Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (19 page)

At last the door opened again, and Rupe walked toward me, after closing the door behind him. “How's my little captive?”

I shivered with longing. Then came the swish and glint of metal as he unsheathed the weapon with a flourish. Wielding it in front of him with the tip pointing upward, he took a step toward me. “Spread your knees.”

Slowly, I did as he said.

He moved closer, the sword still held between us, close enough that I could smell his scent. With a glare, he told me, “Lick it.”

My pussy flooded.

I leaned in just a little and pressed the tip of my tongue to the cold steel. “Do it like you mean it,” he said. So, staring up through wanton eyes, I rolled out my tongue like a dirty girl and licked the metal, thirstily, without once breaking our stare. The sword tasted metallic, as if I'd cut my mouth, and the thought made me wetter. “Christ,” he whispered, leaning into the moonlight, his pupils inky with lust. “Seeing you like that…who's controlling whom?”

With that, he lowered his weapon and caught my jaw in the cup of his hand. I trembled, feeling his breath on my face. “I've never been so hard,” he said. “What do you think of that?” I did and said nothing, until he kissed me roughly; but though I melted into him, he pulled away, stepping back into the shadows. He held out the sword so the tip trembled beneath my chin, the half-light glinting off it. Who'd have thought the threat of harm could arouse me like this?

“See how easily I could take you?” he said.

In a flash, he sliced the sword through the air, sweeping the point so close that I caught my breath. He ran it past my collarbone and down between my breasts, ripping through the thin material of my dress. The satin fell open like the skin of a languid fruit, leaving the inner edges of my breasts exposed.
I glanced down as he explored my bareness, his sword point hovering as it cast a black shadow, and seeing the blade so close to my flesh made me whimper. “You're exquisite,” he said on a dry smile, raising my chin with the tip of the blade. His pupils swelled, devouring each iris. Still, he watched.

“Ready?” he whispered, at last.

“Please.”

There was utter silence, like the calm before the fight. Then, a blast of action: the silvery rush of the sword swiping downward so close to my flesh that I felt the wisp of air. Before I knew it, my satin dress was slithering down me like snakeskin—he'd snipped through the straps, making the dress pool round my hips, caressing my skin as it fell. I let out a cry of amazement, and oh, how my sex ached! I glanced down at my nakedness, which made me so vulnerable, especially with my wrists tied behind me like this. He cupped each breast with his free hand, grazing a thumb across my nipples. I wanted to cover myself, and yet I met his pressure, my knees parting as if urging him closer. Soon he'd be filling my aching depths, and I'd grasp him inside me, crying out…yet when he swayed toward me, it was to press his lips to mine, kissing me, fondling my hair. “I know what you want,” he whispered, pulling away.

Sweeping my skirt up my thighs, he slid one arm around my waist before pressing the flat of the steel against my naked slit. I gasped at the feel of the cold, firm pressure; all I longed for was to rub and grind. “If you move too much,” he whispered, “what will happen?”

“I'll b-be hurt.”

That's when I heard him unzipping with his free hand.

He pulled the sword away, stepped between my thighs and grasped me round the waist. Finding my slit with the tip of his sex, he lunged, filling me to the hilt. I cried out, falling
backward, but he'd got me round the waist. Now he was inside me, I assumed he'd simply drop the sword, but instead he raised it and plunged it down so fiercely that it pierced the table with an almighty thump. When he let go, the steel was hard and quivering. “Fuck me,” I begged.

“Not yet.”

He cupped my breast and bit into my neck as if I were a peach. Then, letting out a moan, he suddenly started thrusting, and I gasped with relief as he possessed my body, fucking me so hard the table rocked and the sword thrummed beside us. My body grew limp with pleasure, and once he'd slipped the cord from my wrists and planted my fist on the hilt of that sword, he began lunging so relentlessly that my climax rolled through me, moonlight glancing off the sword and blinding me, while our cries filled the room.

