Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories

by Sierra Cartwright

  Good thing he had a spanking bench in his living room.

  I didn’t realize that’s what it was, at first. It looked like an upholstered coffee table until we cleared away the dinner plates, and then he reached underneath it and popped up the middle section. Then it looked like a kinky picnic table, with two side benches and a raised middle platform about three-quarters of a foot wide.

  He showed me how the spankee could either kneel on one side and bend over the raised middle, bracing their hands on the other side, or lie face down along the center platform. Either way, there was hardware in place to keep the victim from moving. There were cuffs and straps, and eyebolts in case he preferred to use rope. I was both impressed and terrified by the ingenuity of this contraption, and the fact that it looked like a plain old coffee table when it wasn’t in use.

  “Someone really put some thought into that,” I said.

  “I did. I built it.”

  Shit. I suspected as much. He was reeeally into this stuff. “Are you like, a carpenter on the side?” I asked, checking out the expertly constructed underside.

  “I’m finishing a Masters in engineering. I build these for people as a way to make extra money.”

  A bouncer and a kinky engineering student. He was lovely and hot and really fucking good with his hands. What were those hands going to do to me today? And were those tight, faded jeans finally going to come off?

  He put his slab hands on his hips and gave me a half smile like he knew what I was thinking. I blushed.

  “So...do I get to pick what you use on me today?” I asked.

  “No, today you get to be powerless. Today, I’m in charge.”

  His low, commanding tone made my pussy start fist-pumping again. I mentally told it to calm down as Mateo took me in his arms. God, his body was so big and warm, and my head fit right against his shoulder. He tipped my face up and kissed me. It was a light, sweet, tentative first kiss. It was perfect and sensual, something I’d remember my whole life. I stared at him as he pulled away. He stared back for a moment, then touched my glasses.

  “We should probably take these off before we start the festivities. Will you be okay without them?”

  I nodded. “I can mostly see.”

  “Mostly seeing is better than having them fall off and break while your hands are bound.”

  Oh man. Oh wow. I was going to be powerless, so powerless I couldn’t even push my glasses back onto my face if they started falling. He took them off and laid them on a side table next to the couch. Then he turned back to me, all business.

  “Strip,” he said. “Down to your bra and panties.”

  I obeyed without a word. I had so many questions and so many misgivings, but he was in charge so I kept my lips clamped shut. I wondered what he was going to spank me with, and how he was going to tie me down, and if he’d spank me harder this time, and if he’d fuck me...

  I’d worn my prettiest bra and panty set, a wine-colored matching pair with lace and satin trim. He didn’t ask me to take them off. Instead, he ran his fingers over the lace at the top of the bra cups until I shivered from the intent expression on his face. Then he took off his shirt, and I was sure he did that for me. My mouth filled with saliva at the sight of his defined pecs and abs. Literally, I had to swallow so the saliva didn’t spill from my lips in a cascade of drool. My pussy grew equally fluid. My whole body was dripping for him.

  “Have you ever been bound before?” he asked.

  His voice came to me through a haze of distraction. I was still staring at his chest. “Wha—What?” I asked.

  “Have you ever been bound before?”

  “Uh, no, I haven’t. I’ve wanted to be.”

  “Do you want to feel really restrained? Or should we start with mild bondage?”

  “I think...” Oh hell, why be coy at this point? “I want to be really restrained.”

  “Let’s start you off in a straddle then. Up and over.”

  He nudged me toward the spanking bench and had me lie face down along the center platform, with my legs on either side. Mr. Engineer toggled some toggles and adjusted the lower platforms so my legs were supported and my bottom slightly raised. I was no virtuous tease, like his cock, but I was glad for the panties, because otherwise I would have had no more secrets. He could have looked right up into my vagina. I felt very exposed.

  “So,” he said, as he fixed a pair of cuffs around my ankles. “It’s good to have a safe word when you’re bound. Just in case.”

  “A safe word?”

