Best Bondage Erotica of the Year

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “Go on,” he said, his voice husky. “Let me see what you were doing.”

  I’d masturbated in front of him before, but never like this. His heated look melted whatever uncertainty I may have had. I started using the links to frig my clit, his intense gaze taking in every move. As the pleasure slowly built again, I tilted my head back and moaned.

  “So fucking hot,” Brian rasped.

  Still playing with myself, I looked at him again and saw him pulling at his cock through his briefs. “I want to watch you too.”

  “You only have to ask, babe.”

  “Please, I want to see your cock,” I panted.

  He ripped off his shorts, then he was at the end of the bed, his long, hard shaft gripped in his hand. The head of his cock was dusky red and glistening. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he stroked his hand up and down his dick, milking a thick drop of precome from the tip. I licked my lips, wanting to taste him.

  For a few moments, the room was filled with our heavy breathing as we watched each other. I don’t think I’d ever been so aroused, but it wasn’t enough. While I’d been so close to coming before he got home, now that he was here, I didn’t want to get myself off anymore. I wanted Brian to make me come.

  “I need you,” I told him.

  Brian didn’t hesitate. He joined me on the bed, carefully easing me onto my side so he could spoon up against my back. His erection grazed my backside and I pressed my ass back into him. My free arm and leg on top, he lifted my leg up over his hip and used his own legs to spread me wide open. I sighed when he engulfed my sex with his large hand and started manipulating the chain along my slit.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured in my ear.

  The waves of pleasure built fast and furious. I arched into his dexterous hand, silently begging for more. He slid his hand lower and slipped a finger in my cunt, then another. Moaning, I raised my arm to grip the back of his neck.

  “You need something inside you, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  I’d assumed he meant his cock, so I gasped when he pushed one of the links inside me. It hadn’t occurred to me to do that, but now it seemed so obvious I was surprised my twisted mind hadn’t thought of it. He added a second link, and a third, and a fourth, and kept going until I was stuffed with chain. Then he pressed down on my sex, massaging my inner muscles from the outside.

  I cried out at the intense feeling, my nails digging into his neck. He repeated the move over and over again, and I knew I was going to come so fucking hard.

  Suddenly he paused, making me whimper. “Don’t stop.”

  His teeth grazed my neck, sending a shiver throughout my body. “Not quite yet.”

  So my long dark hair wouldn’t get caught in the chain, I’d pulled it into a braid, leaving my neck and shoulder exposed to his sucking, biting kisses. He moved his hand down, his fingers teasing my entrance, playing with the silky cream liberally flowing from my pussy. One of his fingertips brushed over my asshole, making me groan at the sensation.

  Brian froze for a moment, then circled the taut opening more deliberately. This wasn’t something we’d explored before. He’d never even broached the idea. Of course, I knew a lot of guys liked anal, but it hadn’t ever appealed to me. Even with all my dirty impulses, I didn’t think it was an experience I’d ever try. I did now, though.

  The feel of him touching the forbidden spot was unquestionably pleasurable. Moaning, I pressed myself against his questing fingers. I wanted him there, in my ass, filling me.

  “Does that feel good, baby?”

  “Yes,” I hissed.

  His fingers disappeared and he shifted slightly. I heard the snap of the baby oil lid. When I felt him again, his finger was slicker and he gently eased it inside me. He went slowly, but I was already so aroused and relaxed, his finger smoothly slid all the way in. It felt different, but good . . . really good.

  “Is this okay?” His voice was rough against my ear.

  “More” was all I could say.

  Brian moved his finger out, then in again. I melted against him, lost in the utter hedonism overtaking me. Soon one finger wasn’t enough.

  “Please, more.”

  He withdrew and carefully worked a second finger into my once-virgin ass. Gradually, he slid his finger in and out until he was fucking me at a steady pace. Quickly, I craved even more.

  “I need your cock.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Fuck my ass . . . please.”

  I heard him get more baby oil, then his fingers were replaced by his hard, hot cock. The stretching wasn’t as uncomfortable as I’d always imagined. It was rare and exquisite. And feeling him claim me in a way no one ever had before was beyond exhilarating.

