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

by Sierra Cartwright

  The cock bulked very big inside her mouth. Maud's eyes began to water almost instantly, but that hidden part of her, strangely, loved that David didn't seem to care at all. He murmured encouragements, telling her how well she was doing, and that his cock felt good, but he did not change his steady rhythm when Maud gagged a little, and when, her jaw aching a little, she did try to move her head away, he gripped her firmly and would not allow it, but thrust in deeper, pressing the head of his cock against her palate, seeking the back of her throat.

  "Shh, my good girl," he said. "You're learning. You'll get better."

  Then he withdrew, leaving Maud gasping, the saliva feeling strange and tasting salty in her mouth, even foamy from the sticky semen that had leaked out like a foretaste of what David's manhood had in store for her. She bent her head and looked at the green padded top of the kneeling desk, recovering her breath. David had taken a step back.

  "Please rise, now, Maud Fredericks, and walk to the other side of the kneeling desk. You will then bend over until your hands are upon the kneeler and your bottom, turned towards us, is well presented. We will then award to Mr. Carroll your cunt and your anus, once he has uncovered your nakedness before us.."

  No. If her breath had returned to her lungs fully, she might have said it, and who knew what punishments might lie in store. But her mind stuck there, anyway, as she looked down at her forearms, resting on the upper part of the kneeling desk, where the chairman had just said she must present her bottom, raised and turned towards them, ready for... surely they wouldn't have David... surely David wouldn't, here in this room, with the three men watching?

  "Miss Fredericks," said Officer Miller, the Master of Instruction. "We understand how difficult this can be for young ladies, even after they have taken their masters penises into their mouths. But as Mr. Carroll quite rightly instructed you a few moments ago, if you do not obey us he has every right to whip you until you do. So you had better do as you're told and present your backside for inspection and enjoyment, as Mr. Carroll will no doubt require of you on a daily basis once he has brought you home. You must begin to accustom yourself to obedience, no matter how great the shame you feel, Miss Fredericks. Your master's wishes, and his pleasures, are what matters now."

  David's voice came, then, much gentler than that of the Master Instructor. "You may look me in the eye, Maud," he said. He had stepped forward again, so that his cock hung, glistening with Maud's saliva, right before her eyes.

  She looked up, feeling her brow furrow and grow clouded, wishing two very different things: that she could cheerfully obey him and do his terrible bidding, show her naked bottom and her waxed pussy, even receive his beautiful cock there, because he wanted it; and at the same time that he would tell her that she need not do what the chairman said—that, yes, his pleasure mattered but, no, his will for her did not include this ultimate humiliation, this lowest of all abasements. David's mouth had turned up at the corners very slightly. In his eyes she saw... love.

  He put his right hand out again, to cup her chin gently, to stroke her neck under her ear and make her shiver. Then he spoke. "Maud, I want you to do as the chairman has said. I want you to do it because I know that I love you, and you love me, and that this, as strange and new as it seems, is what we both want and need. I am taking you in hand today in every way, and although before today I wasn't sure that what I wanted from you, and for you, would be right for you, now I have not the slightest doubt."

  Maud felt her eyes widen, even as the trouble vanished from her brow. She took a deep breath of the air of the tribunal room, with its ancient scent of masculine privilege: leather, and baize, and cigars of bygone years. That breath seemed to fill her with her first taste of the unalloyed joy of submission she had always known she craved, but never admitted to needing.

  At the physical sensation of that joyous breath in her chest, Maud sobbed, "Yes." Without thinking about it, she dropped her eyes again to David's still hard cock, and she leaned forward and kissed it, to show him she wanted to be the kind of good girl who kisses her master's cock.

  "Get up," he said in a more severe voice that Maud nevertheless found even more exciting than his gentle one, "and present your bottom to the tribunal. I want to show them what a treasure they're awarding me."

  Maud got up, then, on shaking legs, and made her way the three steps to the other side of the kneeling desk. The blood rushed to her face to have to face the opposite wall, which bore a painting of some god having his way with a nymph over a fallen tree trunk where it appeared the god had made the nymph bend over just as Maud must now, while the four men behind her watched at their leisure, evaluating the quality of her little bottom.

