by Alison Tyler
“Turn around, hands on your head.” Her terse orders make my clit jump and I spring into position. The hemp fibers drag purposefully across my flesh, surprisingly soft, as though one would have to really try to make them burn. Constriction, on the other hand, they facilitate with ease. As she ropes me in, the lengths draped over her shoulders take on a momentary illusion of a harness across her chest and I can imagine how hot she looks bottoming. But this thought is a flash in the pan, as she assertively pushes and pulls me however she pleases, wrapping around my body again and again. Clearly, she’s the one in control. I close my eyes briefly to take in the feel of it all. Before my mind has a chance to figure out what this binding is doing to my body, I’m being grabbed and reined in by an intricately knotted harness. She latches onto it right between my breasts and yanks me around, facing away so I can’t see her. My nipples, already stiff from her rubbing against them with every pass of the rope, begin to harden all the more with candied agony.
Just as she’s pressing her body up against mine from behind, pulling me into her hard, we hear a passerby call out, “Looks like someone’s getting her just deserts!” The semantics geek in me can’t help but relish this twist. He obviously means that I’m being properly rewarded for my efforts in the kitchen and his usage is clever, tying it to me being a pastry chef. But I’ll never be privy to whether or not he actually knows that the saying has absolutely nothing to do with desserts—even though it is pronounced the same, the idiom stems from the word “deserve,” is spelled with just one “s,” and literally means “to receive that which one justly deserves.” Then it hits me that here I am, in the middle of a scene where I’m about to be suspended midair for the first time ever, by this lusciously skilled rigger, no less, and I’m pondering word play. I am such a nerd. Luckily, she is too. I can only imagine that her mind got stuck there for a second too.
Having loosened her grip momentarily, she snaps me back into my flesh by whipping me around and continuing to work the rope around my legs, dangerously near to my cunt. I never know when to expect the touch of her hands next, where the cords will trail, twist, tighten. Every time she creates a new knot, the remaining lengths of rope must be pulled through, and feeling the falls raining down on my skin is exquisitely delicious.
As she pulls through each loop that is then tightened into a knot, I feel the erotic energy behind her patience and deliberate contemplation put into each action. Sadistic love breathed into every knot. The concentration in her face alone is pristine in its lasciviousness. There’s a beautifully even-tempered art to rope bondage; she steps back occasionally to get a more distanced view of her canvas. Once again grabbing hold of the anchor conveniently located between my tits, she pulls me forward until my feet run out of earth. I have a moment of panic, thrown off balance, fear that I’m falling, and then suddenly I feel gravity give way. Her smile says it all. Mine does too, once the terror is pushed aside and absolute bliss takes over, it stretches wildly across my face. Every last inch of my body is on display—a showing of her kinky artwork. Floating in the breeze leaves me feeling sweetly objectified, hanging helplessly for the whole world to see. Or at least all of camp.
I exhale into the ropes, settle into the pain. With other challenging play, I usually try to breathe through the white heat, attempt to go beyond it; but as I’m suspended here, I find myself wanting instead to breathe into it. So I inhale and submit to the purest form of pleasure.
My rigger grins, snaps on a black latex glove, and smooths a layer of lube across it. Entering me in one swift, fluid motion, she works her fist in my cunt, gradually gaining momentum. A particular flavor of ecstasy permeates me as I give my lungs permission to open up and emit the most primal, guttural screams—a freedom that doesn’t exist in the real world. Here at camp, I know that all within earshot are delighting in the shared experience of my pleasure. My eyes want to roll back in my head and so I fight it—I need to take in every second of this once-in-a-lifetime view—the look of glee and satisfaction in her face, the pine trees reaching up into an expansively open sky, the feathery clouds that drift by. She twists her wrist and I begin to squirt. Feeling my cum shooting through the air as I glide back and forth with rhythmic swinging, my vision blurry and unfocused, I can take in the vastness that surrounds us. I feel as though my arc will stream endlessly through the sky, forever defying gravity.
I realize that I’ve misplaced some time when the next thing I feel is the sweet, sensual friction of the ropes sliding across my chest as she works at releasing me. Her instant recognition of how hot this gets me, the sensation of it flickering throughout my body and the tension sparking hot and fast between us. That awareness and arousal in her eyes draws me in further. At last the weight of all the rope falls to the ground and I still feel like I’m floating, light-headed and dizzy. She sees it in my eyes and pulls me into her, tightens her arms in place of the rope, supporting me. She holds me there until I’m steadied, then kisses me slowly, her tongue wrapping around mine, before freeing me one last time.
Smiling as she coils up her ropes, she tells me I’m a natural, that I was up there for a long time, especially given this was my first suspension. She has another date and has to leave before me so I stick around and clean up, realizing too late that she left her jacket on the slide ladder. It sparks an idea in me and so I gather up the rest of my belongings, scurry off to my room and locate my cherry pin. Every camper gets a pin. But the cherry pin is not theirs to keep. The assignment that comes along with it is to give it to someone who pops your cherry in regard to an activity you’ve never before tried. And since my rigger popped my suspension cherry in a major way, I thought it only appropriate to attach it to her collar. I grab my journal and her newly pinned jacket, make my way back over to Squeal, and ask one of her cabin-mates which bed is hers. Folding it up neatly, I decide against leaving a note. Leave her in suspense for a change.
