Best Bondage Erotica 2015

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Holding my breath, I drop the bag to reveal a set of leather fur-lined restraints with metal rings on them. Not wanting to delay the moment any longer, I spread one open to wrap it around my wrist and the buttoned cuff of my shirt. It’s strangely exciting, pulling it tight and cinching it off at the first position that feels comfortably snug. I repeat this on the other wrist, a little weak in the knees to realize how out of control this feels, being under her spell without having anything but written words for guidance.

  I hesitate for a moment before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The warmth of the house hits me, calming my senses a bit. I’m not sure where to go or what to do now that I’m here. The next logical step is to remove my blazer, but when I go to do so the leather cuffs make that impossible. Before I can contemplate taking them off to slip out of the jacket, I hear the distinctive sound of heels clacking from the other room. The goose bumps are instantaneous.

  Poking her head around the door frame, she looks me up and down. She raises her eyebrows in a way that leads to a dangerous grin. She must like what she sees.

  “Do be a dear and join me.”

  It’s my turn to take in the sight of her as she rotates on her stiletto heels to sway back to the living room. The back-seams of her stockings are impeccably straight, pointing like an arrow up the back of her thighs to the round of her ass. It wiggles, knowing I’m watching. She lures me in, forcing me to overcome my hesitation and follow her. There’s an unspoken promise to those curves, accentuated as they are by the cinch of the corset that pulls in her waist. The bow tying all the lines together makes her look like a present I can’t wait to unwrap. Except she’s likely to make sure I’m wrapped up tight before allowing me the privilege of touching her. Luckily, she’s worth the wait.

  This room is better lit so that I can tell the furniture has been moved to the walls. At the center of the empty hardwood floor is a wooden chair. It doesn’t take much imagination to know what comes next.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  I do. The cold of the wood saps some of my heat and a chill runs up my spine. Folding my hands in my lap, I patiently watch her circle the chair. The drumming of her heels echoes like a threat until she stops behind me.

  The first contact of her fingers tenderly resting on my back startles me. She caresses the tension out of my muscles, massaging at the places sore from my afternoon of manual labor. Her hands on my shoulders melt me into relaxing. She moves on to stroking my hair, making each follicle stand at attention, much like my dick is doing, nuzzling into my palms. With her watching, I know I shouldn’t rub myself through the fabric of my pants, but I can’t help it. She notices and tsks. Using my hair as a handle, she pulls my head back, forcing me to look at her.

  “Handsy! We’ll take care of that.”

  She walks around to the front of the chair. Kneeling, she places one hand on each of my thighs, parting them, and insinuates herself between my legs. Taking one of my wrists in each palm, she guides them behind the chair, holding them there. The weight of her chest on my crotch as she leans forward makes me groan. I want to grab hold of her, keep her close. No chance of that, however, as I hear a click behind me. Testing my bonds, I find she’s trapped my hands together and to the chair.

  She leans back to look at me deviously, fingers going for the clasp of my pants. My dick is freed from its confines and pops out to say hello. Her grin gets bigger. She doesn’t touch me, just tucks the fabric of my fly to the sides, admiring from afar. Biting her lip, she rubs her crotch against the toe of my shoe, torturing me.

  When I think she may take pity on me by stroking my dick, instead her hands reroute farther north to undo the first few buttons on my shirt. Using my shoulders for leverage, she stands and kisses along this newly exposed flesh. Chills again. I attempt words but instead come up with moans and heavy breathing.

  Please is what I want to say. As in, Please touch me, please, I want you.

  Before I can form words I’m distracted. She’s raising her skirt to reveal that no panties are involved in her outfit, just a garter belt trapping the black contrast top of her soft nude stockings. Her fingers go to her clit, touching but not rubbing, teasing herself to tease me. Throwing one leg over my lap and stepping in closer, she brings her pussy dangerously close to the head of my cock.

  She wouldn’t dare, and yet the promise is there. She could do anything and I couldn’t stop her. The sway of her hips is a hint of what could come later. She toys with the denial of touch and the cruelness of her closeness. Her eyes close and the movement of her fingers becomes more focused. With her head back, noises escape her throat, which make me throb at the sadism of her neglect.

