Bound to Accept (14 page)

He has a point. As a
society we frequently praise men for doing nothing more than simply
choosing
not
to
be an asshole. Like
not
date-raping the girl he drives home. Or
not
punching a girl's ex
in the face during a confrontation.

“
You're right,” I say. “I
never thought about it that way, at least not in so many words, but
you're right. The inherent misogyny in that statement is
mind-blowing.”

“
Told you so,” he says
smugly.

“
Well, fine. You're a
compassionate human being then.”

“
The compassionate human
being who's going to fuck you right out of your skin. With your
consent, of course.”

“
Putting the
sensual
into
consensual?” I quip.

“
Mm-hmm. We could be the
poster children for PC BDSM.”

“
Ugh
. Not children. That makes it sound all gross.”

“
You did agree to play the
naughty schoolgirl.”

“
And what does that make
you? The horny engineer?”

“
Please. BDSM is supposed
to be an escape into fantasy. Panting, sexually deprived
code-jockeys are, unfortunately, a very grim reality—although I did
see a very cool flogger on eBay made out of Cat-5 cables. I was
thinking about getting it actually.”

I adopt a deep, sleazy voice, the way
I imagine a porn actor would talk. “Did somebody order a modem
repair?”

“
Baby, I'm going to dial
you up, and then penetrate the shit out of your
firewall.”

“
Just don't give me a
virus,” I laugh. “Use safe search.”

Tristan nuzzles me. “God, I love
you.”

I try not to show how much that
statement affects me. “So what do I wear on Wednesday?”

“
Exactly what I told you
to. But don't take the bus. I'll come for you in the
car.”

“
Literally?”

He pinches my cheek. “Now where's the
fun in that?”

Chapter Nine

Wednesday comes far too
soon.

My ankles have been tied to my thighs.
It's like being in stirrups. Tristan has bound my arms to his bed
posts, so I'm half-reclined, half-sitting, propped up by his
pillows. “Comfortable?” he wants to know.

“
Yes, Sir.”

He unbuttons my shorts and
slides his hand down my shorts. “Let's get you warmed up. You're
wet already, but I want you
swimming
.”

His fingers find my clit and begin a
slow massage.

“
I want those shorts to
rub against your swollen clit, and I want you to think about my
cock when they do, and how it's going to feel inside your cunt when
we fuck.”

“
Are we going to fuck
today, Sir?”

“
Such a mouth on you. No,
pony girl. But soon.”

He slows down when I want him to speed
up, and I make a sound of frustration.

“
I've been thinking about
what I'm going to do to you all day. When I was at work I even took
a five minute break to beat myself off in the restroom.”

“
Thinking about what,
Sir?” I pant. “What were you doing to me, Sir?”

“
Fucking your tits.
Clamping your nipples, then coming on them and making you lick it
off.”

He picks up the pace again as he talks
as though trying to make me feel the same level of excitement he
felt at work, the same level that drove him to a public restroom
for solace. I'm gasping by the time he finishes his sentence, eyes
squeezed shut, focused on the throbbing between my legs. I can
almost see him in my mind, packed into a cramped stall, fisting his
hard cock.

“
Oh, God, that
feels
so good
,
Sir.”

“
I'm sure it does,” he
says, and he pulls his hand away, leaving me staring after him,
open-mouthed.

I shift around impatiently, and then
cry out again as my pants rub against my clitoris, flooding my
lower belly with a pressure that feels liquid. But rather than
scratching the itch, it intensifies it.

“
Sir
,” I wail. “Please, I need you!”

He ties a blindfold around my eyes.
“If you're a very good girl, I'll let you come
afterward.”

My breathing hitches. “But I'm so
close.”

He cups my breasts through the thin
fabric of my tank top, testing their weight, then slides his hands
up to toy with the straps.

“
When did you get so
greedy, pony girl?”

“
I—I don't know,
Sir.”

He closes his hands around the
material, giving it an experimental tug. Then he rips it straight
down the middle with a loud crack that makes me jump.

“
I knew I could do it,” he
says, as my skin stings from both the fabric whipping against me,
and from the sudden chill. “Cheap cotton tears so
easily.”

I lean my head back.
“S-S-Sir.”

“
I want you nice and
aroused for this.” He pinches my nipples and strokes them with his
thumbs to make them stand out in hard little points.

Each pass of his thumb sends heat
shooting straight to my sensitive core, and pretty soon I'm letting
my head loll back and moaning softly under his masterful
touch.

“
Do you remember our
safeword?”

When I don't answer right away, he
drags the knuckle of his index finger down my slit, but through my
clothes, and my hips jerk towards him reflexively.

“
Twilight,” I stammer.
“Our safeword is…” shuddering breath “Twilight.”

He's back to rolling my nipples
between his fingers. “And when will you use it?”

“
When I want you to
stop
.”

“
Yes.” Tristan kisses my
mouth. Then he kisses each of my breasts. “Even when I'm hurting
you, I want you to feel good.” He licks the nipple and I arch my
back. “The pain is supposed to intensify the pleasure. Not
overwhelm it.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, then
releases it with a smack. “I wish you could see yourself right now,
pony girl. You look like a teen boy's wet dream.”

I open my eyes, and whisper, “Thank
you, Sir.”

“
So you agree. You're the
cheap slut boys think about when they jerk off to even cheaper
porn.”

“
N-no, Sir. I didn't mean
that, Sir. I want to be in
your
head when
you
come, and your head alone.”

“
You aren't worthy to be
in my head when I come.” His voice is harder now, and I tense a
little—a mistake, because it causes my shorts to rub against
me.