I meander back out and decide to write while lounging in the open field, the sun kissing me lightly. Playing with her took me out of my head in a delicious way and it takes a few minutes to get back into it, but suddenly the words come rushing over me and my pen struggles to keep up. After scribbling continuously for a while, language slows and I look up. The playground equipment we made such good use of is now occupied by another group. The handsome top who had marked my back with a brief, intense flogging the night prior (and who will, in a matter of a few hours, run a scalpel across my flesh) is now swinging playfully just inches from where I had been strung up. Several others are crowded around, creating a completely different formation of hot scenes. I imagine the energy my rigger and I left lingering there serves to electrify their play all the more. I stroll back to my bed for a quick nap, all the smacks and bellows echoing through the field and her sweet, sexy energy vibrating on the surface of my skin. The impression and effects of her ropes are embedded in my flesh for days, but the experience will always live inside me. It’s undeniable: After just one hit, I’m addicted to suspension. Yes, this pastry chef did indeed get her just deserts.
BALANCING THE BOOKS
Lucy Felthouse
Abead of sweat ran down the side of Philip’s head and trickled into his hairline. He’d been lying flat on his back on the cold parquet floor for what felt like hours. Realistically, it probably hadn’t even been one hour, but because he’d been trying so hard not to move a muscle for fear of toppling the stack of hardback books resting on his abdomen, every single minute was torture.
And yet, at the same time, it was complete and utter bliss. Giovanna was sitting on a wooden chair, the legs of which were either side of his hips—as were hers—and she was using the pile of books as a table. She idly flipped the pages of the weighty tome she was pretending to read, and studiously ignored Philip, as though he really were nothing but a table.
Philip’s cock had never been so hard. He was torn. Part of him wanted the books to fall so Giovanna’s beautiful eyes would flash with anger and she would punish him the very bes
t way she knew how. The other part wanted to please her, in the hope that she might let him bury his face between her thighs and lick her delicious pussy to orgasm, and maybe, just maybe, be allowed to come himself.
Another droplet of sweat followed the first one into his rapidly dampening hair. Philip’s erection strained beneath his clothes, and he decided to try and distract himself by thinking of something else. Trees. Taxes. Tridents.
It didn’t work. Instead, his mind wandered to how he’d gotten into this predicament in the first place.
Giovanna was Philip’s boss—in the usual employment sense as well as the mistress and slave sense. Just a few short weeks back, he’d been wandering the high street of the town he lived in, and had come across an amazing-looking bookshop. He’d peered through the window, fascinated. The slightly gloomy interior was all dark wood and spiral staircases, and was a book lover’s wet dream. And Philip was a book lover. Turning, he made for the door. As he reached it, he noticed a sign stuck to the pane of glass in its center.
EXPERIENCED BOOKKEEPER WANTED.
COMPETITIVE RATES.
APPLY WITHIN.
Philip didn’t need a job. He was, in fact, a highly qualified accountant, and some of the past investments he’d made had come good and meant that he could live very comfortably off the profits. In fact, it wasn’t worth his time to work, as the tax man would pinch even more of his pennies.
Philip didn’t need any books, either. His custom-built home library was fully stocked with an abundance of fiction and nonfiction, and he really needed to read and get rid of some of them before he started purchasing more.
He peered through the door, catching sight of a voluptuous bespectacled woman standing behind the till, writing in a notebook. She sure was easy on the eye, with her long dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail and the hint of ample cleavage peeking out of the top of her blouse. She must have caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye because her head snapped up from what she was doing and she looked straight at him. Peering over the top of her glasses, she continued to gaze at him unsmilingly. Many people would have found her demeanor cold, unapproachable.
Philip pushed open the door and walked in. Before he knew what he was doing he’d walked straight up to the counter and the aloof woman behind it and said, “I’m interested in the job.”
She put down her pen and raised an eyebrow. “And what are your qualifications?”
He was, in fact, vastly overqualified for the job she was offering. He could do the paperwork for the bookshop standing on his head. With one hand tied behind his back. However, the cool, unimpressed stare the woman gave him made him want to impress her—and so he gave her the full whammy of his qualifications and experience.
The woman’s face had remained impassive.
“It sounds as though you’re used to much bigger accounts than you’d be dealing with here. Why on earth are you interested in this job?”
Because I want to fuck you.
“Because I live off the profits of some wise investments and don’t need to work, but I do need something to fill my time, before I go stir-crazy. There’s only so much golf a man can play. I figure you can pay me in”—he’d been going to say books, but as he tore his gaze away from her steely one and onto the tantalizing curves of her body, his brain substituted the word for a much more inappropriate one—“kind.”
The bookseller’s eyebrows shot almost into her hairline.
Philip gulped. Stupid idiot, what did you say that for? She’ll have you done for sexual harassment!