  “A word to make me stop.” Once the cuffs were clipped to some unseen tether point, he looped a strap around each knee and secured them to the bench. I couldn’t move my legs at all. Holy shit.

  “Because once I’m done tying you down,” he said, “there’s no possible chance of you getting away, or moving away, or throwing one of those naughty hands back to impede me.” He took the hands in question and extended them to the edge of the upper platform. Two convenient cuffs appeared, and he buckled my wrists into them. I could rattle the connection point, but that was about it.

  “So, Christine,” he said, leaning down to catch my gaze. “Your safe word is going to be ‘tiramisu.’ Can you remember that?”

  I nodded. I possibly panted.

  “Yes, Sir,” he prompted.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said. “I can remember that. But...how hard...?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not a matter of how hard I go. There are a lot of reasons you might need me to stop. A muscle cramp, or some bondage cutting off your circulation. You have a pretty good tolerance for pain, so I doubt you’ll use the safe word because of the intensity of the spanking. But who knows what else will come up?”

  Oh God. He cared. He was taking care of me, and Jesus, he was binding me to kingdom come. Now that my arms and legs were restrained, he produced another strap and cinched it around my waist so I could only squirm an inch or two in either direction. I couldn’t move. I was at his mercy.

  My pussy was on fire.

  “Wow,” I whispered, squirming in the bonds. “This is...wow.”

  “Does everything feel okay?”

  It felt spectacular. I laid my head against the bench and blinked at him. “I’m okay, I think.”

  “Do you feel scared?”

  “Yes. A million times, yes.”

  He bared his straight white teeth at me in a predatory smile. “Good.”

  He crossed to an armoire and swung open the doors. When I’d glanced at that armoire earlier, I thought it might be for an entertainment or gaming system. Nope. Full of spanking stuff. “I get to choose what I use on you today,” he said over his shoulder. “I thought, since you were bound, you might want to try some things that are a little harder to take.”

  Ack. Harder to take?

  He pulled out a thick paddle. The heavier riding crop. The thin, leather-wrapped implement he’d put away the last time. That made me shudder. It looked so black and slender and severe.

  “How...how many...?”

  He returned to me and slapped my ass. “Stop asking how many and how hard. Let me judge that. I won’t make you do any counting today. I just want to play with you, and let you get used to the bondage. I want to see if you like how it feels to have no control.”

  My pussy clenched. Then he growled and ground his teeth with sexual frustration. My pussy, that is, not Mateo. Mateo was cool as a fucking cucumber, as cool as the cucumber in his pants that I wanted to grind on with every word that came out of his mouth.

  For a spanking freak like me, who’d dreamed and fantasized and masturbated to spanking porn for years now, he was saying and doing all the right things. My toes curled and my body moved even though I knew I was at his mercy for the immediate future. He took my restless fingers and made me lace them together atop the platform in a specific, orderly way. Once he was satisfied, he patted my hands, checked my bonds one last time, and went to stand beside the bench. This time, I couldn’t see the implements. I couldn’t
tell what order he’d use them in.

  “We’ll start with a warm up,” he said.

  He used his hand for that, and I found it strangely comforting, even though it stung progressively worse with each firm smack. He spread the spanks around, over both my ass cheeks and even down to the tops of my thighs, until every part of my backside felt alive and glow-y. Then, without warning, I felt a sharp flick on my left cheek. I jumped and squeaked, and immediately felt the same lick of fire on my right. He was using the riding crop, delivering quick, sharp bursts of pain to my sensitive skin.

  Each flick of the crop made me more aware of my powerlessness, of the bondage that held me captive on this bench. When he began to flick the backs of my thighs, I tried to draw my legs together, but I couldn’t. Ouch, ouch, ouch... My body jerked and I made pleading yelps, but he didn’t stop. My fingers unlaced and made fists. A moment later he tapped lightly at them with the crop’s tip.

  “No fists,” he said. “Lace them together the way I showed you.”

