Love Bound (21 page)

She saw herself not only gagged with a
ball gag, as she was now, but also bound, suspended from rafters, bondage rope
digging into her pussy and rubbing excitingly against her clitoris. And all the
while a tall, naked, dominatrix with short blonde hair—in Julie’s mind she was
Bridget—whipped her over and over again until her body was covered in agonizing
welts.

Then Julie’s attention moved away from
the highly charged images in her head as she looked down and caught sight again
of the video. Why was it there? Just because it was untitled didn’t necessarily
mean it was blank. In fact Julie now had a strong hunch that it wasn’t.

She picked up the tape, climbed to her
feet and took it over to the television in the corner of the bedroom. She fed
the tape into the video player and pressed play on the remote control as she
got onto her knees on the carpet. The TV flickered into life and what Julie saw
next gave her such a surprise that she let out a gasp of amazement from beneath
her gag. There on the screen was Bridget’s previous girlfriend, Maria—Julie’s
oldest friend—laying face down and trussed up on the bed in that very room.

Maria’s arms were pinned together
behind her and her legs were held apart and knees bent with her ankles attached
to her wrists. Julie noticed that the metal trigger clip attachments to the
wrist and ankle cuffs she was wearing had been used to secure her into this
position, that she’d been gagged and that purple clothes pegs had been attached
to her nipples and pussy lips.

Not that Julie had given it anything
more than passing consideration up to that moment (that denial thing again, she
was to realize in hindsight) but she’d supposed it more likely than not that,
once they’d become an item, Bridget would have got Maria into kinky sex. Well,
here was irrefutable proof that she’d done just that. And to see it on film in
this way inflamed Julie’s overheated sexual imagination to fever pitch.

She went back to the closet, knelt
down and buckled on the leather wrist and ankle cuffs with the metal clip
attachments, which had been left on the floor. She also thought she’d go for it
with the box of pegs. I mean, what the fuck!—In for a penny, in for a pound.
She selected all the purple pegs she could find in there, ten in all, and then
attached one each to her erect nipples and the remaining eight to her labia.
Sure, it was painful—very—but in a way that Julie found she liked and in any
event she was too far-gone in lust by then to care.

Julie then returned to watching that
homemade video of Maria in her bondage. And as she did so she got back onto her
knees on the floor and returned to pleasuring herself, this time even more
vigorously. Her busy fingers, now thoroughly coated with sticky love juice,
were making a constant rhythmic, wet sound, which was counterpointed by the
clicking and clacking of the exquisitely painful pegs attached to her labia.

The film had certainly had a very
powerful effect on Julie but there wasn’t much happening in it. There was just
a lot of Maria squirming in her bonds. And after a while Julie’s mind drifted
off again to what she’d like to have done to her.

She saw herself hanging from her
wrists, gagged, Bridget beating her backside furiously with a leather paddle
with one hand while she urgently masturbated her clamped pussy with the other …
And all the time there was her camera whirring away at the side of the room,
filming every perverted minute of it, creating an obscenely graphic record for
anyone to see of Julie’s depravity and degradation.

Julie was getting completely carried
away by now, her fingers a wet click-clacking blur between the pegged lips of
her sex, her thighs soaking with love juice. She was on the verge of a massive
climax … when all of a sudden she was brought up short.

 The door to the bedroom burst open
and in strode Bridget who was stark naked, her breasts jiggling, thighs
quivering. Julie realised what must have happened: Bridget had sneaked back
from the chores she’d so conveniently had to go out to do and then stripped off
elsewhere in the apartment, only to appear now in all her naked splendor.

‘Well, well, Julie,’ she said with a
smirk. ‘And you told me you weren’t interested in this sort of thing.’

Yeah, like she was surprised, Julie
said to herself. God, she’d made it so easy for her crafty lover, fallen
entirely for her devious ruse. She was already collared, cuffed, gagged,
pegged, and in an incredible state of sexual arousal—this close to the most
colossal orgasm.