Afterward, I kissed him, running my fingers through his hair. He asked me if he'd hurt me, and I said, “Exquisitely so.” He rested his forehead against mine and told me I was beautiful then he held me close for a long, long time. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured. “I destroyed your beautiful dress.”

I laughed. “You sound so demure.”

“All men with swords are demure, deep down.” He kissed me again, his mouth sinking onto mine, then he whispered, “I'll find you some clothes.”

When we finally returned to the dwindling party, I was wearing an old-style gown with puffy sleeves, which Rupe had found in the box of costumes. The remaining guests glanced across, giggling, and I felt myself flush. Rupe's mother rushed up, inspecting me crossly, before asking Rupe, “Where on earth have you been?”

“I'm taking Julie out for some real food. We're fucking starving.”

“Language,” his mother gasped. “And what about your guests?”

But he was already slipping his arm around my waist and walking us from the room.

On our way through the lobby, I asked him why he'd been sulky with his mother. He told me she'd insisted on the party, even though it was the last thing he wanted.

“And you didn't want to offend her?” I asked.

“I didn't have the balls.”

“Well, now you're twenty-four,” I said, “you seem to have grown a pair.”

“Words to live by.” As I rested my head on his shoulder, he told me, “It isn't the birthday that gave me the guts. It's you, sweet girl.”

I smiled.

It seemed we'd both gained a little good British steel.

Tenille Brown

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie could have easily gone right, but she had gone left, instead.

It had been an unconscious decision until now, when she stood at Derek's door, fist paused in midknock.

She had never shown up in the middle of the night before. Of course, she had never needed it this badly before either.

Had Maggie chosen to go right, she would have ended up at Jim's. Asshole Jim. Lying Jim. Simple Jim who had ended their relationship via text message three hours ago.

So, Maggie had followed the sign that seemed to flash like a neon light—CHARLOTTE, 150 MILES—and come to Derek instead.

It was late, just shy of midnight when she parked her car beside his, but time hadn't been a factor in Maggie's decision. Her fatigue hadn't either. She could have gotten here with her eyes closed and she knew it.

Maggie wanted to tell Derek about the breakup. She wanted to hold her phone up in front of his face and show him that, yes,
Jim had actually been that shifty. And it wasn't that the information would matter to Derek one way or the other. It wasn't even that the breakup was that notable.

It was the afterward that Maggie looked forward to. She knew that after she told Derek about it, after he teased her and they laughed, he would instinctively reach out to pull Maggie to him. He would squeeze her tight around the waist, push her bangs from her face and kiss her on the forehead.

Derek would, as second nature, begin to replace that feeling that Maggie had foolishly become accustomed to with Jim, if only for tonight. Maggie never considered herself the type to need reassurance, but if only for a second she was feeling a little insecure, Derek would fix it.

Then, Maggie could go home first thing in the morning, her dignity again intact, her worth instantly reaffirmed, thanks to good old, reliable Derek.

Derek was someone who had always been there, like a landmark or monument. His number had never changed. He had lived in the same condo for the last eleven years. He drove the same beat-up old Mustang that he talked about as if it were brand new.

Derek was Maggie's…

Friend? Lover? Sometimes boyfriend?

If there was a word for all those things wrapped in one, then Maggie supposed Derek was it. It was mostly convenient, this thing between the two of them, as convenient as someone could be to a person who lived across state lines.

Now Maggie was here, in a T-shirt, jeans and ponytail, standing outside his condo door, having crossed that line, and ready to cross a few more.

She knocked quickly and waited, clearing her throat.

Within seconds, Derek was there opening the door as if he had been waiting, too.

“Maggie.”

Maggie wished she hadn't, but she saw it.

It was only a slight difference in tone and posture and had she blinked, she might have missed it altogether, that subtle show of disappointment that it was Maggie at his door and not someone else.

“Hey,” she said.

Derek scratched his head, confusion in his face. “You didn't say you were coming by.”

