Best Bondage Erotica 2014

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Me and my big ideas. “Hmm, sounds like a plan,” he’d said. “Forecast’s dry for the weekend. We should do it on Sunday. We’re going to my mother’s for dinner Saturday, remember?”

  I remembered. It felt like a very long evening of nodding in the right places and laughing and saying, “Oh yes, I know what you mean,” rather than “Oh, just shut up so I can fantasize about rope.”

  We’d gotten up late and had a big cooked breakfast, as befits a lazy Sunday morning. Then, around noon, Jake said to me, “Pajamas off. Time for our walk.” God, I’d thought that moment would never come. I was out of my PJs in seconds and standing, waiting, in the middle of the living room rug.

  He put the collar around my neck first, as always. My collar. One-inch-thick leather that buckled into place. No lock, because I would never dream of attempting to remove it myself. But it did have four D-rings placed around it to account for all eventualities. He put similar leather cuffs on my wrists, then my ankles. These ones had simple karabiner-type clips to attach them to each other. If I was feeling brattish, I could escape them. Not easily, but it wasn’t impossible. That’s why Jake always used rope if he wanted me properly helpless.

  Anyway, he moved on to the karada next. It had its usual effect on me, making my pussy pulse and my knees weak from the moment I felt the rope draped down the front of my body. As Jake pulled each wrap through the vertical strands, the vibrations went straight to my clit. I rocked my hips, smiling at the utterly delicious pressure there. He was careful not to tie it too tight and had used three-eighths-inch cotton to stop it from cutting into me. Once he was done, I put on my walking outfit, all sensible shower-proof fabrics, sturdy shoes with big grips and my winter woolens—hat, scarf, gloves. No panties though. And I pulled on a sporty crop top instead of trying to do up a bra strap over the ropes around my rib cage. As I moved around the house, up and down stairs and from room to room, I felt the harness hug my pussy snugly and imagined it doing so on our walk.

  How wrong I was. Ambling around your house is nothing like actually taking a walk. A real, brisk walk over rough terrain. I started off swinging my hips and grinning at the stimulation as the ropes ground from side to side over my clit. That didn’t last long. Soon I was gasping at the sheer friction against tender places and the bite of restraint against parts of my torso that needed to rise and fall with my deep, hill-climbing breaths.

  “How’s it going?” Jake asked, winking, as I stopped for a rest for the first time.

  “Fuck,” I gasped. “It’s rubbing in all the wrong places. My ass is so sore. As for my pussy, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m actually bleeding. And I can’t breathe properly.” I wanted to stick my hands down my pants and pull the ropes off my tender parts. But yet another family party, toddler in a rucksack carrier and older child moping behind, passed us. I hoped I was exaggerating about the bleeding. I like a little pain, but blood just makes me squeamish. I was pretty sure I was exaggerating.

  I walked a lot more gingerly from then on, being as economical as possible with my strides and keeping my body upright and rigid. He was right though when he stopped me to link my wrist cuffs behind my back. It did take my mind off it. Suddenly, I welcomed the discomfort and the challenge of regulating my breathing.

  I was in a world of my own as we headed toward the summit, being downright rude to those who said hello as they passed. Freed from the temptation to grab at the harness and shift the friction, I took it one step at a time, breathing hard. My clit throbbed against the pull and hitch of the rope. It made me wonder whether a tongue or finger would feel soothing there later, or like a further irritation of the tenderized spot.

  I reached the viewpoint at the top and leaned sideways against it, trying now to make my hands-behind-my-back pose look natural. Jake was right behind me. He could have passed me and got there first, but I knew he preferred to watch my ass flexing as I moved up the slope. He stepped behind me and turned me to face the concrete pillar of the viewpoint, pressing his crotch into my crushed hands. Regardless of the passersby, he reached beneath my scarf and hooked a finger around the D-ring at the back of my collar, pulling my head into him so my back arched. I whimpered very quietly, hoping the breeze would carry the sound away. I was still trying to catch my breath and felt the collar’s pressure on my windpipe all the more acutely.

