Best Bondage Erotica 2014

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  I want to beg. I really do. Instead I choke back the words and concentrate on controlling my erratic breathing. I feel the candle precariously tipping. As the air entering my lungs comes in and out in a smoother rhythm, the candle steadies back into place. “Ew,” I say on an exhale. Just when I think I have regained my control, Van circles the cocksicle around my nipple. The cold raspberry-lime juice leaks on the soft peak. My stomach clenches and the candle topples over. “Ow.” The hot wax stings my lower belly and pubic bone. It keeps dripping down and down. My eyes scrunch together.

  Van takes advantage of the mishap and slides the cocksicle across my chest, rubbing it on the contours of my breasts and my rib cage and back up again to toy with my aching, cresting nipples. I shiver and cringe. The sizzling oil hits my budding clitoris; my breath hisses through clenched teeth. I want to close my thighs to offer relief. I want to curve my shoulders in, retract my chest and avoid the feel of the cold spreading everywhere. Half of my body is on fire, and it’s not that delicious need-release-now fire; no, this is stinging-pain-will-leave-blisters fire. While the other part is freezing, so much so that I am afraid I’ll have frostbite in awkward places on my torso.

  “Hush.” As much as I want to comply with his request, the agony of the cold/hot feeling spreading through me seems overwhelming. Yet, somehow, I pull on my reserve of strength, regulate my breathing and still my body. “Good girl.” I can hear the smile in his voice. I know I made him proud. That in itself is enough to spread some heat in my frozen places. “Don’t move,” he admonishes. I lock my limbs in place and wait and wait. Sweat starts to trickle down my spine and pool in the crease of my knees. I feel my muscles burn from the strain of keeping still. Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, I hear movement on my right side. I sigh.

  Van’s warm fingers caress every inch of my skin that is not covered by the jute ropes. They reach the toppled candle and steady it back on my navel. His right hand, dripping in hot, oily wax, travels back up my torso. The fiery shock jolts my nipples erect even more. The blazing heat is spread around my breasts as the satiny hand kneads my tender flesh. I feel my cheeks flush. My blood is reaching its boiling point. The storm brewing inside crests; I feel it so close to the peak. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he smirks.

  Out of nowhere his left hand is on my thigh, the tip of the cocksicle is pressing against my opening. I don’t think I can take this cold/hot invasion again. Before I can decide if I truly can, Van is sliding the cocksicle up and down my labia, teasing my clit with its icy tip. My hips buck. “Be still,” he commands. His right hand travels south, picks up the candle, tips it down. The sting of the oily wax hitting my clitoris, even if anticipated, is a shocking contrast.

  The hand moves away with the candle, leaving a scorching trail from my pubic bone to my nipples. “Ow,” I cry out when the hot liquid hits my frozen pebbles. Van doesn’t give me time to adjust. With a flick of his wrist, the cocksicle is plunged deep inside my vagina. His fingers pluck and pull my nipples while his other hand pushes and pulls the ice dildo in and out of my velvet walls and folds in a fast, furious motion.

  His hot breath is on my neck as he sucks back air in ragged pulls. His fingers don’t cease their delicious erotic attack. The cocksicle is melting inside my wet heat. I feel it disintegrating inch by inch. The cold/hot tug-of-war surging through me ends abruptly. All of a sudden, my body is one colossal lava ball ready to explode. All I want is that sweet, sweet release that only he can give me. I am so close. The words are on my lips. I don’t have time to utter them.

  In one swift move the suspension cord holding me in place drops a few inches; the ice dildo is wrenched out of me, my body is tilted, crushed against a naked, hard, hot torso; his lips fuse to mine and in one thrust he’s there, filling, stretching and claiming me.

  There’s nothing melting about his cock. It’s fully erect and thick, and erotically stroking every inch of me, including that incredible spot that makes my eyes roll toward the back of my head. The storm cresting inside rips out of me in a torrent. “Give it to me, kisâ. Now.” His words release the flood. “Damn, Tatem, you’re so hot. So fucking hot,” he groans against my lips as his cock keeps plunging deeper and deeper inside my molten core.

