Best Bondage Erotica of the Year

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “Laura.”

  Carrie’s ominous tone distracted Laura from her gleeful wriggling and brought her eyes, wide and guileless, to Carrie’s.

  “Tyler is going to release your legs, but he’s going to continue holding your wrists. You will sit up, then stand, then walk to the back side of the couch.”

  Tyler’s relieved look had morphed into curiosity by the end of her instructions. He was supposed to restrain Laura according to Carrie’s whims, which had struck him as a pretty good role for a guy without real interest in either topping or bottoming and two lovers who enjoyed restraint and sensation play. They’d negotiated that the scene would evolve into other kinds of sex play that would include and satisfy them all, but for the moment, he was acting as warm, biddable sex furniture.

  Carrie trailed the two of them as they followed her instructions. She pondered the logistics of getting them positioned for her little flash of inspiration. The couch had two big pillows across the back and she pulled one in front of the other, studying the lines and angles of her lovers.

  “Tyler, bend Laura over the back of the couch. Mmm, yeah. That sight always makes your cock jump, doesn’t it? Put both her wrists in one hand—tightly, now—and swing around the end so that you’re up by her head. Perfect. Take one wrist in each hand, yeah, from opposite sides, and . . .” Carrie pulled her hands apart to show Tyler what she wanted. “There you are.”

  The new position supported Laura’s hips and chest but left her head hanging over open space. Tyler knelt on the floor at her head to get a better grip. He held Laura’s arms folded across her back tightly enough that Carrie could have tied her wrists to her opposite elbows and given Tyler a break, if that hadn’t been the opposite of what Laura craved.

  For the most part, they both agreed that Tyler was perfect just as he was. A guy without a sadistic streak, a great lay with a few decades of feminist training in consent and a charming collection of exes who still wanted to sleep with him now and again. What’s not to love? Tyler’s gentle strength made both the women swoon, but Carrie knew that Laura wanted a rougher touch from him now and then. He had consented to restrain Laura for the scene they were in, so it was Carrie’s big chance to help him understand how much Laura yearned for a harder hand.

  He shot an interrogatory look at Carrie as she stared at him and considered her options. She ignored his silent question and moved behind Laura. She swatted softly at Laura’s ass and slid her hand down her crack.

  Laura could barely rock her shoulders back and forth, let alone struggle with Tyler’s hold. Laura mewled and tipped her head back so she could nuzzle at the soft hair around his belly button. His cock, fat and dark, hung down where she couldn’t get at it, while Carrie savored the sounds of her frustration.

  “Laura.”

  Laura stopped moving, the muscles of her back tensing.

  “What do you want from Tyler?”

  “Hold . . .”

  “Louder.”

  “Hold on . . .”

  “Louder.”

  Laura let her head drop and yelled it into the pillow. “Hold on harder!”

  Tyler, who probably thought the new position would make things easier on him, grimaced. He shifted his hands to wrap more firmly around Laura’s small wrists, just above the delicate bones. Carrie nodded at him encouragingly and his grip tightened visibly.

  Carrie stroked Laura’s ass, then slapped it hard. Laura tried to rear up, but Tyler bore her down into the pillows. Her full-throated moan made Tyler’s eyes widen and Carrie nodded at him archly. That’s right. That’s what she wants.

  Carrie stroked and slapped, stroked and slapped. Laura swayed a little on her feet, but her breathing remained erratic and shallow. She wasn’t getting into the zone the way Carrie wanted her to. Once she’d raised a nice pink color over the whole of Laura’s ass, she asked, “What do you want, Laura?”

  Laura blurted, “Hold on harder, Tyler!”

  Tyler’s grip hadn’t slackened, and he seemed reluctant to squeeze any harder. Carrie reached across Laura’s warm ass and put a hand on each of Tyler’s. She met his eyes over their lover and nodded, smiling.

  His knuckles stood out whitely against his tanned, lined skin, paling like the pinch around his mouth. Carrie’s cunt clenched at the sight of his hands, hard and mean on Laura’s wrists, but she worried that he was meeting an edge he might not want to cross. “Remember, Tyler. You have a safeword too.”

