by Alison Tyler
This wasn’t over.
Two roads diverged in a wood and I…I’d wind up taking the one already traveled. And for no other reason than that I needed the damn fireworks.
LET ME TIE YOU UP?
Devin Phillips
Let me tie you up?” he asked me, holding up the ropes so I could see them.
At first I couldn’t take my eyes off them; they were slim and white and gorgeous. They were looped over one another and tied off beautifully in lengths with colored ends, so he could keep the lengths separate.
I must have stared at those ropes in his hand for half a minute before I brought my eyes back to his and saw the wicked joy in them.
Peter’s smile broadened to a grin. His blue eyes brightened. He knew he had me.
He was fully dressed, and I was naked—very, very naked. I’d just gotten out of the shower, and I’d been thinking about him in there—thinking about what we might do when I got out of the shower and Peter took me to bed. I was already very turned on.
He could see everything he wanted to see, I realized—in exquisite detail never before revealed. I’d just shaved, so he could see my sex. He could see the hot flush of arousal through my breasts and my face, see the stiffening of my nipples that told him his plea was turning me on as much as it was scaring me. He could see my lips, parted, my breath coming tight and short and fast.
A ripple went through my nude body. I said, “What will you do once you tie me up?”
“Well,” Peter smiled. “That’s up to me, isn’t it? Once you’re at my mercy…I can do anything I want to you, can’t I?”
He came in close, till his body was up against mine; his hard, big body in its rough cotton clothes. He came in close till he held me, naked and helpless in his arms.
And he said, “So please let me tie you up and do whatever I want to you.”
I shivered. A pulse of sexual heat broke through me like a wave. I felt helpless in more ways than one.
“All right,” I said, my voice small and soft and vulnerable.
Peter took my wrist; he turned me around and faced me toward the bed. He pushed me onto it. He spilled me across the big soft California king, forcing me onto my hands and knees.
“Do you want me on my back?” I whined, insecure.
He bent down and put his lips to mine and kissed me hard, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth.
Excitement flooded me.
“No,” he said. “Stay right where you are.” He set some of the ropes in the small of my back as if I were a table. He ran his hand up my thigh and felt me up. I was wet. He caressed my ass. “You know how I like this cute butt of yours… and I know how you like it doggie-style. Just spread your legs for me. Now.”
My eyes fluttered closed and a hot, soft, aroused sound escaped from my lips. That sort of thing was all that Peter had to say to make me lose control, and he knew it.
I obediently spread my legs. I did what he told me to. I wanted to do everything he told me to.
He caressed my buttocks.
“Put your ass in the air,” he ordered. “Higher.”
I leaned forward on all fours, lifting my ass up into the air.
Peter’s big hands found pillows, lots of pillows; Peter’s house always had zillions of pillows. He shoved them under my belly so my ass was up high.
He opened my legs still farther, planting my knees wide and pushing my shoulders down so that my ass was higher and my belly rested comfortably on the pillows. My shoulders and breasts were flat against the soft, silken bedspread.
As he moved me like a rag doll, the lengths of rope spilled off my back and onto the bed.
Peter plucked them up and tied me.
First, he moved my arms down alongside my thighs into an easy position. Then he tied my thighs, and secured my wrists to them.
I felt the ropes pulling at the flesh of my thighs. I felt the pressure in my sex. My nipples felt hard against the bedspread.
“Comfortable?” he growled with just a hint of irony.
Was I comfortable?
I didn’t know; all I could feel was that I was scared and turned on and very badly wanted him to fuck me.
With the pillows under my belly, my back was arched, thrusting my ass up and exposing my sex—and that position always makes me so unbelievably hot. When Peter played with me like this I felt very much under his command—even though he had never tied me up before. The important part was having my shoulders down; that felt far more erotic and exposing. It made me feel helpless.
I liked it.
