I bite my lip, then laugh. “God, Nico.”
I feel him turn behind me, reaching into his pocket. A tearing sound echoes in the vaulted room, then a stretchy, soft material swathes around my waist and the back of the wheelchair. I look down and touch the pale, woven material in the moonlight. “Surgical bandages?” I laugh. “You’re psycho!”
“Shut up and enjoy the ride.” He grins, pulling a strip tight over my mouth. I struggle in surprise, then relax, mesmerized by the frail yet able hands ministering to my body. Once my mouth is secure, he binds my chest to the back of the wheelchair, grazing the crests of my tits. Another swath winds above my elbows and underneath the armrests of my wheelchair, before being secured at my sides.
“Mmph!” I shift my fettered arms and wiggle my fingers, just barely able to reach the keys.
Nico grins wickedly. “Creativity flows best when restrained.” He kneels at my feet, swinging my footrests to the side. With another rip of the bandages, he wraps my ankles together, several times around and through the middle for good measure. As I twist and groan, he slinks a hand under my bare thighs to restrain me just above the knee.
He stands to survey his work as I sit fixed to my wheelchair, unable to open my mouth to tell him how stupidly aroused his makeshift bondage rigging makes me.
“Now, the finishing touch.” As he sidles behind me, I hear another rip, then halfheartedly protest as he winds the final bandage around my eyes. Panic thrills me as I slip into darkness.
As I strain my forearms forward, woven material pulling against my forearms, my fingers alight on dusty ivory. My bound ankles fumble their way to the pedals. Just enough reach. Nowhere to go and nothing to do but play.
I press a note gently, sensing that it’s a white key, flat and smooth. I slide my finger up to its black-key neighbor, letting it sing in the vaulted room. “That’s it,” breathes Nico into the tangled crest of my hair, sliding a palm across my right shoulder. I feel the sharp intake of air through my nostrils. “Keep going.”
Then the hand pulls at my gown, undoing the clasps patiently despite tremors. As I press a third and fourth note, my nightshirt falls open and my nipples harden under the touch of the chilled night air. I moan softly as his hand slides under my right breast, then the left, cupping and fondling them. I add a few fumbling notes with my left hand as his fingers pinch the hard nubs of my nipples.
“Keep playing if you like this.” As he twists a nipple, delivering a jolt of pain and pleasure, I bang out a desperate series of notes, strange and discordant.
Gaining courage in abandonment, my right hand quests after a melody as my left fingers curl around a series of imperfect chord inversions. “That’s it,” hisses Nico, slapping each breast before ripping my nightshirt open fully and sliding a hand down my torso. A finger toys with my navel ring before sliding ever so slowly between my bound legs.
As I give birth to my discordant song, I yearn to spread my thighs for his questing hand. He reads it in my sighs and thrusts his tremulous fingers between my legs, hooking them into my dampness through sheer cotton, then exhaling raggedly into my ear. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re wet, Lin. Keep playing . . . as long as you want this to continue.”
Fuck, I want it, I need it. Muscle memory possesses my left hand, finding the flowing shapes of arpeggios as the melancholic melody persists with my right hand. As his fingers slip into my underwear, past the jungle of my mound, I become a thing of nature.
That’s the perfection of it. With no sight to peer over the keys, no speech to voice my protest, only a fraction of my already limited mobility unhampered, the pressure to perform vanishes. I’m just a toy and he’s to blame for my fumbles in the darkness.
“Good girl,” he praises as his fingers invade my wet heat. As I groan through my gag and squirm against his probing digits, my arpeggios evolve into a succession of wailing octaves, giving voice to my agony. “Yes, yes,” I moan into the gag as Nico slicks my wetness against my swollen clit. The sensation of his hand stroking me and the bandages gripping me like a desperate lover hurtle me toward climax.
Determined to keep playing, I buck and wriggle against the bonds, banging out a cacophonous symphony as pleasure consumes me. I shriek into my gag as he plays me like a fiddle, stroking out every last ounce of pent-up heat, until tears seep from my blindfold and spasms reduce my notes to a trickle.
