So you like to top, do you? I enjoy the wonderful sensations you give me when you fuck me, gentle, then hard. It’s taken me a while to relax into you, to allow you to use your specific bondage on me, be placed in a compromised position and let you fuck me harder than I want, harder than I can handle. I can always say stop. It’s taken me a while to trust enough that you can punch me in the way you like, which is a way I like. I just can’t always take it. My cunt has to be relaxed. But you’re right about something: I don’t submit. I enjoy specific pain. I get off on it. I mean, I really get off on it: selective, specific pain. There’s more I like that you don’t know yet. That’s okay. I like what you do know. And we’re both fortunate for one thing, which is that there are others who we play with who have different interests and talents to share that give us pleasure.
But back to your neck. I remember running a sharp blade along it, nice and slow. You seemed to stop breathing. When I take my hands and cover your neck you don’t resist but stay perfectly still. That time at the play party when I took your tie and used it like a noose against your throat you began to drop, and I saw all sorts of fireworks flash in your eyes, because you weren’t at all in a place for submission. But it was happening, uncontrollably—until I released the pressure. Sigh. You asked what I was doing. I said I got distracted for a moment, which was true. I didn’t want to take you down, not there. If I’m going to have that pleasure I want all of it, your complete undivided attention. A public play party is not a place you can let your guard down, I’ve learned. So at a public play party I expect to be the bottom. So long as I can’t see a line of people watching, I can float in my own little world, one that I share with you. My guard is already down. And with you to watch over me, I feel safe. Besides, I could pop back to fight in an instant, cause I’m not going that far down in a public space either. Like you said the last day we were in Heaven, we both have to drive. I have to leave a play party walking, possibly riding a motorcycle. I’m not afraid of submitting, because I don’t. And I like that you recognize and appreciate that, because it’s specific too. If you needed that, we wouldn’t have lasted longer than a moth to a flame.
The more you submit, the more I want. I don’t want to own you. I want to explore you. How far can I go? What do you really want? Can I go there with you? Hmm. I’ve already learned to be careful. You like intimacy of a sort. But you can shut down without notice or visible cause. I have to be prepared for that and keep myself guarded. Can’t fall for you, no. You’re not available—after you are. There’s a trick. Ha. Caution. I think that’s what I should name you. You’re intriguing, intelligent, powerful, adventurous. I really like adventure. You’re willing to play. But you could shut me out at any time. I must always remember that. Caution.
I’ll admit it. I’m intrigued. I put a posture collar on your neck and you changed, instantly. Again, it was magic. While I fussed with rope, finding some thin enough to go through the link at your throat—yes, throat—you seemed defenseless. I ran the rope from your throat, down around your torso and made a double run across your chest, trapping your nipples and then tightening the rope with knots until I had knotted right up to your large, trapped victims, fully secure and exposed. Then I tied your torso to the bondage table in a way that secured your arms against your sides. With that alone, you were captured. In fact, with the collar you were. I cannot imagine you wandering around in public wearing such a thing. You would be way too vulnerable. Either that, or you would be forced to block the magic from your world, which would be oh, so sad. That would be worth crying over. May I suggest you never wear such a thing outside the safety of a secure playspace?
I’ve an idea I’d like to try, to perfect. I have a design I’d like to work on, that involves multiple pieces of rope laced around your neck, with lengths available to secure your limbs. That was a plan of mine that was never executed, because we found a portable sling to play with, which provided all sorts of bondage points. I was able to rope your neck nicely, using a few pieces: one to tie your right arm, one to tie your left arm, one to tie your torso and one to tie your neck to the sling. Gulp. That was the one that got my clit hard, the one that pulled against your neck.
That was good magic that afternoon. The morning spent cutting lengths of rope from a spool, color-coding them at the ends, was good foreplay. When I tied the rope around your neck you were clearly aroused. I loved listening to your breathing, which was anything but steady. When I tied you into the sling your cunt got huge, like it wanted to jump out of itself. I wish you could see that as I do! I had your boots in the stirrups, with rope around your legs. I had secured your wrists, with some room for movement, against your hips. Nothing got in the way of your cunt—except for my hand, and only when I was good and ready.
You were very ready. Your cunt was dripping. I ran a finger up the length of it and thought you were going to explode. I played with you with the rope. Then I ran my wrist across your cunt. Oh, that was good. More dripping. I thought to be kind but wasn’t. I put a glove on and lubed up my finger, then stuck it in your ass. I wondered how you would react. It wasn’t what you wanted. I knew that. But it was what I wanted. And that you knew. I fucked your ass gently and you gently squirted. I pulled out of your ass, removed that glove, and then I quickly slid my thumb inside your cunt, then removed it. Nothing but a tease, that was. I watched your cunt throb. I talked with you for a moment. Did you understand anything I said? You nodded your responses. I grabbed the bottle of lube and gave myself a handful. Then I gave you a handful. You were so pent up at that point you had trouble releasing. And then you did. With my fist inside you, you squirted. Then I pulled out and rubbed against the inside of your cunt with my fingers. You gushed and gushed, soaking my boots. I wanted that and told you so. I wanted more. I continued to fuck you and you squirted, even when you thought you had nothing left to give. Your head moved side to side. Your eyes were open but you had a vacant stare. You were flying. It seemed a long time before you reminded me that you had to drive. You were blissed. I was too.