  Groaning, Brian pushed inside me slow and deep. “You feel so good, Ari.”

  My only response was a long, drawn-out moan as I took him all the way inside me, so far his balls brushed my chain-filled cunt. He put his hand back over my pussy, pushing down as he eased out, then in. The sound I made was nothing short of animalistic. Entirely surrounded and filled by Brian and the chain, I was embraced everywhere. There was no escaping it, even if I wanted to—and I absolutely didn’t. It was safe to just let go, to just feel.

  As his thrusts became more sure, faster and harder, I was stimulated from both outside and in. His hand and cock caused the links to shift around, massaging my inner walls magnificently. In no time, I was a quivering mass of girl-flesh, writhing on his dick as much as I could. Nerve endings I never knew existed awoke and pushed me ever closer to oblivion.

  I was in sensory overload. With every quick shuddering breath, I inhaled the metallic smell of the chain, the slightly sweet essence of baby oil, the musk of my own arousal, and the heady scent that was all Brian. The small room reverberated with the sound of skin smacking against skin, clinking metal, and our grunts and groans and panting breaths.

  Brian sunk his teeth into my shoulder and I was gone, everywhere and nowhere, shattering so completely I didn’t know if I’d ever be the same again. I was vaguely aware of Brian calling out my name, feeling his cock jerking inside me, and the warm flush of his come filling my ass. Then there was nothing but sublime bliss.

  When I finally did reemerge, I gradually began noticing things. Brian was softly kissing my shoulder and murmuring sweet words. He’d removed the chain from my cunt. His softening cock rested against my thigh. I was thoroughly soaked with his come and mine. I relished it all as the pleasure ebbed but lingered.

  Sighing, I was boneless. I felt no pain—until I did. The chain was digging into my hip and ribcage. Not wanting to move, I really tried to ignore it, but the nagging discomfort grew.

  “Brian?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Can you help me out of this chain? It’s really getting uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course.”

  He unfastened my arm first, then helped me sit up so he could unwrap my chest and torso.

  “If this is what you get up to when I’m not around,” he said as he unwound the last of the chain from around my leg, “I’ll never go out with the guys again.”

  I lazily stretched. “That seems extreme.”

  “Trust me, you’re way more interesting.” He gave me a brief, fierce kiss. “I’ll run us a shower.”

  My muscles were like Jell-O, so it took me a moment to get up and follow him into the bathroom. I was a bit stiff and sore, but pleasantly so. Then there was the delicious sensation of our combined come slowly trailing down my legs.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, I watched him turn on the shower. “Won’t all your buddies call you pussy-whipped?”

  “Fuck ’em.”

  I couldn’t help grinning.

  Brian lifted the chain bucket out of the shower and gave me a questioning look over his shoulder.

  I sheepishly shrugged a shoulder.

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Besides, we both know who’s whipped around here
.” He turned and frowned at me, holding the empty tub of degreaser. “I should spank you for using all my Goop.”

  Hmmm . . . whipped . . . Brain putting me over his knee and spanking me . . .

  His furrowed brow smoothed and his gaze became intense. “Really?”

  Worrying my lower lip, I pressed my slick thighs together to ease the renewed ache in my greedy cunt.

  The corner of his mouth curved up slowly. “Well, you have been a very naughty girl . . .”

  And it all started with being chained.

  IMPROPRIETY

  Winter Blair

  Jessamine spent the morning in bed pretending to read a book. Her thoughts were far away as she turned the pages mechanically. Her eyes kept going to the window, staring at the blue sky and rolling green hills. Wildflowers blossomed in profusion and birds hopped across the windowsill, cheerfully building a nest, but Jessamine didn’t see them. Her gaze was unfocused, her mind elsewhere.

  When the bell for luncheon chimed, she slid reluctantly from bed. She chose to eschew a crinoline and corset, sliding only a single smooth petticoat on over her chemise. Over this, she pulled on her most modest blue twill dress, and styled her hair with a quick twist at the nape of her neck, secured with a handful of pins. In London, she would have been a social pariah for dressing with such simplicity. But there was no one but Ada, the cook, and a single maid to see her out here in the countryside, so she found it difficult to care about the standards of current fashion.

