The Big Book of Bondage

by Alison Tyler

  I nodded. “It’s the smell.”

  “I don’t know what it is,” he replied. “But it’s here, that crazy, fucked-up…bondage pig. And it’s got to us. We have no choice.”

  I nodded again.

  “Take a look.” His voice was gentler, but his words still felt like an order. “It’s worth exploring.”

  I have to confess, at first I thought he was referring to his cock. His directness thrilled me and I imagined dipping a hand into his joggers to free him. One tug of the drawstring and he’d be mine. An urge to betray Ralph swept over me. I wanted to be reckless and greedy, wanted to have another man all over me, inside me, everywhere. When I caught Jack’s intended meaning, I mentally backtracked and kneeled up to examine the contents of the pig’s trays as politely as I could. Jack moved to stand behind me, his bare feet astride my legs. He swept my hair back over my shoulders, his gesture tenderly proprietorial. My cunt throbbed with need.

  Spread before me, the six shallow drawers were cluttered with bondage gear and strange-looking implements. Tentatively, I rummaged among the tangle of brown leather and brass, growing more confident and curious by the second. Jack continued to lightly stroke and lift my hair, making me nervous although I liked it. I selected a slim wooden paddle, unvarnished and crudely fashioned, and ran a thumb along its chipped, rough edges. I was glad Jack couldn’t see my face.

  “Spanking,” he said as I set the piece on the ground. He wasn’t informing me. He knew I wasn’t naïve. He was itemizing the things we would do together. Or at any rate, that’s how it sounded to me. We hear what we want to hear.

  When I set aside another paddle, this one in dark, brittle leather and patterned with a grid of holes, Jack said, “More spanking.”

  I swallowed and noted my hand was trembling when I reached into the trays again. Arousal swam between my thighs. Stop this, I told myself, stop this! Another voice said, Hey, you’re doing nothing wrong, just inspecting a freaky antique with your lodger. Yeah, right, Simone. A lodger with a boner who’s stroking your hair while your husband’s at work.

  My fingertips skimmed over rough and smooth, soft and hard. Objects clinked together, some pieces too entangled to budge. I took care to choose something interesting.

  “Pinwheel,” said Jack.

  I held a small brass roller, its wide, leather-coated wheel spiked with four rows of metal spines.

  “What’s it for?” I asked.

  Jack reached out a hand from behind me. I passed back the roller. With one hand, he unfastened the top buttons of my shirt. He slipped my clothes down from my shoulders and swept my hair aside, baring my neck and back. I clutched my shirt by my breasts, covering myself because I was naked beneath, not yet dressed for the day. I caught a waft of Jack’s sweat as he leaned close. His murmured words were warm against my ear.

  “Say again?” he taunted.

  My voice creaked with lust. “What’s it for?”

  A pause. “It’s for punishing sluts who ask stupid fucking questions.”

  The spikes stabbed my skin and he rolled the wheel across my shoulders, slow and hard. I groaned loudly, his insults and the pain sparking a surge of fierce, dark lust. “Again,” I whispered. I seemed to speak the words before I’d even thought them. I dipped my head like a supplicant, offering him my naked back. “Again.”

  “Like this?” He rolled another track across my shoulders, then stopped.

  “More! Please.”

  He gave a soft, satisfied laugh, then rolled the barbed wheel up and down, round and round, fast and slow until I couldn’t tell one track from another. I felt as if a thousand hot, tiny spears were raining down on my skin, a monsoon of cruel sensation. I writhed, swayed, hunched and gasped, and whenever Ralph popped into my head, I told myself I couldn’t help it, none of us could, we weren’t to blame. We were in the grip of a power that defied comprehension. This wasn’t me asking for it, nor was Jack doling it out. This was the bondage pig who’d come to corrupt us, to drag us down a path of chaos and depravity. We weren’t to blame.

  “Please!” My heart and hands racing, I tugged open several more buttons and shucked off my shirt, arching my back to present him with my breasts, my nipples hard and high. Jack rolled the wheel over one shoulder, down between the valley of my breasts, below the underswell, up, around, down, and oh, oh, fire stabbed my nipple and I was dizzy with longing, crying out for something and not knowing if I wanted more of this or less.

  Then a voice cut into my consciousness, cold as ice.