Funny thing that. It’s very different fucking you than getting fucked, but somehow, after a really wonderful session like that one, I’m left feeling as high as if I’d been the one in the sling. How can that be? I’m not really sure. Of course you are way higher. It’s just that I’m so fucking turned on fucking you, so hard from watching you react to my touch that I end up wetting my pants—when I’m wearing any. What was I wearing that day? There might have been a dress. I know I was wearing boots. That’s why it was so much fun to have you squirt all over me. You covered my belly and my legs with your juices, and splashed all over my boots. But my own juices were running down my thighs at the same time.
What are we gonna do next, Max? I know when I expect to see you. Will you let me tie you up again and believe I’m having my way with you, when all the while, I’m doing exactly what you want me to? If it works for me and it works for you, is there any harm in pretending that I’m 100 percent in control and that you’ve given up completely and entirely for my pleasure? The thing is, the more we do this and the further we explore, the less it seems like it matters. I get to have fun exploring you and you get to enjoy being explored. I rather doubt you will get into trouble. You’ve got too many people you play with and too many safeguards in place. You do know about those safeguards, don’t you?
I know about the not so safe: the rope, the knives, my hands around your neck. More dangerous than that are my words, my commands. Perhaps one day we’ll play that way, and there will be no physical restraint. Who would understand that’s the most dangerous of all?
NEVER TOO OLD
DeJay
“You did what?”
“I just went online and got the address of Wild Hearts for you. It’s on Commercial Street, right across from the Crown and Anchor, so I can wait there and have a drink while you pick up our purchases.”
I looked at my wife, my partner of thirty-plus years, and couldn’t believe what she had just said. �
�Why would you do that?”
She smiled at me—the little-girl grin, the one where her eyes twinkle and her dimples pop. “It’ll be fun.”
“Fun?” I felt like I didn’t even know her.
She walked over and wrapped her arms around my neck. “It will be, I promise.” With that she kissed me.
“I’m not so sure about this.”
“Don’t be a baby.”
“Why do I have to go? You’re the one who wants this stuff.”
“Because they have to measure you, silly.”
The glint in her eye had me wary. “Measure me?” I thought about that for a moment. “There?”
“No, you idiot, your hips and thighs.” After pouring herself a cup of coffee she held the pot out to me. As if everything were perfectly normal, she asked, “Want some more?”
“No. Yes. Fuck.” I looked at her closely for some hint, some idea as to what I had been doing wrong. “I thought we were okay in that department?”
She poured the coffee and looked up.
“You know we are.”
“I mean, we have sex at least twice a week, sometimes three, right?”
“It’s not about that.”
“I only fell asleep last week because I was exhausted, I swear.”
“Honey, it’s not about you falling asleep.”
I started to sweat. “I thought, you know, that you enjoyed our sex life.” Had she been faking it all this time?
Abby walked closer and cupped my jaw. “Honey, I do. We have a great sex life. This is just a little experiment, something to spice it up, that’s all.”
“Now? At our age?”
“We’re not dead, you know, and I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
My insides were churning full blast now. “A while?”
“Remember a couple months ago when we had that problem with dryness?”
I thought back, then nodded. “You called the doctor, right?”
“Yes, but I also talked to Mary.”
I groaned out loud.
“Stop it. We’re all adults, and she and I are the same age, so it was perfectly natural to ask her.”
I put my head in my hands. “And?”
“And she had the same problem. Vicky got her some lubricants.”
I sat up straighter, immediately feeling better. “We did, too.”
“Exactly, but did you know there are many kinds of lubricants ? Some even flavored, for…you know. So we discussed that and other stuff.”
“Fuck.” I looked at her pleadingly.
“Stop it.”
“Please tell me you did not discuss our sex life, I’m begging you.”
“Grow up.”
I put my head in my arms on the ceramic countertop. The day had started so nicely. I woke early, did the treadmill for an hour. I had an idea for a story. I was working at the kitchen counter on my laptop while the coffee perked and the dogs were outside. I even asked Abby to give me quiet time to write, and she had agreed, as usual. Then not ten minutes later she came into the kitchen and made her announcement. I took a deep breath. “And?”
“Well, when Mary and I talked, she told me that she and Vicky, they have one.”
“Oh fuck, you did not just tell me that.” I rubbed my eyes desperately trying to erase that image of my best friend, with a strap-on, from my brain. “Why do you insist on telling me shit like this, why?”
“What is the big deal? It’s perfectly normal.”