  Ada was already eating when Jessamine arrived at the table. Luncheon was comprised of cucumber sandwiches, fresh fruit, and fluffy homemade biscuits with bittersweet orange marmalade. Jessamine nibbled at a sandwich dutifully but didn’t taste it.

  “How are you feeling?” Ada asked around a mouthful of strawberry.

  Jessamine sighed and did not answer.

  “Is the malaise as strong as yesterday?”

  “Yes. I’ve been here nearly a week, Ada. I have walked the garden every day, as the doctor prescribed, and I have eaten fresh fruit and taken honey in my tea, and I have avoided meat and liquor. But still, my heart aches with a profound longing, and my thoughts return relentlessly to him. Even the most delectable food tastes like the blandest fare, and the most beautiful writing cannot hold my attention. I am beginning to fear that this state of melancholy is permanent.”

  Ada finished her sandwich in one large, unladylike bite. “I’ve been working on something I think might help.”

  “Is that what you’ve been doing in your workshop this long, lonely week?”

  “Yes, and I think it’s ready to test. Finish your meal and join me in the workshop.”

  Jessamine pushed her plate away. “I’m ready now.”

  Ada brushed the crumbs from her hands and stood. “Come with me, then.”

  Jessamine had never been in her friend’s workshop before. Everything about Ada was entirely improper, especially for a young lady of her rank: the way she dressed, in trousers and men’s shirts; the way she devoured books about subjects like science and engineering; the way she spoke, with masculine directness; even the way she walked and moved, with a sort of casual ease, instead of the refined stiffness of every other noble-woman Jessamine had ever met. A mutual love of Byron and Shelley and Poe had made them fast friends, exchanging weekly letters relating their mutual adoration of literature, recommending books and evaluating the meaning of opaque quotes and speculating upon the intended themes in this or that poem or novel.

  Jessamine’s parents had, of course, forbidden the friendship—Ada had a reputation for being odd. But after Jessamine’s elopement, subsequent betrayal, and the scandal that resulted, she was anathema in London society. The doctor prescribed time in the countryside to cure her despondency after her disgraceful conduct broke in the papers, and her parents were only too glad to be rid of her, lest her infamy infect the rest of the family. They’d eagerly packed her off to Ada’s country estate without another thought.

  She followed Ada across the garden, unruly flowers and vines brushing at her dress. Ada did not care for working outdoors, so the garden was more like a field of wildflowers. Jessamine knew that Ada cared little for propriety, but she didn’t see why her friend couldn’t employ a gardener to give the place a little more order. Perhaps some rosebushes and a nice topiary? She’d have to bring it up, assuming Ada truly could cure her melancholy enough for her to care about it.

  The workshop was located in a cottage not far from the main house. It had once been the butler’s dwelling, but Ada had more use for a workshop than a butler, so it had been converted into one large room ringed by shelves and worktables. Jessamine’s heart fluttered with the excitement of entering this most indecorous of buildings. Her mother would have been scandalized by the mere existence of a mechanical workshop run by a woman.

  Ada pressed a switch near the door and the room was lit by the bright glow of electric lights.

  “Electricity! How do you have electricity out here?” Jessamine gasped. She’d seen an electric lightbulb only once, at a fair. It was a technological marvel that seemed too good to be true, and certainly outside the reach of any but the very wealthy and foolhardy.

  Ada smiled up at the bulb by the door, her face pretty in the golden light. “The river has a water wheel to generate the current. It’s essential to my work.” She gestured to a chair in the middle of the room. “Sit there, please.”

  Jessamine moved cautiously to the chair. It had armrests and also what appeared to be footrests. She slid into the seat and arranged her skirts to be presentable. Ada crouched at her feet and Jessamine felt pressure on her ankles. Her feet would no longer move despite her best efforts to kick. Her friend moved to her right hand and secured a strap around her wrist in quick, decisive movements.

  “What are you doing?” Jessamine asked, panic burning up her spine.