I try in vain to keep playing, my sweaty hands slipping off the keys in a contented whimper. “Ahh,” Nico sighs, easing his hand from between my legs to cradle my chin. “That was an incredible performance.” As he rips the bandages from my mouth, I pant hot air and strain to reach him. He presses his mouth to mine, drinking in my heat.
Suddenly he pulls away, and I moan in protest.
“Shit, I need to sit down,” he announces. His pallor reminds me that he’s young and sick like me, fighting with every muscle fiber to exercise his body’s capacity for pleasure. I may know little about Nico, but I know we both depend on wheels: my body in a wheeled chair, his lifeblood in a wheeled tower. Mechanical instruments of survival, or perhaps extensions of ourselves. Two birds in the same cage, determined to sing.
As ravenous tenderness swells inside, I hiss, “Untie me.”
Instantly, he’s ripping the bandages off, freeing my limbs, and finally lifting the blindfold from my eyes. Free and unfettered, I shift and stretch in my seat. Gripping my wheels, I summon the strength to propel backward.
He cradles my face with concern. “I’m sorry, Lin . . . I didn’t—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I coo, kissing him, trailing a quivering finger down the back of his ear and across the sharp line of his jaw, eliciting a ragged sigh. I lock my wheelchair about a foot away from the piano.
“Get over here, asshole.” I tug at his shirt and guide him to the space between me and the piano. Gazing at Nico, lank and imperfect and beautiful in the moonlight, his bulge twitching beneath the tight fly of his denim, a frisson electrifies me. I want to devour him.
As I bend forward to touch his bulge, his belt swings heavy on my neck. I slide it out of the loop and contemplate it for a moment, a wicked gleam in my eyes.
“Take off your shirt,” I croon in my huskiest tone, a smile playing at the corner of my lips. His gaze flashes from uncertainty to resolve; he’ll play my game. Eyes locked with mine, he pulls off his shirt with calculated mock solemnity. It has a sleeve for his IV line, which he unfastens before tossing it aside.
Standing shirtless between me and the piano, Nico halts the breath in my throat. His slight muscles ripple as he shifts his weight from one arm to the other, careful about his IV port, chaining him like a wild creature confined to a lab. Blackwork tattoos sprawl across one side of his chest, completing a tapestry from arm to neck. He is magnificent.
“What next, Mistress?” Nico laughs, breaking the tension. I chuckle, my gaze flitting from his eyes to his hard torso so close to my flushing face.
Trailing fingers across his upper chest and watching his nipples harden under my touch, I smirk. “My turn.” I raise the belt in front of my chest and snap it between my hands. “You’ll be good, won’t you?” He stands rapt with desire as I wrap the belt around his back and arms at his sides. I pull it tight, securing it across his midriff with gusto.
Nico shifts, testing the bonds. If he wanted to, he could escape easily, but he doesn’t want to. I glow, sliding a hand from the belt buckle, past his belly button, below the line of his pants to his swollen bulge.
Caressing it through the denim sets me afire with need. I snap open his fly, pull down the zipper, and drag his pants down. His cock springs up under the thin cloth of his boxers, smearing a slight dampness of precome against the fabric.
With moist lips parted, I slide down his boxers, releasing his thick cock from its prison. Arms bound at his sides, Nico shines with lust-filled eyes.
“Sit down,” I command, eyes fixed on his rock-hard cock twitching in front of my nose. When he looks around for a chair
, I extend a single finger to his chest and press him backward against the piano. Already off balance, he sinks onto the piano keys with a bang.
I encircle the base of his cock with my fingers and lean forward, my exposed breasts hanging, to breathe hot air against the base of his phallus. A groan escapes Nico, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as if itching to slide his throbbing erection into my mouth.
Fondling him with my left hand, I meet his glassy stare, gliding my right hand up his chest to his down-turned face. Shivering, I trace the angles of his jaw, his parted lips, feeling his ragged breath on my fingers. I slip my trembling index finger inside his mouth, then another, and command him to suck, but he’s already suckling them instinctively.
“Mmm.” I savor the feeling of his lips around my digits, his tongue caressing their soft pads and angles. “That’s a good boy, Nico.” He groans, wanting more, and I force the tips of all five fingers into his hungry mouth. My cunt drips at the sight of his eyes rolling back into his head.