  Jake pressed against me and I felt his cock stiff against my fingers. “I want you so much,” he murmured in my ear. “I can’t wait to get you home and fuck you hard. I’m going to take my pleasure, then I’m going to make you come with my tongue while my knuckles stretch your cunt wide open.” My stomach tingled in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. If he hadn’t been crushing me against the pillar, I might have sunk to my knees right there. “You’re going to spend the rest of the day tied up and I’m going to make you come over and over until you can’t take any more.” I loved it when Jake told me all the things he wanted to do to me. But I was in silent mode myself, that mindset where you don’t need a gag because you simply can’t form words anymore.

  He pulled back and unclipped my wrists. “You’re more likely to slip going downhill,” he said, then in a louder voice, “Come on, let’s get home and warmed up.”

  He took my hand, and we turned back the way we’d come. That’s when I realized how the harness had shifted as I’d hunched forward uphill. It had gradually pulled longer over my rounded back and shoulders, shortening down the front. Of course, going downhill meant my balance switched the other way. The ropes dragged mercilessly, pulling my labia and the soft inner slit of my ass forward again. I gritted my teeth and carried on, longing to be tied to the bed in comfort. I was on the edge of what I thought I could bear.

  We didn’t stop until we got to the car. The relief of sitting still in the passenger seat was instant, but the flesh between my legs throbbed. I sat there afraid to move an inch, focusing on the few minutes it would take to get home.

  Jake had other ideas. He turned down a quiet country lane. “What are you doing?” I gasped. “I need to get home. Now.”

  “I can’t wait until we get home.” He pulled into a lay-by and turned off the engine. “I need to be in you.”

  I started with a “But—” He got out of the car and shut his door on my protests.

  Opening my side, he told me to get out and take my pants off. “I want you on all fours on the backseat, cunt at the door.” I pulled my pants over my walking shoes and crawled into the back, stopping with my knees on the edge of the seat, ass in the doorway. At least he’d opened the door facing the hedgerow and not the road. He stood behind me and yanked the ropes apart between my legs, making my ass gape and exposing my pussy. The constriction at my waist tightened as he pulled. I felt the tip of his cock at my entrance as he struggled to guide it in while holding the harness aside. Finally the head slid inside and he rammed the rest of it home, his fingers trapped between his pelvis and my butt. He dragged his hands free and grabbed the ropes at the small of my back to pull me hard against him.

  “Your ropes are squeezing my shaft really hard,” he said. “I like it. I like being tied deep inside you. But I’m going to have to do something about them so I can fuck you before my balls implode. I’m going to cut the rope.”

  “No.” It was the first thing I’d said for over an hour. I wasn’t prepared to be freed yet. “You can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. And I can punish you later for trying to tell me what to do.” The games we play. I love them. My mind flashed with memories of spankings. I felt cold metal against the base of my spine and realized he was slicing through the rope with his pocketknife. The cotton weave ground harder against my clit as the blade worked against it and then it twanged loose. Jake began to pound into me urgently. The cut ends of the rope slipped out of place and my clit felt abandoned. I dropped to my elbows and braced myself against his solid thrusts. All too soon I felt Jake’s cock grow and pulse inside me as he emptied his load with a loud groan.

  He rested inside m
e for a moment. “Don’t think I’m all done now,” he said. “I’m still going to keep you tied up for the rest of the day at home. And I’m going to use the red ball gag to stop you telling me what to do again.” The red gag was the largest one we owned. It made my jaw ache and the saliva drip from the corners of my mouth. It was the only one that really prevented speech with any real effectiveness.

  “But now, I’m going to make you come. Hands behind your back please.” Resting my forehead on the car seat’s velour I shifted my arms behind me and Jake linked my cuffs. “Now turn over.” He helped me squirm around and I wriggled my wrists until my hands were flat beneath the small of my back. My shoes smeared mud on Jake’s shoulders. He took the two strands of loose rope and teased my clit for a moment, pulling them taut and jerking them from side to side. I lifted my hips and ground myself against them.

