Bound by Lust

by Shanna Germain

  I was totally unprepared for my “after-spanking” panties, though. Therese had me step out of the torn remnants. Then she covered my bottom with the same gel as my nipples and pulled a pair of silk tap pants and an old-fashioned girdle over my bottom. As I howled and danced and kept my hands on my head so I wouldn’t try to take my “after-spanking” panties off, Therese led me firmly back to the bathroom and plunked me down on the vanity chair.

  My bottom burned and my nipples burned, and in the mirror my eyes were glued to the sight of a beautiful and obviously well-spanked woman in her underwear, with her hair in total disarray and her lipstick smeared and her mascara running down her cheeks.

  “My b-bottom hurts!” I blubbered, fascinated with how my pouty lips quivered as the tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “That’s because you’ve had a big girl spanking. Sit still while I fix your makeup.”

  As Therese repaired the damage, I fought back my sobs, finally calming down enough to hold a cotton ball beneath my eyes so the fresh tears wouldn’t undo her work. When my lips were pouty with color again, I took a deep breath and held perfectly still as Therese brushed on waterproof mascara.

  “Maybe I sh-should use that in the future—on punishment days?” My voice wavered, but I wasn’t crying anymore.

  “No, dear. You’ll always wear regular mascara for your thrashings. There’s something very special about a girl seeing her mascara run when she’s had a good cry—especially when her bottom and her nipples burn. It will help you remember how much you want to obey me.” She kissed me gently on the lips. “Sit here and think about that while I get dressed. We’re going out for brunch.”

  As Therese threw off her peignoir, I smiled experimentally into the mirror—watching her and myself as she took a dress that perfectly complemented mine from the closet. Now that I knew what having a disciplinary wife was all about, I was definitely going to enjoy being married to mine!

  A FEW THINGS TO PICK UP ON YOUR WAY HOME

  Andrea Dale

  Gabrielle,” Jake said.

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob, attaché case and car keys in hand, professional and sexy in equal measures. “Yeah?”

  They’d already kissed good-bye for the day, but he came over to her and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. Her breasts pressed softly against his chest, and his cock stirred.

  He was already half-hard, having planned what he was going to say.

  “You know how we were talking about picking up a new toy?” he asked.

  A slow smile crossed Gabrielle’s face. “Mmm, yes.” She wiggled against him a little. He loved how she could get aroused and adventurous just as fast as he.

  “Why don’t you swing by Eros after work and pick something up?”

  “Did you have anything specific in mind?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Give me a call when you get there and we’ll pick something out together.”

  He kissed her again, then let her dash out the door to catch her bus, grateful that he worked at home so he didn’t have to face coworkers with a bulge in his pants.

  He managed to focus on CAD design all day, but when evening rolled around and he knew Gabrielle would be leaving work, he got distracted. He was ready when the phone rang, comfortable in an easy chair, a printout nearby just in case he needed some ideas.

  Thankfully, Eros had a website.

  He answered, asked Gabrielle how her day had gone. She bitched a little about her boss, and he let her get it out of her system, make the nightly transition from work to not-work, before he turned the conversation to the sex shop.

  “So, did you decide what you want?” she asked.

  He smiled. She wasn’t quite out of work mode yet, still trying to be efficient and brisk.

  “Not really,” he said. “I figured we could browse.”

  He wished he could be there to watch her. She was wearing a raspberry linen suit today, with a choker of pale pink pearls, and the colors suited her dusky complexion and blue-black hair. Beneath it all was an ivory lace bra-and-panties set with matching garter belt. She’d been a pantyhose-wearer when they’d met, and he was pleased that she’d taken his suggestion to try alternatives.

  She wore garters exclusively now.

  “A new vibrator?” she suggested.

  “Tell me what the choices are.”

  “Jake, I can’t stand here and describe—”

  “Sure you can,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “It’ll be fun. Tell me what you see. Tell me what you like.”

  He heard the catch in her breath. She was figuring out this was a game.

  She’d be embarrassed, but she’d get turned on. She could be deliciously uninhibited at home, but outside she still clung to that corporate persona, concerned about how she presented herself.

  He was pretty sure he could convince her to play the game, even if she didn’t yet realize how much of it he’d been planning.

  “They’ve got them in every color, of course,” she said. “I—I like the realistic ones better than the plain, smooth ones.”

  “Why?”

  She was silent for a moment. Finally, “I guess they feel better. Inside.”

  “Go on,” he said. He resisted the urge to touch himself. Not so soon. He was hard, though, thinking about Gabrielle in the store, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that complemented her outfit.

  “I like the rabbit one, but we have one of those,” she said.

  “So maybe we should think about clit vibes,” he said. “Maybe those little ones that go over your fingers.”

  “Is that what you want me to get?”

  She wanted to buy something and get out of there. But he still thrilled to the hint of submission in her question. “I think we’re still exploring our options,” he said. “What do you think? How would it feel if I wore them and ran my hand all over you? We could get two sets, for both hands. I’d caress every inch of you, get you all trembly before I even touched your clit.”

