by Alison Tyler
Amy’s wet, curly bush seemed to be a magnet for Michael’s eyes. “You still have another maidenhead, my dear,” he told her. “Shall I tell you where?”
Amy blushed. She wouldn’t look Michael in the eyes, so he moved up to kiss her possessively, holding her head so that she couldn’t look away. He slid his tongue into her mouth, but she knew he didn’t want to take her cherry that way—at least not yet.
“I haven’t finished searching your fair body for valuables. And I must explore every inch.” He slid down to reach between her legs.
And then Amy got another surprise. Like a magician, Michael produced a butt plug and lube out of nowhere, and he lifted her hips and eased it into her virgin anus. The pressure of the plug in her behind and the bands on her nipples seemed to set up a current that ran through her whole body.
“Michael!”
For a moment, Amy felt as if she might faint. Carla’s fluty voice was coming through the thin wood of the apartment door.
“Damn!” he muttered.
“Michael!” whispered Amy. “Don’t ignore her, or she’ll find a way to get in! You know her. Say something to make her go away.”
“Honey,” he said, sounding like everyday Michael again. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” He smirked, then, because she couldn’t have gone anywhere if she’d wanted to.
Amy watched as he grabbed a bathrobe, not wanting to go out of his way to hide anything from Carla. All the same, he didn’t want to be more exposed to her than necessary.
She heard the door open a crack. “What do you want?” Michael demanded. He certainly didn’t sound welcoming.
“Michael, I need to know where you put the keys to the safe-deposit box. I can’t believe you thought you could just keep things hidden from me. You know I’m not greedy, but what’s fair is fair, and—what’s going on in there?”
“None of your business.”
“Damn it, Michael, if I have to show up with my lawyer every time we meet, I’ll do it. You can screw around as much as you like once we’re divorced, but until then, your business is my business. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Amy’s position made it easy for her to concentrate on what she was hearing. Filled and restrained as she was, she felt luxuriously helpless, not responsible for her own feelings. At the same time, she felt as if she had no place further to fall.
“Michael!” she called. “Let her in! She knows I’m here anyway!”
Amy heard Carla laughing. “She’s right,” she said. “It’s not hard to figure out. I didn’t think you were taking a shower in the middle of the day.”
Bondage made Amy so attuned to Michael’s moods that she could feel his resentment at being outmaneuvered. So it didn’t surprise her when he led Carla right into the bedroom to see Amy lying naked on the bed that he and Carla had shared.
For a long, tense moment, no one spoke. Then Carla’s face blossomed into a huge grin as she looked down at Amy, who knew her own look must be as pleading and pitiful as Carla could possibly have wanted. “So that’s how you two children play together when you have nothing better to do.” A guffaw burst out of her, followed by a series of them. “Wow,” she laughed. “Wow. You two. The chutzpah just blows me away. Not the kinkiness. I have a few kinks myself, you know, Michael. But the gall of doing it in our bed.”
“It wasn’t Amy’s idea,” blurted Michael. He sounded like a chivalrous schoolboy caught smoking with his girlfriend on school property and trying to protect her from a principal’s wrath.
“But she invited me in!” chortled Carla. “Michael, I knew she was your girlfriend. I’m not stupid.” She paused. “I knew for a long time that you wanted a submissive little pet, but I really couldn’t fit into that cage. We could have worked out an arrangement without going through the legal melodrama, but never mind. I’ve found some new friends, too, so it might all work out fine. Especially if I get my fair share of things.”
Carla walked to the edge of the bed and ran a firm, manicured hand slowly from Amy’s collarbone, between her breasts and down her tummy to her bush. Amy’s cunt squeezed on its own, and the plug in her butt asserted itself. “Amy,” Carla pointed out, “you invited me in.” She smiled in a way that suggested a wealth of delightful torment.
As Amy watched in amazement, Carla slid two fingers into Amy’s open cunt. She made it clear that she considered herself an invited guest, not an intruder. “Nothing in her,” she said to Michael. “I thought you would have left her plugged.”
