The Big Book of Bondage

by Alison Tyler

  Chad pulled the skirt to her hips and tucked it hem-into-waistband.

  He shoved his hand between Karen’s legs and started feeling her up.

  “That’s a nice short slutty skirt,” he gloated. “And you’re not wearing anything underneath. I guess you’ve been expecting me. You’re good and wet, you horny little office slut.”

  His fingers caressed her bare, smooth slit, stroking from her wet entrance to her clit. The volume of Karen’s moans mounted as she squirmed.

  Her pussy was bare—as were her legs—because she’d taken off her pantyhose after the second beer. She was shaved because she always shaved for Chad; he liked her that way, and what Chad wanted, Chad got—especially when he asked so nicely.

  As for being “good and wet,” she was more than that—she was dripping. Had she been when he entered, or was it the struggle that got her all wet and dripping? She often fantasized at work, but she’d been way too busy with the Phoenix account today. She’d probably been bone dry when he’d grabbed her.

  She could feel Chad’s fingers gliding in and out of her pussy, stroking her channel and her entrance and her clit, wetness smeared everywhere. She could feel rivulets of it running down her naked thighs.

  He shoved his fingers in—two, it felt like, with intentional roughness, enough to make her moan behind the gag. Karen could feel—as could Chad—that she was far wetter on the inside than on the outside. That was a sure sign that her arousal had been sudden and powerful.

  One of Chad’s favorite things was feeling her go from dry to wet as he touched her. Karen hadn’t always liked it at first, but Chad’s eagerness converted her. Now nothing turned her on more than thinking about how Chad could start her sexual response cycle from zero to sixty in no time flat.

  Like he’d done by taking her in the conference room.

  Chad unzipped his pants and took his cock out. Karen moaned as she felt the head of it rubbing her slit. He alternated teasing her entrance and her clit with the head and fingering her with two or three fingers.

  “You want this?” he growled as he rubbed his cock against her. “You want my cock up inside you, slut?”

  Karen played the unwilling victim. She shook her head against the cold hard surface of the cutting table. She wiggled her ass. She struggled and squirmed. As she fought against her imminent ravishment, she felt her arousal mounting—ironically making it harder and harder to keep acting like she didn’t want it. Her hips were already grinding in a shameless burlesque of getting fucked. Her nipples felt hard against the table. Her mouth was wet and drooling around the gag. She wanted his cock in her mouth.

  But she kept shaking her head—and Chad got the message.

  His belt buckle made a rattling sound; the belt itself a harsh, acrid hissing as he whipped it from his belt loops.

  Karen squealed and squirmed. She wiggled her ass so hard she shook the table. She made so much noise that when she thought of the cleaning guys, she got scared and excited at once—but she still couldn’t stop herself. She was going to be whipped.

  “Let’s see if this changes your mind,” said Chad, stepping back far enough to get him some swing space.

  The belt hissed down with elegant violence. A hot slash of pain caressed her naked cheek. The muffled sound that erupted from Karen’s mouth with the first blow was as much moan as shriek. But as the afterburn set in, the sound escalated almost to a scream. The ball gag silenced her effectively and Karen felt the heat of catharsis as she realized she could scream as loud as she wanted—no one would save her.

  The belt snapped down again and again. Karen fought against the bonds as the streaks of pain mounted across her naked ass and thighs. She was helpless. Chad gave her ten or twelve strokes, then reached under her and grabbed her blouse. He didn’t unbutton it; he just pulled. Buttons went flying. It was an expensive blouse, but Karen was well beyond caring. He shoved his hand up under her and undid her front-clasp bra like an expert. Her tits exposed, the blindfolded Karen didn’t know what was coming—until she felt the first hot hard pinch on one nipple, the pain mounting as she waited for the other to get the same treatment.

  Binder clips.

  With Karen’s arms tied behind her back, Chad couldn’t strip her blouse off without ripping it to shreds. Which would have been fine with Karen at that point, but Chad let prudence be his guide. He left the filmy silk garment spread open across her back, pulled down to expose her shoulders. With both of her tits clamped, Karen could feel sensation coursing from her pussy to her nipples to her clit. She bit into the gag as Chad took his position, rubbing his cock against her entrance.

