Crouching back, you admire your handiwork. The right knots hold his new cock snug, shining and stiff. With the dark of his skin and the night’s soft shadows, you can hardly tell it from flesh.
The scrap of blue ribbon comes away from your wrist with a gentle tug, and you hold it before you with both hands, begging with your body that the lawman finally, sweet heavens finally, trade it for something stronger.
He removes his hat before he obliges you. The neckerchief he’d washed and wrung out earlier is still damp as he circles it around your wrists and ties the ends tight. The dampness makes it all the more unforgiving as you test how well the knot will hold, and, as it always is, it’s a perfect strong knot. The lawman flares the ends like a bow and you flush with the obscene pleasure of your own body transformed into a present wrapped up for giving.
His cock bobs at the edge of your vision as he tips your balance off your heels to set your bottom down on the bedroll. He moves quick and slow in turns; no time at all between him pushing you flat on your back to him stretching your arms up to where he’s propped his saddle. He lashes you to it once again, tucking the saddle strings well away from your grasping fingers. You couldn’t care less about trying to get loose, you’re reveling in the weight of the saddle. It’s as unyielding as the lawman’s knots, an anchor meant for you alone.
You start up kicking for the fun of it, hissing like a wildcat until he manages to catch an ankle and yank your leg out straight. You think he might stake you out spread-eagle with the spare picket pin so he can use you as he pleases and threaten to leave your wicked body baking in the sun for the ants and the crows.
Instead he strips you out of your trousers and uses the soft leather of your own belt, looping it once just above your ankle and then folding your leg back and looping it around your thigh. The tongue tucked under itself holds it fast. It’d be easy to slip out of if you could use your hands, but the lawman knows you don’t have the leverage for it. He uses his own belt for your other leg, and then there’s nothing left for you to struggle against except the tender way he looks at you.
You can’t touch him but with your thighs and you whine for how he teases you. His fingers and his cock slip along the wet length of your cunt. You’re too wet, no friction at all, the slick press of his touch and then his tongue not enough to bring you release. He could drink you dry here under the stars and you might not hit your peak. You whine at the thought, and shortly after you surrender to it. Limbs trapped, body quaking, the whole of you narrows down to the rush of blood in your ears and the rhythm of his mouth buried against you.
You hardly notice when he stops and sits back on his heels. He gives you a slap on the leg, just enough to shake up the stillness that’d settled in amongst the crackle of the embers.
It’s too soon for that. He wants you present as he feels his cock inside you for the first time, and then you’re eager too. You squeeze around it as he pushes into you. The length of it fills you up and up. He ruts like any man at first, focused on his own needs, and if you aren’t free yet to drift into the quiet space that being pinned down and pleasured promises, you figure on more struggling. You twist and buck beneath him, your tits rubbing against where his shirt falls loose against you. You try to hold him tight, to trap him with just the fleshy press of your thighs.
It tires you out mightily, but he appreciates it; his breath is quick as he sits back on his heels again to marvel at the sight of his cock sunk inside you. This gift you’ve given him is more than lacquered wood and ribbon, and he touches you gently. His hands run along the length of your body with great care, and he scratches long lines into the softness of your belly to make you whine and moan. Your legs twitch, a mute complaint at being bent and bound for so long. He gives you a pinch to make certain they’re only weary, not gone numb, and you grant him a smile.
You drift a bit as you think about everything you give him and that he’s given you in turn. You think of that small contrary curl of his hair, of the kindness of his kisses, and the secrets you share. You think of the rancher awaiting justice to the west-northwest, the places you’ll wear bruises come morning, and how not too long ago you’d thought of yourself as the killing kind. And now—
The lawman curls over you, the weight of his body burying you into the earth, the smell of leather and drying grasses thick in your lungs. You’ll stay here forever, you think, as your lover fucks into you, and when the seeking press of his thumb turns you to quaking and quivering, you’ve already drifted halfway to heaven, tethered only by a scrap of ribbon, by robin’s-egg blue.