Yes, I decided. I was comfortable. I still had a hard time telling him, but I managed it. He circled my ankles with rope and tied them to the bedposts. He tied one knot…two knots…three. The ropes felt snug, but not tight; each time he closed a new one, I felt my temperature rising. By the time he finished with my ankles, I was incredibly turned on.
It didn’t hurt that after every knot, Peter would take a moment to caress my freshly shaved sex. I had never gone bare before. I had never been tied to a bed—not like this. And I had never been totally controlled by my lover—especially not a new one I didn’t even know was kinky until our third date.
Was I kinky, too? I didn’t know yet. But Peter was working hard to make me that way.
And those big, smooth fingers of his were doing wonders to convince me I was more than just kinky.
He slid two, then three, up inside me. I moaned. It felt good. He used fingers and thumb to work my pussy and my clit.
I was moaning. I bucked against the ropes, feeling how tightly I was restrained. My pleasure mounted. Peter finger-fucked me until I was close—and then he pulled his fingers out of me.
He came around and opened the nightstand drawer. He reached inside. His hand came out holding a gag—a red rubber ball gag with a black leather strap.
He leaned in, caressed my hair.
He looked in my eyes.
“I’m going to gag you now,” he said.
I gulped. I wriggled. I squirmed. I fought the unfamiliar feel of the ropes keeping me firmly in place. I liked it, I decided…I even liked to fight it.
“All right,” I said.
He put the gag in my mouth and buckled it. When his hand went back into the nightstand drawer again, I shivered. It came out holding a pair of nipple clamps.
“I’m going to clamp your tits now,” he said.
I tried to say “All right,” but I couldn’t say a thing with the gag in. Somehow that turned me on even more.
The pain was light but intense; he adjusted the clamps and reached back into the nightstand drawer.
This time he hid the item he took out. That made me quiver. It made me tremble. It made me wet.
He went around behind me.
What was going to happen? Was he going to whip me? Spank me?
I heard the rattle of his belt buckle, the hiss of his zipper. I heard the soft rustling sound of Peter’s clothes hitting the ground.
He mounted the bed behind me with the tool he’d brought from the nightstand. I heard the buzzing sound as he nuzzled the vibrator up to my clit. Sensation flooded me. I moaned behind the gag. I felt Peter’s cock working up and down my freshly bared clit, his cockhead finding my entrance. He tightened his grip on my clit and the vibrations increased to powerful intensity.
I uttered a muffled squeal behind the gag as Peter entered me. His cock slid deep—and at that angle, it always hit just about all the right places inside me. I did more than squeal behind the gag; I was mouthing dirty words, cursing in agonized pleasure, tit clamps and vibrator and ropes and cock all driving me into a frenzy. I struggled against my bonds trying to meet each hard thrust of his cock into my helpless naked body. I howled.
The vibrator brought me to the brink, but it was his cock that drove me over the top.
I came an instant before Peter did—my eyes rolling back. I screamed at the top of my lungs; thank goodness Peter had gagged me. Otherwise, our neighbors would have called the cops.
And it was far from the last time I’d let him tie me up.
NICE DREAM
J. Sinclaire
There’s an indeterminate span of time between asleep and awake. Those bleary moments, waves of thought washing over us as we struggle to gain or lose consciousness. Where dreams blur with reality, taking on aspects and influence from each other.
The shriek of an alarm clock is translated into the cries of some prehistoric flying creature chasing us through Elysian Fields. The scent of bacon spurs a vivid scenario of gorging ourselves on anything and everything within sight.
The slow, rhythmic thrusts of a cock between swollen labia elicits dreams of multiple members in multiple orifices.
This is how I awaken; gradually, with the dawning realization that at least one turgid member from my reveries is truly flesh and blood. Sliding between my thighs from behind as I lie on my side, body curled into the blankets surrounding me. A hand, presumably accompanying the penis in its adventures, is trailing feather soft over the curve of my breasts, fingers occasionally tweaking my nipple.