  “I’m ready for you,” she growls while coming, or close to it. Her breathing is heavy. At first I think her words are directed at me, until a door down the hall opens. Footsteps get closer, however I can’t see around her body to find out who else is in the house.

  A feeling between dread and anticipation fills my every fiber as I try to crane my neck to see. She puts this attempt to an end by cradling my head with her free hand. This forces my face against the corset boning. My lips brush the landing strip of her pubic hair. A tentative exploration reveals that my tongue can’t reach her flesh. I feel the ministrations of her fingers, and her gasps, but it’s impossible to get too lost in the heat of the moment knowing a stranger is lurking behind me.

  Her hand grasps my neck. Nails dig into my skin as she comes, her legs trembling on either side of my thigh. She steps back, slowly removing the fingers from the wet center of her to slide them into my mouth. My eager tongue is more than happy to help. Too soon, she pulls them away with a wet pop. Leaning down for a kiss, her hand is still in my hair, so that I’m unable to move away. The warmth of her tongue tickling mine makes me buck against the restraints.

  Suddenly a second set of hands trace their way up my bound arms, feeling at the muscles there made moot by the leather cuffs. My body goes stiff with nerves. She straightens and leans over my head to kiss the person I can’t see. I’m not even sure of the gender of this unseen guest, which makes things all the more mysteriously dangerous. It’s cruel to listen to them touch and kiss, hands wrapped around one another with me in between but unable to participate.

  “Please,” I finally eke out, not sure what I mean but glad when they stop.

  “Please what?” She gives me a look that lets me know she’s perfectly aware of what I want. Her eyes flit up to the other person, giving them the come-hither head motion.

  A second body joins her in my frame of vision. He’s tall but burly. Messy hair falls in his eyes. The odd tangle of tattoos on his arms and the untucked shirt give him an air of carelessness. His eyes roam up and down my body, reminding me that I’m exposed. Again I experience that mix of shame and excitement.

  “Hmm?” She’s still waiting for me to use my words but I can’t find any. I’m suddenly content to sit back and watch how this unfolds. Not that I have any other option. Her eyebrows rise, waiting for my response; when none appears, she gives up. Grabbing her friend, she kisses him deeply. Their hands are everywhere. Clothes come off.

  His shirt goes first, revealing a wide, hairy chest and more tattoos. He returns the favor by unclasping her bra and tossing it aside, her generous breasts still cradled by the bust of the corset. Their chests touch and I wish I could feel either of them anywhere. They stand just out of the reach of my legs, but close enough I can hear the sound of their tongues and smell the lust between them.

  A drop of moisture dribbles down my cock. The teasing is almost too much to take. I close my eyes against the ache of an erection getting no attention.

  The sound of denim and a belt buckle hitting the floor snap me back into the moment. He’s naked now, his sizable cock hard. Her hands are all over it. While she strokes its length, he moans and bucks against the rhythm of her movements, hoping to convince her to move at a faster pace. Instead she pushes him away, taking a fist of his chest hair and th
rowing him back on the couch. He laughs as we watch her step out of her skirt. She’s clothed only in corset, stockings and heels now.

  She kneels in front of him, taking his cock into her mouth, deep-throating him. His eyes roll back in his head in delight. I watch as she reaches for a condom that he isn’t aware of yet. As he’s losing himself to her sloppily bobbing him in and out of her mouth, she stops and stands. He groans, ready to complain until he sees what she holds. His face brightens.

  Except she’s walking away from him, lipstick a smeared mess, opening the condom and holding eye contact with me. Her friend and I exchange confused looks. He lies back, watching, touching himself, seeming content to wait. His hardness is a mirror image of mine, but he’s allowed the pleasure I’m being denied. My brain is so lust addled I can’t guess what she has in mind and I keep getting sidetracked watching the show he’s putting on.

  “You like to watch, don’t you, dear boy?”