Bridget pulled Julie unceremoniously
up off her knees and pushed her just as roughly onto her front on the bed. She
used the metal clip attachments on her wrist and ankle cuffs to pin her arms
behind her back and her legs together, and there Julie was—at her complete
mercy.

She lay there and waited for the
inevitable, and waited … and waited. The only sound punctuating the silence was
the tell tale click-clacking of her pussy pegs as she shivered and trembled
ever more uncontrollably with anguished anticipation of what she knew—just
knew—was going to happen. Her backside and thighs started to quiver
convulsively as the piercing ache in her pegged pussy (click-clack,
click-clack) became unbearable, agonizing (click-clack. click-clack.
click-clack, click-clack)

Bridget unbuckled Julie’s ball gag.
‘Tell me what you want me to do,’ she ordered, knowing full well what she’d
say. ‘Tell me right now and I’ll do it.’ She pulled the gag from Julie’s mouth.

‘B...b...beat me,’ Julie managed to
stammer—and just getting those words out precipitated the first tremors of that
too long delayed orgasm.

‘Speak more clearly, Julie,’ Bridget
replied, her voice cold and harsh. ‘I couldn’t hear you over the sound of those
pegs you’ve attached to your cunt lips, you fucking pervert.’

‘Beat me,’ Julie gasped indistinctly. She
tried once more: ‘beat me.’ Here it came, that first wave of shameful delight.

‘Still not clear enough, pervert,’
Bridget taunted. ‘Say it again.’

‘Beat me!’ Julie cried out, the full
force of her climax hitting her now like a tidal wave, her body shaking and
shuddering in pure ecstasy as the sensations flooded through her entire being.
‘Beat me! Beat me! Beat me!’

THE SADIST’S TALE

Lauren gazed out of the bedroom window
of the tenth story West End apartment she’d shared with her girlfriend Sam ever
since they’d fallen in love five years previously. It was getting dark and was
raining slightly, specks pattering on the glass. Through the misty rain Lauren
could see the thick clots of cars, their headlights on now, that filled the
streets of central London. She looked over in the direction of the River
Thames, its gray waters more than usually somber in the darkening light. Lauren
switched on the bedside lamp and shut the curtains. She thought about changing
her clothes but decided she wouldn’t, not yet. She was wearing a dark blue
denim mini dress. It was cinched at the waist by a leather belt, which was black
like her high heeled shoes. Sam was having a shower, cleaning off the grime of London. Or so she said

Lauren didn’t trust Sam any more,
didn’t trust a thing she said. Her instincts told her she was up to no good.
Things had started to happen that had made Lauren increasingly suspicious. Sam
was out more and more for a start, apparently extremely busy at work. By rights
though, the take-over of her fashion design company ought to have led to the
opposite happening. That had been the whole point of the merger, Sam had said.
Her manner a lot of the time had also become oddly furtive, sullenly
unforthcoming, which wasn’t like the old Sam at all. It was as if she’d become
a different person, completely different from the one Lauren had known these
past five years. Sometimes when they were having sex, Lauren was almost certain
she could smell the scent of another woman on her. She caught a hint of
something else as well, something slightly acrid. The acid aroma of guilt,
that’s what she thought it was.

Lauren had got to the point where she
didn’t just suspect Sam was cheating on her. She knew. She just fucking knew.
She was almost certain who it was she was cheating on her with too.

When Lisa Graves had become Sam’s
stylist six months ago, Sam hadn’t stopped extolling her virtues to Lauren,
saying what a find she’d been, how great she was. She had an excellent eye, Sam
said, had great taste, was proving hugely instrumental in shaping Sam’s latest
collection. She was more than her key adviser; she was her creative muse, on
and on.

Lauren found a lot of this sort of
talk difficult to take seriously. She thought Sam was trying to elevate her
trade to the level of high art. Lauren begged to differ. She’d got an insight
into the fashion business as a result of her relationship with Sam and the
people she’d met in that world and she found an awful lot of it—and them—facile
beyond belief. The world of high fashion was full of parasites, as far as she
was concerned. And she reckoned Lisa Graves was one of them.