“
But Sir,
why
?”

“
Just look at you,
writhing around like a whore.”

I stop squirming, but it's hard when
he left me half-finished. A crease in the shorts is pressing
against my clit. I shift, just a little, and let out another low
groan. “I'm sorry, Sir.” I let a few tears fall. “I can't help
it.”

He picks up something that jangles
together and sounds a bit like keys. The clamps. The ones he's
going to use on my nipples. My breathing quickens, and I can feel a
damp patch forming on my shorts.

A rough fingertip passes over my
nipple, rolling it in slow, circular motions. “I think these tits
of yours need to be leashed. You can't seem to be able to control
them.”

“
No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir.”
There's a pause. I swallow hard. “Won't you help me,
Sir?”

“
As it happens, I've been
looking for a nice pair of tits to fuck.” He tweaks me—hard. “These
ought to do very nicely. And of course a whore like you won't
mind.”

“
Oh, no, Sir. I don't mind
at all.”

Tristan attaches the first clamp. It
doesn't hurt—at least, not at first. The pain gets worse as the
seconds go by, the initial sharp pain ceding to a slow, dull throb.
He fastens the second clamp, and flicks the chain that hangs
between them, letting it tap against my ribcage.

And then, suddenly, the chain pulls
taut.

Tristan's hard cock slides in between
my breasts, slipping underneath the chain affixed to my nipples. He
cups my breasts in his hands, lightly flicks the clamps, and then
squeezes my breasts together tightly around himself, sandwiching
his cock between them.

His low growl of satisfaction makes
all the hairs on my body stand up. He starts thrusting in quick,
upward jerks, and each thrust is accompanied by a tug on the
clamps. My eyes are watering. How is he doing that?

“
I like the way you feel
around me.” His words are garbled; he must have the chain that
connects the clamps in his mouth. “It's like fucking a feather
bed.”

“
Thank you, Sir. I love
the way you fuck my tits, Sir.” He tugs on the chain again, and I
gasp, “Oh, and I love the way you punish me most of
all.”

He makes a sound of
approval, and starts thrusting faster, like my words have given him
the urging on that he needed.
I did
that
, I think, feeling a surge of
pleasure.

As he picks up the pace, the chain
pulls more and more tightly, causing the clamps to dig in more
deeply. My nipples are throbbing, and every time I shuffle in
discomfort, my shorts chafe intimately against me.

I need to come.

“
Sir,” I pant. “I'm so
wet, I need you, Sir.”

Tristan grunts. “I haven't forgotten
about you, pony girl.” Hot liquid spatters over my breasts, my
throat, my chin and mouth. He spits out the chain, like a racehorse
refusing the bit, and it bounces several times, making me sob out
another plea.

He holds up my breast to my mouth.
“Stretch out your tongue and lick me off you.”

I poke out my tongue blindly, and the
tip just comes into contact with my nipple. It's a two-way
connection that makes me shudder with the unexpected sensuality of
the act. I imagine him watching me, getting more and more turned
on, and lick more enthusiastically.

“
That's enough.” Tristan
holds up my other breast. “Now the other one.” I start lapping.
“That's right, pony girl. Lick yourself. We taste good together,
don't we?”

“
Yes, Sir.” I nod
furiously, and the gesture pulls the fabric of my shorts over my
clit. My breathing staggers, and I want to weep. “But please, I
need to come now.”

“
Oh?” He strokes me
between my legs, and I can't stand it. “Did getting tittyfucked
turn you on, pony girl?” He pauses, drinking in the agony on my
face. “You're all wet, so it must have. Even your shorts are damp.
It looks like you've fucking pissed yourself.”

“
Please, Sir.”

“
You beg so well, pony
girl. I almost forgot how good you are at that. Do it again, and
maybe—” another seasoned stroke “—I'll consider it.”

“
Oh, please, Sir. I can't
stand it anymore, I need you to make me come, Sir. Only you know
how to make me come the way I like, Sir, and if you don't,
I'll
explode
.”

“
That does sound rather
urgent.” I give a full-body shudder when he strokes me again, more
heavily. “And you did ask me
so
nicely.”

He unclips one of the
clamps and his mouth covers my swelling flesh as he slides his hand
back into my pants.
Yes, oh, God,
yes
. With each suck, it's like he's
drawing the blood back into my nipple, causing a painful but not
unpleasant warmth. “Thank you, Sir.”

Tristan slides his hand out of my
pants and unfastens the second clamp, blowing a jet of cool air on
my nipple. He takes it into his mouth, sealing his lips around the
base, and I come almost immediately when his fingers find my clit,
grinding myself against his hand to increase the intensity of
contact.

“
Harder, Sir,” I gasp.
“
Faster
.
Please.”

Tristan speeds up his hand obligingly,
and a second orgasm follows the first. The cords around my wrists
tighten as I lean forward. Desire blocks my throat, making it hard
to breathe. All I can do is scream.

He slows down his hand, and when I
stop thrusting myself against his palm, stills his fingers
entirely. He leaves his hand there, though, cupping me so that his
middle finger is lying flush against my perineum.

“
Jesus,” he says, with a
little laugh. “After watching that, I'm almost ready to go
again.”

I'm shuddering, still tingling all
over from that last orgasm. My nipples throb in time to my beating
heart. “Oh,” I say in a small voice. “Oh wow.” In the absence of
sensation, the darkness of the blindfold feels absolute.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls his hand
out of my shorts. “You got pretty messy. There's come all over
you.” Slyly: “I had no idea you were such a dirty girl.”