  I wondered why. There had to be a reason. I uncurled my fingers and interlaced them the way he asked. In the meantime, he’d put down the crop. I waited to see what would come next. A stinging thud exploded against the underside of my ass. Fuck, the paddle. My fingers tensed and almost fisted again, but then I remembered.

  “Ahh-owwch,” I cried as the paddle landed again. “Ow!”

  “Hurts?” he asked.

  My only response was a drawn-out whine as he smacked me again. It could only be described as a pain explosion. The sting was so hot and pervasive, a heavy impact of torment against my cheeks. I was glad he hadn’t asked me to count as he landed four strokes in quick succession. I could hardly breathe.

  “Open your fingers,” he reminded me.

  Was the finger thing some extra layer of control? Some extra test? Perhaps he wanted my cooperation as a show of acceptance. When my hands were in fists, I was resisting. When I was made to uncurl them, my body uncurled somehow too, and I was forced to submit to him in some deeper way. When I laced them together nicely the way he wanted, it was an intentional sign of submission.

  I did as he asked and tried to release the tension in my shoulders and legs.

  “Good girl,” he said, whacking me again. I made a plaintive sound. Oh, it hurt. I wished I could cry, but no tears came. Crying would be the ultimate submission, the ultimate giving of myself, but I was too overwhelmed for that. I was too overwhelmed to do anything but wait for the next crack of the paddle, and keep my hands from clenching into fists again.

  “Owww...” I whined. At last, the paddle stopped. I couldn’t even feel the pinpoint stings from the crop anymore. All I felt was the allover throb of the paddle, the same throb I remembered from the previous time. I thought to myself that, as much as they hurt, paddles were my favorite. They really meant business. They really made me feel punished on a deep, noisy, stinging level.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, rubbing my bottom in slow circles.

  Jesus, it felt so good when he rubbed me. Why couldn’t he rub my pussy so I could get off? I tried to press my clit to the spanking bench, but the way he’d positioned and bound my legs, I couldn’t quite reach it. All I could do was struggle and arch my hips.

  He chuckled. “Naughty girl. You’re being spanked, not pleasured.”

  “But it feels good,” I cried. “I mean, the spanking’s making me hot.”

  “I can see that.”

  He yanked my thong up between my ass cheeks. My clit. Oh, my clit. Holy fuck, if my hands were free, I would have been abusing myself like hell.

  “Please,” I begged.

  “Please, what? Please more?”

  “Paddles really turn me on,” I said, as if to excuse my whorish behavior and continued attempts to grind on the bench.

  “Maybe we’d better move on to something a little less enjoyable then,” he replied in an evil tone. “Something very effective for naughty, horny girls.”

  “Your cock would be effective,” I blathered. “Or a vibrator.”

  But that wasn’t what I got. A crisp, excruciating line of fire blazed across my ass. I screeched and tensed my cheeks.

  “That’s so...ouch...please!”

  “Leather-wrapped cane,” he explained. “It hurts a lot. Ready for another?”

  “No, I don’t—”

  My words cut off in a squeal as another line of fire sizzled atop the first one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My hands were in fists again, and I didn’t think I could uncurl them this time.

  “Deep breaths,” he said. “Process the pain. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  There was something I could do about it, which we both knew, but no, I wasn’t going to safe word. As hard and torturous as this was, it was thrilling too.

  Another blow, another screech. I tried to lace my fingers together and make them pretty, but as soon as he caned me, they went back to clenched fists. I’d read the spanking porn, watched the movies. I knew even hardened fetish actresses sometimes lost their shit when it came to canes. Now I knew why. How many? I wanted to ask. How many? Now I really wanted to cry, just to show him how hard this was for me, but no, nothing came.

  He took a break. I panted, pressing my forehead against the bench. I felt him beside me, felt his hand burrow beneath the front of my panties and settle between my legs. Please, my clit. Yes, please touch me there...

  My hips bucked at the pleasure of his caress, but then whack! The cane connected at the juncture of my ass and thighs. I cried out in a confusion of agonized bliss.

  “Do you want to come?” he said, somewhere beside my ear.