  “We should use the collar on her. You can attach wrist cuffs to it, front or back. Take away her hands, then we can use her how we want.”

  “Ralph!”

  From behind, Jack cupped my chin firmly in his hand, tipping my head back against his crotch. His erection pressed against me. “Sounds like a plan.”

  He held me fast, and I felt so deeply ashamed, sluttish, aroused. This near stranger had me in his hands, fixing me on my knees so my bared, adulterous body was being offered to my husband. I closed my eyes, the afterimage of Ralph in the attic doorway stamped on my mind. Wide-shouldered and athletically lean, he stood much as Jack had done earlier, arms folded and coolly observing. Where Jack was red-haired, Ralph was fair, but both men scared me: Jack because he was trouble; Ralph because he’d caught me in flagrante with Trouble and I feared he might be angry. He had every right to be.

  Ralph strolled toward us. My heart thumped, and when Ralph passed through the dusty shaft of sunlight, something peculiar happened. He was transformed to me. Briefly, he appeared to be a magnificent, celestial vision, but the real change must have been in my perception. My earnest, reliable and slightly dull husband became the man I fell in love with all those years ago: passionate, idealistic, driven; a man determined to get what he wants. And I knew that what Ralph wanted right then was me, and for me, him and Jack to surrender to wild, primal lust and destroy all limits of seemliness and order.

  Quick and efficient, Ralph selected a couple of brown leather items from the pig’s deepest drawers and tossed a handful of brass clips in his palm. Jack stepped aside with a chuckle of approval.

  “Hands behind your back,” said Ralph. “Not like that. Higher.”

  Deftly, he cuffed and buckled my wrists between my shoulder blades, his bossiness making my horniness soar.

  “And just so we know who you belong to…” With those words, he fastened a matching leather collar around my neck, slipping his long fingers inside to check it wasn’t too tight. Metal clinked as he linked my cuffed wrists to my collar. When I let the collar take the strain of my arms, it pulled against my throat so I had to keep my hands high. I found the position uncomfortable but, in spite of that or perhaps because of it, intensely arousing.

  Jack bobbed down in front of me and lifted my breasts in turn as if testing their weight. He grinned at me, looking me dead in the eye. I glanced away, ashamed, because I didn’t want to like this but couldn’t hide how much it was turning me on. Jack tapped harder, slapping upward, his hand skimming off me as I bounced. I groaned and Ralph dropped to his knees at my other side, wrapping an arm around my waist. Jack stepped back as Ralph tilted me forward to deliver a series of hard, merciless blows to my ass. “You like that, do you, Sim?” he hissed. Slap. Slap. Slap. “Like it when some other guy plays with your tits.”

  I yelped and squealed, heat blossoming under my husband’s hand. “Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, I like it.” Ralph was rough, messy and energetic in the way he spanked me, his breath huffing fast, his arm clasping me tight. I flinched and jerked, writhing to escape and wobbling awkwardly in his grip.

  “Put your dick in her mouth,” Ralph urged Jack, but Jack was about to do precisely that, so the request was redundant. I figured it wasn’t actually a request, more a granting of permission, not that Jack was asking. His joggers were off, his cock was hard, and he was aiming himself at my mouth. Ralph pinched my jaw, raising my head to Jack’s level. I opened to take him, spluttering crudely around his
length as I drew back and forth, still unsteady on my knees.

  “Go on, Simone,” encouraged Ralph, his voice by my ear. “Show him what you can do.”

  Jack held my head still, fists in my hair, and moved according to his pace, hips rolling with languid ease. My breathing steadied and I lashed my tongue around his shaft. When he let me, I slurped hard on his end, making little popping noises because that’s how Ralph likes it. Jack seemed to like it too. Pleasure rumbled in his throat and he clutched my hair tighter, my scalp stinging.

  “That’s my girl,” said Ralph, hooking his arm around my back. Keeping me upright and balanced, he reached his free hand between my thighs and plunged his fingers into me, hard and fast. “Let’s see what we have here.”

  He curled his fingers into me, pressing and shunting until my head was spinning and I had to break off from Jack to gasp and whimper.

  “She’s so wet,” Ralph said to Jack. “Go on, try her.”

