Almost as if she could feel his adoration, Paolina turned and approached him once more, took his face in her hands, and kissed him, long and hard. He was gasping when she released him, hungry for more and deliciously unable to act. Paolina pivoted, opened her arms, and asked, “Should I leave him here awhile to soften him up, or shall I slake my thirst now?”
“Take him,” cried one woman. “Take me, too,” called a man. Paolina took out her knife again and held it aloft. There were giggles and a few cheers. She summoned the bulkier of the two stagehands and swiftly cut Nick down. He was thrown over the man’s shoulder and the three vanished backstage. Nick heard the audience applaud in a daze as he was carried down the hall, trussed up and bouncing, able to glimpse only Paolina’s boots as she led the way into one of the private playrooms. He was dropped onto a cushioned mat, watching and panting as Paolina thanked her assistant in a soft voice and closed the door behind them.
Unable to find words, Nick moaned as Paolina took out her knife once more to neatly slit the crotch of her catsuit. “Just this once, I think the fly should eat the spider,” she said, crouching down and pressing him to service. Nick licked and fed, cock hard and aching in the rope web, dizzy and exhausted and grateful for Paolina’s generous sounds of pleasure as he teased and aroused her. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured with breathy sincerity, “my sweet prey.” And while he hoped the spell would not be broken for hours yet, Nick knew that when he was unbound and the mundane returned, he would adore Paolina no less.
TIED DOWN
Elise Hepner
“It’s over, Lexie,” Marley purrs.
It doesn’t matter that it’s the most expensive restaurant in town. Marley’s got a scowl on her puss that could piss off a mime. Those gorgeous cheekbones could cut me if I get too close and her light blue eyes burn with an intensity that makes me squint. But her model looks won’t detract from the problem, a slight bump in our road that has my stomach twisted in panic, even as my pussy gets wet and eager from her taunt.
There’s a pile of her “relationship notes” sitting in between us and, where her water spilled, purple ink stains the white tablecloth. All the reasons we shouldn’t be together, just there—as if we’re sitting at a business meeting. Maybe I can still work this exchange to my advantage. She’s always had a sticky sweet soft spot for my kind of lovin’, even from the beginning.
But it’s okay—she’s biting her lower lip. That means there’s hope. Even if it isn’t laid out on the pros and cons list next to my lobster that I ordered to be spiteful—across from the water Marley just spilled in her nervousness. Her nervousness is beautiful ; it’s an emotion that rarely pushes through to the surface of her domineering and perfectionist tendencies. It’s a tiny chink in her armor, but I’ll take it. This is the most serious I’ve ever seen her. My chest tightens reflexively as I nibble on the inside of my cheek. Underneath her hard exterior there’s something gentle in her gaze as she considers me across the table. Could those three rapid blinks mean this is another sexy game?
My thoughts are a blur of confusion until I focus on her face. She’s pulled back her curly red tendrils at the nape of her neck severely, like a noose: one request I’ve made since we first started dating years ago. Is this her version of a last request before she emotionally executes me? A gift? Lack of control makes me lick my lips with excitement. I focus on my trembling hands and ball them into fists in my lap so she can’t see the desire that flushes my cheeks and brightens my eyes. Because I mean what I say, even if it is taken from an old script.
“I’ll do anything.”
It’s like a penny dropping down a well. It takes forever until her voice is the clank that dissipates the confused silence. Yet I stare into the blackness of my mind and I hold on to hope. Because I do love her—and she brings me some sense of peace. When I look up, her delicate fingers are wrapped in a harsh grip around her wineglass stem and the edges of her flesh are pale. Red wine’s always been her security blanket. And there’s no doubt she’s weakening. I dip my fingers down to casually trace my décolletage, a lingering taunt to my growing sexual buzz. She started this thing. I won’t let this moment pass me by without using it.
“Okay.”
That’s all I get.
But when her hand slides up my inner thigh under the table, despite the trepidation in her fingers, I can’t help meeting her blue eyes and answering her smile. Her gaze sparks with ownership, despite what her words told me. My pussy floods with anticipation while my heart stumbles. It shouldn’t be this easy.