  He spoke slowly and distinctly.

  “Do you want my cock inside you?” he asked her. “Do you want to be fucked?”

  Karen did; she could barely think straight with her delirious craving for it. But she forced herself to shake her head, craving the other thing more—the hot lances of pain across her backside.

  With a grim snarl of fury, Chad gave that to her. He stepped back and strapped her with a vengeance, laying stripe after stripe of hot red against Karen’s bare ass.

  When he swung that thing he moved like a god, she thought, the oiled leather of his belt as supple and smooth as Karen herself had made it just that Sunday evening, kneeling on a pillow before the newspaper-covered coffee table, nude and collared—and impossibly turned on. Did she imagine that he’d use it for something like this? That the big boots she’d also mink-oiled that night would, on Wednesday, kick her high-heeled red pumps wide apart, and the ropes she’d obediently washed and looped into six-foot lengths would circle her ankles and wrists? That she’d be at the office when she smelled the mink oil she’d used on the strap of the ball gag and the soft, supple leather blindfold?

  She’d been counting on it.

  Chad gave it to her hard, as hard as she could take it. He knew exactly when to stop, too—the moment she broke, not because the pain was too much but because her hunger for him had mounted to the point where she couldn’t say no. Not even just to pretend.

  He pulled her hair and leaned down, his weight atop her, pinning her bound body more firmly to the table. He spoke into her ear.

  “Do you want to be fucked?”

  Karen couldn’t say no, so she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t make herself shake her head because she wanted it so bad she thought she’d fucking die if he wasn’t inside her within the minute. But not being able to ask for it felt deliciously and horribly like the state she occupied so much of the time: mute in her desire, and waiting for male lust to take over.

  It did, this time. Chad took her against her will.

  He made a point of it, too, his lips up close at the back of her neck.

  When his cock was positioned at her opening and her vaginal lips spread wide by his fingers, he leaned down and told her:

  “I guess you really don’t want it. Good thing for you, I don’t care.”

  He entered her quickly, in one savage thrust, his cock going as deep as it could go. She surged beneath him and bucked and swayed as he started to fuck her. She moaned into the ball gag. Muffled sounds escaped her. Her eyes rolled back behind the blindfold, but there was no one there to see it. She started fucking her body back onto Chad, meeting the thrust of his cock with great shuddering strokes.

  She came before he did. Chad never knew it. By the time she came, she was moaning so hard and uncontrollably that the barely noticeable rise in volume didn’t tip him off—and he was thrusting too hard and too fast to detect the powerful contractions of her cunt.

  An instant later, she felt wetness flood her. Chad’s groans echoed above her, bestial and male. She felt him inside her, slicking her up with his seed.

  He pulled out, untied her and picked her up in his arms.

  She murmured into his sweaty neck: “Eleven o’clock…FedEx…deadline…”

  He said, “Don’t worry. We’ve still got half an hour. Where’s the package?”

  “Shelf…above…the copier,
” she moaned softly.

  “Where’s it going?”

  “Phoenix.”

  “What needs to go in?”

  “Just the last batch of shit in the copier,” she murmured.

  He carried her down the hall to the couch in her office. She caressed the rope marks on her wrists as Chad loaded up the package, sealed it and got Karen’s coat. She had to button it to make herself decent, since her blouse no longer fastened properly. It was ten forty-five—plenty of time to get there.

  Someone was pounding on the dead-bolted door to the office just as Chad and Karen opened it.

  The cleaning guys hadn’t heard a thing, which left Karen only mildly disappointed.

  PREY

  Madeline Elayne

  She was hungry, and she wanted to play.

  The email was short and to the point, but the implied message was pretty damn clear.

  When and where?—Jia.

  I could feel my chest tighten, both with fear and arousal, at the thought of it—Jia. She only used that name once in a blue moon, when she really wanted to play hard, to hunt me and take me down for it. Fuck, the last time I played with Jia, I had to take two sick days in a row afterward to recover. And this time, she wanted me to set the time and place.