  His fingers trail between our bodies and reach my clit. They circle it. Flick it. Press it. Hard and fast they work it. Under his agile ministrations, it sings to a new rhythm. To my complete disbelief, I feel that ball of lava tugging in my lower abdomen again. His mouth breaks away from mine, kisses my throat, licking, nibbling and sucking along the way. My breathing shallows. His lips trace my left clavicle, then the right one, before he dips down to claim my puckered nipples one at a time.

  The lava ball expands and expands. His cock is pummeling my vagina in a most luscious way. His fingers keep worshipping my clit and the way his mouth and tongue are revering my nipples is heavenly. No wonder I am on the edge again. “Give me more, kisâ.” The need in his voice is my undoing. I fall. Fall. Fall.

  In the midst of my erotic free fall I register the feel of Van’s arm slipping underneath my neck. He nestles my head in the crook of his elbow. The ripple of his bicep against my cheek increases my coital bliss. I am light and free. Like a feather dancing in the wind, landing on the soft, heated wooden planks of the floor.

  “Hey beautiful, come back to me.” He nuzzles his nose behind my earlobe and gently coaxes me back to earth. His nimble fingers start to unknot my right ankle. I feel a warm salve being applied to the red blistering circles. His long digits work in the healing balm all around my ankle and continue their enchanting journey up my calf, knee, kneading muscles, getting the blood circulating again. Up and up my thigh they go, round and round my hip, until they reach my backside. They stop their nurturing to work out the knots and free my right wrist. The same warm healing salve is applied to the red marks encircling the limb.

  I love the feel of Van’s fingers on my skin. Strong. Skillful. Patient. They knead and roll my muscles, working some life back into them. They graze over my sensitized nipples, and I moan. Van gives them each a small tweak and continues to massage and unknot the jute ropes holding me in place. His fingers are now moving down my left side; their goal is clear as they ply apart the knot holding my wrist captive. Once it’s freed from its bond, Van applies more of the heavenly balm.

  “You’re doing so well, kisâ. Hold on just a bit more,” he coos as his digits begin to undo the last knot holding my ankle in place. They make short order of it and soon the warm creamy mixture is applied and massaged deep in my tissues all the way to my toes. I feel the blood surging in my ears as it rushes down to my lower limbs.

  Van scoops me up in his arms and carries me across the floor, down the flight of stairs, through an open doorway and settles me down on the ceramic tiles of the master bathroom. I hear him remove his pants, the black drawstring yoga ones, faded and soft from over-washing. The only article of clothing he ever wears when we play. I feel a pang of disappointment that he didn’t remove my blindfold before stripping out of them. The way they hang off his hips makes my blood race and my mouth water. Just imagining them on his long sculpted legs and lean waist makes my breath shallow.

  His arms wrap around my waist. His hands come up to cup my breasts. “You’re all slippery,” he whispers. I arch my back and lean into his caress. “Greedy little minx,” he teases and swats my behind in a playful manner. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He guides me inside the shower stall and only when the hot water is cascading down on us does he remove my blindfold.

  “Hi,” he murmurs.

  “Hi,” I whisper back.

  His lips capture mine and I am lost in the sensation of him, his expert tongue tasting, drinking. Like a man who’s discovered water in the middle of a desert, he can’t seem to get enough of the nectar my mouth has to offer. His hands dip in my hair, coiling around the long strands, tilting my head back against the cool ceramic walls. At this angle his tongue plunges deeper inside, exploring the darker, r
icher fare; he doesn’t find it wanting. Our hot breath mixing together is enough to sustain me as I let him pull me into this endless soul-searing kiss.

  “Tatem, I’ll never get enough of you,” he breathes in my mouth as he slams into me. My legs lift off the shower floor and wrap around his waist. My hands lock behind his neck, my fingers twirling and pulling his wiry black hair. To tease and torture me, he quickly pulls out. “Please,” I cry.