There’s a quiet, safe place inside me, where it’s bare-bones pleasure and silence that seeps into my mind, so I don’t have a worry in the world. Marley holds the key to that part of myself that doesn’t escape during my nine-to-five. When her small hand pops into the air and she calls for the check I can’t catch my breath. Stars sparkle under my closed eyelids. But her other hand’s still tightly clasped on my thigh. And I wouldn’t move it for the world.
She drags me by the hand out into the chilly November night, only to press me up against the uneven brick wall in a back alley. Public canoodling is an unexplored fetish. Before I can groan, she grabs both my wrists in one hand and shoves them above my head, until I writhe against her hot little body. Her gaze glints dangerously in the night, a contrast to her sweet scent that envelops my nose, and her little, lopsided grin. What will she do next?
Her lips explore the sensitive flesh of my neck and I shudder at the danger of discovery. I quickly scan the darkness: nothing, no distraction from our dark descent. Marley bites my collarbone, obliterating all thoughts, and my lower abdomen twists for her brand of pleasure, with a need to be filled with her fingers. Trapped against the cool, rough brick, I’ll gladly be her bitch. Her thigh pushes between my legs and I gladly open them for the promise of friction that dampens my panties.
“I’m gonna have my way with you,” she taunts and roughly grabs my breast, tweaking my peaked nipple until I muffle a moan. “Tonight you’re mine to do with what I like, does that please you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I gasp as her hand shoves up my skirt and she cups my barely covered pussy with her icy palm.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she purrs in my ear, her fingers tightening on my wrists until I’m bucking into her hand, seeking release.
One of her fingers slips over my slickness and flicks my panties aside to trace the seam of my labia before dipping into my cunt. God, it’s not enough and she knows it. She screws me slowly with one finger until I’m humping her hand and a slow build of pleasure buzzes through my brain. It’s a fucking tease. There isn’t even any pressure on my clit because she’s strategically keeping the rest of her hand away from my heated flesh. Just as I come close she pulls out, leaving me null and void. Without fail she always knows what I need—even if I don’t want it.
“We’re leaving now.” She steps away from me and starts walking.
She knows I’ll be right behind, thighs clenched together and juices slick against my skin.
This is hardly the first time I’ve seen her place. All dark, warm wood, black and dove-gray paint. Nor is it the first time she’s led me on my hands and knees through her doorway using my favorite purple tie as a leash. I’m so glad I wore it for the occasion; it has a choking, textured softness that proclaims her ownership and drives me over the edge. Tonight there’s a recklessness in the width of her toothy, overwhitened grin and the way she won’t give me enough slack to breathe. But this isn’t about air. I’ve had enough of that. I want to be submerged, suffocated—and she knows it.
Marley gets down onto her hands and knees, her hair brushing across my cheek. At my eye level in the doorway, she whispers one word in my ear, a subtle caress of air across my cheek that tightens my nipples to sensitive peaks against my button-down. Our eyes connect and a current of pleasure leaps and circles in my gut. There’s no question of who holds the power. Her soft, peach lips draw close to the side of my mouth, like she’s g
oing to kiss me: all a lie.
“Come,” she has whispered.
I do. Her perfectly shaped ass as she walks away is a homing beacon to my hunger. I don’t need her to lead me anymore. By now I’ve worn tracks in the old Persian rug that splits her living room in half. I know my way home. Marley waits, legs crossed on the edge of the bed. She licks her wicked lips with a haughty gaze and I shudder.
Will you hate me if I tell you my heart leaps at all the smooth leg that shows under her frilly dress that I never liked in the first place? That she wore it in hopes of vexing me means nothing. I’m staying. And she’s captivating—a glint of pure mischief in her gaze—as she crooks her finger in my direction. Come when called? Always, Mistress, for you and only you. This is familiar territory. Her long finger, freshly manicured, extends toward her shoes.
“Lick them.”