  Telling me to set the time, that was a tease. She knew how much these nights terrified me just like she knew how much they turned me on. I wanted to put it off, to give myself time to prepare for the game, but I knew the way she thought. The longer I waited, the more pent-up aggression she’d have waiting for me. What she really wanted was for me to seduce her with my choices of time and venue, to make myself irresistible prey for her to chase down and devour. What I wanted was to run and hide. No, not really. (Well, maybe a little.) What I really wanted was not to disappoint her—to make this night, this game, the biggest turn-on of her life. Fuck. Jia.

  I pulled up the message so that it filled the whole screen, and kicked my chair away from the desk. My cock, already rock-hard when I unzipped my jeans and pulled it free, left a dribble of precum on my hand. I couldn’t be bothered with any niceties like lube right now, I just needed to be mind-numbingly turned on while I thought. I let the words fill my whole vision; the sensation of my hand frantically driving up and down the length of my dick was secondary to the image of Jia toying with me, tracking me and finally fucking me silly. “When, where?”

  I closed my eyes and focused on the tiny snippets of scenes that were swarming in my imagination; struggled to put them into a setting that would bring out the predator in her. The more I fleshed out the scenario, the more frantically I jacked off, and it wasn’t long before my cock exploded in a wet, sticky mess up the front of my shirt. Note to self: Even when skipping lube, a Kleenex is still useful. Of course, more importantly (and the biggest reason for the gooey mess) was that I knew the perfect place. I grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned up as best I could, then scooted back to the keyboard and started typing my equally economical response:

  Molly’s café. Friday at 8. Wear leather.

  It was Monday when I sent it, and it was sure to be a very, very, long week.

  Strangely enough, the week flew by. I spent all my free time making plans for Friday, and so horny I thought that I would explode. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t get off again until we met, and my balls were constantly full and fucking sore as hell. Imagining the ways the night would play out occupied most of my waking (and dreaming) thoughts, and even though my productivity at work was practically zilch, still the workdays seemed to pass in an instant.

  Friday night, though, crawled. I took off work early, and when it was pretty clear that I’d be the only one home for the night, I popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. I was dressed and ready to go out the door by 5:30. Damn, it was going to be a long wait. I stood up, then sat right back down at least ten times in as many minutes. I paced the front room in a circle, then went upstairs to check that the bedroom was the way I’d left it.

  The wall hangings and rugs that disguised the room were all neatly rolled away and stored so that the dozens of anchor rings embedded in the wall, floor and ceiling shone silvery and magical in the dim light. I flicked the switch to make sure the strobe was still working and checked the stereo for the fifth time, making sure the right songs were cued up. Yes, the playroom was still perfectly ready, just like it was when I finished setting it up an hour ago, and when I checked a half hour after that. I switched back to the regular lighting and checked myself out in the mirror.

  The leather jeans were nothing special; they were my oldest pair, and well worn because I was sure they’d be at the least scuffed and stained by morning. I liked what they did to my ass, though. The black T-shirt was plain enough, too, but I hoped she’d find the boots with the built-in quick-links and the not-too-obvious (but still functional) cuffs and choker complete with D-rings were a temptation to tie me down somewhere good and securely. I took another look at the jungle of anchor points in the room and grinned.

  I normally couldn’t care less about my appearance over and above being clean and tidy, but I checked my hair yet again to make sure the spiky ’do—so different from the very little I normally do to my hair—was still up the way the guy had left it in the salon. He’d been right, it did take several years off my age, and I was hoping it would give Jia a bit of extra fun, chasing down some young and perky leatherboy tonight.

  Double-checking took all of ten minutes, and then I went back to the pacing. I tried to get myself to sit down and read a book, but trying to sit still was an exercise in futility. At seven, I gave in and went to the café early.