Trailing saliva down his chin and bare chest, I bring my slick hand to his throbbing cock. It jumps and twitches as my hand hovers just above. “You need this,” I whisper, and he groans assent.
Wrapping my wet fingers around the base of his dick, I start stroking, the scent of his precome filling my nostrils. I tease his cock with my tongue, licking from base to head. As I swirl the tip of my tongue around the edge, I seek out a drop and lap it up with a sigh.
As Nico sags against the piano, depressing a few extra keys, I enclose the head of his cock between dewy lips and slide it in with a moan. Since our first tryst, I’ve touched myself so many times thinking about his cock on the flat of my tongue, the ticking time bomb of his pleasure held captive in the wet heat of my mouth.
Grasping the base of his cock with one hand and caressing his balls with the other, I sheathe his cock until the head hits the back of my throat, and my eyes flutter with lurid desire. I will eat this man alive.
“God, Lin . . .” he groans, straining at his bonds. “Please . . . God, I can’t . . .”
As I swallow him whole, my left hand slithers between my legs where a puddle of lust has formed. Fingering myself, I pleasure my mouth with his helpless cock, pushing it deep enough to make me gag. His glans against the walls of my throat and the scent of desire rising from my cunt inflame my hunger to extract every iota of bliss from his molten core.
When he erupts in salty hot euphoria, his body goes rigid, restrained hands splayed at his sides. Face upturned in rapture, he cries to the moon, a creature of the night. His throbbing inside my throat hurtles me toward my own climax.
Still quivering, his cock muffles my cries as I explode. My teeth bump his sensitive flesh for a moment as I bathe my underwear and wheelchair with pleasure. For an unknowable time, I’m lost in a swirl of spasm and sensation.
When the edges of the world come back into focus, the piano keys clink as Nico sags to his knees and rests his head in my warm lap. I reach down and unclasp the belt, tossing it to the side so he can wrap his arms around my waist like a boy.
“You’re a boundless force of nature, Lin.” He chuckles into my bare stomach before kissing it and snuggling into my thigh.
“Always was,” I whisper, stroking his hair with a trembling hand as his eyes flutter shut. My wheelchair feels warm and steadfast below my damp thighs. Smiling at moonlight hitting the ivory keys, I stretch out my fingers and shadow my favorite chord. “Guess I always will be.”
STRONGHOLD
Leif Often
There wasn’t much that Robbie hated. Well, actually he hated quite a lot of things, but all the little things that annoyed him didn’t seem so common until Daniel moved next door. Daniel—never Dan—always moving and banging and sweating in the early hours of the morning. Well, maybe noon wasn’t so early, but everyone in the complex knew that noise before noon meant a prompt chewing out from the resident nocturnal programmer. And everyone else stammered their apologies and assured Robbie they’d keep quiet. Except Daniel, who had the nerve to invite him inside his apartment/personal Ikea display and ask Robbie what he did to keep him up so late at night, and worst of all, offer a free personal training session. Just thinking about it, getting sweaty and tired on purpose, made Robbie’s skin crawl.
Which is why Robbie was so very confused when, after nearly a year of passive-aggressive loud music at night, overly heated apartment game-night competitions, and elevator conversations ranging from awkwardness to animosity, he had actually taken Daniel up on the offer. Especially strange was that Daniel had brought it up in the lobby at five a.m., when Daniel was getting back from an early morning run, and Robbie back from a late-night coffee run, insisting that, “Oh yeah, that personal training offer is still on the table. I do massages too, and by the look of your posture you could really use some physical relaxation.”
Stranger still, when Robbie had, in his deliriously tired state, rolled his eyes and said, “Danny”—as he always called him in a futile attempt to annoy him—“It almost sounds like you’re trying to pick me up,” his least favorite neighbor replied, “That’s because I am.”
Robbie tapped his fingers in thought along the dimpled surface of his fold-out kitchen table. He and Daniel had hooked up three times in the past two weeks. It felt almost like a pattern. When Robbie stayed up all night finishing a project, he’d stumble into Daniel and they’d fuck.