FREEFALL
Valerie Alexander
The night Gabe takes me to the sleaziest sex store in town is the night I realize I need someone new. The parking lot is full of cars, some with men waiting behind steering wheels. They watch me follow Gabe across the asphalt and at that moment any of them seems like a more enticing option. A dark car, an anonymous man, me pulling up my dress for some thrilling, sordid debasement.
But I follow Gabe inside the gray stucco building. A bright emporium of packaged dildos, Fleshlights, gag gifts, and cheap lingerie surrounds us. Private video booths line the back wall. It’s nothing like the pretty, feminist, sex-positive shop I used to visit, with the dolphin-shaped vibrators and lube in lavender bottles.
The thirtyish cashier behind the counter, who’s clearly trying to cultivate a malevolent vibe with his shaved head and black goatee, leers at my legs. Gabe strides purposefully toward the wall of dildos and selects a packaged mint-green silicone vibe that’s too big. He knows it’s too big. I know what’s going to happen. It’s never a good sign when your Master is becoming predictable.
Next he picks out a black iron spreader bar and puts both items on the counter. “And we’ll be visiting one of the video booths,” he says to the cashier, “if that’s all right.”
“Have at it,” the cashier says. He gives a crude laugh that makes my stomach jump, because being watched by some sleazeball voyeur can be exciting in its own right.
Gabe pulls me by the hand to the video booth. My cheeks are getting hot and I feel that rush of reality meeting my most shameful needs. Amazing where a few dreams of degradation can take you—to the worst sex store in town, to the humiliation of being dominated in the kind of booth that gets mopped on the hour.
The booth door shuts behind us. It’s claustrophobically small. Gabe rips the dildo out of its package. “Open your legs.”
My eyes flicker up at the tiny store camera in the corner as I hike up my skirt, thinking about the cashier watching. But I keep my knees together, forcing Gabe to force them open and expose me to the camera. He locks the iron circles of the spreader bar around my ankles. The thrill of captivity roars through me.
Gabe unzips his jeans and pushes his cock into my mouth. “Now,” he says, pumping slowly across my tongue, “work that whole thing into your pussy. All of it.”
This is the hard part. I’m wet but the toy is huge and getting it inside my rather small pussy is slow going.
“Take it all,” Gabe says menacingly.
I keep my eyes locked on the camera as I push it in. My cunt is stretching to accommodate it. But it’s a struggle and Gabe can tell. He fucks my mouth faster, breathlessly, his eyes locked between my legs. And just as I’m beginning to melt around the toy, Gabe comes in a salty flood in my mouth.
“Pull it out,” he orders.
No orgasm for me right now. He drops the toy in my purse and leaves me spread-eagle for the store camera as he straightens his clothes. Finally he unlocks me and I follow him out of the booth, my knees shaking. The cashier leans across the counter, practically glowing with delight. “That’s a very bad girl you have,” he tells Gabe, not even hiding his voyeurism.
“You should have seen her when I found her. She was the ultimate good girl.” The contempt and pride are clear in Gabe’s voice. “Then she met me and I corrupted her.” He cackles.
I turn and give him a challenging stare. “You corrupted me
?”
Gabe’s face darkens. For such impertinence, it’ll be the belt for me: skirt pulled up and ten licks across my ass. A hot slap of pain with a sting like a scorpion’s tail. There. That’ll teach you to embarrass me.
Or maybe it’ll be something else.
The thing is, Gabe was partly right. Before this summer, I used to go skydiving. This was a morning activity, and I was a morning girl. Yoga greeting the sunrise, followed by a protein shake; it was elating to wake up back then and know that the brilliant sunlit world was mine for the taking. I was dating a baseball player, and the sex we had was vigorous and athletic: hot, panting, bed-shaking sex. Before I ruined myself.
I went to bed early then. It was early June and my boyfriend was traveling to a lot of games. But that summer, my apartment was near the fairground and every night I’d hear the organ music, screams from the roller coaster, and the general din of laughter. I’d lie awake, my nerves burning with the need for something new. One night, I got out of bed and changed into a gray tank top and cutoffs. My breasts were small enough to go braless and I left my light brown hair in its naturally wild wavy state. I walked down to the lake, where the carnival was.