  She came in during my fifth coffee. From quarter to eight on, I’d had my eyes glued to the door watching for her, but when the goddess in the black trench coat strode in at eight on the dot, my mind took a full count of three to recognize her as Jia. The signature black knee-height Dr. Martens stompin’ boots I recognized, and the leather jeans and halter top, but the rest of the outfit—the part I’d never seen before—was what really did it for me. It seemed like there wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t glint with the shine of new steel, a chain or a cuff or one of the row of links on her belt. Even better, I was sure that most of it would be functional, too. It wasn’t just her outfit that was a surprise, though. Her normally shoulder-length brown hair was dyed jet black and trimmed to a sexy bob just shy of chin length, and it was offset with streaks of deep purple that framed her face. Lips stained the same color as the highlights in her hair turned into a quirky smile when she saw me and took the only other chair at my little table.

  I’d made sure there was already a tea and a slice of coffee cake waiting for her when she got here (the more reasons I gave her to linger, the longer it would take her to catch up to me), and she cradled the cup in both hands to take a sip, checking me out with an appraising eye over the rim. Meanwhile, I was trying to find a way to surreptitiously inch my chair closer to the table to keep the rest of the café from being exposed to the painfully obvious hard-on trying its best to force its way through the front of my jeans.

  “Seems a little public…and quiet for the kind of night I was looking forward to, doesn’t it?” She arched a brow and tilted her head to point out the two very nice-looking middle-aged men in the corner playing a game of chess.

  I chuckled. “Do you expect me to believe that you’d be here if you thought this was our final destination of the night?”

  She conceded the point with a shrug and posed the obligatory reply: if we weren’t going to stay here, where exactly were we going? I tossed a couple of twenties on the table and pushed my chair back to stand up. The erection was still there, and still miraculously contained by my jeans, but I was in the moment now and couldn’t have cared less.

  “I guess you’ll have to catch me to find out. A sporting person might even give me a bit of a head start.”

  My pulse was pounding so hard and fast that it rang in my ears as I turned my back and walked away from the table, but I forced mys
elf to move slowly and deliberately. It was all part of the tease—let her catch an eyeful of my ass behind the leather, and (hopefully) she’d be hungry for more. I didn’t pick up my pace until I was out the door and around the corner. I was caught in the adrenaline rush; my heart was beating a staccato rhythm that my feet couldn’t even begin to catch up with. Besides, it was bar night in what passed for our little city’s downtown, and the streets were packed. Even though I wanted to sprint, I had to settle for a jog.

  The nightclub I’d chosen was only three blocks away, and I got there well ahead of Jia. It was still early enough for it to be relatively empty, but it was bar hours so the lights were dimmed, the smoke machines were already cooking and the strobes danced off everything enthusiastically enough to give an epileptic nightmares. It was retro night, and this was a place to dance, so the music—an endless stream of techno and synth-pop—was playing so loud you could feel the pulsing rhythm through the soles of your boots. It would be easy to stake out a place where I could see her before she saw me when she came in, especially since her eyes would need a minute to get used to the light change, and it wasn’t as if any noise I made would give me away.

  I was leaning against the back wall of the dance floor, doing my best to look the cool, casual bar hopper—arms crossed and one foot planted up on the wall behind me. She came to the door and my heart skipped a beat. She was every inch the hunter as she scanned the inside of the bar, not seeing much because of the flashing strobes but taking in all she could. She prowled up to the bartender and showed him a picture. I had imagined her like the lone predator; the thought that she’d get help finding me hadn’t even crossed my mind. The guy pointed in my direction and I met Jia’s eyes. Hungry, she was so hungry. Was that the way I looked to her, so raw and desperate? I wrenched myself away from her gaze and turned toward the back, where the bathrooms were, and rushed as fast as I could without looking like I was running.

  I raced past both sets of doors to the johns. When I was here on Wednesday, the hallway ended in a door to a storage room and through it one to the outside, a favorite place for staff and patrons alike to grab a quick smoke. Neither had been locked from the inside then, and I prayed they weren’t today and that it was early enough for the alley to be deserted. When I got out into the cool air of the empty alley, I let out a breath I hadn’t known that I was holding. I turned around the corner and leaned against the brick wall to rest a minute. I hadn’t really exerted myself, but the endorphin rush was making my breath come so quick and hard I thought I might pass out. Besides, she would assume I went into one of the bathrooms, wouldn’t she? That would buy me a minute.