She nodded enthusiastically.
He reached down, pressed a hand to the crotch of his jeans and rearranged himself. “Just as well, really, because I am, too. I’m also very happy that you’re wearing a skirt. That makes my job much easier.”
“Y-your job?” He looked so intense—and damn sexy—that her brain short-circuited and she couldn’t grasp what he was talking about.
“Yes,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of the chair, “my job. Now stop talking.”
She gripped the arms of the chair tightly as she finally realized what Gerard was talking about. He pressed his knees to the base of the chair to stop it moving, then reached forward and grabbed her buttocks, pulling her to the edge of the seat. He then flipped up her skirt, roughly tugged the gusset of her thong to one side and let out a low growl as he feasted his gaze upon her splayed pussy.
“God, you’re so wet already, Nance. I can’t wait to make you come and lick up every drop that leaks out of your delicious cunt.”
He hadn’t even touched her there yet, but his words, so rude and so honest, made her groan and wriggle, and she fancied that her entrance was gaping, so eager was she to feel him inside her. His fingers, his cock, whatever. She just wanted him, and soon.
A light slap on her thigh made her squeal. “Keep still, otherwise I’ll get some more paper clips and wrap them around your damn legs and waist.”
“S-sorry.” She wasn’t too worried about his threat—after all, how tough could paper clips be? They weren’t exactly a silk scarf, deceptively tough, or thick leather handcuffs, were they? As soon as Gerard shifted his attention back to her pussy, she surreptitiously tried to move her arm. Fuck, it was held fast. She tugged harder, watching as the clips stretched and bent slightly but then did nothing more but make crazy white patterns on her skin with the pressure. On some parts of her wrists, the exposed ends of the clips dug sharply into her skin. If she carried on, she’d leave herself with weird scratches, and people would think she’d been self-harming or something. She stopped testing their strength; it was pointless. They certainly wouldn’t bend enough for her to escape. Not that she really wanted to; she’d just been curious, and now her curiosity had abated.
It flew out of the window altogether when Gerard’s hot mouth touched her vulva. Her swollen lips, already totally slick with her juices, welcomed his touch, and she resisted the temptation to jerk her hips forward, forcing her harder onto him. She knew if she did, she’d somehow pay for it—and not in a good way—so she pulled in a shaky breath and kept perfectly still.
She was rewarded when Gerard slowly pushed his tongue between her fattened labia and wriggled it around. He did this for a few seconds, which produced an almost ticklish sensation, then changed tactics and began to sweep his tongue from just above her anus to the very tip of her clitoris, over and over, at a maddeningly slow pace. It felt good, but nowhere near good enough to make her climax or even set her on the journey. It was pleasant, rather than arousing, and she suspected that Gerard knew that, and was doing it on purpose. God knows he’d gone down on her enough times in the years they’d been together, and he knew exactly what got her going.
He hummed, sending a delicious jolt through her and a fresh gush of juices trickling from her sex. He lapped them all up quickly and eagerly, then upped his game. Curling up the edges of his tongue, he began to fuck her with it, stimulating all the most sensitive nerve endings at her entrance and making her grip the chair so hard that her knuckles went white and she closed her eyes, lolling her head back. Normally, at this point, she’d have tangled her fingers into his thick blond hair and pulled him more tightly to her cunt, urging him on, showing him just how much she wanted to come, but obviously she couldn’t. The paper-clip bondage prevented that.
After teasing her until she was dizzy, Gerard did what he knew would put her on the fast track to orgasm. He concentrated wholly on her clit. He circled it, before flicking his tongue up and down across it, then from side to side, tantalizing every nerve ending in the tiny nub. He did this until she was wailing so much the neighbors probably thought she was being tortured, then he pulled the sensitive bud into his mouth and sucked, gently at first, then harder and harder until he had to push Nancy’s thighs down to stop her kicking.
“Oh, Ger...I’m going to come!” she moaned.
He popped his mouth from her, making her growl with frustration. “That’s kind of the point, sweetheart. Now hang on tight.”
“As if I’ve got a fucking choice.” She shook her hands, showing just how effective her bonds were.