  Jack fell to one knee and did what Ralph had just done, his thrusts equally vigorous. Ralph stood behind me, tucked his hand into my armpits and eased me backward. At that angle, with my knees spread for Jack, my hands locked in cuffs, I felt defenseless and exposed, a thing to be used by these two eager men.

  Jack’s hand pumped between my thighs and as my cries hurried to a peak, he ducked down to taste me. With his tongue flat and generous, he rubbed at my clit. I felt so loose, so wet, and then, in the dizzying midst of that, Jack’s tongue began darting over my bud in sharp, intentional patterns. Ralph propped me against his chest and massaged my breasts, his calloused fingers scuffing my nipples. My pleasure tightened, I panted with nearness, and Jack’s tongue was pure, unadulterated magic.

  “She’s going to come,” Ralph said. “Just a little more. Keep going.”

  I focused on the bondage pig, on its cantilever trays and stout, buttoned haunches. The color of the leather seeped into my mind. Such a beautiful color, red-black, like blood and ink. Jack slid a bunch of fingers into me, screwing left-right-left when my swollen tightness resisted him. I wailed to feel the fullness of him. His tongue skittered on my point and then, oh, I was gone, lost, tumbling though crimson skies as my orgasm pulsed and clenched. Over and over I fell, six distinct waves of pleasure coursing through my body.

  “Good girl,” said Ralph.

  Jack knelt up, his mouth shining with my juices. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I felt that.” I stared at him through my post-orgasmic daze. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His lips still gleamed and his eyes were heavy and serious, altered by lust.

  Ralph unclipped me. I let my hands fall, each wrist still wrapped in a tatty brown cuff, my neck still collared. I wondered about all the people who’d worn these cuffs, all the scenes the pig had witnessed. I was weak, as floppy as a rag doll, and when Ralph indicated I should kneel on all fours, I tipped forward onto my elbows, unable to bear my weight on my arms.

  I hardly knew what was happening to me. And then I knew Jack was fucking me because Ralph said, “Be my guest,” and a cock was pushing into me and it wasn’t Ralph’s. Inside, I was pink and sensitive. Jack’s hard, fat shaft prized me open until I was snug and pulpy around him, the contact so hot I fancied I must be melting.

  “Oh, jeez, that’s good,” he sighed. “Such a sweet little pussy.”

  He was slow to start, every lunge and retreat making me moan for more. I was hazily aware of Ralph undressing and then I was acutely aware of him lifting my shoulders. His cock reared up before me, his head glossy and blood-flushed, his length surging high, a network of blue veins spread beneath his velvet-smooth skin. I found strength in my arms and took him in my mouth, clamping my lips below the rim of his tip and fondling his warm, weighty balls. As I bobbed on Ralph’s end, Jack began to fuck with more urgency, his fingers digging into my hips. I slid to the root of Ralph and he gave a low, appreciative growl, holding my head to keep me there.

  When I withdrew and swallowed him down again, he said, “We’ve got you skewered, Sim.”

  “Spit-roasting you,” gasped Jack.

  I moaned around Ralph’s cock as Jack powered with increasing savagery, his fingertips on my hips creating dents of pain. Exhausted and half-delirious, I was being buffeted between the two men, unable to do anything much except take them. Then, with a harsh, rasping cry, Jack pulled out of me, and seconds later, his climax pattered on my back in several hot splashes.

  Ralph cried out in response, sounding agonized and shocked. I knew that sound so well. So close, so close. Moments before he came, I felt him swell to a peak of rigidity in my mouth. He held still, thighs shuddering as his liquid jetted at my throat and I was drinking him down, fresh, thin and salty. When I released him, he was quick to kiss me, seeking out his own taste as he held my face, light, affectionate and almost proud.

  After catching his breath, he said, “You’re amazing.”

  I could hardly speak. “So are you,” I managed. “Both of you.” I reached for Jack. “Dirty bastards. But amazing with it.”

  Jack flopped onto the wooden floor, an arm flung above his head, copper hair glinting like filaments in his armpit. “I blame the pig,” he said.

  “Likewise,” I said. “Don’t you dare get rid of it, Ralph.”

  We laughed tiredly, united in post-coital coziness.

  “Man, I need a cigarette,” said Jack, idly strumming his chest.

  “Smoke away,” I said. “I don’t care.”

