Nick inched closer on his knees and buried his face in my pussy. He licked and nudged and probed until I had inadvertently tested each and every bond with my restless movements. I hovered right on the edge of orgasm and my husband knew it. He knew my body like his own. He moved back on his knees and aimed the camera at my swollen cunt. The first image was captured.
I panted and pleaded for him to forget the photos and come back, but he moved around while I struggled and took pictures. When he had seven shiny photos lined up in a row he laughed.
“You were very good, Noel.”
I was furious. Bound, aroused and very ready to come, he had made me wait. I pouted.
“Come on, don’t be mad, I’m not done with you.” Then he picked them up one by one and held them before my angry gaze.
My swollen red pussy, shining with moisture. It looked like an exotic flower. My lower belly taut as I thrashed, a blur of movement in the photo. My bound wrists straining in my bondage, hands tight little fists. My breasts, nipples stiff, swaying with my impatient movements. My feet on tip toe as I struggled, my ankles swathed in bright fabric, my calf muscles standing out proudly. A side angle of my ass and thigh. And my throat. Head tossed back, a bright rosy ring along my throat and collar bone from my anger and arousal.
When he put the last photo down I was panting. Breathless. I wanted him more than I could ever remember. He dropped back to his knees and drank from me. Softly this time. Slowly until I was one taut muscle from head to toe, straining as I came against the dusty brass.
When he fucked me, it was slow and sweet. The fact that I couldn’t touch him but he could touch me pushed me head over heels into another bright white climax.
The next day, I left work early. I was that eager to get home and watch with Nick. I knew he was getting home before me and I knew he would go out and place the pictures along the Picket Fence.
He wasn’t in the kitchen when I arrived, so I called out and he answered me from upstairs. I found him in our bedroom, kneeling on the chaise lounge under our largest window.
“Higher point of view?” I joked but joined him there, kneeling next to him on the sage green fabric.
“Yes. And they are already here. You missed a guy. Reached out like he was going to take one and one of the men from last time chased him off. Four of the five are from last time.”
I scanned the men, recognising the four he spoke of. The fifth was younger. Possibly mid-twenties. We watched for a few minutes. A furtive stroke from one man. A shift of feet and pants from another. The young man pulled out a cell phone and dialled. I felt Goosebumps rise up on my body.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Don’t know but remember, baby, your face is not in there. Unless they get you alone and naked, no one will ever know. And I always space them out evenly so you can’t tell which house they came, if any.” He stroked my lower back and I pushed myself against his warm hand.
Nick worked his hand over me. Pinched my nipples, ran his palm up the inside of my thigh as we watched them. My body was humming with excitement as I gazed at the men who had gathered to see me bound and naked. I was a voyeur to their voyeurism. After a few moments, a woman strolled down the alley. She went immediately to the young man and he directed her to the Polaroids. At first she looked angry, then flushed, then as if she were calming. When he turned and spoke to the other men, she stood at his side. He pointed to his watch, made some hand gestures and all the men left. They seemed reluctant but willing.
“I think he just told them when they could come back,” Nick whispered.
“Why would he do that? And why would they listen?”
“A man understands another man’s needs.”
“What do you mean?” I was confused.
“Shhh. Just watch.”
So I watched. I watched the young man walk his girl forward. I watched him look at each photo of me. I watched him stop in front of the one I could only assume was his favourite.
“Your pussy,” Nick told me. “All perfect and swollen and ready,” he sighed, stroking the back of my thigh through my skirt.
I watched him push her face first against the fence, watched her pale forearms brace against the light wood. I watched him lift her little plaid skirt and push her pale pink panties to the side. And I watched him fuck her with almost animalistic movements as they both stared at a single picture. I watched her come and clutch at the fence. I watched his ass tense up and his jittering movements as he came inside her.
My face was hot and I peeled my own skirt off without being asked. I continued to watch out the window where he was now kneeling before her. Her slim back braced against the fence. My photo over the yellow halo of her hair. I watched him lick her clean and I watched her come again. I did all this with my hands braced on the windowsill and my ass in the air as Nick watched over my shoulder. As he rode me and stroked from the inside out. And when the young woman below came again and clutched her boyfriends black hair in her little fists, he smacked my ass really hard and drove into me.
I came with my breath fogging up the window and my knuckles white from clutching the sill. I came with my husband whispering my name like a prayer as he shot into me.
Over dinner, we held hands. After a glass of wine, we kissed. When we sat down on the sofa and I curled up around him, Nick turned to me and touched my face.
“I’m thinking Wednesdays,” he said with a smile.
“Sounds good,” I laughed.
“Wednesdays can be picture day,” he said, running his hands along the undersides of my breasts. Cupping me there, his hands big and warm.
“And Thursdays can be the viewing day.”
He laughed. “That is fine by me as long as it is fine by you.”
I nodded. “It is. I don’t know how it turned out that way, but it is. Nick?”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think no one has taken them? Not a single one?”
“I have no idea, babe,” he said with a little shrug. “I’m glad, cause I get to see what happens to them when they see you and then I still get to keep the pictures.” He pulled me so I was laying in his lap. He stroked my hair and I made happy noises at the attention.
