‘That’s my Ella,’ he says approvingly, stroking her arms with firm but gentle fingers.
She lowers her head and sucks his fingers into the warm depths of her mouth, savouring the slight saltiness of them, pulling them deep inside, licking them with her tongue, and then rejecting them, only to suck them in again.
‘Oh,’ he whispers low, ‘Oh, you tease, Ella. You tease. You know what I want now…’
She looks up through hooded eyes.
‘How much do you want it, James? How much?’
‘You’ll give me anything I want, though, won’t you?’
‘Perhaps,’ she smiles.
He kisses her again, hard.
‘Won’t you?’
‘I might.’ She relents. ‘I will. But because I want to, because it pleases me, my James.’
She sinks to her knees in front of him, feeling the grass tickle her legs; her hands struggling in their bound state with the button on his trousers. The zip is easier, and then her mouth is closing around him as it had around his fingers, but this time… she knows her own power as she hears his sharply indrawn breath and feels how hard he already is inside her.
She is consumed by the salty taste, the silky feel, the damp musk smell of him; and it feels – almost – as good for her as it is for him. She revels in the control she has at this moment, so different from earlier… and yet, earlier – she loved relinquishing all her power to him, giving him everything and demanding nothing.
And he? Oh yes, she knows that he has his eyes on her every motion; he has eyes for no one but her, just as it has always been when they have been together. He lives her, breathes her, wants her, loves her, with everything that is in him. She knows it, just as he knows the strength of her feelings for him.
His breathing is quick and laboured, as she uses her mouth on his erection, caressing it with her tongue as she had his fingers. She slows, teasing him; then pulls away for a second, her eyes meeting his.
‘And what do you think the staff would say to you right now, my Jamie? Do they often catch you with a girl on her knees before you?’
‘All the time,’ he lies with deliberate coolness. ‘You’re one of a multitude, Stevens; don’t think differently.’
‘Considering where my mouth is, that’s a foolish sort of comment,’ she throws back, knowing it is a lie, her teeth closing in gentle threat around him.
But it is just a game, and she changes tack, sucking and loving him with her mouth and hands. And he is groaning now, his hands on her shoulders, steadying himself. She is laughing softly, even as her mouth continues its movement; and the sound vibrates through him. His grip on her tightens involuntarily, and spurring her on until he can control himself no longer.
‘Yes, there,’ he sighs, and he slumps against the tree, his eyes flicking closed for the first time.
And she pulls him down beside her, and they lie in the grass underneath the tree, cuddled together in a tangle of limbs and racing heart-beats. Her head is on his chest, his arms curled around her. The midday sun is sliding across the sky when they move, James unbinding Ella’s hands and returning her tie to her, with a loving smile.
‘Ella,’ he says seriously, ‘that was incredible.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ She smiles. ‘What do you think they’d have said if we’d really done this at school?’
And they laugh as they walk towards their house, hand in hand.
Festival
by Cyanne
I drove into the showground with a familiar feeling of excitement. I’ve worked at music festivals since I was about sixteen, when my friends and I would sort out the recycling at Glastonbury in exchange for free entry. Many a happy afternoon was spent in the sun, unwashed, on no sleep, throwing junk at each other, giggling, not caring.
This year, I was putting my degree to good use and working as an assistant sound engineer. As my car bounced over the rutted grass, all around me marquees were going up, huge PA systems were being rolled out of vans, giant sculptures and flags were starting to appear. The smell of donuts, barbeques and black fug from the generators floated in waves, and the sun gleamed white over everything. The workers shouted to one another, ribbing and laughing, and I could hear at least four different stereos blasting.
It’s always the same, everyone’s excited, up for a weekend of working hard, partying ’til dawn, working some more, and leaving with a fat cheque at the end of it. The punters wouldn’t start arriving ’til the following day but the workers camping area was already buzzing when I pulled up. Multi-coloured tents stood at crazy angles, way too close to each another, interspersed with scruffy cars, sagging clothes lines and smoking barbeques. I’d worked with loads of the crew before so I was greeted with a barrage of hoots and hugs and had a beer in my hand before I had even parked. It was going to be one of those weekends.