We’ve never explored this before. Still, there’s no hesitation. Mindful of the sharp stiletto, I start with the tip and work my way down in long, slow licks. Plastic and bitterness on my tongue only make me eager for what’s to come later. She threads her hand through my short hair and softly strokes me. My gaze is downcast so I can’t read her expression. My tongue seems to please her, because she’s humming and a shudder makes my slightly hunched posture hard to bear. Never would I have considered this sexy—except that never has been redefined as now. Right this minute, licking her shoe is the sexiest thing I’ve ever done. Because it pleases her, and I live to please, a thrill that makes me naughty and alive.
Against the fabric of her dress I get a glimpse of her hard, petite nipples through her bra. Instantly, my mouth grows dry with want for them in my mouth, with the desire to suck and nibble on her tender peaks. Yet, I continue to tongue her Jimmy Choos or Manolos because it makes me happy, and that’s made my panties so damp it’s a wonder she hasn’t remarked on the scent of my arousal in the air.
“That’s enough.”
A position is assumed according to code. I’m on my knees awaiting her next order with head down and hands clasped at my lower back, D/s delights wrapped in a nice little bow with submissive etiquette on top; a code of our nights together that only we can decipher. When I glance up quickly through my lashes, there’s a touch of pride in her smile. Maybe she’s not really gone. I wait and count the erratic beats of my pulse, finding the strength to harness my need for her until she’s given me direct orders. What takes seconds feels like hours.
“Strip.”
I’m hardly self-conscious; static calm drifts through my brain and sits comfortably with me as I settle into my submissive space: my happy place. Nothing exists there but the tingle across my skin and her gorgeous, lusty gaze that penetrates my heart. One button is undone on my button-down shirt. Now two. Another. Inside I am zen. Outside, my body writhes for pleasure. Every brush of my fingertips across my boyish chest makes me hold back a whimper.
“Don’t you dare let those little trembling fingers stop your progress or I’ll have to punish you.” She laughs and it zings up my spine until I shudder. She turns her back on me and walks to the bed. “But I know you’d enjoy that too much. So I’ll wait until you can’t take it anymore, and then you’ll be so very, very sorry.”
My throat tightens and I swallow past the lump. My shirt falls off my shoulders to the floor. This slow reveal keeps me from boiling over but the slow simmer makes my muscles taut with possibility. She gives me one glance over her shoulder. Her tiny pink tongue slips across her lips—the ones that should be locked on my clit until I scream—and she winks at me. That small gesture holds all the promise in my world. When my fingers start in on the button of my pants, my lover puts her foot up on the bedspread and the line of her ass—her perfectly rounded, tight ass—against her clinging dress makes me clamp down on a moan.
When she bends over, the shadow under her short skirt hints at her smooth pussy. The sight is practically mouthwatering. There’s no way to wiggle out of my pants with dignity when I’m not supposed to stand up. But the clothing scraping against my skin only makes my obscured view of her pussy that much more tempting. Two solid thumps hit the floor—her shoes on the carpet. I arch back, naked, into my submissive stance to watch my lover reveal her body with a lingering greed that makes my pussy clench.
One leg is revealed when Marley’s thigh-high stocking slips to the floor. Another leg and I know what her flesh would be like under my fingers: bare smooth skin with scented apricot lotion, and the city’s smog. If only I could touch.
“I’ve never seen you more beautiful than you are now.” Her voice is melodious in its sincerity.
I can’t look up, and my vision pinpricks as the light blurs. It’s not my place to answer. Yet I bite down on my tongue and stifle the urge to contradict her opinion. Her rough grip tilts up my chin, forces me to look into her tender gaze. So much that goes unsaid rests in her eyes. Her hand cups the side of my face so I have to fight the urge to press harder into her warm palm.
Quicker than I can gasp, her fingers tighten through my hair and she pulls back until shocks of pain switch to pleasure along my scalp, a little harsh rewriting of my synapses. My neck’s at a harsh angle and I’m sure she can see the quickening of my pulse against my flesh, an erotic beat that hits all my sexual hot spots. God, she always knows what to do to me.
“You are not to take your eyes off me.”
