The Big Book of Bondage

by Alison Tyler

  I pull your hair again, forcing your head back, taking my cock out of your mouth. You cry out. This time, there’s a glistening string of spittle from your plump red lips to my lipstick-stained dickhead.

  I seize my cock and slap you with it. This time you never take your eyes off mine. Again. Again. I hear you whimper and whine, your whole body trembling. Again. You’re still looking at me.

  Lesson learned.

  I shove your head back in my crotch.

  You try to keep your eyes upturned and toward me, but it’s not easy for you. This time I force your face in my crotch so firmly, pulling your hair, that you know I won’t take no for an answer. You only struggle briefly; then you give up and let me do as I wish, trying to keep your eyes up toward me. But as you worship my cock, your eyes are often obscured. But you keep them toward me nonetheless… Good girl.

  I can feel the soft, wet smoothness at the back of your throat; each time you go down, you press my cockhead against it more firmly.

  I nudge you down with my hand in your hair, guiding you to take it in your throat.

  As I push you down, I feel a shiver going through you again. You’ve really been looking forward to this part.

  No, it’s not the first cock you’ve ever sucked; there have been three, and not one of them has been down your throat. Not unless you count silicone ones—then three of the five that I sent you have been there. The other two were too big—far too big. The three were of increasing size, each of them flanged, starting long and soft and thin and progressing roughly up to the size of my cock. Each of them filled up that very pretty throat behind the dog collar you always wear when you suck cock on webcam for me. The one that says SLUT on its padlock.

  Now it’s time for the real thing, and you can’t wait; your increasingly sweaty body is practically bursting with energy.

  You lean forward, putting the weight of your upper body in my lap. You try to look up at me the whole time as you get ready to take me down your throat. Your pretty ass wiggles in its candy-red dress as you lean more fully forward to straighten your neck and get some leverage.

  I feel your throat open up, the muscles accepting the entry of my cock. You gag a little as you swallow me; you come up for air and make love to my cock, your head bobbing up and down, your lips around my shaft. They leave faint streaks of bright red lipstick. You go down again. You hold it deep, this time; ten seconds, twenty; you come up gasping, panting, drooling everywhere.

  You catch your breath and go quickly back down on my drool-wet cock…until your red lips are circled around the base, and you can’t look up at me till you tip your body back a little.

  But you do. You look up at me again, excited, shamed, your eyes pouring black tears.

  With my cock down your throat, you make eye contact.

  You keep eye contact with me for five seconds, ten… Very good. You’re letting me see your blue eyes filled with shame, with arousal, with hunger. Not just hunger for cock—that part is easy. Hunger for submission; hunger to be kneeling before me, just like this, wearing knee pads and tarted like a slut.

  You come up for air; my dick comes free with a pop. Drool runs everywhere.

  You go right back down, but quickly this time; then you’re making love to my cock, rubbing it all over your face, bobbing up and down intermittently and lavishing affection on me with your mouth, your tongue, your face. You smear tears and mascara everywhere, even into your hair; sticky precum and spit form strings between your chin and my cockhead while you lap at my balls, easing them out of the deep worsted V formed by my fly. My balls are tight and high with arousal, so you can’t quite take them into your mouth, but you work them just far enough from my body that you can caress them all over with your tongue. You part your lips and slide them up and down my shaft, your tongue working drooly and crazy, all over me. You tease the cockhead, and something in the way my breathing changes tells you not to push your luck just yet. I think I see a smile play across your cock-spread lips; I’ll have to spank you for that later. You obediently lick your way back down to my balls, caressing my shaft but not stroking too hard; we both know you’ve learned your lessons well. I could cum on your face any moment.

  But I hold back, and you help me hold me back. You worship my balls just long enough to let me cool down.

  Then you look up at me and make eye contact again, sitting back slightly on your heels as your slut-blond hair scatters everywhere.