Maggie decided not to mention that she never
had
to.

Suddenly, it seemed pointless to even bring up the breakup.

And she knew it could have been as simple as saying,
No, Derek, I came all this way to get fucked. Just one good round of you tying my hands behind my back, bending me over a chair and pounding me from behind and I'll be on my merry way.

Yet, it wasn't that simple.

Something somehow had changed.

So Maggie said, “Shopping in the morning. Ugly ass bridesmaid's dress. I got off work late and I was a little wired so I came on up. Gonna get up and get at it first thing in the morning.”

The lie was simple, easy and stupid.

But Derek pretended to believe her.

He nodded quickly. “Oh, okay. Then you can just, um…”

Maggie spared herself. “Yeah, I'll crash in the extra bed.”

She kissed him on the cheek as she brushed past and then she wished she hadn't. Derek smelled good; he always did. Freshly showered, his reddish-brown hair was a flurry of wet curls. His bright brown eyes were damn near intoxicating.

Maggie made the quick right into the guest room, instead of taking the hall straight down to Derek's they way she would normally.

She said, “Thanks, babe. Good night.”

And Derek said, “'Night, Maggie.”

And just like that, without words, Maggie found herself being broken up with for the second time that day.

 

It was after two a.m. when Maggie was awakened by the urge. It was stronger than it had been earlier, and this time, it refused to be ignored.

Maybe it was the knowing that Derek was there just a few feet away, or that Maggie knew he slept naked, or that she knew he was often hard in his sleep and it was always so convenient to scoot over to his side of the bed and climb on top of him.

Maybe it was the knowing that Derek was a sucker for surprise middle-of-the-night sex, or that he loved taking over and flipping Maggie effortlessly onto her back, or that he loved bringing her arms above her head and binding her wrists tightly together so she couldn't touch back.

Once, he had used a telephone cord.

The curly wire had left pink impressions on her fair skin. She had smiled gazing at them on the drive home the next day.

Maggie shifted in the queen-sized bed. She clenched her thighs tightly together. She was turned on and she didn't want to be.

But…maybe, just maybe, Derek was thinking of her, too, wanting this but not wanting to say.

Maggie could do the speaking for him. She could speak for both of them.

After all, he hadn't actually
said
there was someone else. Maybe Maggie was imagining things. She
was
tired. And tired could easily cause misjudgment.

Maggie considered this as she got out of bed and discarded her T-shirt and panties on the guest-bedroom floor. If Derek needed a nudge, Maggie knew that her climbing naked in bed beside him would be just that.

Silently, Maggie slipped out of the room and down the hall. Her bare feet on the plush carpet made no noise.

And she guessed that would explain why neither Derek nor his companion was startled by or even aware of her presence at his bedroom door.

Maggie had barely had the chance to digest that Derek had taken another lover, much less imagine what she might look like, but there she was—tall, curvy; skin tanned; hair short, slick and dark.

Maggie stood there, stunned and mesmerized all at the same time, watching through a crack in the door, her feet seemingly glued to their spot.

Derek was sitting in a chair, naked. There was wide gray tape over his mouth and binding his wrists as well as his ankles to the chair.

Almost as tall as Derek, the woman stood over him, smiling deviously. And she was naked, too, except for the black patent leather stiletto heels and bangle bracelets.

Glancing just behind her, Maggie saw the woman hadn't always been naked. She had shown up in a red shirt and gray slacks; a long white lab coat thrown over the sofa bore the name FELICE.

In the chair, Derek was hard, hard in that tantalizingly solid way that drove Maggie wild. His cock rose up, bounced forward and back.

Maggie struggled to identify the emotion that coursed through her body as she watched the scene that was unfolding before her eyes.

She was relieved, she knew that much, and she was too thankful to be envious, she knew that, too.

Close enough for Derek to touch had he been able, Felice stood there, her thin fingers working her pussy like a violinist's.
The tune coming from her mouth as she tossed her head back in lust was soft and low.