Best Bondage Erotica 2013 (18 page)

Cuddling against the bark's jagged planes, Navina repeated, “That was amazing.”

Riley came in behind her, supporting her shattered body as he unhooked the bungee cord around her waist. He'd been very prepared indeed, having unpacked and unfolded a fleece blanket before the fun began. Now he pulled her down onto it and held her quietly while she stared past his face, up into the treetops.

“Everything's so green up there.” She pointed. The feeling was coming back into her arms, and they tingled so enthusiastically it hurt.

“Do you get it now?” Riley asked. “What nature represents to me, I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.” Navina took a deep breath of clean air and smiled. “And I'm not just saying that. I really, totally get it now. I never did before.”

Tilting her head, she looked down across her body. There were a few little scrapes, but nothing so tragic as she'd imagined. Mainly, there were lots of indentations from the bark, which made her flesh a bumpy brown terrain. She laughed when he traced an antiseptic cloth all over her body, cleansing her thoroughly, worshiping every inch of her skin.

They rested naked together for a long time, listening to birdsong and trying to be invisible. Navina had never felt so deeply connected to anyone or anything. As she cuddled against Riley, she understood where she fit in the world as a whole, on this planet and among the people, and she wondered if she would remember all this later, back in the dirty city air.

“I'll go get your clothes,” Riley offered after a while.

When he rose, she watched him walk naked toward the trail, his cute buttcheeks clenching and releasing with every step. Suddenly her blood froze in her veins and she felt terribly self-conscious, like someone must be watching her. She turned
toward the tree, and there beside it was a deer, a young one, male. Its legs were spindly, shockingly thin, and it had Bambi's huge eyes but not the white spots. In fact, patches of sandy fur were missing along its side, and Navina wondered if that was normal or if the animal was sick.

Its eyes were so huge and heart-wrenchingly earnest that she struggled to look away, even for a moment, but she did, in order to call out, “Riley! Riley, look! Look over there!”

He turned when he heard her and gazed in the direction she was pointing, then shook his head and asked, “What?”

Navina turned, but the deer was gone. She picked herself up, though her body felt bruised and exhausted, and her shaky legs barely supported her weight. When she looked around in all directions, there was no sign of the young stag, no evidence it had been there at all. Ever.

Gone, just like that.

 

 

 

 

 

“Janice, enter the circle of light and disrobe.”

Janice walks into the spotlight. It isn't very bright, but since the rest of the room is fairly dark, it serves to make her the focus of attention. She's nondescript. You might call her “medium”—medium height, medium-to-slightly-heavy weight, medium-brown hair of a medium length. Her age is indeterminate—somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-nine. Medium age. Her clothes aren't flashy. Actually, she looks like she has come to the spotlight directly from teaching a tenth-grade English class.

She obeys. She steps out of her low-heeled brown pumps and places them against the wall, out of the circle of light. Reaching behind her, she unzips her summer-weight cotton print knee-length dress and steps out of it. She folds it and places it with her shoes. She steps out of her white nylon half-slip and is left in her white cotton nondescript bra and the seemingly out-of-character black cotton thong. The slip goes the way of the dress and shoes. She stops and turns to the sound of my voice.

“Bra, Janice. Leave the panties on.”

Looking straight ahead, she swallows. She can hear the watchers but can't see them, in the circle of light as she is. Janice reaches behind her back, unhooks her bra, slips it off her shoulders and pulls it away from her body. She tosses it in the general direction of her other clothes and stands with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Careless. Place the bra neatly with the rest of your clothing.”

Janice walks out of the light then returns. Once again, she stands as before. Her breasts are not large, but they are large enough to sag just a bit. Her waist is a little thicker than it appears in clothes, and her thighs rub together just below her sex. The dim light picks up the shadows of a few bruises, one on her thigh and another on the side of her breast.

I love her breasts—the feel of them in my hands.

“Come here, Janice.”

Once again, Janice walks out of the circle of light and over to me. I buckle on her leather wrist and ankle cuffs, the heavy ones with the steel rings, and then I hold up her heavy leather collar. It matches her cuffs and has the same utilitarian steel ring. Janice opens her mouth and licks her lips. She nods slightly, giving her assent, and I buckle the collar around her neck.

After her collar is fastened, I let my hands trail down her shoulders and arms. I feel her shiver slightly. Her eyes begin to lose focus, but only for a moment. The act of fastening my collar around her neck always has that effect on her.

“Ready?” Janice nods her little nod. “Climb up on the horse, girl.”

My girl walks back into the light and, rather indelicately, climbs onto the black leather spanking horse in the center of the spotlight. She rests her feet and hands on leather-covered bars that run down the sides of the horse, for her comfort. I follow
her into the spot and clip one ankle to a ring on the side of the horse and move up toward her head. I clip her wrist, then make my way around the front of her and follow suit with her other wrist and ankle.

I pause to admire her spread cheeks, with the black thong bisecting them, bottom slightly raised. I run my hand over an asscheek and slide a finger under the
T
at the top of the thong, bringing it down all the way to the mound of her pussy, but no farther. I slide my finger back up and smooth the thong back against her spread cheeks. I give one a little smack. Working my way back up again, I take a handful of hair and lift her head, enabling me to attach the snap hook to her collar and then to the ring at the head of the horse. “Make me proud,” I say—only for her ears.

It's at this point, when I finish fastening her to whatever piece of furniture I wish to start with, I feel the low buzz of electricity. It starts in my chest and begins to spread. It spreads up to my head and down to my clit and puts me in the proper frame of mind for the game ahead.

My girl is beautiful in her submission. Fastened as she is in this posture, she is the most beautiful girl in the world. She will be even more beautiful and desirable as we go on. I can sense people around us. I know they have felt the transformation, too. They have seen the plain Jane you wouldn't look twice at on the street transformed into an object of desire. As her submission deepens, she will become even more desirable, and I will become even more desirous of her.