Her irritation quickly dissipated when Gerard continued what he’d been doing, pulling her clit back into his mouth and sucking and tonguing it. The longer he did it, the faster and harder he went, pushing her higher and higher until the perfect sensation of pre-climax took over her body. Her abdomen tightened, as if a spring were being wound inside it, tighter and tighter still, until she was overtaken by something that felt like sparks, making all the hairs on her skin stand on end. Finally, the sparks ignited and she came, the spring released. Her cunt spasmed wildly and hot juices squirted from her sex and onto Gerard’s waiting tongue.
After a minute or two, she slowly returned to earth, gradually aware that Gerard was no longer touching her. She opened her eyes and saw him, crouched in front of her, watching her with an expression that looked like awe.
“Fucking hell, babe, that was amazing,” she said. “I came so hard it almost hurt.”
Her husband grinned. “I aim to please, sweetheart. I can see I’ll have to tie you up with paper clips more often. Perhaps the next time you’re printing an epic document, you could start making some more of those chains. I’ll put them in the toy box.” He jumped back to avoid her swinging foot, then shot out a hand and grabbed her ankle, pulling the chair—and of course, Nancy—toward him. He bent and kissed her once more, and she could taste her own sweet and tangy juices on his lips, and feel his still-hard cock pressing against her through his jeans.
“Actually,” she said, rocking her hips to hint at what she’d like to do next, “that’s not such a bad idea. I’ll put it on my to-do list. Now, let me out of these damn...paper clips, and I’ll see about returning the favor. God, doesn’t that sound ridiculous? Let me out of these damn paper clips. Ha!”
Gerard didn’t reply, instead tackling the tangle of colored plastic clips to release her. Once she was freed, he pulled her into his arms and sat back. They rolled on the floor together, the bizarre bondage forgotten. They were so lost in each other—lost in lust—that they didn’t even notice the document had finished printing. And if they had, they wouldn’t have cared.
TART CHERRY
Kathleen Delaney-Adams
The rope smelled damp, like earth and dirt, a scent that made her pussy swell. She inhaled deeply, inviting her hunger to enter her holes, to chafe her insides, stoking a burning need that bound her to him. Eyes downcast as she had been ordered, she relied on other senses to guide and arouse her. Her nostrils were full of hemp, the thickness of its odor, and the sweaty scent of him, a whiff of his cologne and the musk of her own sex wafting up faintly to tease her. Her ears strained to catch a hint of him—his mood, his movements, his breath. She ached to anticipate what he might have desired of her, what might come next, listening intently for a whisper of his own dark longings.
An hour ago, she had wandered the dank rooms of the basement as if bored, pausing now and again briefly if a scene caught her eye, dismissing most. She was hard to impress—she prided herself on it, imagining herself a femme of vast experience, a heavy player among heavy players, and who the hell could top that? No one here tonight, surely.
It was rare to find herself without a play partner, yet tonight she couldn’t quite bring her interest to a peak, preferring to stay on the sidelines of the Dykes at Play party. Truth be told, and you didn’t hear it from her, the last few months had felt like yawners, and she feared her pussy stank of desperation and loneliness. How damn unattractive. She
was shaking her head in self-disgust when she turned and found him watching her.
He exuded butch confidence—reeked of it—leaning casually against the wall, hands loose at his sides, salt-and-pepper hair, gray-blue eyes perusing the room, packing bulge beneath his jeans. Yum. Her knees weakened and her pussy juiced up immediately. Damn if she didn’t blush like a schoolgirl. His cool eyes and tight jeans nearly incited her to lie down on her back and spread her legs right there in the main room of the dungeon. Sweet Jesus. Instead, she offered a smile and held her ground when he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to her. Even his strut emanated experience. He took her hand smoothly in greeting, his smile warm, belying his hard swagger and strong grip.
“I’m Von.” Yes, confident. Swoon.
“Delilah.”
“A pleasure.”