Amy’s blush told Carla what she wanted to know. “Aha,” she muttered. “This is like a treasure hunt.” She quickly found the base of the plug, and pulled it out, to Amy’s relief and disappointment. Amy didn’t really want to be left empty.
“What exactly did I interrupt?” Carla demanded. The question was aimed at Michael and Amy both.
He recovered quickly, and Amy remembered that he was an experienced actor. “Your Majesty,” he purred, bowing and slipping off his bathrobe at the same time. “I am captain of the Jolly Roger, privateer on the high seas with your knowledge and permission. I have captured a princess from an enemy vessel. The wench enjoyed being ravished, so she needs further discipline.”
Michael’s bathrobe lay in a pile on the floor. Carla looked down, smiled, and deliberately stepped on it. She clearly hoped to leave a neat shoeprint on the thin blue terrycloth. “Sir Francis,” said Carla in a voice of oiled silk, “wouldn’t you like to hold her for ransom? Her father might pay a pretty penny to get her back, and he can afford to fill our royal coffers.”
Amy had never seen this side of Carla before.
“Your Majesty thinks of everything,” he acknowledged, “especially when money is involved. But she is a ruined maiden, so I fear that she will not bring us a profit.”
“You want to keep her,” smiled Carla, shrugging off her tailored gray jacket. Amy wondered what she was planning to do once her arms were free. “As your own slave.”
“As my woman,” Michael corrected her.
“Same smell, different word. How do you want her disciplined?”
Michael shifted from one foot to the other, as though he wished he could keep his private fantasies in a safe-deposit box in a corner of his mind where Carla could never find it. “Aarr,” he said halfheartedly. “We’re on a sailing-ship, eh? Rebels get flogged.”
“For the crew to watch!” she finished. “But you tied her in the wrong position for that if you want to give her ass a good basting. Captain, you do nothing to secure my confidence in your abilities.”
Carla swiftly removed her cream-colored blouse, her tweedy linen pants, and her matching ivory bra and panties. Amy knew that Carla worked out regularly, and she seemed eager to show off her trim, fit body. Her arm muscles were alarmingly impressive. The triangle of hair at her crotch was as dark as the hair on her head. Her breasts were small, high, and round, with paler nipples than Amy’s. But then Amy’s nipples were being subjected to unusual treatment.
Carla sighed. “Poor, brainless man, you must help me to untie her and place her in a more suitable position. I can use one of those belts to better effect.” Amy’s mouth went dry.
Working together, Michael and Carla lifted Amy’s feet out of the ankle-cuffs and released her wrists from the bed frame. Amy rubbed her arms as the blood flowed back into them. “Please, sir and ma’am,” she begged.
“What is it, girl?” Carla couldn’t help grinning.
“Would one of you release my nipples as well?”
Michael and Carla both tried not to snicker. “I hope you show suitable gratitude,” Carla said briskly, unwinding one rubber band and then the other. Amy’s nipples throbbed.
“Now, Captain,” Carla commanded, “I want you to hold her steady while she takes her flogging. Wench,” she explained, “you must lean forward, holding onto the foot of the bed like this.” Carla demonstrated. She moved away, and Amy stepped into place, shivering.
Michael sat on the bed, holding Am
y’s hands on the brass bed frame. His erection was painfully obvious, but his expression was comforting.
“The best bondage is invisible,” mused Carla. “It consists of willpower alone.” Amy couldn’t see what Michael’s wife was doing behind her. “Carla—Your Majesty,” she burst out, “you’re not really going to beat me with a belt, are you?”
Carla stroked Amy’s lower back and slid a leisurely hand around each buttcheek as though soothing a skittish animal. “You invited me into this game. Don’t you both want to know the worst I’m going to do? Aren’t you curious? I don’t want to hurt you—much.”
Carla stroked Amy’s hair and back so hypnotically that Amy relaxed a little despite her fear. “Listen to me, girl,” Carla warned. “I could do a lot of harm to you or I could show mercy. Michael, what were you planning to hit her with? Just your hand?”
He didn’t answer.