  "Spread your feet, and bend over, Maud," David said. "Hands on the kneeler and back arched to display everything I like to see."

  Awkwardly, thinking with another flush of shame what the spreading of her feet would expose, Maud obeyed. The top of the desk, where her elbows had rested, came not uncomfortably against her naked tummy. The arching of her back seemed the worst part: to position herself over the furniture was one thing, but then to have to make that further gesture, assume that shameful pose...

  "I congratulate you, Mr. Carroll," came the chairman's voice from behind her, "on the acquisition of a very fine piece of ass."

  Maud's heart raced, and her breathing quickened. She had never imagined that mere words could produce the effect that simple, terrible phrase piece of ass had just done: her whole body went hot, and cold, and she felt her pussy gush with arousal as it never, ever had before.

  "Uncover her nakedness, if you would," said the Master Instructor, and then David's hands were upon her, pulling down the black lace thong, all the way to her knees, so that it stretched, and seemed to bind her there.

  "Nicely waxed," commented the Master Inquirer. "You'll have a nice ride there, Mr. Carroll. A sweet young cunt for Valentine's Day is always a treat."

  The chairman said. "Place your hands upon the bottom, if you would, Mr. Carroll. Open it just a bit so we can see the anus. Yes, thank you, just like that. My, that's lovely. So very pink and tight. You'll have a delightful time training her there."

  "Oh, God," Maud whispered at the terrible sensation of the air upon her there, and the image in her mind of what David and the tribunal saw.

  "By the authority vested in me by the Secret Society of Saint Valentine," the chairman declared in a solemn voice, "I hereby award this anus and this cunt to David Carroll, to use and to master as shall best please him. Now, Miss Fredericks, you may rise and, with your panties left where they are, walk over to the chair and stand by its left side. Your master will spank you now."

  Over David's lap Maud went, with her panties down, and received her long-delayed spanking. It went on and on, until her backside felt like it was on fire. At first it felt terribly embarrassing to be disciplined like a naughty little girl, upended for a well-deserved punishment, but as she felt the firmness of her master's hand, so different from the police paddle, so much more intimate, claiming her bare bottom as his place to teach her how to be good for him, she really did feel taken in hand, cared for.

  David led her upstairs, then, to the beautiful room with the enormous tub, even nicer than the hotel room from New Year's. She was not allowed to pull up her panties, and they passed many men in the same robes, some of them leading their own girls in lingerie. Somewhere in the huge house a band played romantic music.

  But all Maud wanted was what David did in their room: without a word he bent her over the bed and entered her, his hands gripping her hips firmly so that he could press his loins very close to her blazing, punished backside. She remembered how he had said at Thanksgiving that he wanted to have her this way to make Maud feel submissive. Now, looking down at the bedspread, she could hardly believe she had had such trouble understanding how much she needed that feeling.

  Then at last he prepared her anus, and entered her there, still in the same position. He made her cry out at the burning p
ain of opening the way her master demanded, and at having to be so terribly full of cock back there, down there. As David began to thrust and to ride her backside for his pleasure, Maud's feverish mind flashed to the moment she had first seen the summons, and thought it a wedding invitation. What had David said, inside the room of discipline? As strange and new as it seems.

  David moved his hand from her hip down between her legs, as he drove in and out of her bottom. He touched Maud's clit, and suddenly she was coming harder than she had ever thought possible, screaming out her pleasure and shaking in David's grasp.

  "Master?" she whispered, when he too had come, and they had showered and climbed into the big tub together at last, David's arms around Maud in the bubbles.

  "Yes, sweetheart?"

  "Can I get awarded to you every Valentine's Day?"

  About Emily Tilton

  Emily Tilton, whose books have hit number one on Amazon in five different erotica categories, wishes she could live out her fantasies of submission the way her characters do.