  She made a little noise, like a mew. The sound went straight to his groin.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Very quietly, almost so quiet that he couldn’t hear her, she said, “I’m getting turned on.”

  Not half as much as he was, he suspected. Not yet, anyway. God, he wished he were there with her, so he could touch her, smell her floral perfume. Back her into a corner and bite at the curve of her neck, the specific spot that made her knees weak.

  “I’ll bet you are, darling,” he said. “So naughty, standing in a sex shop fondling all the merchandise. Are your panties wet?”

  If he were there, he could slip his hand under her skirt and find out for himself. Feel her slickness, taste it on his fingers.

  “Yes.” It was a whisper.

  “Are your nipples hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “That gives me an idea,” he said. “Go find the nipple clamps.”

  “Oh, Jake.”

  “I thought you wanted to try them someday.”

  “Well, I did—I do, but…”

  “But you don’t want to walk up to the clerk with a pair dangling from your fingers? It’s okay, honey, he’s seen a lot worse.”

  Her deep breath was audible through the phone. “Okay. They’re in a case, so I can’t get too close.”

  “If there are any we want to look at closer, we can ask to see them,” he said as if he were standing right next to her.

  “Jake!”

  He knew that nothing made her feel more exposed than confessing her kinks to a stranger. Admission bared her soul, stripped her more completely than if she took off her clothes right then and there.

  Despite her protest, though, he knew that if he asked her to, she would have the clerk open the case and hand her the clips she pointed to. She was completely divorced from her corporate persona now.

  His jeans were too tight. He popped the buttons and eased them down. So hard, just from talking to her, suggesting what
she should do.

  Hearing her comply.

  “Tell me about the clamps,” he said.

  “They have the clover-leaf kind, and the tweezer kind, and some that look like clothespins.”

  “They’d all look pretty adorning your breasts,” he said. God, but he could imagine that—her dark nipples pouting out between the shiny silver that surrounded them.

  “Not…painful ones,” she said softly.

  “Oh no,” he agreed quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just excite you. Just light clamps that would make you more sensitive. Maybe ones with little bells hanging off them, to chime whenever you moved. You’d sound like a whole campanile tower going off when you came. Would you like that?”

  “No,” she said, and his heart sank, but then he heard, “I don’t need any help, thanks. Just browsing. I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”

  “Was that the clerk?” Jake asked.

  “Yes,” Gabrielle said. “I hope he didn’t hear anything.”

  “He didn’t,” he assured her. “I was the one talking. Did you hear my last question?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  She wouldn’t want to answer, not if the clerk was nearby. He hoped she would. He thought she was far enough along in the game, in the mindset.

  “Whether I’d like it if I wore clamps with bells.” She said it in a rush, almost one long word.

  “And would you?”

  “Maybe. Should I get them?”

  “Or maybe little tiny ones that you could wear to work. Your nipples would be hard all day, rubbing against the lace of your bra.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” she protested.

  “You would if you went to the bathroom and masturbated when you got too horny to think,” he said.

  “Oh god…”

  Before she had time to process more than her initial reaction, her immediate mental picture, he said, “Go over to the next aisle. What’s there?”

  The clack of her heels against the floor. Then, “The bondage stuff.”

  “Mmm. We’ve got those fun fur-lined restraints already. Is there anything else that looks fun to you right now?”

  “There’s a lot to choose from.” She sounded a little overwhelmed.

  He was feeling pretty overwhelmed himself, but for a different reason. This was going even better than he’d planned. He couldn’t resist a few light strokes along his hard cock. “What’s right in front of you?” he asked.

  “Some thigh cuffs, with cuffs for your wrists. My wrists, I mean.”

  “That might be a fun way to tie you down if I used those finger vibrators on you. Keep you from flying off the bed.”

  “Jake…”

  “What, darling?”

  “I…I need to come home now.”

  He caught himself before he laughed out loud.

  Keep the game going.

  “Why?”

  “I’m horny,” she whispered.

  “Well, I should hope so. I am, too,” he admitted. “I’m so hard I can barely think. I want you so bad. But we’re not done shopping.”

  She whimpered.

  “Just a little while longer,” he said, not quite sure if he was saying it for her benefit or his own. “What’s in the next aisle?”

  “Jake, just let me buy something and—”

  He steeled himself, just in case it didn’t work, and said, “You keep being so impatient, and I’m going to tell you to buy one of those little egg vibrators and put it in before you get on the bus.”

  She might scoff. She might just say no and walk out. Maybe he’d taken the game too far.

  The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Then, she said, “Paddles and whips and stuff.”

  He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until she spoke, and it took him a moment to understand she was describing what was in the next aisle.

  He filed away the idea of getting one of those bullet vibes, something with a remote control, and playing with it around the house.

  For starters.

  “Do any of them look fun?” he asked.

  “There’s a paddle covered with bunny fur,” she said.

  “I’d bet you’d like it if I rubbed it against you after I smacked your sweet ass with it,” he agreed. His groin tightened at the mental image of her tied face down on the bed, a pillow beneath her hips to raise her curvy butt in the air for a better target. His thumb slipped through the bead of moisture at the tip of his cock. “What else?”

