. “I can’t deny it, but I have to point out this was just a plain old chair until you came along. I think there’s something special going on between you two.”
“Are you jealous?”
“A little, but I’m glad you’re bringing out the best in each other. Just don’t do anything too wild without me.”
A few months later, when his lease came up, Jillian invited Zach to move in with her. The very first thing he unloaded from his hatchback was the naughty chair.
It didn’t exactly fit with her Mission dining room suite, but she immediately placed it at the head of the table.
Homely as it is, it’s still her favorite place to sit to this day.
ELEVEN O’CLOCK DEADLINE
Thomas S. Roche
Karen didn’t freak out when she heard the door to the office open and close. She often worked this late; she knew the cleaning guys were still in the building. She also knew that if Chad came by to pick her up and found parking, he might sneak in through the back entrance—which the cleaning guys always left propped open—and come up to get her in person.
So when the door went click-hiss-ker-chunk, she didn’t even look up from the copying she was doing—documents for Phoenix, almost done and still with an hour to make the eleven P.M. West Coast FedEx deadline.
Karen was starting to relax—the stress melting out of her, helped along appreciably by the half-drunk beer on the cutting table next to her. The beer, like the other thirty or forty beers stuffed into the overflow refrigerator in the utility room, was left over from the holiday party. It was actually not the half a beer that helped Karen relax so much as the two that had gone before it, however; their bottles were now meticulously rinsed out and placed in the office recycling bin. Between the beers and the sheer exhaustion, she was feeling pretty loose and ready to be done with this terrible day. But she was eager to finish her copying before Chad buzzed her cell phone to tell her he was downstairs on the street. She was so busy, in fact, that she didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder to see who was in the office with her.
So when she felt one big heavy hand in her hair and another grabbing her wrist, she might have freaked out a little bit. She screamed.
Then she heard Chad’s hot, familiar growl in her ear. It was his bad voice, equal parts red wine and dark chocolate…and the scream died in her throat.
He told her, “Don’t move a muscle. Don’t fight. Don’t struggle, and don’t you dare scream again, lady. Do exactly what I tell you to, or you’ll be sorry.”
The scream turned into a moan, then a whine.
Karen said, “Chad, what are you doing? The cleaning guys are still here! They could come in…”
Chad growled: “I’m counting on it. Think they’d like to see me fuck you? Or do you think they’d like a piece? If you’re a good girl, I’ll think about giving them one…”
Karen’s body rippled with sensation. Her knees felt weak. She was helpless.
Chad moved like lightning. He acted like he had done this a thousand times, or planned it extensively in his head. Maybe both. His hand came out of her hair and seized her other wrist. Pinning both of her wrists together in the small of her back was easy for a man with such big hands. In fact, all of this was easy—Karen was 5’3” and Chad 6’2”. He had a big, broad, bulky muscled form, and she had the lithe shape of an athlete who went for speed. He power-lifted; she ran. But she wasn’t running now—she couldn’t. Wouldn’t have wanted to if she could, except for the voice in her head that said, “No, this is wrong! Not at the office…”
…And the voice in her pussy, far more seductive, that said, No, don’t, Sir, don’t hurt me, Sir, I’ll do everything you tell me to. That voice didn’t want her to run, either…it wanted her to spread.
Chad made that part easy, the way he practically picked her up by her wrist and her hair and manhandled her over to the cutting table. It hadn’t been a cutting table for as long as Karen had worked here; most documents had gone virtual, so the cutter was on its side, tucked between the copier and the wall. The table was naked except for a few reams of paper she’d set there in case the copier ran dry.
The cutting table had very sturdy legs.
Chad kicked her feet to the base of them, forcibly spreading her. She tried to squirm and struggle; he responded by slapping her ass, hard, right through her straight wool skirt. She gasped and squirmed some more. He spanked her again, pinning her to the table.
She purred out, “I’ll scream for help,” and he spanked her harder, bringing a sudden flush of heat up and down her legs.
/> “I wouldn’t advise that,” said Chad, and spanked her again, harder than ever.
She squealed. She squirmed and tried to close her legs; he kicked them apart again with his big black boots and pinned her to the table with his knee so he could control her while his big hands circled her wrists with rope.
He tied her wrists quick, and very tight. She struggled, her pussy going wet as she felt how securely she was bound. When Chad was done securing her wrists, he grabbed her hair again, pulling her head back roughly.
His other hand came around with a ball gag.
“I’ll scream,” she purred.
He forced her mouth open easily and shoved the ball gag in. He buckled it tightly behind her cascade of long blond hair.
“Now you won’t,” he said roughly, still holding her hair. His hand disappeared and came back with a blindfold; seeing it, Karen grunted and squealed behind the gag, but it was too late for her to put up more than a cursory struggle. How Chad learned to put a blindfold on a girl one-handed with such incredible fluency, Karen would never know—but an instant later, she was blindfolded and bent over with her ass in the air and a ball gag in her mouth.
It took slightly longer for Chad to secure Karen’s ankles to the table legs. She felt the ropes circling her bare ankles, going tight as Chad knotted them. She tried to struggle, found herself instead stuck halfway between squirming and writhing. Her hips were practically humping the table, she was so turned on. She was dripping.
As she struggled, Chad would reach up and spank her on the ass, snarling, “I told you to stop struggling!”
Karen would whimper and wiggle her butt, and he’d spank her cheeks again through the short blue skirt.
When he was done tying Karen’s ankles to the table, Chad stood and yanked up her skirt.
A navy blue garment of quality wool, it was straight in contour but too short to be entirely businesslike. It wasn’t quite a mini, but it was short enough that it got lots of looks from the guys in the office, though not a one of them complained to management about it.