Well. Not exactly fuck. Daniel had proposed something a little unusual. If Robbie could make Daniel orgasm first, Daniel would pack his bags and move out of the apartment complex. It was so weird, to be hooking up with someone under the guise of trying to never see them again. But as much as Daniel the neighbor was insufferably friendly, annoying, stupid, Daniel the hookup was handsome, and he had the most peculiar combination of composure and playfulness about sex. Or well, it wasn’t exactly sex, but rather jerking Robbie off and leaving before either of them had the chance to think about what it all meant. Either way Daniel was good at it—very good.
Robbie sipped his four a.m. coffee and hatched a plan. He thought about every interaction he’d had with the man, pre-hookup and post. He hadn’t really been sure what he wanted before, but he was feeling uncharacteristically clearheaded coming out the other side of the most taxing programming issue he’d had to solve in years. He was in a winning state of mind; tonight, he would make Daniel come.
Robbie was sitting in his kitchen again after inviting Daniel—insufferably composed Daniel—inside. His neighbor was leaning his stupid perky ass against Robbie’s flimsy table. Robbie felt even more compelled to wipe the composure off him good this time.
“Don’t make yourself comfortable,” Robbie said, and Daniel laughed like he always did when Robbie thought he’d said something particularly scathing. Just another one of Daniel’s infuriating habits. “Whatever,” Robbie mumbled. “I wanted to switch it up a little today.” Robbie fiddled with a nick his table had acquired from years of being moved from place to place.
“Oh?” Daniel asked, getting a little closer and trying to catch Robbie’s eye. “I’m interested.”
“You don’t even know what it is, how could you be interested?” Robbie scoffed and looked away, but he knew that Daniel was as naturally curious as he was. That’s why their very unusual arrangement had been working out so far. “I want to surprise you as we go along. But if you want me to stop at any point just say so. Is that cool?”
“Hmm, sounds fun,” Daniel said flippantly. He leaned against the table as close as he could get to Robbie without touching. His voice softened to a murmur laden with conviction when he added, “Do whatever you want.”
Robbie repressed a shiver at the phrase. He breathed deeply to gain some composure, scooting and twisting his chair a little away from the table. He looked up at Daniel. “Take off your clothes.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised at Robbie’s sudden confidence, but defaulted back to an aloof smile and started getting undressed
. He took off his tank top, revealing his hard chest and abs. “It’s a professional requirement,” Daniel had said in matter-of-fact way during their first hookup. “Who would hire a personal trainer that didn’t look like a Spartan?”
He peeled off his shorts, red and daringly short, with twin rainbow stripes down the sides. Tacky. His butt looked very good in them, though, so Robbie hadn’t complained yet.
Daniel stopped at his underwear, fingering the edge, unsure about his next move.
“You can wait on those. Come closer,” Robbie said, crossing his arms and spreading his legs out to sit a little wider.
Daniel stepped in front of Robbie, making space for himself in between Robbie’s legs but not touching. Robbie reached out, almost groping Daniel through his boxer briefs, but instead he only brushed his fingers as he caressed the skin of his inner thighs. It was soft, and Robbie couldn’t help but marvel that such a hard body had secret patches of silk.
“Our little jerk-off game has been fun,” Robbie admitted as he strummed his fingers against Daniel’s crotch, making Daniel hum in a happy sort of way. “But,” Robbie continued, his voice harshening as he squeezed Daniel’s ass, “I haven’t gotten to enjoy your body nearly enough.”
Robbie dragged his fingers up and down Daniel’s sides and was delighted to find Daniel didn’t have anything to say to that. He just kept his eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of Robbie’s fingers roaming, groping.
“All right. These too.” Robbie snapped the elastic of Daniel’s underwear. “Get them off.”
Daniel smiled a little more, even though he was supposed to be embarrassed by something like that. He took off the last of his clothes, and Robbie looked at him, unsure what to do with his hands. Robbie let him stew for a moment, let the feeling of complete exposure nag at his cockiness. He was happy to see Daniel starting to get hard.
Robbie reached beside him, over the mess on his kitchen table, and grabbed a cooking timer, dialing it back. “If I make you come before this timer goes off, you move out.”
Best Bondage Erotica of the Year Page 15