  The tightness around his mouth eased into a quirk. “And here I was wondering why.”

  “Because Laura wants to struggle, but she can’t if you’re going to let go. She needs to beat against you and she needs you to win.” Carrie held his eyes. “What do you need?”

  Tyler took a deep breath and pulsed his grip. Carrie almost moaned along with Laura, watching her flex gently against his hands. “I need her to keep saying it.”

  Surprise silenced Carrie for a moment, then she realized that his cock stuck straight out, hammer-hard. Laura, demanding more, out loud. They’d found the key.

  “Laura,” Carrie crooned. “I’m going to spank you and fuck you and Tyler’s going to make sure you don’t go anywhere. You can struggle all you want and kick and stomp, but you won’t get away. We’ll make you come if it takes all night. And if you’re really, really good, Tyler might let you suck his cock.”

  Laura groaned and shifted.

  “But you have to say it, Laura. You have to tell Tyler what you want. Say it and don’t stop saying it. Make him know exactly what you need.”

  “Oooooh, Tyler. Hold on harder!”

  Carrie smacked Laura’s ass and Laura jerked in Tyler’s hands. She started to struggle and Tyler’s eyes flashed to Carrie’s. Carrie growled. “What do you want, Laura?”

  “Hold on, hold on, hold on harder!”

  Carrie’s barrage of slaps rewarded Laura’s words and Tyler suddenly had his hands full of rocking, squirming woman. Laura said, “Hold on harder!” over and over again, and the onslaught of energy electrified Carrie, who brought a more vivid red to Laura’s ass. Finger-long marks rose in low welts and she poked and stroked at them while Laura heaved against Tyler’s hold.

  Tyler’s forearms worked and his biceps flexed. He brought his torso closer to Laura’s head so he could push her writhing body more firmly into the cushions. Carrie stroked the wash of red fattening Laura’s ass, then gripped each cheek in a clawed hand and squeezed.

  Laura jerked and kicked out backward at the piercing pain. Carrie laughed out loud and did it again. She slammed two fingers into Laura’s pussy, digging downward for the sweet spot. She kept her focus on that ass and that pussy, the rough and smooth and wet of it all. Laura sucked the air out of the room with her demented struggles and her constant refrain of “Hold on harder!” Carrie filled it back up with peals of laughter.

  Tyler’s hard expression reminded Carrie of her promise and she kept fucking Laura while she asked, slightly out of breath, “Tyler, has Laura been good enough to suck your cock?”

  Carrie had to laugh again at the pleading relief on his face and the gruffness in his response. “Hell yeah.”

  “Flip her over.”

  Laura screeched when Tyler released her wrists and grabbed her under her arms. A quick twist and another scream saw Laura on her back, hips raised on the back of the couch and her head in the perfect place for him to dip his balls in her open mouth.

  Carrie laughed again and grabbed for Laura before she could slide off the couch to the floor. She hiked Laura’s legs onto her shoulders and hugged her thighs close. Laura nuzzled happily at Tyler’s balls and reached for his cock with her freed hands.

  Tyler took Laura’s livid wrists into his cradling hands and looked torn between guilt and ecstasy. Carrie thrust at Laura’s ass with her hips and freed one hand to work her clit. Laura’s choked cry made Tyler groan. Carrie watched, fascinated, as his hands tightened harder and harder around Laura’s wrists so he could work her hands up and down his cock. He slipped h
is hands over hers and squeezed her soft flesh around his hard cock, and Carrie thought both Tyler and Laura would come right then.

  Laura tipped her head to the side just enough to mumble, “Hold on harder,” around his balls. Tyler pulled her hands from his cock. He stretched her arms wide across the couch’s edge and braced himself on her wrists. He used the leverage to raise his hips and angle his cock into Laura’s welcoming mouth.

  Carrie’s cunt jumped again and she humped Laura harder. She wanted to fuck Laura, pussy to pussy, so she split Laura’s legs wide and threw one of her own legs over. One foot on the floor behind the couch and the other on the couch cushion, Carrie smashed her pussy down hard on Laura’s.