The next morning we were all up early, bleary eyed already, to attend the crew brief in the main marquee. The obligatory ‘roadie’ uniform of scruffy combats or jeans, faded black T-shirt and numerous gadgets dangling from the belt was de rigueur, and I was no exception. You don’t get a lot of women in this job. I’m generally treated like one of the boys but I wouldn’t do myself too many favours turning up with nail extensions and full make-up, not that that’s really me anyway. It was pretty hot so I had my long blonde dreads piled up on top of my head in a tangly pony tail.
I clocked Sean straight away at the meeting. I’m normally immune to the blokes at work, but there was something about him I was attracted to. Maybe not even attracted to at first, I just found him compelling, interesting. It transpired he was managing the ‘unsigned band’ stage, and I have to admit I was pretty pleased to be assigned to working the same stage.
I don’t know what it was about him. He didn’t look that different to most of the other crew, except he didn’t have the beer belly, the roll-up dangling from the corner of his mouth, or the hot dog in his hand. His posture seemed measured, almost military. I wondered if he had been a soldier at some point. He was quite a bit older than me, probably in his late thirties. Even with his shaved head and heavily tattooed arms, he seemed somehow cleaner than the other crew, most of whom already looked grubby and bedraggled after only one night of camping.
The real work was to start the next day, but that afternoon we had to get everything set up and tested so it was ready to go in the morning. The ‘unsigned’ tent was small and dark, with no bar inside. Sean gathered the shoddy team, cokes and cigarettes in hands, and ran over what we needed to finish that day. His accent was a subtle Southern-Irish, possibly diluted from living in England for a while. His voice was authoritative, but quiet, almost sad. I was certain he was looking at me frequently, but it was hard to decode his gaze. It was not one of definite lust, or even the Carry-On film lusty playfulness I often got from the guys, more of curiosity, quite the same as I was looking at him.
The stage was already built and the lighting crew were working on building up the frame around it on which to hang the lights. A stage looks so glamorous from the audience, but up there it is actually a lot of metal and wires and heavy equipment, very industrial.
Sean didn’t talk a great deal, but we were all there to get the job done, and it seemed to get done fairly quickly. The stage was soon surrounded on three sides by a complicated truss built of trios of poles on which the huge lights hung. Black drapes hung straight from the roof and down the back of the stage, closing off the artists changing area and all the boxes and cases and junk which infested backstage. The rear corners of the stage had rickety-looking metal staircases for the artists, and, while most of the working mess had been cleared away, the carpet was still littered with the occasional roll of thick gaffer tape, and odd screws and wires.
Sound is a great passion of mine, and I like to get it right. Also, as this was my first gig as an engineer, I wanted to prove myself, so after everyone was starting to disperse for the night I was double-checking the settings on the monitor desk by the side of the stage. Sean
came striding up the staircase nearest to me and straight past me without a word. He inspected the hardware on the stage, tugging on wires, pulling cable ties out of his back pocket and securing them tight. His muscular arms bulged as he worked and I blushed, quickly going back to my work. Taking a roll of the gaffer tape, Sean busied himself taping down the wires across the front of the stage, pulling out huge lengths at a time and cutting it neatly with his Stanley knife. I don’t know why I was so transfixed by him, but I watched him work. The night was starting to close in now and the last little bits of sunlight were coming through the gaps in the marquee in weak, thin strips. The dim, yellowish working lights were glinting off the light frame, the microphone stands and the drum kit, all reflecting each other. There is something so spooky about a space which is intended to be bustling with people when it is almost deserted.
Sean glanced in my direction and I panicked as he caught me looking at him, but my stomach lurched in lust at the same time. He was very attractive, and his eye contact, however brief, hit me hard. I took a deep breath and tried to arrange my thoughts. Sleeping with your boss on the first night of your first gig is not the best way to make friends in this business, I reasoned.