The fairground lights burned red and yellow in the summer night. The carnival was still busy, shrieks and laughter and the smell of fried dough filling my senses. Men gave me furtive looks of appreciation, but that was nothing new. Then I saw the kind of face I needed—a handsome, languorous face, shadows under his eyes, full lips. Half-lidded eyes that could look sultry or murderous.
He was appraising me with open hunger, his eyes on my long bare legs. I pulled my cotton tank top tight against my nipples and his face went hard like a predator’s. My heart was pounding as I walked down to the water and under the pier. I told myself he wouldn’t follow. I’d played this kind of scenario in my head hundreds of times, but I couldn’t imagine it happening in real life. Through the pier above me I could hear the carnival music. The water lapped at the wooden pillars embedded in the sand.
He appeared and kissed me roughly without a word, putting my hands on his hips.
“No.” I leaned against the pillar, sliding my hands behind it. “Tie me up. Be rough, be crude.”
He looked surprised for just a second. Something wary flickered through those hooded eyes, but then he smiled cruelly and confirmed everything I’d guessed about him. He took off his belt and tied me to the pillar with it. The circumference was wide enough that I felt the pull in my shoulders, the stretch in my arms. Then he unzipped my cutoffs and pulled them down without kissing me again. I kept my legs shut and he burrowed his fist through them and rubbed it against my clit, ordering me to spread. And just like that he shoved his cock into me, pumping with brutal and silent efficiency as people passed overhead on the pier. I came faster than a rocket.
I never thought I’d see him again. I never thought he’d walk back to the carnival with me and say, “I’m Gabe, by the way. And if you’re into that kind of thing, there’s this club . . .”
But he did. That was nine weeks ago.
And now, because of my appalling behavior at the sex shop, I’m being punished. My wrists have been cuffed for hours—not the comfortable black leather cuffs with the velvety red lining, but the steel police handcuffs—and linked over my head to the chain attached to the ceiling hook.
I’m on my knees, not quite able to rest on my heels. My thighs shake from the tension, my eyes burn with sleeplessness. When we got home, Gabe threw me on the bed and hog-tied me. Not the most accessible position, and for an added touch of cruelty, he shoved a vibrator between my thighs and turned it on, letting it buzz up against my lips but not against my clit. I rocked back and forth on it, trying to get it inside me or against my clit so I could come, but no dice. Eventually he came back in and untied me, throwing me over his desk and fucking me until I was just about to come—and then he stopped and cuffed and chained me like this.
“You think I’m here to please you?” he asks now. “You think you get to come whenever you want?”
His boot prods my bare ass. “Answer me.”
“No.”
“No, Sir.”
“No, Sir.”
I want to come and I want to cry. I want to crumple onto the carpet and sleep. My shoulders are beginning to hurt. Already my wrists are marked with grooves that no long sleeves will cover adequately for work. Sitting down to a meeting in a conference room, wincing from the eight cane stripes across my ass, is one thing. These I can’t hide.
Gabe walks around to the front and prods my pussy with his boot. I think he’s going to push it in my mouth next, but I’m only half right. Instead he pushes two fingers in my mouth and strokes my tongue. Immediately my pussy comes awake and I can’t help wiggling in a plea to have him touch me.
He withdraws his fingers, unclips me from the chain. Even the metal cuffs come off. He pulls me to my feet and leads me stumbling down the hall on my weak legs. Then he pushes me into the metal chair in the living room.
Oh no. Not this. But I know better than to protest as he attaches my wrists to the chair arms and then ties my ankles—far apart—to the chair legs. He walks over to the massive flat-screen TV and puts on one of my favorite videos, a girl in rope suspension getting gangbanged by menacing women. Then he stuffs a different vibrator inside my pussy.
“You need to learn the rules,” he says and walks out of the room without turning on the toy. Yet it comes to life inside me on its own. It’s the remote-control one he talked about getting. He turns it off and on at will now as I watch the video, somehow knowing exactly the right moment to stop before I come.