  He tucked the strands out of the way, parted my labia and flicked the very tip of his tongue over my clit. Fuck. It was like a sharp note that made the usual sensation seem flat. That tiny lick shot straight into the depths of my pelvis. It felt as though the nerves of my clit were exposed directly to each minute ridge and fall of his taste buds.

  He flicked at me again, and I disintegrated into a mess of desperate groans. A truckers’ trailer café could have set up shop next to us in the lay-by and I couldn’t have uttered a single word of protest as drivers leered through the car windows. Jake pushed two fingers inside me, quickly followed by a third. The sharp note of my pleasure notched up an octave as he set to the serious task of rasping the flat of his tongue up from the very base of my clit to its tip. His fingers slithered in his own come as he pushed his knuckles against my entrance with an exquisitely slow twist. I was there in seconds. At that peak, my second summit of the day, the view was all rainbows and pink mist.

  “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.” I don’t know what always compels me to confess this obvious fact, but I did it anyway and Jake moaned into my pussy as my body tightened and my eyes screwed shut. The orgasm carried on way past the moment I expected it to subside. It carried on so long I had to remind myself to breathe. It carried on so long that I opened my eyes again and watched the rainbows fizz against gray plastic the color of January clouds. “Fuck, stop,” I finally groaned and Jake slowed, giving me a gentle last lick before stopping. He slipped his fingers out and lowered my limp legs to dangle out of the car door.

  “That seemed intense.” He walked his hands up the car’s interior so he could reach my lips with his own. I couldn’t answer. I could barely kiss back. “Let’s get home. And get you comfortably tied to the bed.” How does he always know what I’m thinking? But then came the surprise. “Next time we go for a walk, I’m going to put a butt plug into your lovely ass before I tie the karada. And you’ll have to lose the crop top. I want you in nipple clamps.”

  AN APPRECIATION FOR BEAUTIFUL THINGS

  Giselle Renarde

  The antique mirror wore its age with pride—black splotches, veining and all. After Dell bought it, he removed the backing and popped off the gaudy gold frame. He didn’t plan on hanging it.

  Clearing the clutter from Genevieve’s night table, Dell set the mirror down flat. Perfect—an ideal showcase for the gorgeous silver hairbrush that had come down through her family. That brush had started life paired with an equally ornate dressing table mirror. Splitting them up? That was his mother-in-law’s bright idea. That’s how Genevieve ended up with the lonely brush while her sister walked away with a hand mirror.

  Not that it mattered anymore. Dell had found an alternate partner for Genevieve’s brush, and their wabi-sabi union was beautiful in its own right.

  He asked her to close her eyes as he guided her into the bedroom.

  “Okay, now open them.”

  Genevieve looked around, like she was searching, searching, searching...for something different. Dell saw in her face when she found it. She smiled rather more gently than he’d anticipated, and said, “You cleaned my night table.”

  “Yes, that, too.” Dell pulled Genevieve to the bedside. “But look—I found a mirror to go with your brush. I cleaned them—don’t worry, I was careful to preserve the patina—and set them out so you’d see them first thing every morning.”

  “Oh, neat.” Her smile was fake. “Looks good. Everything you put together looks good. That’s why I leave the decorating to you.”

  She obviously wasn’t excited about the remarriage of vanity pieces, and that hurt Dell in a way he couldn’t fully articulate.

  “You don’t like it.”

  “No, I do. I really do.” She flopped on the bed and groaned. “Sorry, it’s not you. Just one of those days.”

  He sat beside her, brushing pale orange wisps from her eyes. Despair didn’t suit her pixie face, but he couldn’t fathom what had upset her.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  “No, just...” With a heaving breath, she sat up. “My mom thinks you’re gay.”

  “I know. She’s not exactly shy with the flagrant accusations.” Dell stared into Genevieve’s quixotic green eyes, but he didn’t find what he was looking for. “What are you so worried about?”