“Yes, Mistress.” My reply barely makes it out of my mouth, half strangled by urgency.
“Good.”
When she lets me go, I’m loose like an overstretched rubber band. Is she going to reverse this little striptease? I expect her to unzip the back of her dress and slip it off so I can see her expensive, see-through lingerie. Instead, she hikes it up and lies back on the bed. No expensive lingerie to be found, only her glistening juices for adornment: gorgeous.
Marley spreads her legs and her long fingers explore across her clit as she throws her head back. She works herself with abandon, breasts heaving beneath her dress. Two fingers shift across her slick pebble in smooth circles as her hips undulate on the comforter. Forced to watch, my brain spins with longing—at war with a hope that I’ll have to hold on just a little bit longer for release.
But her skin’s flushed like a ripe strawberry and her chorus of unburdened moans echo in her Soho loft. Three thick fingers push into her pussy, starting up a quick rhythm that matches her other hand on her hard bud and she arches into her rough strokes to take her fingers in deeper. I mentally writhe with the need to be filled like that—with such rough urgency. God, could she be any more cruel? Longing tastes crisp on my tongue and I suck the disappointment like candy. I like it—this tease is a slow burn across my flesh.
All over her fingers and inner thighs, her opalescent juices glisten. She doesn’t even bother to watch me. Both eyes are firmly shut in the simple act of pleasure. But I know it’s not that simple. As I squirm, my panties brush up against my damp, needy flesh. I move to slip them off and they fall to the antique hardwood floor like an afterthought.
Wait. Marley’s hips thrust against the cool air that bites my skin. Wait. Her finger pumps inside her plump, ripe pussy. Wait. Want. Need. They all get a backseat to this show. I’m on display in the middle of the room. But this is just as much a performance for her as it is for me. With every frantic breath I can taste her sweet pussy and her manipulation makes loud sucking sounds as she moans. The only thing I can do is grip my fingers behind my back until they’re numb.
Suddenly, she stares at me. As if I exist in my nudity with my love for her spread across my flesh like a canvas. Her fingers slide out of her pussy and she sucks them into her mouth, cleaning her digits one by one. Just because she’s stopped doesn’t mean there’s anything in it for me. When she crawls toward the edge of the bed time draws to a standstill. She’s bent to pick up the nylons from the floor and her breasts fall together, so full and perfect. I was jealous once. Until she showed me she didn’t need a handful of my flesh to have fun. That was a good night.
“Come here.” Her voice is husky and low. No doubt about the seriousness of her command.
She pats the side of the bed. A thrill of warmth presses tight against my chest when I move to the part of the bed where she wants me. No time to think before her nylons—silk no longer gentle like my lover’s fingers—slide over my wrist. There’s no stopping the hiss of pleasure that slips past my lips at this exquisite, sensitive torture. Then my other wrist is in her grasp and to pull away would be like sin, unrepentable.
“Don’t make a sound,” she advises me gently, and then attaches my bond to the thick iron bedpost specifically made for this type of thing. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a compromising position. At least it seems like forever. There’s nothing I like better than to be in her capable hands.
Just because we’ve done this before doesn’t mean it’s been like this—facedown with my ass in the air. She slides a pillow under my hips and I’m excitingly exposed. Deep down, I’m ready. My bonds give me strength. Then her hands trace my barely there hips and hisses slip from my lips like I’m a cat. It’s a touch so light that my sex-starved cunt clenches deep inside and I groan. It’s not enough, it will never be enough.
“Shhh, you’re fine.”
Sure, I’m fine. I take deep breaths.
Only time will tell. Her kisses fall down my back like condensation on a glass of water and I don’t breathe, too worried she’ll stop. When her laughter trills against my cheek it breaks me into a million pieces. The sharp shush of cloth against my sensitive wrists almost makes me come, but she plans for it. Her fingernails dig into my ass to trip up pleasure with a sensation more primal. There’s no denying she’s embedded in my skin—both literally and figuratively—as I pull against my bonds.
Best Bondage Erotica 2012 Page 6