She vaguely remembered an hour of small talk, escalating flirtation, negotiation. The feel of her hand in his, however—now that was embedded in her memory, as was the rush of wetness on her thighs as she slowly undressed for him before the scene began. His eyes burned her alive as she reached behind her to unzip her dress, letting it slip to her ankles before she stepped out of it. She wore nothing beneath save silk stockings with a Cuban heel and flawless back-seam, and a pair of classic pumps with a razor-sharp heel. She decided to leave stockings and heels on for effect, possible rope burn be damned.
“I’m a rope virgin,” Delilah admitted laughingly, with a hint of fear and shyness, excited to let him pop that cherry, perhaps the last cherry she could claim—and the thought of being claimed by him left her giddy. His and his alone, even if only for a few hours? Divine.
Deftly, Von unraveled several dozen feet of hemp, his eyes never leaving hers. She chewed her lower lip as she watched him, a mix of trepidation and desire coursing wildly through her, unaware of how that quick flash of teeth on her bright red lips made his cock swell.
When he had readied the rope, he maneuvered her body, positioning her flesh before him, using his hands to part her legs slightly, her arms raised over her head, her already hardening nipples pointed forward.
“Close your eyes and don’t move unless I say you can move, girl,” he instructed. And it was on.
His fingers were cool on her heated flesh, brushing against her skin slightly as he wrapped the rope around her torso and pulled it taut. Delilah realized she was holding herself in a tight coil. It wasn’t like her to be this tense, this nervous, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and release it slowly. Enjoy the moment, she scolded herself. She was visibly more relaxed as he crossed the rope back over her, and he smiled to himself at that. He wrapped the rope from front to back several more times, her body moving almost rhythmically in response, swaying ever so slightly at the pressure of his movements. She fought the urge to open her eyes and peek at him when he paused in front of her to work a knot between her breasts, which were now pulled forward slightly. She felt the cool basement air on her erect nipples, and shivered when his finger traced one almost lazily, then pinched it hard enough to make her gasp. He shifted her body a bit to adjust his work, tightening the rope. She felt heady from the roughness of the rope and his hands on her, the inexplicable tenderness of his deft fingers a welcome contrast.
He pulled the rope taut in front of her, and she felt her tits rise and pinch, squeezed between the hemp and thrust forward. She shivered deliciously. She loved exhibitionism, especially when she was the center of attention, and even if no other eyes were on her but Von’s, her pussy slicked at the thought. He pulled the rope behind her again, turning her body enough to disorient her a bit, and began to work down her back. As he fed the rope back through the knots, it rubbed against her skin with just enough friction to make her pussy drip all the more. She felt the firm grip on her waist, his hands sliding under the rope to check his work, wrapping around her and moving her body. God, she was light-headed and hot for him, knees weak. It was dawning on her that if posing for bondage was this hot, she had been missing out.
“May I have your arms?” Von asked. She lowered them immediately, and he drew them gently behind her back, crossing her wrists. “Bend over, girl,” he hissed, and Delilah folded at the waist as his hands guided her. He stood over her now, her head pinned between his legs. She felt the chafing of the rope up and over her wrists, again and again as he crossed it back and forth before tying a knot firmly between them. Her pussy glistened, thrust upward into the room, the air cool against its heat, her juice on her thighs. Unable to move, she had never felt more helpless; it was a feeling she quite adored. Under his control utterly—wasn’t that what she had always craved? Craved and fought against, admittedly, but at present she was forced to yield to his rope, and the spark that created inside her was rapidly approaching an inferno.
Von stood behind her and tugged gently on the rope. Delilah raised her head and took a step or two backward until the hard press of him against her back stopped her. She involuntarily pressed herself closer.
“Open your eyes now,” he commanded. She was facing a mirror, and her face lit up when she saw her tits pushed upward and out in front of her, the rope artfully showcasing her creamy skin, the knots surprisingly lovely to look at. She felt like a work of art, and if she’d initially doubted his level of skill, she now felt only awe and a humbling desire in the face of such beauty. He stood behind her and ran his hands over her breasts, tweaking her oversensitive nipples, cupping them. “So pretty,” he whispered, twisting her nipples between his fingers before slapping them hard. She cried out and arched her back, asking for more, or attempting to move away from the sudden sharp pain—she wasn’t quite sure.