  I nod, understanding now as I gaze up at her. Slowly, she finishes unbuttoning my shirt as he watches, rubbing himself, dick slick with her saliva. She lingers, legs close to me, fingers playing down my chest, mouth kissing my neck. My face drifts toward her, rubbing my cheek against hers to have some physical contact. She puts her lips near mine, asking without words if I would like access to them.

  “Please?” I whisper; it seems to be the only word I remember. She fills that tiny space between the two of us and kisses me wetly, but only for the briefest moment. The taste of her mouth is the sweetness of her tongue and salt of his cock. Pulling away, she walks back to the couch.

  She moves his hands away and deftly pushes the latex sheath over his hardness. Her pussy isn’t far behind as she straddles him, purposefully angling their bodies so that I’m provided the perfect view of their sexes meeting. I sigh, struggling uselessly against the cuffs, wishing I could jerk off to this display. His cock spreads her open, her lips hugging his length each time she rises up and down over him. The speed of their thrusts, him lifting his hips to meet her, increases quickly. There’s the slap of skin meeting again and again, until he lifts her off his lap and grips her waist to put her down on the couch.

  The glare she gives him seems to express that she would be pissed off about the interruption if she weren’t already so worked up. He laughs and flips her over so that her ass is in the air. Looking in my direction, he repositions her so that I can watch as he puts just the head of his dick into her. Teasing. She thrums at her clit with her fingers until she gets frustrated enough to back up against him, filling herself to moaning. I know her noises well enough to realize that she’s coming. Holding on to the cushions of the couch, she thrusts back into him. Every muscle in her body is clenched. My cock twitches.

  He follows her into bliss, grabbing her tight enough that she cries out, and he grunts while orgasming. As they recover, in a pile of naked body parts, I wonder if they’ve forgotten about me altogether. I make a pathetic noise to draw attention to myself. It works; they sit up and look at me. There are whispered conspiracies, then simultaneous evil smirks.

  “You’ve been so good,” she says. They stand and walk to me, tenderly rubbing one knee each. “As your reward you get to pick which one of us you’d like to suck that lovely cock of yours.”

  Looking up at their spent, sex-moistened bodies, I open my mouth to reply.

  TYING THE KNOT

  Rob Rosen

  Ron, my fiancé—with T-minus-twenty some-odd hours and counting until we were officially hitched—rolled over, looked me right in the eye, and said, “I, um, love you, Ted.”

  I grinned and nodded. “I love you, too, Ron.”

  His nod mirrored my own. “I know. It’s just, I love you, but I don’t want to get married tomorrow.”

  My nodding promptly stopped. My grin promptly vanished. And I promptly reached over to his side of the bed and socked him one in the arm. “So not funny, Ron.”

  He rubbed his arm and frowned. “So not trying to be, Ted.”

  I sighed. “You’re just having second thoughts, is all,” I calmly explained. “That’s completely natural. Cold feet, they call it.”

  He rolled over onto his back. “I had second thoughts all day, Ted. I’m now on to sevenths and eighths.” He blinked. “No, scratch that, ninths.”

  To be honest, this was fairly par for the course for my husband-to-be. It took him a month to decide on the proper color of yellow for our bathroom. It wasn’t until we painted it lemon that he upped and decided on canary. He also couldn’t decide if we should lease or own our car. Sadly, I’m still taking the train to work. Still, this was our wedding he was talking about, not a Prius and certainly not a color swatch.

  My sigh repeated. “How about sleeping on it, Ron? We can decide in the morning if we need to cancel the chapel, three hundred miles away, the reception hall, also three hundred miles away, and let the guests know not to come—all three hundred of them.” Ironically, it was supposed to be two hundred, but Ron couldn’t decide who not to invite, and so…well, you get the drift.

  Again he nodded, downed a Xanax, and replied, “Okay, sure, hon. Sleep on it. Right.” He again looked my way. “This is California, after all. Maybe there will be an earthquake in the middle of the night and the roads and airports will all be closed come morning.”

  I forced a smile. “Way to put a positive spin on things, dearest.”