Narrowing her eyes, the woman paused for a few seconds, then asked coolly, “What’s your name?”
Unable to cope with the intense glare he was being subjected to, Philip lowered his eyes to the counter between them and mumbled his name. He also pulled in his shoulders protectively, fully expecting her to flip her lid and give him a tongue-lashing before throwing him unceremoniously out of her shop.
“Well, Philip, I do need someone to balance my books. And”—she looked him up and down—“it certainly seems as though you’re more than up to the job.”
She thrust out a hand. “I’m Giovanna. And you’re hired.”
Philip took her hand and shook it. It was cool and dry, much like her demeanor.
And that had been the start of their relationship. Giovanna had taken charge immediately, leading Philip into the tiny room behind the counter and showing him where everything he needed could be found. He’d followed that rotund, swaying arse willingly and decided there and then that he’d follow her anywhere.
She’d watched him as he’d leafed through paperwork and tried to make sense of it—she’d obviously not been doing any bookkeeping at all until he’d showed up. There were bits of paper, scribbled notes, receipts and invoices shoved randomly into box files, and although Philip was exasperated at the amount of work he would have to do to even get the stuff in order, let alone balance the books, he was also secretly pleased. It meant more time spent in the company of the divine Giovanna. He was already so besotted that he’d happily watch paint dry, if it meant being with her.
Hopefully she’d be so grateful that he’d sorted out her paperwork nightmare that she’d deliver on the promise her eyes had given as they’d looked him up and down.
Under Giovanna’s watchful gaze, Philip continued his job with renewed vigor.
Later that day, Giovanna had indeed paid Philip in kind. When he’d padded out of the office to where she was dusting the banister of the gorgeous spiral staircase, she’d peered at him over her glasses, her cold blue gaze pinning him to the spot.
“Done?” she said curtly.
Philip nodded meekly. “Yes. I’ve got everything pretty much sorted out, but I’ll come back tomorrow with a proper ledger to get everything recorded so it’s easy for you to refer back to, if you ever need to.”
“Yes what?” Giovanna asked.
“P-pardon?”
“You said yes, when I asked if you were done. And I’m now asking you, yes what?”
It took Philip a good few seconds to understand what she was getting at, but as those piercing blue eyes continued to burn into him, he suddenly understood. Or at least he hoped he did.
“Yes, Mistress.”
Giovanna gave a satisfied nod. “That’s better. Now finish cleaning this, and then you can go.”
She tossed the duster at him, and Philip immediately set to his task. Giovanna climbed the staircase, giving him a tantalizing view of her rump as she did. Then, just as she reached the top and he was about to silently lament the loss of the spectacular view, she turned and sat on the top step.
Philip’s already semi-hard cock sprung to full attention. Giovanna had positioned herself so that anyone looking up at her from below would be able to see right up her skirt. This would have been enough to drive Philip to distraction, but Giovanna had taken it one step further. She wore no underwear, and her bare pussy was completely on display. Philip had no idea if he was supposed to look at her or not, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Licking his lips, he eventually clawed back the presence of mind to turn his eyes to Giovanna’s face, which wore a smug grin.
“Like what you see?”
Philip’s throat was suddenly so dry that he opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t make the words come out. Instead, he nodded vigorously, desperate to palm his cock and enjoy some temporary relief, but instinctively knowing that would be the wrong thing to do.
Not without permission.
Where had that come from? Since when did Philip, the big-shot, wealthy accountant, wait for permission?
Giovanna’s grin widened, and she pulled the hem of her skirt up, parting her generous thighs at the same time. Philip’s attention immediately snapped back to the beautiful pussy that was being displayed before him; the splayed and swollen labia, the sheen of juices and the nubbin of sensitive flesh that resided at its apex. He wanted to eat her; pleasure her delicious cunt until she came all over his face.
&
nbsp; “Want a closer look?”
Now her smile was as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. An arched eyebrow seemed to punctuate her ridiculous question. Ridiculous, because the answer was so obvious that the question might as well have been rhetorical.
Eager for Giovanna to allow the very thing she was asking, Philip swallowed and forced the response from his mouth.
“Yes, please, Mistress.”
Her slick pussy was so tempting that it took all of his willpower not to dash up the stairs, grab those luscious thighs in his hands and eat it for all he was worth. Instead, he waited patiently for her response. His cock, however, wasn’t so well-behaved. It strained against his clothes, making every movement both painful and incredibly stimulating at the same time.
Giovanna said nothing, and the two of them stared silently at one another for a good few minutes, until eventually, she said,
“Come.”
Philip would have liked nothing more than to come, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. He dropped the cloth in his hand and scrambled eagerly up the stairs until he was two steps down from Giovanna, which, when kneeling, brought his face almost level with her cunt. Still, he waited, resisting the urge to rub his swollen crotch against the edge of the step in front of him. She’d know exactly what he was doing, and he was damn sure she wouldn’t approve. He wasn’t going to risk pissing her off because there was no way she’d let him lick her pussy then. And he really, really wanted to taste her.