“You’re not in the right headspace right now, so I’m going to help you out.”
Blue cable around my left wrist.
Purple around my right.
I tug at them to test their strength, but the bonds are secure; Daddy’s good at this sort of thing. He’s right about where I’m at too, and the funny thing is? Once I know I can’t move, I feel such relief. When he binds me like this it’s like his arms are around me and he’s holding me tight, telling me to let go and sink into the sensation.
He’s got two more cords to fasten, but these are more for aesthetics than restraint. With more time and in another place, he’d make a pretty rope harness for my breasts and chest, but for now a thin black cable crosses the swell of my breasts, and a second crosses just on the underside. He pulls them tight, forcing the cables nearer to one another, compressing my breasts in between.
I moan a little, feeling the blood pool there; feeling my pulse in every indent of the bite marks that ring my areola; feeling my nipples harden to the point of pain.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod mutely, already sinking under his spell.
He unfastens the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, then removes his tie and starts on the buttons at his neck, working his way down. The pale blue shirt makes his hazel eyes a brilliant blue. Each button he opens reveals more of the tanned, well-muscled chest beneath. I want my mouth on him more than anything, and his smile says he knows—but this is part of it too. Having him this close but not being able to touch him is a pain all its own. I shift on my seat as arousal thrums through me.
He picks up the crop. This time, there’s no turning away. No shielding myself, no sidestepping.
“Count it off,” he says.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
I feel every stroke. Every sting. Every bite.
. . . eight . . . . nine . . . ten . . .
I tug at my hands, trying in vain to lift them, to cover my aching breasts, but I can’t. There’s muffled laughter coming from the boardroom next door and I wonder if they hear us. I wonder if they know.
. . . nineteen? Or was that twenty?
I’m losing track. They’re bleeding together, one into another, as the fire in my breasts spreads throughout my body, warming me. Heating me. Carrying me to a place where there is only this moment. This feeling.
His open hand hits my breast with a powerful blow. All the breath leaves my body and for a moment it’s hard to breathe. Another on my other breast and now all of my attention is focused on him.
“There you are.” Daddy’s smile is knowing. “How do you feel?”
I feel like my smile is ten feet wide. Words seem far away, but I manage a murmured, “Good.”
“That’s my girl.”
Daddy unties my wrists, but leaves the binding around my breasts. When he removes a set of clover clamps from his pocket, I let out a strangled moan, though I’m not even sure if it’s in protest or anticipation. He attaches them to my nipples, the connective chain dangling between them. I bite my lip at the sweet downward tug on my nipples, at the burn of the clamps squeezing them tight.
He helps me from the chair, then bends to kiss me. It’s slow and deep and I slide my hands into his open shirt, pressing my tortured breasts against his chest, loving the feel of his skin against mine.
He lifts my chin so I meet his eyes. Such beautiful eyes. I could look into them forever.
“I have some emails to return, so I want you under my desk taking care of me, okay?”
“Mmmhmm.”
I crawl into the space beneath his desk, feeling the darkness, the press of solid wood all around me. There’s hardly room to lift my head, but when Daddy undoes his belt and drops his pants, sliding his big leather chair up snug to the desk, I don’t think of that at all. I don’t think of anything except taking him into my mouth, loving him with my hands and my tongue, showing him what a good girl I am for him.
He’s hard already, and I love knowing that the way we play arouses him as much as it does me, but I want him even harder. I take his shaft in my hand, run my tongue from the base of his balls to the head of his cock, dip my tongue into his slit and taste the pre-come that’s already there. For a while, I work him with my hand and mouth together, reveling in the sounds of pleasure he can’t stop himself from making.
But it’s not enough. I want to be closer. I want him deeper.
I move in so close that the soft hair on his thighs brushes my cheeks. I take him in slowly, inching down his cock until I can feel him pressing into my throat. I breathe in the heady mix of his clean, masculine scent and our combined desire, wanting him so badly I ache. I ease back until I’m holding just his head between my lips, then take him in again. Fully. Deeply. Over and over, until I’m falling into a rhythm as old as Eve and there is nothing in the world but the two of us and this space.
Then suddenly he’s gone and I want to cry out at his loss, but then he’s lifting me up, bringing me back into the light, settling me on his lap and pressing kisses to my forehead, my eyelids, anywhere he can reach.
“I need to be inside you,” he breathes against my mouth.
“Yes.” It’s less a word and more a plea. Then before I know it, the thick head of his cock is at my entrance, pushing into me until we’re bound together as deeply as two people can be.
I rock against him instinctively—it’s not even conscious thought. I have to move. I have to feel him.
“That’s it babe. Come for your Daddy.” His hands are on my hips, guiding me, urging me on, the chain from the clamps swaying between our chests, mesmerizing us both.
“You look so fucking beautiful.”
And I feel it.
Through the heat and the pain and the arousal, I see how I look in his eyes and it ignites me. My body clenches around him as my orgasm burns through me. He’s right there with me, caught in the same fire, and when he closes his eyes and empties himself into me, I think he’s beautiful too.