  This time Van’s movements are languorous, delicious. I feel him caress my inner walls as he pushes himself inch by inch inside of me. He tilts his pelvis upward. His infamous curve dips against my spongy spot. Again and again he slips out and inches back in. Stroking, caressing me, there, on that feel-so-good spot, but just when I think he’ll pick up the pace, press into me hard and make me convulse, he slows, hovers, slips out and starts the tantalizing dance all over again.

  Under the beating pelt of the shower, I am sweating. My limbs feel like Jell-O. His mouth is still on mine. His tongue hasn’t ceased its exploration of every nook and crevice of my mouth. I relish its invasion. I meet him twist for twist, caress for caress. My nipples are hard, elongated and taut. I press them against his rippling chest. They scrape on his coarse hair. The tingly feeling it evokes travels from the crested tip straight to my groin. My clitoris pulses to the rhythm of Van’s strokes; slowly in, slower out, slowly in, slower out. The friction this creates is erotic as hell, but I am not sure how much more I can bear. I feel that ball of lava again rapidly growing in the pit of my stomach.

  “You feel so good.” His voice is tight, full of need.

  “So do you,” I say in my own breathless voice.

  “Open your eyes. I want to watch you watch me.”

  I keep my eyes on his lovely face as he keeps up the antagonizingly slow speed of his thrusts. “This is what you to do me,” he rasps against my lips. And then he’s flying, pounding me like a demon. The thump, thump, thump of my ass hitting the tiles makes my heart rate dance to the same beat. I feel him expand inside of me. He tilts his pelvis and he’s there, pressing his engorged head hard against my sweet sensitive spot. My eyes roll back. “Look at me, Tatem.” I try to focus my sight on him. “Yes,” he screams, and finds his release.

  I detonate around him, squeezing him deeper inside of me, milking more of his erotic juice. “And this is what you do to me,” I say, and slump against him. He slides us down to the shower floor. I sit on his lap with him still buried inside of me. We rock gently back and forth, cradling each other’s bodies.

  “Say it again.”

  I know it cost him a great deal to ask. My heart swells in my chest. Here is my burly man, asking for reassurance. “I’ll miss you,” I whisper above his heart and plant a kiss over the thumping organ. His arms tighten around me. I feel his smile against my cheek. I lift my eyes up to his. The look he gives me is full of mischief and mystery. “What?” I ask.

  “Come.” He pulls us up, slipping out of me, and starts to wash my body and shampoo my hair. His fingers make quick work of the tasks and soon he’s wrapping me in a white fluffy towel. “Come,” he says again.

  Van guides me into the master bedroom. He keeps his eyes locked on mine, runs his long sexy fingers in his hair, exhales a deep breath and asks, “How much will you miss me, Tatem?”

  My mind is on overdrive. Where is he going with this? My breathing accelerates from the thrill of not knowing. My mouth goes dry. I try to speak but no sound comes out. I swallow what little saliva I manage to produce and try again. “A lot.”

  “Good.”

  My eyebrow arches.

  “So, a lot you say.”

  I nod my head, unable to produce any more saliva to wet my throat.

  “Would you say that you’d miss me so much, that when you think of me you’ll want to touch yourself?” His voice is soft. Too soft.

  My heart is slamming against my rib cage. My palms are cold and moist.

  “Answer me, Tatem.” Again his voice is too soft.

  I am weary. He normally uses that tone when I’ve been naughty and need punishing. Today wasn’t supposed to be about punishment, only pleasure. This was our special treat before I leave for the plains for two and half weeks, to launch my new eco-friendly brand of cosmetics and other beauty accessories. Once again my mind is reeling, wondering where he’s going with this.

  “Tatem!”

  I bite my lip hard. Swallow once. And respond. “Yes, Van, I would. Want to touch myself when I think about you.”

  “Good.”

  Relief floods over me as his tone takes on his natural timber.

  “Close your eyes,” he commands.

  Without hesitation my eyelids come down. My long lashes tickle my cheeks.

  “I have a present for you. Don’t move.”