I don’t know how he managed to sneak up behind me without me realising but I felt his eyes burrowing into me. I carried on with what I was doing, half joining in his game, and half genuinely freaked out. It is rare to feel this kind of chemistry but there are some people who can turn me on just by being near me, and here was one. I hated myself for it, but my breathing was getting shallower. Even though the sun was almost gone and the chilly English summer night was setting in, my cheeks blazed and dampened.
He was pretty close behind me, I was sure of that, and he was breathing in time with me. I wanted him, bugger the consequences, this man would be the best fuck in the world. Flashes of him grabbing me up in his big arms, kissing me hard, of the amazing hard body that was no doubt under his clothes coursed through my head. I had tried to resist, but what the hell, I’m a slave to my hormones sometimes. I slowly started to turn around, sure his face would be right behind me, and the kiss would melt the tension that was tightening my stomach and wetting my knickers. His hands were suddenly on my shoulders. He pushed me forward, not roughly, but firmly, over the sound desk, the various knobs and dials pressing into my ribs, my breasts and my face. I enjoyed being handled by such a strong man, but I desperately wanted to kiss him, wanted to see his face.
I wriggled up onto my elbows, lifting my face off the desk, and heard Sean tut, almost imperceptibly. My hearing heightened by the proximity of danger, albeit very welcome danger, I heard a rustle as he pulled something out of his pocket. He leaned over my back, face close to my neck, crotch pressing against my arse, then the cable tie was in front of my eyes, then round my wrists. A zip, and it was pulled tight, my tanned arms bisected by the stark white plastic, just nipping into the skin, my hands totally immobilised.
I was shocked, a little scared even, I hardly knew this man, but there’s something so freeing about being bound. I relinquished responsibility for myself.
Sean seemed to move more urgently for a second, flurrying to undo the button on my shorts. I writhed in anticipation, sure he was going to take my clothes off and fuck me, right here, but he seemed to check himself, and resumed his slow deliberate movements. How frustrating. I tried to arch my back, sticking my arse out, inviting him, but he just pressed me flat with his hand. My shorts were unbuttoned and the cold air grazed my skin as they fell to the floor. A deft movement and my pants were round my ankles too. I felt slightly ridiculous as he kicked my feet to step out of my clothes, humiliated by being naked from the waist down. My thong tangled on the hooks of my big boots and he bent down to tear it away. I looked around, checking for anyone left in the marquee. I could hear a distant party going on, but there was no one around.
A small guttural noise escaped from Sean as he smoothed his hand over my arse. I was wet. I was wet from his touch, wet from the tied hands, and wet from being so exposed and humiliated. His fingers squelched as they pressed into me and I cried out. Completely filled, yet still craving his kiss, his face in my hands, his hands on my tits. I fought futilely against the bonds. I was frustrated but his touch was expert, and I was building into a climax. How obscene I felt, my hands inextricably tied, T-shirt and boots still on, bent forward with my legs apart, naked arse and pussy presented up to this man twice my age, my clothes in a heap on the floor. The image tipped me over the edge and I came, arms and chest painfully pressed into the desk, gushing all over his hand.
I knew he’d be dying to fuck me after that. Maybe he would untie me and hold me in his arms and fuck me face to face, or maybe he’d leave me like this and do me from behind.
He dropped the small Stanley knife close to my hands, before walking away down the steps. I was furious, suddenly more embarrassed than before. I sawed through the plastic tie in a panic and pulled my lower clothes back on. I was horrified with myself. All kinds of thoughts started going wild in my head – how could I work with him now? What if he told people? What if he’d filmed what he did? What if he was back at the camp when I got back?
He was nowhere to be seen as I arrived back at the tents and I was thankful to drink whisky round the fire with the others, who all seemed to suspect nothing.
I had no choice really but to brazen it out the next day. Luckily the health and safety inspectors had turned up late and Sean was busy showing them round, then as soon as the day’s bands started I was busy up on the stage. The following evening we had problems with the generators and Sean was caught up sorting them out. At the end of the gig, he was nowhere to be seen.