I hear myself cry out, something between a whimper and a moan. I’m sleepily detached from my body. I feel no association to the sound though I recognize I was the one to make it. My hips swivel back slightly, arching my back so my breasts fill the helpful hand and the cock drifts directly over the simmering button between my pussy lips.
I haven’t bothered to open my eyes and decide not to unless absolutely necessary. There’s no indication of light; it’s likely still night, which is all the more reason to simply enjoy the sensations engulfing me. The slow, gentle prodding against my clit; the head of the cock parting my lips and absently traversing past my ever-dampening slit. It’s hypnotic. Not enough sensation to wake me completely, it keeps me at a steady level of arousal. It could still be a dream, though the nagging, rational part of me reminds me otherwise.
The decision to ignore that nag is immediate and the thought vanishes with a swift pinch of my nipple.
Again, that sound.
Again, that warm flush of pleasure between my thighs.
More sensations become apparent to me. The feel of his thighs against the back of mine. His lips brushing over the base of my neck. His breath, warm then cool against the dampened skin on my spine. His body a soothing presence behind me, apparent yet understated. Softly surfacing, a symphony of subtle sensations.
Alliteration aside, my body is humming with the majesty of an orgasm building with an absolute lack of urgency. The destination is clear, taken for granted, but the moment is awake with possibilities. The permutations of caresses that will achieve their intent. The rocking sway of stiffness on the verge of penetration; against a captive, willing pool of sex and sweat and cunty goodness.
With barely a shift in rhythm, he adjusts his angle and slides inside me on the next stroke. His head drags deliciously against the wall of my pussy, resting with persistent pressure against my G-spot. My breath catches at his incursion and I’m in danger of awakening more when he stills all his motions but the pouty, lingering kisses on my neck. My breathing steadies, my heart beats regularly and I gladly drift back into semiconsciousness.
His cock rests inside, firmly filling me. His hand cups my breast, thumb smoothing along the curve, tracing the hollow of my skin where it extends from my chest. His grip tightens; my flesh cedes around his fingers, taut and tense, but not to the point of pain. We exhale in unison as he relaxes his hold, his fingers brushing across an areola in the process.
I feel my pussy clench around him involuntarily from his caress, putting more pressure on my G-spot. His grunt is a guttural acknowledgment of sensations I have caused with no intention of eliciting them.
The corners of my lips turn up in what can only truly be called a satisfied smirk before I’m cast back down into the dreamy depths of tactile pleasure.
His hands stay in the vicinity of my breasts but the speed and force of his caresses vary. His lips tease the subtle ridges of my spine to the base of my skull. His cock, solid inside me, keeps still, despite the occasional fluttering of my cunt. My body is humming, taut as a line of piano wire, and the rising pulses of bliss increase the tension.
The areas of focus for his touch are not enough on their own to bring me to orgasm, but the fullness of my pussy, the prodding against the tender, sensitive flesh inside me, are working me steadily to my breaking point.
My surrender comes and brings alertness along with it. Body and mind, fully awake and shuddering with release only achieved through these slow, persistent ministrations. A heat wave surges through my flesh, blanketing me in sticky, simmering joy. No dream could match this ecstasy. In theory, but not execution.
No, this is…exactly what was necessary.
Coming down from the heights achieved is gradual, a process. The brief interlude of lucidity has passed and with him still inside me, I fall asleep once more.
EVA
Donna George Storey
I have about an hour to kill before I can go back to Eva. Walking this town from end to end would take all of ten minutes. I pause at the wine-tasting room, but there are too many tourists inside. Besides I’ll have to make the usual inane chitchat with one of the hospitality staff.
“Is this your first visit to the Wine Country?” she’ll say, chipper as a Girl Scout.
“Actually, my wife and I come up from San Francisco a few times a year, but not for the wine. We like to play our kinky Dom-sub sex game in your local country inn. Would you care to join us tonight?”
I smile as I continue on down the street. If only it were that easy. Of course, bringing back another woman might be pushing Eva a little too far. This time.