  You ease your body heavily against me again. At some point your tits have popped out of your dress and your push-up bra—that, or you popped them out. You push your tits together and slide my cock between them, smearing messy mascara and lipstick all over your firm, tanned mounds. You pinch your own nipples as you hold your tits tight, forming a channel for my cock. Your upper body undulates sensuously as you fuck yourself onto me. You make eye contact again and again, pleasuring me with your tits.

  But by now I’m mounting toward a hard, wet cum all over your tits. So I stop you. I put my hand in your hair and pull you back and force you down and slap your face with my cock again.

  That almost makes me blow my load. I freeze and pull your hair, feeling my cock throb as tiny hot squirts of jizz stream out on your face. Your mouth forms into a wide O of tender surprise as you feel the semen hit you. You nostrils flare as you smell it. You shudder all over. At the scent of cum, you’re like an animal in heat. You let out a desperate little gasp, your tongue lolling out as you lap hungrily after the warm touch of cum. You get a good lick in—but I haven’t quite blown just yet. It’s not exactly a false alarm; I’m just teetering on the edge.

  And that’s a good thing; now you’ve got cum on your face, two little streams of it across your mascara-smeared cheek, the scent of it making you crazy. It drips down onto your lips and you lick it as I pull your hair and slap you again—with my cock, my hand, my cock, my hand.

  Your eyes turn back to me, looking up with the mingled shame and pride of deep submission. Tears roll out as I slap you; when I guide your mouth down to my cock again, I let go of your hair and let you work.

  I take a pleasant suck at my big cigar; I take a sip of my Scotch as my breathing quickens and my grunt comes hard and insistent from my lips.

  You know what I want.

  You look up at me, pleading. You take your hands off your tits and put them on my cock. You open wide and stick your tongue out and stroke my cock, moaning softly as you guide me back to the brink.

  You cup your tongue and look at me, your blue eyes watery with effort.

  Thick streams shoot into your mouth.

  You catch it, at first, but then you show me, proudly, displaying the creamy load of cum on your cupped tongue as you make eye contact. Doing that, you have to tip your head back, and you dribble as you show off.

  Then you swallow most of it, but a steady drizzle runs down your chin and down your neck, and when I grab your hair and sit you upright, I watch it run down to your tits.

  Your eyes stay on me, making eye contact, showing me your deep submission—and I know it wasn’t an accident. That eager gulp you made was just too perfect, the spillage down your chin too awkward. You did it on purpose, or half on purpose.

  Your big eyes show me just how smart you are—how badly you want to go over my lap for spilling my precious seed.

  But I can’t bear to do it; I can’t bear to spank you. Not on your ass, at least.

  Don’t get me wrong; I want that ass. I want to bend you over and give it to you hard, blow after blow on your perfect pert buns. I want to see your ass pink and punished.

  But right now, I don’t want to tip you face-down, ass-up.

  If I did, we couldn’t have eye contact.

  “Take off your panties,” I tell you. “You need to be punished.”

  Your body trembles as your slender hands work the skimpy red panties down. You’ve worn them on the outsides of your garters—like a true slut.

  But when you obediently try to get over my knee, face-down, I g
rab you.

  I pull you roughly into my lap—facing up. I manhandle you into position, until I’m cradling you in my arms and forcing your thighs open wide.

  I put my hand in your hair and force your head back, so my face is close to yours.

  I look deep in your eyes as you whimper.

  My hand traces a path up your slender thigh, and I see the fear in your eyes as you realize what I have in mind.

  “Time for your spanking,” I tell you.

  I draw my hand back and bring it down sharp—right between your legs.

  You close your eyes and gasp in pain as I cradle you and spank your pussy. But you never look away, even when it hurts. Your big blue eyes stay locked on mine, pouring dark mascara tears as you gasp and moan and squirm in my lap, taking every blow to your pussy like a brave little slut.

  Looks like you’ve learned your lessons about eye contact after all.

  But you still get that spanking.

  DOUBLE DUTCH

  Giselle Renarde

  Damn, girl!” Nakesha tore Jansey’s rope away. Hurling it to the ground, she stomped on it with the ball of her foot like she was crushing a cigarette. “How many times we been over this? It’s Crouger first, then into the Awesome Annie.”