“What if they do?”
“It’s OK. We can take more.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it.
Change Of Life
by Cathryn Cooper
The benches in the sauna were wide. Mariana and Sharaz lay full stretch, their arms touching, their fingers entwined.
‘Men let me down,’ said Mariana. ‘Firstly I was raped by my father’s friend. My father wouldn’t believe me and even said that I’d probably led him on. Tosh! He weighed a ton. Like a whale. Now who would want to make love with a whale? My second big disappointment was when I got involved with my mother’s lover. I didn’t know he was. We used to rent a villa he owned in Turkey. When my mother went outside to lie down on a sun bed, he used to take me upstairs and give me sweet drinks. I know now that those drinks were drugged. I had an inkling what had happened, but because my mother favoured him so much, I thought it was OK. I didn’t realise she knew what was going on – not until she complained he was giving me more attention than he was giving her. I tried to tell her that he strapped me down, but she didn’t believe me.
He made me so angry. One night after they’d been drinking heavily, they quarrelled and slept apart. I crept into his room and strapped him down with the ones he used on me. He didn’t wake up, but I gagged him with one of his own socks just to make sure. I put on some rubber gloves and got some nettles from outside, tied them in a bunch and began to sweep them over his backside. I made a point of pushing them into his crack – I even managed to get a stinging leaf into his anus. He moaned but didn’t wake up. Starbursts of rash broke out all over his bum. Oh, I so loved doing that. I untied him and took the sock from his mouth before leaving. In the morning he was in agony, scratching and moaning about his sore behind. I loved that. The more he did it, the
more I enjoyed it. Strange that you can achieve an orgasm just from excitement; but that’s what happened to me. Amazing don’t you think?’
Sharaz giggled and snuggled closer to Mariana’s breast. She closed her lips over it and shut her eyes, sucking on it like some over-sized baby.
Mariana moaned with pleasure. ‘I’ll always remember that night,’ she said in a faraway voice, her eyes half closed as she enjoyed the pleasure Sharaz was giving her. ‘I enjoyed that orgasm, and I also enjoyed leaving Ahmed scratching and hopping around like a cat on a hot tin roof. That night altered my life. From then on it suited me to subdue men rather than have sex with them or love them. I still feel they let me down badly – both my father and Ahmed. My father had shut his mind to my problems and favoured his friend. And Ahmed had abused me and undermined my mother’s affinity with me. I never forgave men for that. I swore I would always want to be in control. That’s why I married Jamie.’
‘You didn’t need to marry him.’
Mariana shrugged. ‘He suited.’
‘Will you stay with him for ever?’
‘How long’s for ever? Anyway, he’s good in some ways. He doesn’t make demands on me that I can’t fulfil. He makes good money.’
‘That’s useful.’
‘And he doesn’t get in my way.’
Sharaz smiled then leaned closer and nuzzled her ear.
‘That’s good.’
Sharaz took hold of the ladle, dipped it into the bucket and poured some over the coals. The coals sizzled. She kept back a little and drizzled it over Mariana’s breasts.
‘I’m thirsty,’ she said, licking at the trickle hanging in a droplet from Mariana’s nipple.
‘Then drink,’ said Mariana. She cupped her hand around Sharaz’s dark head and pushed her onto her breast. At the same time Sharaz’s fingers tickled at her newly shaved labia. Tingling sensations curled upwards into her groin. Like electricity, she thought. No! More like the sting of a nettle, though gentler and rampant with possibilities.
‘You deserve something better,’ said Sharaz, raising her head just long enough to speak before returning her lips to where she preferred them to be.
‘I’m getting something better,’ said Mariana with a secretive smile.
‘And even better,’ said Sharaz, her dark eyes gleaming with intent.
Again she reached for the ladle, dipped it into the water and trailed it over Mariana’s belly and down between her legs.
Mariana arched her back. The mouth that sucked her was gentle and all knowing; only another woman could possibly know how best to arouse another.
This was their special place and she was loath to leave it. After all, what did she have at home? Four walls and… she let the reality slip away. Who cares what she had at home? Even when she got there, today’s events would still be with her.
Just as she always did – as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened – Mariana parked her car in the drive, then went in through the back door. With a gentle thud and an accompany rattle, her keys and bag landed on the kitchen table.
She hummed as she went upstairs and undressed and she was still humming and thinking of Sharaz, her new lover, as the spray from the shower soaked her hair and her body. As she soaped herself with a moisturising gel, she took deep breaths and her body seemed somehow cleaner, smoother – newer – beneath her hands.
Sweet-smelling lather frothed over her breasts, dripped off her nipples, and ran over her belly. Warm fingers of water ran between her legs.
She stretched her arms above her head and let the water wash the soap away – just like Sharaz had cleansed the past and what she had been from her body.
Turning off the shower she shook the last drops of water from her fingers. All the time she hummed and smiled.
Dreamily, she wrapped the bulk of a white towel around herself and cuddled it to her as though it were a person surrounding her, holding her close.