Von uncoiled a galley whip from his bag and moved a few feet away from her. Delilah’s up-thrust tits were begging for some marks. Their eyes met.
“Do you want this?”
She nodded.
“Answer me. I want to hear you say it.” He wasn’t asking.
“Yes. Yes. I want that. You. I want you.” Their eyes met again, and he nodded, a cool smile at his lips.
The first kiss of the whip was but a flirt of leather on her breasts, a kiss that rendered her shaking with desire and fear. Oh, how she loved the fear. She ached to protect her flesh, her exposed nipples, and her inability to do anything but stand before him, nipples thrust forward, back arched, arms bound, left her trembling with an anticipation like none she had ever known. Anticipation, and a deepening need to please this butch she had met a mere hour ago. Von increased the lashes on her breasts slowly, letting them build until she moved her body in expectation, a slight shifting toward the whip. He laughed and hit her pussy with the whip—and not gently, either. Delilah moaned and spread her legs open for more.
“Hmm, you liked that, didn’t you, you whore?”
“Yes.” This time she answered without needing to be told.
He hit her pussy again, harder, first with the tails, then the handle of the whip, before landing several hard blows across the sensitive skin of her upper breasts, just beneath the rope harness. She moaned louder, gasping, hips rocking toward him, tits cherry red, thighs sticky.
Von stopped abruptly and set the whip down. Blinking back tears of pain and disappointment (was he done with her?), she watched his every move for a hint of what might come next. His hands roved over the ropes again, checking for any slack and adjusting as needed. His mouth brushed her cheek, her hair, her ear, and he whispered, “Are you still comfortable?”
“Yes.” Delilah turned her face so her mouth brushed against his as she replied.
“Come here.”
She moved closer to him, and he reached between her legs to grab the extra rope that hung down her back, pulling it between her thighs. “Open up for me, whore.” She spread her legs, opening her pussy for him, her breath ragged. He slid the rope up her thighs and just inside her pussy lips. The friction was nearly unbearable and her spread, exposed cunt was on fire. He wrapped the rope twice around each upper thigh and tightened it in front of her
, tying the ends off in a knot that rubbed abrasively against her clit.
“Ohh, ohhh,” she moaned, closing her eyes and giving over to her ravishing need.
“On your knees.” Von tugged the remaining rope toward the floor, forcing her to kneel before him.
“Open your mouth for me.” He unzipped his jeans and pulled out that huge rubber cock she had been eyeing earlier in the night, squeezing it in his hands before her, slapping her face and mouth lightly with it. Delilah’s tongue reached for it eagerly, automatically, her usual response when a butch was nearby with a cock out of his pants.
“Such a slut. Wait until I tell you to.” He laughingly pulled a condom from his pocket and unrolled it with his free hand. He worked it skillfully onto his cock, and she nearly sobbed aloud when he shoved it in her mouth to its base without preamble.
She immediately choked and gagged on his girth, the kind of blow job she liked best. He was huge, and barely fit in her mouth. For a moment she wondered what he would feel like inside her tight cunt, then her mind emptied of all but the challenge of getting him to come down her throat. With her hands bound behind her back and only her mouth to work at her task, she licked and stroked and sucked for all she was worth. She teased the tip with her tongue, lapping and slowly encircling it until he groaned low. She swallowed him fully into her mouth again, using her spit to lube him up so she could take him farther down her throat. Breathing through her nose, she let the tears and snot run down her face as he pumped faster into her.
Her pussy was riding the air, hips rocking, legs shaking with her own lust. She needed to come, needed to fist-fuck herself, swollen and ravenous and helpless. As if he sensed her mounting agony, he slid his motorcycle boot between her legs and pressed it hard against her clit. She cried out and rubbed herself on it frantically, clit and pussy against knotted rope and scuffed leather, coming almost instantly. He grabbed her face with both hands and shuddered violently, coming himself as he forced his cock all the way in while she struggled to breathe. When he let go of her face, she sagged against him, bound body held tautly upright, preventing her from resting fully on him.
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