“You see, honey, you were going to get the belt even if I hadn’t shown up so opportunely. This will be a learning experience for you.”
A belt swished through the air and landed with a slap on Amy’s ass. A moment later, she felt the burn. “Oh!” she yelped.
“Arr, girl, you’re a treat for the crew to watch,” Michael told her, pressing courage into her hands.
“You’re such a thin-skinned little princess,” sighed Carla. “Okay, three more and that’s it.” The next lick of the belt felt milder to Amy, but she couldn’t be sure if Carla was easing up or if she was getting used to the burn. The next slap was definitely harder, and the last felt like being stung by a nest of hornets.
Amy gasped, tears spilling down her face. “I’m done, Captain, you can let go,” Carla told her. She grabbed Amy by the shoulders, turned her around, and held her tightly. “Good girl,” Carla crooned into Amy’s hair. “I don’t mind if you want to be Michael’s handmaiden for the rest of your life, but I needed that. You, too. Don’t you feel better now?”
Amy realized that she did.
Michael was there to pull Amy into a tight hug when Carla gave her to him. By then he had a raging hard-on to cover quickly with an extra skin of latex and slide into the willing mouth of a captive princess who needed to learn how to give proper blow jobs as one of her duties. Carla watched with pleasure, and Amy knew that she would soon be instructed in other forms of oral service.
Amy was still kneeling carefully on the carpet at Michael’s feet when Carla walked behind her to admire her own work. “Your bottom is delightfully red, wench,” she said, “as it should be. But I really must teach you and the captain a few things about using the right equipment. I won’t call him a cheapskate while you’re lost in surrender, but he can afford the investment. So can I. And you’re worth it.”
Later, as the three new playmates rolled together on the king-sized bed, they really felt like fellow travelers on a vast, scary, and magnificent ocean, far from the laws of the land.
Carla was satisfied with the booty she had been given.
Amy felt deliciously used, owned, and enjoyed. She felt like the juicy filling in a sandwich. And she looked forward to learning her place in the hold of the Jolly Roger, a most seaworthy relationship.
Michael felt like a salty dog. He was not afraid to put on the bonds of wedlock for a second time, knowing that not all bondage is the same.
SOPHIE MOUETTE
DON’T MOVE
HELL YES,” I SAID, when Emily pointed to a picture of a bound woman and asked if I thought she looked hot.
“Could we try that sometime?” she wondered next, and I had to try so hard not to sound like an overexcited teenage boy that all I managed to get out was, “Really?” Emily’s words, Emily’s unexpected request to try something new and a bit kinkier than our usual fare hit me like some kind of drug rush. Bottle this feeling and I’d be rich.
“Really. At least…I think so,” she said. “Don’t you think she looks hot like that?” She waved the picture at me again.
Wrist-to-thigh cuffs held the pretty model’s hands in place by her sides, and her legs were cuffed at the ankles, spread wide, and then obviously tethered to something not visible in the picture. It was in our favorite sex toy catalogue, so her sex was discreetly covered by PVC panties, but under the shiny black covering, she had to be open, ready to be eaten or fucked.
Eager for it, according to my imagination.
It was a great image, made even lovelier by substituting my girlfriend for the model. Emily’s long red hair would be tousled and tangled from writhing within her bonds—playfully pretend-struggling that was really squirming in pleasure—her skin sleek with sweat, her pussy slick and dripping, ready for me.
The idea shot straight from my brain to my cock, which twitched toward erection at record speed.
“I’d love to,” I told her, pulling her (catalogue and all) onto my lap so I could press my hardening dick against her and let her feel how much I liked it. “You’d look beautiful like that. And I’d love having you at my mercy like that. Helpless, unable to resist.” I caressed her breasts through her tank top until her nipples popped out, dark and stiff behind the thin, light-blue fabric. Returning the favor, she made small circles with her shorts-clad butt, teasing at my erection.