What set Lauren’s antennae twitching
was when Sam stopped banging on about Lisa all the time, when she stopped
talking about her at all. That made her uneasy, suspicious. Now she was more
than suspicious. She was certain they had become lovers. Or almost certain. Lauren
decided that she’d challenge her about it as soon as she came out of the
shower, and that’s what she did.

Sam padded into the bedroom naked,
fluffing her blonde hair with a towel.

‘What are you up to?’ Lauren asked,
throwing a combative gaze Sam’s way. She noticed, averted her eyes

‘Finishing drying my hair,’ she said,
painting an innocent expression onto her face. ‘Trying to decide what to wear
tonight.’ She folded the wet towel neatly over a radiator.

‘You know what I mean,’ Lauren said,
deliberately staring at her, forcing her to meet her eyes.

Sam brazened it out. She looked at her
blankly as if she had no idea at all what she was talking about. ‘I’m sorry,’
she said. ‘But I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I repeat,’ Lauren said, her eyes
darkening further as she fixed her with her most penetrating gaze. ‘What are
you up to?’

‘Look, I don’t know what you’re
talking about,’ Sam said, still doing the Miss Innocent act. ‘I’m not up to
anything.’

Lauren stepped in closer, shifted her
weight from one foot to another. ‘You’re fucking someone else, aren’t you.’ It
wasn’t a question.

Sam shook her head. ‘You’re out of
your mind,’ she replied in an affronted tone, moving seamlessly into righteous
indignation mode. ‘I don’t have to put up with this.’

‘Tell me the truth,’ Lauren persisted,
straining the words through her teeth

‘It is the truth.’

That was when Lauren slapped her round
the face. She did it very quickly. And hard. And twice. She delivered one hard
crack to her left cheek and then another even harder one to her right cheek.
The second slap was so hard that it sent her staggering backward. A dark flush
smudged across Sam’s cheekbones. But she said nothing, just began sobbing.

Lauren grasped her hair and put her
face very close to hers. ‘Tell me the fucking truth,’ she rasped, her eyes
flashing with anger.

No reply. More sobs

‘Quit blubbering!’ Lauren ordered
sharply. Sam swallowed back another sob, coughing.

‘You’re fucking someone else aren’t
you,’ Lauren said, gazing at her with all the warmth of a rattle snake. ‘You’re
fucking Lisa, or would it be more accurate to say that Lisa’s fucking you?’ Sam
tended to take a passive role in lovemaking, didn’t have much choice but to do
so when Lauren was having sex with her.

Sam finally capitulated. She nodded
yes. Her eyes were teary and red.

Bingo, thought Lauren. She’d had her
suspicions confirmed. ‘Say it, bitch,’ she commanded.

‘Lisa’s fucking me,’ Sam said softly,
almost soundlessly.

‘Why?’ Lauren asked. ‘Why Lisa?’

‘She does things to me I like, kinky
things.’ Sam replied, not meeting Lauren’s eye. She was trembling all over.

‘What sort of things?’ Lauren said,
grabbing her chin, making her look at her.

‘Honestly, Lauren,’ Sam said in a
wheedling tone. ‘You really don’t want to know.’

‘Yes I do,’ Lauren said. ‘Tell me.’

‘She pisses on me,’ Sam said quickly.

So, Lauren thought, there was one
mystery solved. It had been the acid aroma not of guilt but of urine that she’d
been picking up on her bed mate when they were having sex. ‘No kidding?’ she
said.

‘No kidding,’ Sam replied.

‘What else?’

‘She ties my wrists up and blindfolds
me and…and …’

‘And what?’ Lauren hissed. ‘Spit it
out.’

‘F…fists me.’

‘What else, bitch?’

‘She spanks me.’

‘Spanks you?’ Lauren said
incredulously, emphasizing the word. ‘That’s a bit tame, isn’t it?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Doesn’t she whip you, take a belt to
you?’

‘No, she never has.’

‘Why for crissake?’

‘We didn’t want to leave any marks,’
Sam explained. ‘We didn’t want to make you suspicious.’