My face is wet with tears, my clit painfully stiff, when Gabe returns and pushes his cock in my mouth. “Everything you want, I can give you,” he says. “And I can take it away too.”
I nod, which pleases him. I’m too exhausted to suck him artfully but I try and he comes soon anyhow, because there’s nothing Gabe loves more than fucking my face when I’m defeated. He frees me from the chair and carries me to bed, understanding I’m in no position to walk. It’s a tender moment, but he falls asleep without touching me. I reach between my legs. I’m not thinking about him, but the goatish cashier at the store. How humiliating it was, knowing he watched me blow Gabe with my legs captured open in the spreader bar. And just like that, I’m coming in a hot spurt that soaks the bed.
Now it’s another night in a different club that smells like cigarettes and hairspray and spilled whiskey. It’s that post-midnight hour when people are making out in dark corners, disappearing into back rooms. Gabe and I are in a circular booth, our bodies hot and heavy and damp. My dress is clinging to my thighs. I’ve been dancing; since Gabe and I started, my body is looser and agile, and I dance with abandon on the floor of any club we go to.
A blonde my age is on Gabe’s other side, fingernails prowling through his sandy hair. Her mascara-caked eyes are on me. She’s partially trying to get me jealous and partially testing the waters for a threeway. But all I feel is hot and numb.
Gabe notices my lack of jealousy, a criminal offense. “Get over here,” he says, his voice loud over the music.
I slide closer with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. It’s hot. I don’t want to be pressed up against him with her on the other side.
Gabe takes my shoulders and positions me so I’m facing away from them. “Chloe wants to see your ass,” he explains. “She says you have a great ass.”
Sullenly, over my shoulder, I say, “I do.”
Their laughter is tinged with disbelief at my arrogance. A moment later Gabe pulls me backward over his lap. Sprawling over his legs just like I do at home, except we’re at a club, in public. And there’s a girl my age watching, a possible rival, which makes this especially humiliating.
Then he gathers my arms behind my back. Oh no. Not here, not in front of her. But the soft slide of a leather belt around my wrists is unmistakable. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a protest.
Gabe pulls m
y short dress up to my waist and says to Chloe, “Ask and ye shall receive.”
“Oh, nice.”
Chloe’s thin fingers crawl over my ass like a trespassing spider. My cheeks go hot with rage. That fucker. He has the right to share me, we’ve negotiated that, but so far it’s a card he’s played carefully. One of his dom friends made me blow him and an old man at a store was allowed to spank me twice for knocking a display over. There was also Gabe’s coworker who touched my tits with shaking hands before chickening out. Never another woman and certainly not some predatory harpy who’s sliding all over my boyfriend like a toxic oil spill.
“Go ahead,” he says, a benevolent despot welcoming a visiting dignitary.
That’s her cue to spank me—truly a humiliating experience, being spanked by a rival—but instead Chloe squeezes my ass and runs her fingernails up and down my thighs, trying to seduce me into showing her my pussy. I keep my legs clamped shut and when she pokes a finger between my cheeks, I wiggle away.
Gabe’s impatient now. “Hold her feet,” he commands.
He spanks, I jump. Again and again, spank and jump, spank and jump. I’m in heaven. Chloe is kneading my calves like a smitten cat, while Gabe’s full attention is on my upturned ass. Neither of you, I think, are anything without me.
More guys slide into our booth. “Do you know of any—whoa,” one says when he sees me. “What are you doing to her?”
“Spanking her,” Gabe says calmly. “She loves it. Here, try her.”
And now I’m dragged the other way across two more laps. Now my nose is buried in someone’s jeans as two men take my ankles and hold them apart, exposing my ass and pussy to the men on that side of the booth.
My heartbeat races. Maybe it’s the firmness with which they’re holding my ankles captive, maybe it’s the timid finger tracing my slit, but there’s no denying that I like being passed around and shared like this.
Best Bondage Erotica of the Year Page 12