  Emily's erotica is a narrative version of her nearly lifelong quest to reconcile her submissive erotic orientation with her ethics. She writes erotica, not erotic romance: her books are about sex, because writing about sex helps her understand that fundamental part of her life better. She hopes maybe it does the same for her readers.

  Over the many years since Emily became aware of her sometimes unbearable craving for ravishment, spanking, and above all anal domination, she has tried to come to terms with that craving in more ways than she can count. The first of the ways was by reading, voraciously, every piece of BDSM erotica she could find.

  Eventually, she read Story of O. As is reflected throughout her work, it changed her life, though the change has been gradual, and continues to this day. The idea that other women might share the lusts she has by turns been ashamed of and defiantly proud of, that a woman like the real Pauline Réage might write so beautifully of those lusts, and work them out so thoroughly and even pitilessly on a character, put Réage's famous pencil in her right hand. Or, to put it in the terms of EXPLORATIONS, which she considers her magnum opus, it put her left hand on the keyboard of her laptop and her right hand in her lap, if you know what she means. Emily started to write spanking stories.

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  Dancing With a Dom by Katherine Deane

  Chapter One

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” My best friend, Jodi, trailed behind me, trying to keep up with my determined steps. “You have never ballroom danced in your life. You said so yourself.”

  “I know.” I waited for her to catch up, and we entered the mall together. “Two left feet.” And the rest of me was what you would call hourglass. Huge hips, an even bigger ass, boobs with a mind of their own—especially when left to their own devices—like the first few minutes after getting out of bed braless. I called it fat. Men don’t like size fourteen. They want size two or four, like Jodi. Perfect, petite, curves—not mountains.

  We got into the long line for potential dancers. Who would have thought there would be so much interest in a televised “dance off”? This show was going live on a little known cable station on Valentine’s Day. Everyone else would be home cozying up with a loved one, talking about stuff like romance, flowers, chocolates, and true love. Disgusting. There was no such thing as true love. At least not for someone like me.

  What had Derek said last year when I found him fucking not one, but two other women? Oh yeah. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe. Sorry, but I needed someone warm in my bed this time.”

  I lost my job the next day. It wouldn’t have been a huge deal if I still had a husband and a home. But the timing? Holy crap, Mercury must have been in retrograde or something. Either that, or I had pissed off the wrong guardian angel. The timing sucked.

  Jodi was a big help. Her husband’s a lawyer. He got me divorced and set up in their guest room, until I could find a new apartment. Jodi brought me extra-hot Mickey D’s french fries, Chubby Hubby ice cream, and red wine. It helped. For a few weeks, I snuggled in bed, ate, and slept. I called it my hibernation slash recovery time. Jodi called it bullshit. Even though she weighs at least forty pounds less than me, she can get me off my ass quicker than a buy-one-get-two-free sale on peppermint-mocha creamer. She said I had wallowed enough. Hey, I wasn’t wallowing. I was recov-er-ing. She told me Derek was laughing and enjoying single life, screwing every woman he met. She’s a real friend. And she was right. I had wallowed enough. So I got off my tired ass, updated my resume, and signed up at the temp place downtown. Then I started looking for new adventurous things to do. Anything that was opposite to the “married to the jerk” me. Like skydiving, bungee jumping...or dancing.

  Now, I stood at the back of a long line of hopefuls, all vying for ten spots. A chance to ballroom dance our way to television stardom. For me, a chance to tell Derek to fuck off and that I had moved on. And to be busy—very, very busy—all the way up to and through the most horrible of all holidays. Valen-fricking-tines Day.

  “Okay, here are the forms.” Jodi furrowed her brows as she read them. “Are you up-to-date on all your shots? And do you have a will?” Laughing, she stuffed the forms along with the cheap black pen into my palm. “I’m kidding about the last one. But, seriously, try not to trip, ’kay?”

  “I’m not going to trip,” I growled under my breath as we inched our way up to the stage. I was going to be beautiful, stunning, poised, and graceful. Well, at least beautiful in a sort of retro jeans, loose T-shirt combination paired with funky high heels. I couldn’t find anything else to wear, since I had tossed everything into boxes and taken to living as a hobo in my friend’s guest room. I would make that show if it killed me.