  Ada smiled gently as she moved to the left arm. She took Jessamine’s hand in hers. Her skin felt warm and her fingers calloused as they stroked Jessamine’s palm. “Do you trust me, Jessa?”

  Jessamine swallowed hard. “Of course I do. But why must I be strapped down?”

  “It’s an important part of the treatment. I would never harm you. You know that, right? If, at any time, you wish to be released, you have only to say so.”

  Jessamine sighed and forced herself to relax back into the chair. “Very well.”

  Ada secured the strap around Jessamine’s left wrist. She went to a worktable nearby and picked up a long, smooth object that had a familiar shape to it. Jessamine’s breath caught. “What is that?”

  Her friend turned and smiled. “This is the invention I think will cure your malaise. I’ve been doing some reading about hysteria and melancholy and the latest treatments using the marvels of Edison’s electricity.”

  Jessamine squirmed. “What does it do?”

  Ada placed it in Jessamine’s right hand. The device was cool and heavy. A long electrical cord ran from one end to the wall. “It’s meant to be inserted.”

  “Inserted where, precisely?”

  “Well, your quim.” Ada’s cheeks flushed.

  Jessamine squirmed in her restraints. She let go of the device and it fell toward the floor. “Into my what?”

  Ada caught the device and cradled it, as if it were precious and breakable. “I know it sounds a bit, well, invasive. But it’s going to work.”

  Jessamine’s pulse thundered. “What you’re suggesting is vulgar!”

  “Listen to reason, dear friend,” Ada said, placing one hand on Jessamine’s arm. “What if this can help you? What if it cures your melancholy? All my research says it will.”

  “This is terribly undignified, Ada. I can’t believe you would even suggest this! What if my family finds out? I’ll be ruined!” Jessamine wanted to ask for her release from the straps, but beneath her corset, her nipples were hard as diamonds. Desire, curiosity, and shame swirled within her breast, a miasma of confusion that made her mouth dry.

 
Ada’s fingers on her arm tightened. “Be realistic, Jessa. Your reputation is already in tatters. No one ever needs to know about this. Only you and I will be privy to what happens here in this workshop. It will be entirely our secret. What if this could bring back your happiness? What if this could make you forget about Mister Hyde?”

  Jessamine’s throat tightened and she twisted her wrists in their restraints. “Don’t say his name.”

  Ada moved in close to her, so close she could smell the warm vanilla scent of her skin and the oil that dirtied her clothes. “I can free you from this power he has over you. Don’t you want that?”

  Jessamine settled back onto the chair, her eyes going to the device. “You swear that no one will ever know?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Then what do I need to do?”

  Ada smiled excitedly. “Just lean back. I’ll do the rest.”

  Jessamine did as she was ordered. Ada turned a wheel attached to the chair and Jessamine’s legs rose into the air, forcing her to lie farther back until her torso was nearly horizontal and her thighs nearly vertical. Her heart pounded.

  Ada moved to a position between her friend’s spread legs. Jessamine’s face flushed with heat at the thought of what she was about to allow her friend to do. Only one other person had ever touched her there. She experienced a flash of memory, of his mouth on her neck, his hands on her nipples, his hard erection pressing between her legs. She hated to admit it, but at night she lay awake thinking of him, pining for his caresses. Even as he had betrayed her and left her a fallen woman, Jessamine still longed for him. Maybe Ada was right and this device was the key. Maybe she needed to cleanse her most secret parts of every bit of him, even the memory of his touch.

  Ada pushed up Jessamine’s skirts until they were around her waist. “Are you ready? It will be cold at first, but it will warm with the heat of your body.”

  Jessamine turned her face away, embarrassed that her friend was looking at her most private flesh. “Please let it be over quickly.”

  Ada disappeared behind her skirts and Jessamine felt the cold device probing at the soft flaps of skin around her quim. Gently, ever so gently, Ada moved it across the hard nub, the one that tingled and engorged whenever Jessamine went horseback riding. Jessamine’s breath escaped in a shuddering sigh. The hard metal against her softest skin felt good, even as cold as it was.