  Tyler moved Laura’s hands to the back of the couch and Laura went from the source of all motion to the rock against which Tyler and Carrie battered themselves. Carrie rubbed herself on Laura’s pussy and Tyler pushed his cock into Laura’s mouth. Laura’s hands gripped the couch back tighter and tighter and the only sounds she made were choking, gasping cries. Tyler’s cock garbled any words she might have been saying, but Carrie got her thumb in Laura’s pussy and knew, beyond a doubt, that Laura’s orgasm had been underway for several minutes. The rough pounding, the pulsing rhythm that got the couch creaking and inching across the floor, the choking cock and the head-down position had created the overwhelming, mind-emptying blaze of input Laura craved and had finally received.

  Carrie ground Laura down farther and farther into the couch and Tyler pushed her higher and higher. Laura folded between them until Carrie felt Tyler’s shortened, staccato breathing on her face. Carrie leaned his way and their mouths met in a panting, sloppy kiss.

  Wetness above and below and the increasingly muffled moans from Laura pushed Carrie over the edge. She fingered her clit for the last little nudge it needed and burst, laughing, into orgasm. Tyler froze and jerked, over and over, only seconds later.

  The mass of three bodies, slack and shaking, tended inexorably toward the floor. Tyler ended up on the bottom, with Laura skewed sideways across him and Carrie on top with her legs still up on the couch.

  By the time they could move, they’d all developed a massive thirst and a strong need for some air. It was the work of moments to pull on whatever clothes were at hand and stumble to the pub on the corner.

  The disturbed student at the pub stared at Carrie.

  How long had she been lost in reverie?

  Laura’s hand spasmed on Carrie’s lower back and a giggle was muffled between Carrie’s shoulder blades. Laura draped her other arm over Carrie’s shoulder and gripped her chest. The student gazed with horror at the hand-shaped bruises on Laura’s wrist.

  Laura caroled, “Hold on harder!” and Carrie couldn’t help but laugh, full throated and joyous as the student fell off his bar stool.

  STUDENT SEAT

  Sommer Marsden

  Jared walked in and dropped his bag on the table. It resonated on our gorgeous wood dining room table with a thud. I looked up because that was unlike him; he only really made unnecessary noise when he was tweaked. His eyes were hard, his face set. My stomach rolled. Something was wrong.

  “What’s going—?”

  He shook his head and I went silent. My stomach quivered again, but lower down my body was set alight. I knew this face. I knew it well. And though it made my bones shake a little because I’d done something to upset him—a rare occurrence—it also made my pussy wet because my punishment was only partly punishment.

  “Do you remember when I said if we wanted to redo the sunroom we’d have to buckle our belts a bit tighter?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Of course, I’d—”

  He held up his hand and I pushed my lips together.

  “Then why did I just review the credit card statement and see a charge for two hundred and twenty dollars to something called Belts Galore?”

  I thought hard for a second, my brain partially stunned from his entrance, and then smothered a laugh before it could escape. “That? That’s your birthday gift. Now you’ve ruined it, but yes. That’s something I found I knew you’d love at a local art show and I bou—”

  The hand went up again and I instantly stopped mid word. He took a big step toward me, his eyes gleaming with annoyance mixed with amusement. He touched my cheek and an electric bolt of arousal shot through me. I pressed my legs together hard and it only increased the sudden thumping between my thighs.

  “So, you thought something as trivial as my birthday negated my explicit request that we not spend unnecessary money until we can get to the point where we can redo that room?”

  I opened my mouth, shut it, opened my mouth again. I had thought that. Just that one purchase. But apparently, he didn’t see it that way.

  “Yes, I guess . . .” I started tentatively. “I mean, your birthday only comes once a year and I didn’t think buying you a gift would be a bad thing. I guess I was wrong.” There was a tiny twinge of disappointment.

  Some that he knew his gift. Some that I had ignored our agreement in assuming it was okay. Some that he hadn’t grabbed me and informed me of my punishment yet.

  Jared stood there, and stood there . . . and stood there. He studied me intently, watching my face. My cheeks grew hotter and hotter, my breath grew shorter, I shifted my stance and felt unsteady on my feet.

  Inside my head, I was utterly screaming: Do something already!