It wasn’t ’til the last band of the following evening was playing out that I felt his eyes on me again. I was tired from partying the night before and didn’t feel up to a mental battle, so I’m really not sure why I contrived to be the last person left at the end of the night. The next day everything would be over and the stage would be demolished, packed away into vans, leaving nothing but flattened grass and hangovers. Everyone on the crew was of the opinion that drinking tonight and working in the morning would be the best plan, but I kidded myself that I would like to get away early tomorrow and should pack away some of the sound equipment tonight.
The stage was a wreck. Fourteen different bands had graced it over the weekend and everything was in disarray with sticky beer spillages and forgotten T-shirts.
The sun was gone and the eerie light reminded me of the other night. I was sure Sean was close, and I kept telling myself that I wasn’t interested but, of course, I wouldn’t be able to help it if he forced me. The two sides of my brain bantered with each other as I set about wheeling some of the huge speakers towards the back stairs.
Sean strode up the stairs in his measured manner and I started to babble about how I was moving the stacks now before everyone was busy trying to work at the same time tomorrow. He just looked at me. He wanted me. My reserve disintegrated in the face of his strength. I’ve never met anyone I’ve responded to so totally before, and I couldn’t let it go. Tonight, though, I wanted it to be on my terms. Our eye contact had gone on far too long for it not to be sexual, and I took the reins.
I hopped up on one of the big carpeted speakers and peeled my top off. Normally for work I’d wear an old sports bra, but that day I’d gone for a cuter, blue mesh bra which was a bit see through. I put myself right in his face, thinking if I didn’t have him I would explode. The speaker was on wheels and, looking me right in the eyes, he pushed the whole thing backwards, with me on it, up against the lighting scaffolding at the back of the stage. He pulled a loop of thick black wire down under my chin, hooking me to the metal triangle by my neck. Even though we had shared something the previous night, I still didn’t know what he was capable of. The intensity of his gaze made me think he was, well, maybe not safe exactly, but that he wouldn’t badly hurt me, so I made no move to extricate myself.
The cold metal was raw
against my bare back. I wanted to hurry things along a bit, I’d been waiting all weekend for this. I wanted his cock, his mouth. He hadn’t even kissed me yet. I reached behind me and unclipped my bra. He leaned in so close to me, his mouth millimetres from mine, so I could feel the heat of his breath, could smell him so deeply, feel the slight bristle of his chin against mine. I closed my eyes and my stomach leapt in anticipation of his kiss but all I felt was him roughly pull each side of my bra straps out of my hands and fasten them up again around one of the metal bars of the scaffolding.
I was starting to like the game, but it was him I wanted. I was tied by my neck and my chest, still half dressed. I dreamed of him slipping my trousers and knickers down and fucking me on top of the speaker, kissing me deeply and fucking me hard. I clawed up inside his T-shirt, feeling his hard chest, so manly, so strong; I wanted him to open up to me, to lose control inside me. I was getting wet being so close to him. I didn’t want to wait any more. I started to move my hands down lower but he pushed them away roughly, grabbing both wrists, tutting and shaking his head. A tiny pang of fear again, a frisson, I couldn’t get into his head, much as I tried. I wanted him to melt, to crave me, to succumb to the signals I was sending him and wetly devour me. But he wouldn’t, he was so cold, nothing in his eyes but a vague amusement.
He got behind me, behind the metal triangle, and I felt more rubbery wire twisting and tangling around my contorted arms. I struggled a little bit, but only half of me really wanted to get free. From the neck down I was bonded. A wire around my neck, my bra clipping me to the pole, my hands and arms twisted tight in a wire behind my back. The wire whipped past my face as he swung it around, wrapping my waist and chest before knotting it behind my back.
Sean walked a few steps away and admired his work, much the same as when he is balancing out the stage lights or listening carefully to the sound mix, head cocked to one side, considering if he could do a better job.
Tie Me Up Page 14