  I stay glued to the spot he’s placed me in as my ears strain to hear him rummaging around the chest of drawers at the foot of the king-size bed. I hear the scrape of metal, the turn of a key, the dingle and dangle of objects as they clatter one against the other. A drawer is pulled open and closed. Van’s footfall approaches and when he’s in front of me, the air moves as he bends down. “Step.” I lift my left foot off the floor and step inside a hoop. “Again.” I lift my right foot and step inside another hoop.

  The object is moved up my legs; the feel of the leather is a surprise as Van’s fingers move it up and up and over my hips. I feel him tighten buckles and cinch me into place. I hear a small clink.

  “Open.”

  My eyes flutter open and look down. My lips form a huge O.

  Van chuckles and brings me into his arms to kiss my stunned lips. “From this day forward, Tatem, I want to be the only one to give you pleasure.” He shows me the small key that will allow him just that and kisses me one more time.

  “Miss Silverthorne?”

  “Miss Silverthorne?”

  A gentle hand is on my shoulder. I open my eyes and notice the tall blonde flight attendant bending over me.

  “Yes,”

  “I need to see your belt.”

  It takes me a nanosecond to realize that she means the seat belt and not the one hidden underneath my Chanel suit.

  “Surely,” I reply with a smile tugging on my lips. I lift my hands from my lap and show her that I am properly belted in.

  PEGGED

  Emily Bingham

  “Do you trust me?” I ask, straddling his lap.

  He looks at me from the dark pools of his eyes over the rim of his thick glasses, the hint of a shy grin on his lips. Slowly, he nods, almost as if it pains him to admit it. I take his curly head in my hands and lean in to kiss him. The boy is talented with his tongue, his mouth so inviting that at times it’s easy to get lost in. Part of me wants to be greedy, roll over and let him have his way—splay me open and worship the folds between my legs as long as he likes.

  I resist the urge, wanting tonight to be about him and taking him where he wants to go. It’s his turn to be small and defenseless for an evening. I want to be so kind to him that it becomes cruel.

  This game of taking control over such a sweet man, a gentle giant who dwarfs me in every way, amuses me each time we play it. Who am I to tell him what to do? His hand is big enough to engulf half my chest; with just the strength of one arm he could—and regularly does—toss me aside and take what he wants. We both know he could turn the tables at any time.

  When my words lead the way, the unspoken promise he makes is to follow them, transporting him to a fantasy land where he is tiny yet powerful, and all mine. My promise is to use him comfortably within his boundaries, poking gently at what hasn’t been explicitly asked for without ever crossing the line.

  For the moment, we kiss as equals, with hands roaming the naked expanse of each other’s bodies. My legs wrap around the girth of his waist, pulling him close to tease both of us with the proximity of his growing hardness to my pussy. It would only take me lifting my hips at the right angle to have him inside me. We join mouths ardently around the
enticing hunger this knowledge creates, dancing around the possibility until it becomes too much to bear.

  When I can’t resist the urge any longer, I untangle myself from his body, stifling my sigh of frustration. I want to fuck him, and I hate that denying him means tormenting myself as well. In order to resist the compulsion, I stand while taking a deep breath. My knees are trembling, but I try not to give my longing away while looking at him. As I stand there teasing him with the sight of my naked body, he grins, not knowing what I have in mind. This thought makes me smile wickedly and arch an eyebrow at the predicament that unwinds in my mind. There’s an expression he gets at loaded moments like this—somewhere between awe and skepticism—a wrinkle to his forehead that almost makes me want to take pity on him. Almost.

  As my first act of cruelty, I take his glasses, leaving everything fuzzy at the edges and a bit more mysterious. It strikes me that so much of my mental image of him revolves around his eyewear, it’s only without them that he seems truly naked. Keeping him at arm’s length, I run my fingers through his hair, giving him time to contemplate his fate. Eyes closed and body pliable, he gives in to the simple pleasure of having his head stroked.

  While he’s unaware of what’s about to unfold, I take the opportunity to whisper in the whorl of his ear, “Be a sweetheart and kneel on the bed.” He does, with no reluctance, situating his handsome round behind in the air, wagging it subtly. I walk slowly to the bed. Rather than giving in to temptation by sticking my face in the furry mounds of his ass, I tease us both by reaching under the bed.