“I couldn’t,” she purred. “Resist, that is. I’d be all open and wet and you could do anything you wanted to me.” Then she giggled and, turning, kissed the end of my nose. “Not like I resist you all that much, anyway, but I really like the idea of giving you control once in a while. Been working up the nerve to talk about it for a while, and the picture gave me a prop to use. But…”
Her voice trailed off, and she stopped moving. I could feel her body tense, and not in a good way.
“But?” I put my arm around her.
“But at the same time it’s scary,” she admitted. “Not the giving-up-control part. I trust you, and I think that could be a lot of fun. But I’ve never actually been tied up, and...what if I freak?”
“Is this something like your thing with planes?”
She muttered an almost inaudible “Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly fear of flying that kept Emily on the ground; it was the feeling she was trapped on the plane. If someone had issued her a parachute and told her she could jump out any time, though, I think she’d have been fine.
“So you wanted to feel controlled—but not necessarily confined?”
She nodded eagerly.
Worked for me. Sexy as the bands of leather looked against the model’s skin, and fun as it might be to tie Emily up in some theoretical world where she wasn’t claustrophobic, what I really found arousing was the idea of a woman voluntarily open and helpless to my whim, with or without bondage. And that gave me an idea.
But then Emily turned in my lap until she was straddling me, rocked forward, pulled her shirt off...and somehow we didn’t get around to trying my idea that afternoon, but we did test the limits of that particular chair in some interesting ways.
I think she thought I’d forgotten the conversation. But I hadn’t.
I just let it go for a few days until I got everything worked out in my mind, and picked up a few props.
Tonight, as we headed to the bedroom, I told her, generally, what I had in mind, and I had the pleasure of watching her eyes get wide and kind of glazed with anticipation.
Sweet.
Once we got naked, I asked Emily—no, told her—to lie on her back on the bed. She grinned dreamily as she lay down.
Out of my bag of tricks I first pulled a pair of black-leather cuffs. They weren’t bondage cuffs, just plain bands with studs like a rocker would wear onstage. I made sure she could see that there was no way to attach them to anything before I buckled them around her wrists.
“My God, you look sexy,” I said. “The dark leather against your pale skin. I wish I’d found bigger ones for your ankles.”
She lifted her hands and turned her wrists back and forth, admiring the cuffs.
“I didn’t say you could do that,” I told her. I kept a little teasi
ng note in my voice, figuring we’d lead up to things slowly.
I arranged her like the model in the picture, legs spread wide, a pillow under her ass so her pussy was even more exposed, hands on her thighs.
It was difficult to go slow when she looked so damn hot.
“Don’t move,” I told her. “The game tonight is you hold still until I say it’s okay to move.”
She disobeyed immediately with a little squirmy shiver. It was cute and made her breasts jiggle enticingly, but I still shook my head and said, “Bad girl. Just for that, I won’t touch you yet.”
Instead, I posed at the foot of the bed, took my cock in my own hand, and began to stroke. I was already hard, just from looking at her, from how she allowed me to pose her on the bed, from how she obeyed me now, unmoving except for breathing heavily as she fixed her gaze on my hand.
I thumbed the slick moisture from the tip of my cock and held it to her lips. She started to stick her tongue out, then stopped, remembering.
“Good girl,” I said. “You may taste now.”
I slipped my finger between her lips. She sucked eagerly, and I felt the sensation all the way down to my cock.
As tempting as it was to encourage her to suck my cock, I resisted. We had a lot more to do before we got to that stage of the game.
Then again, it could all be part of the game.
“You like that, do you?” I asked, pumping my finger in and out of her mouth, just a little. “I’ll bet you’d like it even more if I let you suck my cock.”
She whimpered, eyes wide.
“You’re probably just dying to reach out and take it in your hands, but you can’t, because you’re not allowed to move.” I pulled my hand away from her and slowly stroked my cock a few times for good measure, watching her watch me.
I stopped only because I was getting too excited myself.
Kneeling between her spread legs, I braced my hands on either side of her and leaned down to kiss her. I let only our lips and tongues touch, keeping my body away from her. She’d want to press up, wrap around me for full-body contact, and I thought I felt her tense to do so before she remembered.