UNICORN
Jacqueline Brocker
She was leaving and she wasn’t coming back. That was what Cara told herself as she swept up her bag and short cape and marched out of the office, away from her boss’s closed door, away from the ringing phone, away from the shout of “Cara, you getting that?”
Fuck him, she thought as she hit the cool autumn air outside.
Why it had taken three little words—“the coffee’s cold”—from him to make her do it surprised her. After all, this had been the year of slammed palms on her desk, tantrums when she’d been photocopying down the corridor when he’d wanted to speak to her immediately, and snide remarks on her choice of clothing. The coffee being “cold” wasn’t the worst of it, but it was the final insult that cut deep enough to spur her to action.
Fuck him, she thought again. She’d go back to her flat and—she winced. The reason she’d hung on to the job was because it was a mere ten-minute walk from her flat and paid to keep her there. She loved it so much. Just how rent would be made now . . .
Cara shook herself. She’d gotten out of a shitty situation. That was a good thing. Now it was time to regroup and think about the next step. She couldn’t be afraid. She had to take charge. Not that she was very good at that. Probably why she’d let the bastard walk all over her. But not anymore. From now on, she was the princess who’d stormed out of the castle seeking adventure.
She had a notebook in her handbag, perfect for getting her thoughts out. The fear of overdue rent made going home less attractive, so where. . . . Of course. The park. She’d pass through it anyway to get back to her flat, and it was a lovely afternoon, bright and sunny despite the autumn chill. Cara smiled.
The park had plenty of green open spaces and small fenced-off patches of lush shrubs, autumn gladioli, and ferns. There were a few large oak trees and an avenue of limes at the far end, close to her place. She entered through the low gate and up the path; she noticed a female police officer ambling up the path away from her. Cara w
as always pleased to see women in roles like that—she’d never have had the guts to do that job herself. But maybe now … maybe now she could speak to her about it?
The officer took another route. Cara decided that was a silly idea, and stuck with her original plan: to go to the lady and the unicorn fountain and find a space to sit and ponder.
When she reached the green expanse that surrounded the fountain, she was dismayed to learn that the good weather had brought many people out—families with toddlers, couples canoodling, people in suits having late lunches.
Cara gazed longingly at the overcrowded area. There was no way she’d be able to squeeze herself into a gap without invading someone else’s space. A shame, because she wanted to be able to sit and look at the fountain.
The white, faux marble carving in the center depicted a woman in a flowing dress sitting tall and noble. Kneeling beside her was a unicorn, whose horn jutted to the sky while it stared adoringly at the woman. A collar graced the unicorn’s neck, and the woman held a leash attached to it. Cara had always loved looking at it, and today, she needed inspiration from a woman who had so much control.
She glanced about the space for somewhere she could sit. Her eyes drifted back up to the path she was on, to the fenced-off ferns.
She came to a dead halt when she saw the man.
He was up against the low fence, an eye-catching barrier made of wrought-iron thigh-high rails topped with fleur-de-lis spikes. He was tall and wore his hair spiky short. It looked like he was stretching his arms behind him, palms pressed to the top of the fence. Like he was preparing to do a yoga pose, or was holding one. Cara made that imaginative leap judging the clothes he wore—sky-blue yoga gear. A T-shirt that clung to his well-defined biceps and across his broad chest, and drawstring yoga pants that hung loose at his ankles, lapping at his bare feet. Around his neck was a thick silver chain that hung just below his collarbone.
A breeze blew. He shivered, but kept the position. The hairs on his arms raised and he made no attempt to smooth them down. His clothes must have been thin too. The breeze swelled, and Cara drew her cape closer. He closed his eyes, shivering.
What the fuck is going on? she thought.
A large fern was just to the side of him, partly concealing his hands from her view. She took a few steps closer. That’s when she saw the handcuffs.
They were clamped on just below the upper bar of the fence. He could have slid down to sit or squat on the path, but he’d have trouble getting up again. His arms flexed the couple of times he seemed to be testing the hold. The cuffs looked real enough; he wasn’t getting out of them soon.
Cara’s eyes kept going back to the cuffs and his taut arms, then to his face, which was straining to conceal his stress. Cara did her level best to ignore the little flutter in her chest and what that meant. He was in trouble. What kind of person was she to get . . . turned on by it?
She retrained her thoughts on the actual situation. This was a prank, for sure. A stag do. Some college kids mucking around, though he looked a bit old to be a student. She couldn’t have freed him, but maybe she could help. That desk at work—her old work!—had felt like it had chains on it, and she’d had little comfort this past year. At least she could offer it to someone else.
She came up right next to him.
“Are you okay?”
He started at her words, stumbled, and had trouble righting himself. The chain clinked. He stared at her, like he couldn’t believe someone would speak to him. Heat coursed through Cara. He had gray eyes, like tumbled river stones, and a luscious lower lip. She had to crane her neck a touch to look at his face. She wondered what sort of person would have been able to get him like this; he looked like he could fight back and win, if he wanted to.
“I’m . . . yeah. I’m fine.”
“Really? I mean, do you want me to call someone? Fire department for bolt cutters—”
“No! I mean, please don’t do that.” The panic was real, and it took Cara aback.