  He gulped and shut his eyes. I doused the lights and blinked into the darkness. In ten minutes, I could hear him snoring. Me, I was wide-awake. Go figure.

  In any case, the night came and went, minus any earthquakes. In the interim, I’d thought of a plan. Considering my lack of sleep and stress level, was it a good plan? Probably not. But it was, at the very least, a plan.

  “Um, Ted,” I heard, the sunshine through the curtains warming my face. “I think I’ve had a stroke.”

  “A stroke?” I asked, yawning as I did so. “I don’t think you can talk all that well after you’ve had a stroke.”

  “But I can’t move my arms or legs.”

  “Oh, that,” I retorted, pushing myself up onto my elbows. “I tied you up in your sleep, Ron. So, in fact, you could move your arms and legs, if they weren’t bound together.” I pulled the blanket down to his feet and pointed. “See.”

  He stared down the length of him. He was in his boxers, his hands bound by some rope I’d found in the basement while he was conked out, his feet the same. Yippee for the Boy Scouts because I had several merit badges in rope tying to my credit. In other words, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Save, that is, of course, to his wedding.

  “You can’t make me get married, Ted,” he said, his eyes a tad wider now, fear quite evident on his otherwise handsome face.

  “Wanna make a bet?” All in all, it was an apt reply, seeing as our wedding was in Las Vegas later that afternoon.

  “Untie me, Ted.”

  I shook my head and hopped out of bed. “When we get to the hotel, Ron. In Vegas. In about four hours.”

  “I can’t drive to Vegas, Ted,” he whined. “I can’t even get dressed like this.”

  I shrugged. “Your tux is in the trunk of our rental car. Your toiletries are in the trunk of our rental car. Your clothes for the weekend are in the trunk of our rental car.” I walked to his side of the bed and stared down at him. “Keep complaining, Ron, and you’ll be joining them there.” I bent down and kissed him on the forehead. “Welcome to the happiest day of your life, hon.”

  Ten minutes later, I was dressed and Ron was, well, still in his boxers and still tied up, albeit in the front seat of the rental car and not the trunk. See, I wasn’t a total monster. In fact, I was no monster at all. I was simply hoping (praying, crossing innumerable fingers and toes) that his second to ninth thoughts wouldn’t manifest themselves between Los Angeles and Las Vegas.

  “Is this how you want to remember our wedding day, Ted?” he asked, once we were on the freeway and a good way from home.

  My shrug retur
ned. “At least I’ll have a wedding day, Ron.”

  He struggled with his bindings, the leather seat making scrunching noises beneath him. I listened as he yanked and pulled and tugged at the ropes. I turned my head to toss in a witty bon mot or two, at his expense, when I noticed that a) he was sweating and b) his boxers were tenting something fierce.

  I pointed at his crotch. “What’s that about?”

  A flush of red worked its way across his cheeks. “Morning wood.”

  I stared back at the road. “That’s for when you’ve just woken up. Try again.” He didn’t reply. I laughed as I realized what was happening. “You know what I think?”

  Again he struggled. “That you’re horrible for tying me up and dragging me to the altar?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. That ain’t it.” I reached my hand across and gave his flimsily covered cock a squeeze. “I think you like this. I think you like being made to do what you can’t make your mind up to do. I think you like the choice taken away from you. And…” I pulled his cock through the cottony slit. It popped free, leaking and thick. “And I think you like being tied up to boot.” I quickly looked his way. “Maybe I should’ve gagged you, too.”

  The red on his face turned crimson, but, to be fair, the head of his cock did the same, a dribble of spunk bubbling up before leaking over the side. “You better not,” he whined.

  I laughed. Talk about your halfhearted comebacks. “Looks like my husband has a new kink in his chain.”

  “Not your husband,” he yapped. “Not yet.”

  “Ah,” I said, smacking his prick for good measure, and eliciting a moan from him for my troubles. “Then there’s hope, after all.” I reached my hand across the small divide and pinched his nipple. His body quivered and quaked, and, lo and behold, my own cock was suddenly straining from within my jeans. Which meant that both of our chains had newly apparent kinks in them.