  Instead, he stood there looking me over for a few more minutes while I slowly lost my mind.

  Finally, he spoke. “I think you need to go get dressed, Callie.”

  My heart jumped and my lips tingled. I inclined my head and murmured, “Yes, Jared.”

  I saved my document, shut my laptop, and stood slowly, trying to keep my gait steady and my heart in my chest.

  I knew he’d put my phone on Do Not Disturb while I was changing. That way if any clients called, I’d be unaware.

  I pushed my way to the back of my messy closet and found the skirt. Short, blue-and-green plaid, it hit me just above my knees. I dug for the white shirt with the Peter Pan collar and the small cross tie in a matching blue. I found my white knee-highs and proper school shoes. My hands shook but I was so wet between my thighs I thought I’d die.

  I was to remain bare beneath my prim outfit. A whore wrapped in a Girl Scout. I smirked at the image and pulled on the socks and skirt, zipped, went about buttoning the shirt with trembling fingers.

  I pulled my thick hair into a braid and tied it off. I tried to inhale deeply.

  “I’m waiting, Callie!” came his gruff call.

  My spine snapped straight, my heart galloped, my knees felt like they wanted to buckle and drop me on my ass.

  Instead, I made my way down the steps.

  He was waiting at the bottom of the steps with a jump rope. I wasn’t surprised. Once it was a tape measure. Once it was a pair of socks knotted together. This time it was a schoolyard jump rope.

  I didn’t see the shoestring at first. I was distracted by the rope. When he nodded to my wrists, I held them up for him. He crisscrossed the lace until he was satisfied I was bound but not too tight.

  I stood before him and wondered if the moisture I felt in my pussy was already seeping down my thighs. I wanted to wriggle to find out but knew better.

  He took his foot and knocked my ankles into a wider stance. Then he stopped and wrapped the end around one ankle and tied it. He gave me about two feet of slack and tied the other ankle. I waited. He’d either prod me to shuffle or—

  He stooped and came up with me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. That had been the other option. As he walked, the little skirt flounced. He slid a broad warm hand up the back of my thigh, cupped my ass as he moved, and smacked me once—hard. I jolted just as he came to a stop at the vintage student’s desk I’d acquired somewhere in our travels.

  It was a severely sturdy wooden piece of furniture with a built-in writing surface that extended from the right hand side. Underneath the seat were slats for books. It
had the patina of age, a throwback to school days of yesteryear. He set me on my feet and said, “Knees on the seat. Face the window.”

  I did so while trying to catch my breath. He flipped my skirt up again and slid a fingertip down my asscrack.

  I looked out the sliding glass door to the lush green lawn and trees out back. Sun beat down on the room, making it a bit too warm. Which was part of our quest for custom shades.

  “Nothing to block the neighbors’ view of you in this shameful position,” he said.

  My pussy clenched, let go, clenched again. I chewed my lower lip to try and focus on his words and not the steady pulse beating in my cunt.

  I rested my elbows on the thick wooden arm; my knees already ached from the hard seat. He smoothed his hands along the fullness of my asscheeks, his touch gentle and adoring. But it didn’t fool me. I wanted to sink into the sensation of him touching me, to let it overwhelm and soothe me, but I knew it was a ruse.

  I tried to be prepared but was momentarily lulled, so when his hand came down fast and hard in a flurry of alternating strikes, I was bowing beneath him, gritting my teeth, aching to escape that hand, but unable to move.

  When he stopped, the silence was deafening. My ears rang with it. My ass thumped like a runaway heartbeat with blood brought to the surface by my punishment. I could feel my pulse pounding beneath my bonds.

  “Didn’t we say a spending freeze?” His voice was maddeningly calm.

  “Yes,” I managed, gulping air.

  My face burned with blush and my bottom burned right along with it.

  “On your ass,” he said. “Sit that pretty red bottom on that hard, hard wood.”

  I winced when I sat. I chewed my lower lip. I tried to ignore the fact that despite the stinging pain moisture was quickly pooling between my thighs. He unzipped his trousers, pushed his boxer briefs down so his cock sprang free, and stroked it with his big fist. My insides clenched with want. Need.