  “I know, okay? I made a mistake.” Jansey bent to pick up her jump rope, but Nakesha’s foot wasn’t moving. In her peripheral vision, she noticed Ruby and Beatriz skulking at her sides. She felt claustrophobic between the pair.

  “Yeah, and what’s with all the doubles?” Ruby sucked her teeth. Jansey hated that noise. “There’s just the two doubles to start things off, then into the triples and quads.”

  “I was only marking it this time.” Jansey’s voice sounded small and weak, even to her. “I’ll do it right in competition, obviously.”

  Beatriz muttered “lazy ass” under her breath, but loud enough for Jansey to hear. Why was everybody always picking on her? They made mistakes too.

  “And when you gonna cut your hair?” Nakesha folded her arms in front of her chest, and Jansey watched her spandex suit shimmer under the fluorescents. “All that little Dutch girl frizz gonna get caught up in your rope one day.”

  Jansey ran her fingers through her ponytail. It wasn’t all that frizzy, was it? “Well, what about Ruby and Beatriz?” she shot back. “They have long hair too.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ruby mocked, petting her hair like it was a fur coat. “But my fine Oji-Cree tresses don’t tangle.”

  “Neither do my lovely Spanish locks,” Beatriz said in that same teasing tone.

  Ruby shot Beatriz a glare that seemed to say don’t steal my thunder. “Yeah, well, Indian hair is sacred, bitch.”

  Nakesha put her foot down. “Women! We’ve been a team too long to start getting catty now. You two shut your yaps and, Jansey, cut your hair.”

  She didn’t want to. She liked her hair. “You guys are bullies, you know that?”

  “Yeah?” Nakesha swooped down to grab Jansey’s red plastic rope and stretched it out end to end. Those arms of hers were toned, all sleek black muscle. She was the fittest of them all. “Well, learn the routine and we won’t bully you so much.”

  “I know the routine!” Jansey sounded whiny now, and she knew that wouldn’t go over well, but why did the girls have to be so mean?

  Jansey held out her hand, silently asking for her rope back, but Nakesha didn’t give it. Beatriz said, “White girls can’t jump rope,” and they all laughed. All except Jansey, of course.

  “If I couldn’t jump, I wouldn’t be on the team,” she spat, hoping that was actually true. “Anyway, how would you feel if I said Indian or Black or Spanish girls couldn’t jump? Huh?”

  Ruby and Beatriz exchanged cunning grins before creeping up at her sides like Nakesha’s henchmen. Grabbing Jansey’s arms, the girls pulled them behind her back so hard it hurt.

  “Oh, but we can jump,” Nakesha said. “That’s the difference.” And she tied Jansey’s wrists together with that translucent devil-red jump rope. “You wanna see a solid routine? We’ll give you a show.”

  Jansey was too shocked to react. They’d tied her arms behind her back? Why would her skipping team do that to her? And, god, was it ever hard to stand when she was bound like this, her wrist bones rubbing one against the other, the jump rope tight even around her forearms. A dull ache began in her shoulders and bled down her back. As the other three girls took up their ropes, Jansey eased herself down on her knees. That was better—or, at least, the best she could hope for in such a strange circumstance.

  “You pay attention, little girl.” A strange smile crept across Nakesha’s lips. “Let your big sisters show you how it’s done.”

  When Nakesha turned on the boom box, the beat soared through the gymnasium floor, rocking Jansey’s calves. The music ran up through her thighs. It got right inside her spandex one-piece, vibrating inside her pelvis, making her instantly wet. Music could do that for her. That’s why she’d always been an easy lay at dances. The beat made her hot. Even underneath her skintight spandex, she could feel her nipples hardening to tight little buds.

  Restrained and kneeling on the floor of this public school gymnasium they rehearsed in after hours—after midnight, after the tippling security guard had dozed off—Jansey watched her team perform their skipping routine without her. They always started off with Speed Steps and Criss-Crosses, usually punctuated with a Side-Swing or two. Judges weren’t too fond of the latter, so they kept ’em to a minimum.