I pass a quaint tavern—everything is quaint here—and peek inside. Dim lighting, a few customers perched at the bar. Perfect. I take a table in a shadowy corner and order a glass of Frank Family Cabernet. You can’t get that by the glass in the city.
The wine is delicious, but I plan to nurse it for the rest of the hour. Any more than a glass, and I’ll lose my edge. Eva assures me she’s not keeping score, but I want each time to be better. On our last visit, I ordered her to shave her pussy for me, but she shied away from the trickiest spots. I made the most of that, believe me. I hauled her back into the bathroom and forced her to lie on the bathmat, legs spread wide, while I did the job right. She was quivering like a nervous filly, so I stroked and soothed her, taking her rosy lips gently between my fingers, pulling the razor across the tender skin oh-so-delicately. Her juice flowed like a river the whole time, and when I kissed her there, my face was literally bathed in her warm nectar. I almost came in my pants right there on the tiled floor.
But this time? Well, I hinted that I wanted her to shave for me again, but I can never predict how she’ll respond to my “orders.” She might be intentionally sloppy, and then I’ll have to be “disappointed”; maybe bend her over the sink for a spanking, get that round bottom all pink and squirming, before I give her another hands-on grooming lesson. Or she might be scrupulously careful, not a hair in sight, and I’ll have to come up with another pretext to tie her up to that four-poster bed.
Suddenly, I flash on an idea. What if I “make” Eva write down all her dirtiest fantasies as an assignment? An instant treasury of scripts for future games. I can hear her voice tremble as she reads—Then you bend me over your desk and lube my asshole with the ointment you keep tucked in the drawer for special “lessons”… I love fucking Eva in every hole, but nothing turns me on more than slipping deep inside her sweet, dirty mind.
The first time we came up here, we were just an ordinary couple getting away for the weekend. Until, as we sat by the fire with a bottle of good wine, Eva told me about the man inside her head. How he whispered depraved things that made her blush—and masturbate. He took videos of her playing with herself and showed it to his friends while she had to sit and listen to their rude comments. He put h
er to work as his special assistant, whose duties involved catering to the needs of wealthy clients. Sometimes he’d make her fellate them during meetings, their cocks protruding from their pinstripe trousers. Sometimes he’d bend her over his big mahogany desk and invite a dozen of them to fuck her ass until the stimulation of all those cocks made her come without a single flick of her clit. This dude was one serious pervert.
I found myself getting jealous. And very hard. I wanted to be that man in her head.
Now I am.
The hour is up. I saunter back to our cottage suite, my back straight, my expression uncompromising. Right out of law school, I clerked for a judge named Francis Purcell, the pickiest bastard you could imagine. If only old Frank knew how far his influence reached into his young protégé’s private life.
Eva meets me at the door in the hotel bathrobe, bright eyed and gorgeous. I swear I can smell her pussy, like fresh-baked bread. I know that shaving for me arouses her, but something else is afoot. A secret. Almost as if she’s had a lover while I was gone.
My cock twitches.
I send her off to bed, and go change into a robe myself. When I join her, Eva’s sitting on the edge of the bed studying the carpet and looking guilty as hell.
“You have something naughty to tell me, don’t you, Eva? I know that expression on your face.”
She stutters but finally admits that she masturbated while she waited for me. My cock gets harder. I can just picture her in the bath, her cunt all dewy, that slim finger jiggling away in the folds.
I ask her if she fantasizes about me when she masturbates at home, behind the back of her poor unwitting husband.
She bites her lip and nods.
“You know you need to be disciplined for this?”
She catches her breath.
I smile. She’s handed me the perfect reason to tie her up—to keep those wandering fingers from doing more mischief. It’s always easier to push the limits when she “deserves” it. Still I pay close attention to her response as I bind her wrists to the bedpost with the belts of our robes. This was new for us. So far, so good. Her eyes have that dreamy, helpless look, and her nipples are as hard as pebbles under her robe.