  She looked helplessly to the night table. “You’re not...are you...?”

  “You’re asking if I’m gay?”

  She smiled, and then laughed, and then rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I’m an idiot. It’s my mom—she’s poison.”

  “No, no—I get it.” Dell wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her hair. “Only a gay man can have an appreciation for beautiful things. How ridiculous is that? Aren’t straight men supposed to have an appreciation for beautiful women?”

  “You’re right.” She chuckled softly. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’ll never be your caveman,” he said in all seriousness. “I love you. I desire you. I would give my life for you. But I’ll never be a belching, beer-swilling brute. That’s not who I am.”

  “Thank god.” Her eyes darkened. “I mean, half your appeal is that you’re...the way you are.”

  Dell cocked his head. “Gay-ish?”

  “Yeah.” Genevieve crept a little closer. When her fingers found his thigh, she dug her nails in hard, like she was hanging on for dear life. She wore a playful sneer when she said, “Ask any girl if she wants to fuck a gay guy, and you know what she’ll say?”

  “Yes?” Dell guessed.

  “No.” Genevieve found his hardness. “She’ll say she wants to fuck all the gay guys.”

  Dell gasped as she rubbed his cock through his clothing. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a nice fantasy because we know it could never happen. It’s a crush you can hold on to forever. It’ll never go sour.”

  “You’re just full of surprises,” Dell said, pinning his wife to the mattress.

  She gasped, eyes wide. “You, too.”

  “So tell me...” Dell writhed against her clothed body, rubbing his erection over her mound. “How many crushes do you have right now?”

  “On gay guys, you mean?” She giggled, until he pressed his weight more firmly against her pelvis. “Oh, wow. Okay, maybe...six?”

  Dell dropped his chest to hers, feeling the subtle rise and swell of her breasts. He wasn’t heavy, except in comparison to her. Trapped beneath him, she squirmed—not to escape, but to strike her sweet spot against his hardness. He knew her tricks, and he could tell when she’d found what she was looking for by the way her breath hitched.

  “Six guys?” Dell’s hot breath bounced off Genevieve’s ear, kissing his lips. “Six gay men all oiled up and ready to fuck?”

  “Yes.”

  His cock throbbed against her pussy. “What would they do to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Genevieve swallowed hard as his hands found her ass. “I never really thought about the specifics.”

  He unzipped his pants and pulled out his erection. He couldn’t wait any longer. Just listening to her talk like that, so dirty,
about all those guys...

  “If they were here in this room, right now, what would they do?”

  “Fuck me,” Genevieve moaned.

  “They’d fuck you? All six of them?”

  “No, you!” She yanked up her skirt. “I want you to fuck me, Dell.”

  He held her shoulders against the bed and raised his hips. “Pull your panties down if you want to get fucked so bad.”

  “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it, sister.” His cockhead whacked her belly. “You don’t seem to be in any hurry to get those panties off.”

  Genevieve peeled their clothes away wildly, throwing everything everywhere. Dell wasn’t even sure how he got out of his pants, but the fine fabric ended up on the floor, just like everything else.

  “There,” she cried. “Happy now?”

  “Not yet.” Dell held her down as he guided his cock to her cunt. She groaned when his throbbing tip swelled in the wet heat between her thighs. “That’s more like it.”

  Genevieve whimpered as he savored the warm hug of her pussy. When she tightened up, god, she was a vise around his shaft. Her cunt sucked his dick like a practiced mouth. There was no containing Little Miss Genevieve. Dell could hold her body down, but her pussy was its own universe, exerting every possible pressure. It was too good, too much.

  “Fuck, I can’t.” He pulled out, crawling off the bed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m about to come.”

  “Already?”

  “I just need a little...” Dell’s gaze fell across the night table. “Brush.”

  Genevieve panted as she watched him. “You need a little brush?”

  Something rugged and rough burbled up inside Dell, making his cock throb. His dick was drenched in pussy juice. He could smell it on him like a wet musk.