  “Yes, yes, please!”

  “Hands, Christine.”

  I rearranged my fingers and arched my hips as he rewarded me with some attention on my clit. I was so wet, so hot and juicy. He continued the exquisite caresses, even as the cane bit into my flesh again.

  “Oh, gah,” I gasped, unable to form words. What I meant was, that feels so good, please don’t stop touching me. For every five or six teasing forays across my clit, I had to endure another cane stroke, but it seemed worth it. My body shuddered, struggling against the bondage at the same time I sank down into it. I was grateful for the cuffs and straps because they made me endure this ordeal, made me leave my mind and my thoughts and just exist in a world of feeling.

  The wonderful caresses intensified, and so did the fiery stripes on my ass, until I was nothing more than a mindless, desperate creature riding his hand. At last, with a cry of relief, my body toppled into orgasm. He gave me one last whack and lots of stroking as he urged my orgasm to even greater heights.

  “Oh my God, oh my Goood,” I wailed. “You can’t be this way.”

  I didn’t know why I said that. I was just astounded that he could do these things to me, and make me lose myself, and make me come so hard that my brain felt like it was about to fall out. It was just...crazy.

  He was crazy wonderful.

  But holy fuck. My ass hurt.

  *****

  I drifted contentedly in post orgasm bliss until he released me. He lifted me up and carried me to his couch, and turned me over his lap. More spanking, I thought drowsily. Cool, I’m up for it. But he only caressed me and traced my welts, checking my skin to make sure I was okay. I could feel his huge erection against my hip as he massaged my ass cheeks. He had to be horny. Why no sex?

  I turned and stretched, and looked up at him in invitation. “So...?” I said.

  “So...?” he repeated with a half-smile.

  “So, it’s not our first date anymore. Do you ever fuck on the second date?”

  “Sometimes. If I don’t care about the girl that much.”

  His eyes held mine. Holy shit. He wasn’t fucking me, wasn’t even trying to, even if he made me orgasm like wildfire.

  What did that mean?

  That he cared about me?

  “Are we going to fuck?” I asked, because I needed to be really clear about this.

  “No, we
’re not. Not yet.”

  I did the math in my sex-addled brain. That meant he cared about me. I melted. I almost simpered. I wanted his cock more than anything on earth, but he cared about me so I just had to wait. I gave a contented sigh as he reached to retrieve my glasses and settle them onto my face. Once I could see him with crystal clarity, he kissed me. We quickly lost ourselves in passionate, second-date kisses, but his jeans stayed on, and then he made me get up and get dressed so he could take me home. I felt disappointed and confused and sore and ecstatic all at once.

  “So what’s next?” he asked when we got to my doorstep.

  Did he mean relationship wise? Sex wise? My pussy angrily demanded to know what date he fucked on when he did care about the girl. I told my impatient pussy to shush.

  “I mean, we’ve done over the knee,” he said. “We’ve used implements, and now we’ve used bondage. What’s next on this spanking odyssey?”

  I stared at his broad chest and thought of all the power I’d given him, and how careful he had been, and how much I liked him. I thought of how close I wanted to get to him.

  “I wonder if you could get me to cry,” I said softly. “I mean, that would be next, don’t you think? To be spanked to tears?”

  His eyes widened. He rubbed his lip.

  “You have to trust someone a lot to go that far with them,” he said after a moment. “I doubt you cry very easily.”

  “I don’t cry easily. I hardly ever cry, but I wanted to, tonight. I felt really emotional, like I could have cried, but somehow...”

  I didn’t want to tell him that I hadn’t felt safe enough to cry, because it wasn’t that. It was some fear inside me, some dread of being vulnerable.

  “It’s not that the pain wasn’t bad enough, or the intensity,” I said. “It was some kind of self-protective thing. I wanted to cry, I just couldn’t quite do it.” I laced my hands together in front of me, the way I had atop the bench. “Maybe you could help me.”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to think about that. You know, how to make it work.”