  I tripped walking up the steps to the stage.

  *****

  Dane stood in the small hall across from the stage, overseeing everything from his vantage point in the shadows. Though in charge of this whole event—he had been the one to come up with the idea to save his uncle’s small cable station—he didn’t want anyone to see him yet. People would kiss up to him for spots on the show, and he wanted to see what they were like when they didn’t realize he was present.

  His earpiece whined, almost piercing his damn eardrum. Cursing, he turned it down to a reasonable level. “What’s up, Mac?”

  His head judge and best friend’s drawl came through the earpiece. “I’m not sure about number fifteen. She’s pretty and she’s a schoolteacher, but...”

  “Put her file in the second, to be considered, pile. We still need a teacher. But you’re right, she’s a bit too pretty, and she’s trying too hard.”

  “You saw the fake smiles and the way she flirted with me?” Mac asked.

  “Her boobs were in your face. I think everyone saw it. Why do you think I’m over here?” Dane stepped back farther into his quiet dark corner.

  “But you said you wanted real people,” Mac reasoned. “Teachers, firefighters, single parents—”

  “Wounded soldier. Right there.” Dane pointed toward a man in olive-green fatigues, with silver bars on his dark cap and a noticeable limp. “Find out if he’s legit. A former army captain hurt while protecting his country is the perfect addition.”

  “How the fuck is he going to do the lifts? What if he falls?” Mac grumbled.

  “Just do it. We’ll figure out a way around it—partner him with a professional who can steal the show. He’ll be there for the overall good energy.”

  “Shit, you’re good at this.”

  “That’s why the old man agreed to let me head this. It’s our last chance before the station goes bust.”

  The link went silent as they watched the next few potential dancers go through the brief interview session followed by three minutes of “show off your moves while pasting an overly dramatic smile on your face.” The boob-in-the-face schoolteacher had nothing on some of the potentials. One male entrant beat-boxed “The Star-Spangled Banner” in fuchsia high heels whil
e twirling a baton. The dude did not make the cut. After another fifty entrants, Dane wanted to close down the preliminaries. They had selected the fifteen potential dancers he wanted—everyday people who did everyday jobs. Paired up with the hottest dancers—within budget confines, of course—they would make television history this Valentine’s Day. Either with an epic fail or by luring enough of their sponsors back to raise the fifty thousand dollars needed for their overdue payroll. They were going for broke.

  “Wake up, asshole. Last dancer is coming up.”

  Rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hands, he released a long sigh, ready to get this last one over with so he could go home, grab a beer, and, what...the...fuck?

  The most beautiful woman he had ever seen—dressed in the most god-awful outfit of faded jeans and a too-loose T-shirt—wobbled her way up the stairs in high heels and tripped, falling flat on her face with a loud oomph.

  The judges raced around the table to help her up. Her baggy shirt rode up and above her ample hips giving Dane a very good glimpse of her curvy ass, the perfect round globes hugged by blue jean material. Damn shirts shouldn’t hide an ass like that.

  She shoved off from the stairs and turned to glare at the men trying to help her up. “I’ve got this. Thank you.” Then she stared right at him, green eyes full of fire, fists clenched, and pink softening her cheeks. Straightening her back, she walked to the center of the stage, rolled her shoulders, and stood there. Like a goddess. A warrior goddess with dark-chestnut hair falling from a loose ponytail, and curves that would make Helen of Troy jealous. “I’m ready to dance.”

  She grabbed her professional partner’s hand and yanked him into her, surprising everyone in the room, especially the poor man trying to lead her. Furrowing her brow and focusing on her feet instead of him, things only got worse as she tried to compensate by taking the lead again. The dancer looked to Dane for clarification, and Dane nodded at him to keep going. He did, right until the final foot-high-heel-to-foot combo stomp, leaving him wincing and hobbling through the rest of the tryout.