Who was that fresh-faced, almost youthful person she saw in the mirror? Her skin was gleaming. Her nose was shiny. She wrinkled it, then laughed, tossed her head and headed for the stairs. She got herself a magazine from the drawing room and a drink from the kitchen. Then she sat herself in front of the television, picked up the remote control and flipped from one channel to another until she found a film that looked interesting.
Intermittently sipping her drink, she glanced from magazine to television. Neither held her attention for long. She couldn’t get Sharaz out of her mind. They’d stroked and kissed each other stupid; they’d compared breasts and sat on the floor with their legs open admiring their reflections in a mirror. They’d decided to shave off their pubic hair, exfoliating each other’s and applying cream and talcum powder. After that they’d eaten some fruit, but not until trying it for size in their newly shaved quims.
All in all, a very good night.
A mellowness came upon her. Smiling to herself, she let the magazine fall into her lap, then she folded her arms across her chest and cuddled herself.
Supper was unwanted, but tiredness was descending on her fast. She was eager to get to bed, keen to close her eyes. As she touched herself she would pretend they were not her hands but those of Sharaz.
Yawns forcibly increased in frequency and intensity. Bed and the possibility of dreams – half-truths of reality – beckoned.
She bounced from the sofa and turned off the television, the heating and the lights. She climbed the stairs, her eyes bright with excitement and looking forward to reliving the afternoon all over again.
Still lost in her spell, she used the bathroom, then in the bedroom she took off her white cotton bathrobe and followed the curves of her body with softly caressing fingers. Thrills of pleasure made her make sweet, soft sounds like a cat does when it dreams by a glowing fire.
Cautiously, as if determined to hold the dream, she pulled back the covers on the bed.
She paused and blinked as reality hit her. All hint of dreams and softness left her face. There before her eyes were her black satin pyjamas. Next to them was her husband’s more dubious attire.
‘Shit!’
Dreams of the delicious Sharaz were temporarily put to one side as she remembered where she had left Jamie. She sprang to where the wardrobe covered one wall and opened the middle door.
‘Sorry,’ she said, as the wriggling form of her bondage-crazed husband came into view. Silently, she watched him. How ridiculous, she thought. Then she shook her head and ran her fingers through her damp, tousled hair. ‘You silly cow!’ she said to herself. ‘What are you saying sorry for? He can’t bloody hear you!’
She reached for the buckles that strapped her husband’s wrists together. Her fingers actually touched the cold metal and harsh leather but went no further. She hesitated. A questioning look came to her eyes. She frowned. Did she really want this man beside her in bed tonight as she dreamed of her new love, her new life?
Her hands retreated, and so too did her mind. Still frowning as she asked herself why this had ever started, she stepped back and regarded the man before her.
As he wriggled against his bonds, she covered her mouth with her hand, then moved it as she reminded herself that he could not hear her laughter, though of course, because she had touched the buckles, he would be aware of her presence.
What went on in his mind, she asked herself, when he was bound up like this? What went on when she was ordering him about or beating his bare backside? Sexual thoughts, yes, but what sort of sexual thoughts?
She began to laugh. There he was, a black leather hood covering his head, his wrists strapped together and bound above him. His ankles were fastened in a similar fashion and, to finish it all off, he wore a leather belt around his waist that had thinner straps coming off from it and diving between his legs. Another strap came from those two and divided around his scrotum and shaft.
Mariana’s laugh got louder. Not that Jamie could hear or see. The mask covered his eyes and his ears. He was in a world of his own.
‘You look bloody ridiculous!’ she cried. She went on laughing. It only diminished when she at last took a good long look at her husband.
Suddenly she was seeing both him and herself anew. The laughter in her throat bubbled to a halt. She wiped at her damp eyes, then, as her last chuckle turned to a sneer, she shook her head and her expression was full of regret.
‘What the hell am I doing with the likes of you?’
Not for the first time that day, the past came back to haunt her. Turkey and Ahmed came to her mind and her sneer changed again. A deep frown creased her brow. A scowl came to her mouth.
‘Stuff you, Jamie! Stuff you all!’
Grabbing the wardrobe doors with both hands, she slammed them shut, turned her back and leaned against them.
‘That,’ she muttered with a powerful sigh, ‘is that!’
As she rested her head against the wood, she heard the muffled wrigglings from within. Normally, Jamie would be in there for two to three hours. That was the time span he preferred. So far he had been in there for seven hours and would now be in there until the morning.
‘My choice,’ said Mariana with an air of finality. ‘Not yours.’
With a final pat of the wardrobe door, Mariana went to bed. In the darkness of the wardrobe Jamie wriggled like a maggot on a hook.
La Cage Aux Folles
by Kaycie Wolfe
My name is Merril and I hate the fact I always have to spell it out. Older people, when introduced, mishear it as ‘Beryl’. I took to enunciating the first syllable in an exaggerated manner but felt like a koi carp, and people were so taken with my facial contortions I’d still end up having to repeat it. It was my father’s choice. I should have been a Jane, or a Linda; people know where they are with Janes and Lindas. I suppose people know where they are with me, once they get over the obstacle of my name, or they have until now.
Tie Me Up Page 9