I took a deep breath and twisted my neck from side to side, still trying to purge the image. “Normal? Absolutely! But, I do not ever want to think of my two best friends like that. Is that okay with you?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re my friends, damn it.”
“Don’t be such a child.” She rubbed my hand and grinned. “You can’t get the image out of your mind, can you?”
She was right. “No, and I’m blaming you.”
She started laughing, then stopped abruptly. “Okay, so it’s a little embarrassing, but they’re our friends.”
“Tell me now, before I ever see Vicky again, did you tell Mary you want to do this?”
“No, of course not.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.” She crossed her heart. I almost believed her.
“I do not want another incident like when Mary told me about Vic wearing a damn nightgown.”
Abby knew I still had trouble looking my best friend in the eye ever since her wife had revealed that little tidbit. Vic, a butch’s butch if ever there was one, wore a pink-flowered, flannel nightgown. Fuck, now I was picturing her in the damn nightgown with a friggin’ strap-on underneath.
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not.”
“So anyway, I’ve been thinking about it and decided our trip to P-town provides the perfect time for us to get equipped.”
“Equipped?”
“Supplies.”
I ran my hands through my hair. The world had gone mad, nothing was making any sense. “You’re going with me. Why do I have to go in there alone?”
“Remember the Sears incident?”
I cringed. Years ago we had been shopping for Christmas presents. Abby found a robe she thought her mom would like and asked me to try it on to see if the length was okay, since her mom and I had similar builds. There I was, in my jeans, motorcycle boots and a leather jacket. It was a simple, stupid cotton frock with lace around the collar. Once I had it on, Abby started laughing and wouldn’t stop. The angrier I got, the more she laughed; the more she laughed, the more she alerted our fellow shoppers, who then started staring and laughing as well. I tore the damn thing off and never helped her again.
“I ordered everything from the catalogue. All you have to do is let them make sure the harness is the right size, and then pay for it and leave. Simple.”
Abby stood there angelically smiling. I was sure I was missing something.
“You already ordered what you want, right?”
“Yup.”
“All I have to do is check on the size of the harness, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Ten minutes tops?”
“Less.”
“What if someone I know is in the store?”
“Say hi.”
I shook my head. “You know what I mean. How am I going to explain why I’m there?”
“What do you think they’re doing there?”
I covered my ears. “Fuck, I do not want to think about that.”
“Stop being ridiculous. I think it’s wonderful people our age are willing to experiment.”
“Please tell me what’s really going on here?”
Abby leaned in close and kissed me. “I don’t want you trading me in for three twenties.”
Each time she hit another milestone in age, she decided I would trade her in for X number of younger women. At thirty, it was two fifteen-year-olds. I pointed out that would be jailbait. At forty, it was two twenty-year-olds; I asked what the hell I would do with them. At fifty, she announced two twenty-five year-olds, because I was older and needed to slow down. Now at sixty, this.
“I love you, I can barely keep up with you. Have you talked to a twenty-year-old of late? I don’t even understand their language.”
“It’s not you having a conversation with them I’m worried about.”
“Abbs, I’ve never given you reason to worry, have I?”
She kissed me again. “And I intend to make sure you want to come home to me and only me.”
“Now who’s being childish?”
“Please, it’s important to me.”
I sighed, knowing I had lost this battle. “Quick in and out, right?”
“Let’s get going, you have a one o’clock appointment with Cheryl.”
“Cheryl?” I was towel drying my hair after my shower.
“The store, Wild Hearts.”
“I need an appointment to shop?”
“Well, it’s the
ir personalized service. I thought you would like that.”
“Oh. Okay.” I grabbed my T-shirt.
“Make sure you wear boxers today.”
“Huh?”
“Just do it.”
“Why?”
Abby was applying mascara; she looked in the mirror at me. “So I don’t have to worry about you.”
I walked toward her, my jeans in one hand, naked from the waist down. “I thought you liked it when I went commando.”
“Not today.”
She had been in a funny mood ever since we arrived in P-town. This morning after breakfast, instead of going sightseeing, she had wanted to come back here and make love. I was up for that, but she still seemed edgy.
“Okay. Boxers it is.”
Abby grabbed a pair out of the duffle bag and handed them to me.
“You’re lucky I packed some,” I told her.
“No. You are, or you’d be wearing a pair of my panties.”
“Like hell.”
She just giggled and returned to putting on her makeup.
Once I was dressed, she turned to me. “You look nice.”
I was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Thanks?”
“I just wanted to tell you.”
I put my arms around her and kissed her. “I love you, with all my heart. Thank you.”
“Come on, I want to get a seat at the bar.”
I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “It’s only twelve thirty.”
“I know, but you know I like sitting where I can see the TV. I want to get there before it fills up.”
Abby was a sports nut. She always wanted to be in front of the big-screen TV so she could watch the latest action, no matter what the sport. “I’m ready.”
Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 Page 15