  Nakesha, Ruby, Beatriz—they executed the triples and the quads without breaking a sweat. Their matching ropes were like extensions of those bodies clad in black spandex one-pieces as they went Crouger into Awesome Annie, the trick she’d messed up earlier. Then it was time for some of Nakesha’s incredible freestyle while Ruby and Beatriz went with can-can variation jumps. They finished up with impressive Donkey Kicks, their handstands in perfect form, their lean limbs always where they should be, their ropes along for the ride and never getting in the way.

  They were right: Jansey wasn’t anywhere near as good as they were. White girls couldn’t jump rope.

  Nakesha stopped the music. “Well, little girl? What do you have to say for yourself?” Her almost flat chest expanded and contracted in swift repetition as she breathed hard. The other two took sips of water.

  “I suck.” What else could Jansey say? “You guys are amazing and I suck.” She looked at Ruby and Beatriz leaning against one another like twins, almost, in their matching outfits. They were roughly the same height, Ruby a little shorter, a little more athletic in build. Even their breasts were about the same size and round like navel oranges, though Beatriz had sharper features to Ruby’s moon face.

  Nakesha was taller than any of them, strong and thin and dark as night, her kinky hair cut close to the scalp but on a queer angle, like a tidal wave. She dropped her head, shaking it. “That’s exactly the opposite of the point I was trying to make, little girl.” She bent down low, perching her arm on one knee while the other met the gymnasium floor. “If you sucked, we’d have cut you a long time ago. You just gotta get your pretty little head in the game. You’re dropping the ball out there.”

  The hardness in Nakesha’s gaze melted into caring, and that downy expression ignited Jansey’s loving desire. She squirmed against the damp crotch of her spandex one-piece. It was truth time. “I just can’t stop thinking of what we did…that night. You know…that one time…after Manitoba Jumps?”

  She’d known for a long while that Ruby and Beatriz had fallen in love, but one time, after a big win in competition, that love had expanded to include Nakesha and Jansey, too. It was the greatest night of Jansey’s life, and the most intense pleasure she’d ever experienced. Every time she rehearsed a skipping routine with these girls she’d known so intimately, she revisited that event in her mind. She had to go back there.

  A wicked smile broke across Nakesha’s lips and the other girls broke out laughing. “That’s what this is about?” Nakesha asked.
“You’re just horny?”

  Jansey squirmed against the rope binding her wrists behind her back, and against the ever-more-confining crotch of her one-piece. Her pussy lips were thick and throbbing, and she’d give anything in the world to touch herself right now. “Well, you make it sound like I’m horny in a general way. I’m not. I’m only hot for”—she lowered her eyes and her voice—“only for you guys…”

  Ruby and Beatriz chuckled once again, deeply this time. They were holding each other now, and Ruby cooed, “You gotta beg for it, little sister.”

  A glimmer of hope shot through Jansey’s embarrassment. “Oh, I beg you…please!”

  Beatriz approached, inching slowly across the gymnasium. “Gotta do better than that, kid.”

  Why did they always call her kid, little sister, little girl? All four of them were the same age, all in their third year at university, and she wasn’t that much shorter than Ruby or Beatriz. Maybe it was her manner. Granted, she was a little more childish than the rest of them—gullible and naïve at times too.

  “Please,” Jansey said, this time with all the desperation she felt in her body. “I need you to touch me and kiss me and lick me in all the right places, like you did that night.”

  “I don’t know,” Ruby teased. The three of them closed in, looming tall above her. “How can we be sure it’ll improve your performance?”

  “It will!” Jansey cried. She felt anxious now, her skin itchy, clit pounding, like if they didn’t do it she would just die. Her heart hammered so loud it was all she could hear. “Please…I promise…please…” Her mind was so muddled by lust she didn’t know what else to say.

  Beatriz grabbed her under one arm, and Nakesha did the same on the other side. At first, Jansey felt self-conscious because she knew how much she’d been sweating, but that all fell away when Nakesha said, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”