There's something about public play that does it for me. When I hear the watchers breathing, becoming a bit restless, waiting for my play to begin, my feeling of power jumps to the next level. I know once I get started, I will cease to notice the crowd, but for now, for the beginning, it's a powerful aphrodisiac.

I walk out of the light, to the bench where my toy bag waits. Something to wake up the skin. Something easy. The suede flogger.

I run it between her legs, following the curve of her bottom, and over her back, and hear a gentle sigh. The sigh is only for me. It is not loud enough for the others. I work her back, flogging her over and over, and slowly make my way down to her buttocks. I have a rhythm going and it stays constant. Down the back, over the ass, down the thigh, back over the buttocks, down the other thigh, back over the buttocks and up the back. Over and over. The same rhythm and pattern. Her flesh is awake now; it tingles. If we were home, in better light, you could see an obvious rosy glow, a happy glow. This light is dim.
Are you awake, girl? I am.

Enough with the flogger. I switch to the crop. Time to tenderize. I begin gently—slowly. She doesn't make a sound. The only sound is the leather of the crop slapping her ass. The smacks begin to sting. I can tell by the sound. I am not yet breaking a sweat, but she is. I can smell her.

Putting the crop away, I come back to her. Run my hand down her punished ass—between the separation—over the panties. They're wet.
Good girl.

“Good girl.”

The leather strap hurts her. I love the leather strap. The sound it makes is clean, sharp. Even in this light, I can see the stripes I lay on her ass. Each time I make contact, her ass jumps a bit, but she doesn't make a sound. One final smack—this one produces a yelp. That's all—one yelp. I check on her. Quietly, I ask, “Everything as it should be?”

“Mmm,” she says.

Slowly walking back to her rear, I run my fingers over the welts I've raised. Little juices begin to tease my cunt lips. My
arousal is not for public consumption—hers is. Ah, but I am definitely aroused.

If I let her come, if I give her permission, she can climax. She can climax over and over—if I let her. She is not to that point yet. We have plenty of time.

I use my palm to smack her bottom. It won't do to let her cool down now. I scratch her welts and feel her respiration speed up. She is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Neither of us has entered that particular headspace we strive for yet. I walk back to my bag and return the strap and pull out the heavy leather flogger.

It isn't as gentle as the suede one. It falls hard. I use it on her back, between her shoulder blades. The hits land harder and harder. The rhythm and the strength it takes to wield this tool become an aerobic workout for me. Now I begin to sweat. My breath speeds with hers. I begin to lose myself with each impact. It's a continuous responsibility to make sure I don't completely lose myself to the flow of power.

I don't want to damage her.

I do want to hurt her.

This is as much for her as it is for me. If she doesn't hurt, if there's no true pain, she can't lose herself, either. There would be no point if I couldn't control her pleasure in that way.

I feel the watchers getting restless. She is squirming slightly. I notice her hands clenching and unclenching. I ease up. “What is the word, girl?”

“Green, greengreengreengreen.”

“Good girl.”

I put the flogger away and take out a thin, whippy cane and slice it through the air. It whistles. I hear the intake of breath and begin on her upturned bottom.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Across both cheeks, over and over in the same spot, gently—
tap
tap tap tap tap tap TAP.
Her ass jumps several inches above the horse.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
I smooth the skin with my hand. Gently now, on her upper thighs,
tap tap tap tap tap tap.
The sound is mesmerizing to me. The feeling is becoming mesmerizing to her.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap TAP TAP.
Shriek.
Mmm, good girl.

I can hear people speaking quietly as I walk back to my bag and exchange the thin cane for a heavier one and walk back to her head. I bend down to check on her. Her eyes are open and unfocused. Her mouth is open.

“Good girl.”

I rub the cane against her thighs, then
CRACK.
Again, slightly lower, I rub it against her skin, then
CRACK.
Three more times, each a fraction of an inch lower. Each time she jumps. I return the cane. Now I gently run my hand over her bottom and each thigh, smoothing the skin, caressing the welts, putting out the fire. We're both sweating. I run my hand over her panty-clad crotch and it is soaked through. It's time.

I move to the front and pick her head up by her hair again, staring into her eyes. She tries to focus on me. I know she can't. “Now,” I whisper, and I watch the orgasm take her. She shivers and shakes almost imperceptibly against the horse, like the shiver that runs up a dog's back when you rub him just the right way. Watching her come like that makes me want to fuck her, drag her off the horse and fuck her on the floor. But we're in public.

We've been playing over an hour. Time ceases to exist. I unhook her wrists and move to her feet to unhook her ankles. I lift her feet off the blocks and they hang limply down, on either side of the horse. Her hands are now hanging in the same way. As I unhook her neck I maintain positive contact with her. Her skin feels electric to me. It feeds the sparks jumping on my fingers.

I help her off the horse and embrace her. She can't stand on
her own yet. I slowly walk her to the wall and hook her wrist cuffs to chains hanging from the ceiling, arms outspread. The chains support her. I place her feet apart and hook her ankles to rings in the floor. Now she can rest while I put my toys away. She is positioned facing the watchers, but I don't think she sees them. Oh, she knows they're there, but she is too far gone to be aware of anything other than her own body and me.

We are not done. We will continue. If I can't fuck her now, I'll keep myself on edge until I can. I cup her breast; she moans. I kiss her lips, and she attempts to devour my mouth. People come and go. We have hours to play yet, my beautiful girl and I.

 

 

 

 

 

Brian's chastity tube is made of hard plastic; it locks around his distended balls and secures his tiny dick pointing down. He can't even get all the way hard; about one-quarter mast and he's squirming in pain, which is the way Natasha likes it.