  “Um…a flail with soft suede strips.”

  That would sting more than she realized, he thought with a smile. Oh, the marks it would make on her sweet ass…

  “I don’t like the riding crops or the canes.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I wanted to decide together what to get.”

  Once she’d agreed to keep going, he’d known he had her. As tempting as it was to have her stand in front of the butt plugs while he described in excruciating detail how he’d lube her up and fill her ass, he wanted her home.

  Wanted to hold her against him, smell her shampoo, to kiss her and tell her how wonderful she was before he led her to the bedroom and brought both of them to the release they both craved.

  He imagined her there in the store, legs pressed tightly together against the pressure of her arousal, mortified at the thought of going up to the counter with a basket full of deviant purchases—the clerk and anyone nearby aware of her proclivities—but so overwhelmingly horny at the idea of playing with all the items when she got home.

  “I agree with you that the bunny-fur paddle sounds like fun,” he said. “Go ahead and get that, and the tweezer clamps, too—they’re the most adjustable. Those wrist-to-thigh cuffs. And some lube, whatever looks good to you.

  “Then hurry home, darling. It’s going to be a long night….”

  LIFE LINES

  Nikki Magennis

  The car park was empty. When he cut the engine the quiet bloomed, so that every noise was audible—the shush of their clothes, the thrum of her bootlaces as she pulled them through the eyelets, the thunk of door bolts as he locked up. Above them early morning bird song laced through the treetops.

  “No one here,” he said, looking at old tracks crisscrossing the dirt.

  “Of course.” She looked at her watch. “It’s half-six. I think I’m still asleep.”

  “But we’ve got the hill to ourselves.”

  He was right. They were the only ones on the path, just them scrambling through a bare, leafless landscape. Her red jacket was the only bright thing visible for miles.

  From a distance, the trees were pale scratches against scrub, but up close, if you looked hard, the thin, stretching branches were starting to color. A willow showed shoots of acid yellow, no buds or leaves yet, but the bark tinged with the first flush of sap, rising from somewhere deep in the wintering ground.

  “It might be spring,” he said, catching the end of a twig and bending it toward himself like a whip. Jacqueline, close behind and breathing hard, pulled herself upright and looked at him.

  “It’ll come. No rush.”

  She looked around the threadbare forest. It was utterly still. Hundred-year-old trees grew silently around them. Her heart bounced in her chest, and her lungs already ached. She hadn’t worn enough clothes, just a light shirt and her anorak, zippy Gore-Tex trousers. Waterproof and breathable, she’d thought when she got dressed, not thinking about winds cutting from the northwest or the threat of ice rain.

  “Alright?” he said, reaching out to touch her elbow. “Am I going too fast?”

  She slapped his hand away, laughing. “I’m tougher than you think. Besides, you were talking about needing to push yourself.”

  He nodded, looked at the pink in her cheeks.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  She swung her rucksack over her shoulder.

  “Lead on.”

  They reached the tree line soon after, broke away from the shelt
er onto the bare mountainside. The path was a cobbled staircase, each step a big boulder. They hit a steady, hard pace and crossed the shallow stream that fanned across the saddle of the hill.

  “Not far now,” he said, laying a hand on the small of her back, where sweat had soaked her shirt. The warmth of his touch spread and radiated.

  “I think I may hate you,” she said, leaning over to clear her throat and spit on the ground.

  “Tell me at the top.”

  From there it was a steep climb to the summit. Shale slipped underfoot. The air was sharp, thin gas, breathtakingly cold. They turned onto the peak and looked up to see the world in front of them. Above them, the sky was huge and blank, endless dizzying cerulean. And the hills stretched out, ripples and furrows, ancient old cracks following the fault line that stretched all the way to the North Sea a hundred miles away, as the crow flies.

  “Wow,” she said. “Beautiful. Almost worth getting out of bed for.”

  They waited for their heartbeats to slow, felt the sweat dry on their backs as they circled the hilltop, looking for landmarks. Bumping against her elbow, he took her in his arms and they cooried up against the wind, bending into the hollows of one another’s bodies. Below them, the surface of the loch glowed sapphire blue. Shadows flickered over the water and across the moor, turning the landscape into a stark kaleidoscope.

  “Look,” he said, “down, by the fir trees.”

  Far below them, two deer paced the line of a fence, looking for a way over. As the walkers watched, the deer leapt, cleared the wire in two perfect arcs, and fled across the open grass, white tails flashing.

  They tripped down the mountain, her feet sliding on loose pieces of slate.

  “Damned shoes,” she said.

  “Those the ones that are like being barefoot?”

  “Yeah. Only much more expensive. You feel every stone.”

  They reached the turn where the path swerved to follow the stream downhill. A few blaeberries, broom bushes. Mark knelt to drink straight from the burn, cupping his hands for the peat-red water. Jacqueline took a flask out of her backpack. She unscrewed the lid and poured a cup of tea, letting the steam billow into her face.