  Jack turned to Ralph who shrugged, saying, “I don’t give a fuck either. Don’t give a fuck about anything right now. I hope the house isn’t on fire. Don’t think I could move.”

  Jack grunted in amusement. I thought about the fire I’d made that morning. It seemed silly now to think how concerned I’d been about Jack keeping it alight. Nothing mattered. We could stay in the attic all day if we wanted, pausing to fetch food and fucking till we ran out of energy. Yes, I thought, we could do that quite easily. To hell with responsibility. And so that’s what we did, as if the hands on the clock had stopped and the world had fallen away, leaving only the three of us.

  Jack moved out after five weeks, saying, “Three’s a crowd.” We were sad to see him go, but our parting was entirely amicable. He tempered our disappointment with a promise to stop by occasionally for some “attic time”—as we’d begun to refer to sex, even when it didn’t take place in the attic.

  A week later, Ralph got rid of the pig. By that point, we were practically stupefied with horniness and fatigue, yet the impulse to continue never wavered. We’d tried every kinky object stored inside the beast several times over, and our house was a disaster zone, domestic duties falling by the wayside as the hunger to fuck took over. We tested friendships and family relationships by neglecting social events, emails and phone calls, preferring sex to anything else. We were insatiable. And sore too, especially in the first week with Jack.

  The pig’s original owner no longer wanted his possession back, claiming life was more manageable without “that thing” to feed. I could understand. Ralph sold the pig at auction for a tidy sum and we dusted ourselves down, still happily horny but not crazily so. Now, every day on a chain around my neck, I wear one of Ralph’s tiny flying pigs, a hand-carved reminder of the glorious times we shared. I often wonder where the bondage pig is, and whether others see its influence as a blessing or a curse.

  Sometimes, I swear pockets of that weird, feral scent are still lingering in the attic. When I catch a hint of the aroma, I breathe in its darkness, convinced the spirit of the beast is still with us, keeping our fires burning bright.

  CURRY, EXTRA HOT

  N.T. Morley

  Kendra was at the counter in the kitchen peeling and cutting up ginger for Thai green curry—extra hot—when she heard Arturo’s footsteps behind her.

  “Don’t make this easy for me,” he said, his voice heavy in her ears.

  “Don’t make what easy for you?” she asked, distracted, but by then Arturo had gotten his arms around her—and
when she yelped, he shoved the gag in her mouth.

  Arturo pushed the gag home, pulling its strap tight around her head and buckling it easily at the back. Kendra realized all of a sudden that it wasn’t his usual ball gag. This was something weird—it had a strange shape, elongated with a swelling, sort of arrow-shaped tip to it.…

  Holy crap, she realized: the gag was the shape of a dick! Arturo had silenced her with a short, fat dildo. Shit, she thought. That’s perverted. She’d never encountered the toy before, though she’d seen them in porn and in kink shops. He must have stopped at Mr. Leather on his way home from work. Whatever he bought, I hope he didn’t put it on the West Bank card, we’re almost overdrawn.…

  Arturo wrapped his big hard hand around Kendra’s slender wrist, pulled her arm up behind her and spanked her.

  Kendra yelled into the gag and began to flail a little; he spanked her again and took something out of his pocket or off his belt. Like a surgeon working fast to save a life, Arturo held her against the counter and put the blindfold on her with one hand. He could do it easily because she wasn’t really struggling yet—because she was simply so surprised and because she was used to letting Arturo blindfold her. She all but forgot she was supposed to be unwilling or something.

  Don’t make this easy for me, she thought. What is that supposed to mean? Struggle, she guessed.

  So she struggled, squirming against Arturo’s greater bulk and strength. But by that time, he had pulled her away from the table and was frog-marching her, gagged and blindfolded, into the bedroom.

  He bent her over the edge of the big four-poster bed and pinned her there.

  Arturo was lean and muscled. He swam, he pumped iron, he bicycled everywhere. He had eight-plus inches on Kendra—her five-four to his just-over-six—and even if he hadn’t outweighed her by a hundred pounds, the simple fact of his muscle mass made her helpless.

  She couldn’t get away. Arturo wouldn’t let her get away. So she struggled, feeling the power of his weight and his muscles and, more importantly, his determination to ravish her.