“All right, I won’t. But . . . what happened?”
“That’s none of your business.”
She heard an undertone of her ex-boss’s voice. And since he was now her ex-boss, Cara wasn’t going to put up with it. Her hands went to her hips and she used her best “you’d better damn apologize, mate” voice.
“Hey, you’re in trouble and I’m trying to help!” she snapped. “A bit of bloody gratitude would be appreciated.”
The look that flashed across his face wasn’t what she’d expected. His pupils dilated and his breathing became sharp and shallow. He swallowed, and seemed to take a few moments to compose himself. It was an odd reaction, Cara thought, to being told off.
“Sorry . . .” he whispered. He swallowed again, and straightened up. “Look, it’s not what you think. Really, I’m all right, and if you stay, I’ll get into more trouble.”
Cara relaxed her stance, sympathetic once more. “In trouble from who?”
His gaze went across the open grass and then he hastily looked away. “I can’t say . . .”
Cara looked across the grass, toward the fountain. There wasn’t anyone looking at him as far as she could see. No set of students sniggering, that was sure. Everyone else was occupied with their picnics, their children, their friends, and there was one Goth-looking young woman sitting on the edge of the fountain reading—
Cara took another look at her. She stole a quick glance back at the man. His eyes were back out across the park, and yes, they were definitely on the woman.
Cara didn’t like her at all. Raven-black hair—dye job, had to be!—spilling all around her like a pool of ink, the kind of clear porcelain skin people gushed about that probably had no freckles to speak of, and bright red lips—they weren’t natural either—that were right then biting into a green apple. Like she was some innocent fucking Snow White. She was definitely not innocent; Cara had known enough women who could feign it to spot it in seconds. To cover her shoulders, she wore a red velvet cape draped down her back and down her front. There was a gap where the material didn’t quite meet on her chest, and beneath . . .
Her breasts were completely bare.
Cara took a step back, bumping against the fence. She’d not have seen it if she wasn’t looking for it, but the woman was naked from the waist up under the cape. The sides of her tits were briefly exposed for all when she shifted her arms to put the apple down, but then the material magically settled back, and it looked far more like she had a top on that just happened to allow for revealing cleavage.
And the woman wasn’t even looking at the man. She was engrossed in her book, and with whatever her hand was doing . . . straying past her breast and “accidentally” brushing a nipple. It looked so absentminded, but it had to be deliberate. Him at the fence wouldn’t be looking so fascinated if not.
The man pressed his legs together. They were trembling. Cara’s gaze dropped to his crotch and her hand flew to her mouth. There it was. The stirrings of a hard-on, and he was straining to hide it. Did anyone else notice? Was that woman even aware? She must have known, but didn’t care to acknowledge it.
Cara had to clench her fists to keep herself controlled. She stared at Snow White and went red with jealousy. Not just because she had this really hot guy getting hard for her, but because . . . Cara didn’t want to think it, but because he’d let her cuff him to the fence. He probably let her do all sorts of things to him, and he liked to obey her. That was what was going on, and dammit. . . . Damn them for having it.
But she couldn’t walk away now. Not after he’d looked at her like that. Was he into the fact that she’d gotten bossy? That intrigued her too much. Besides, she had to tell him about the woman officer. That’s why she was staying. Really.
She stood right in front of him, not caring if she were blocking his view of Snow White. He stared at her, frowning.
“What are you—”
“Look, I’ve seen her, I know what’s going on. So you can look at her if you like,
but I’m going to stand here so no one else sees that you’re . . . you’re . . .”
She couldn’t say “turned on” or “ getting hard” out loud in public. He smirked, realizing her dilemma, and said, “You noticed. You like looking at my cock?”
His insolence startled Cara, and an impulse to put him in his place came over her.
“Don’t talk back.”
His smirk vanished and he shivered. “I’m sorry. I was trying to embarrass you so you’d leave. Please . . . if you stay, she’ll be so angry.”
Piss off Snow White? With pleasure. Cara leaned in a lot closer, and whispered with as much heat as she could, “Oh, then what? She’ll have to bend you over her knee and spank you? And you’ll just hate that, won’t you? That’s not going to turn you on at all, is it?”
He bit his lip, and bent his head, trying to hide his blush.
“Thought so,” she murmured. She pulled away. “Besides, I think you’ll want me to stay like this. There is a female cop in the park. You want to get arrested?”
He blinked, and muttered “shit” under his breath. He said it a couple more times.
“I can go and explain to her—”
“No! If you do that—”
“She’ll be really angry?” Cara rolled her eyes. “Come on, that’s hardly fair.”
“I know, but . . .” He sighed, shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Cara wanted to say “try me.” Really thought about asking why this was all going on, to see if she was kind of like Snow White—damn her—but right now she felt too scared to ever try and be her. Like she’d been scared of her boss for a whole year before she’d walked out this afternoon, claiming her dignity again.
“Fine. Maybe I won’t. But we’ve got to do something.”
“Like you said, just stay there. Wait until she’s come and gone, and then go. That okay?”
Cara shrugged, because this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having. “Yeah, that works.”
Best Bondage Erotica of the Year, Volume 2 Page 11
