The Mammoth Book of Short Erotic Novels (60 page)

Amanda reached over, running her fingers through his hair. “Very good, my little puppy.”

Back in the limo, Sam fixed two drinks from the well-stocked bar. They had a forty-five-minute ride ahead of them.

“When did you first become interested in bondage and discipline?” Amanda asked.

Sam took a gulp of his drink. “You mean, how long have I been a pervert?”

“Yes,” grinned Amanda. “Basically that’s what I’m asking.”

“My first experience was when I was a young boy,” Sam started. “The neighbors had a daughter who was about a year older than I. We were friends. She was a bit of a tomboy. One
day, we were playing at her house. For some reason, we started rolling ourselves in the carpets . . .”

“What?” Amanda laughed and sipped her drink. “You mean the rugs? Oh, that’s a good one!”

“Well,” Sam went on, “I rolled myself up like a sausage in this one little rug. Only my head and feet stuck out. Suddenly, my friend jumped on my stomach. She started bouncing
up and down on me, squeezing me with the sides of her legs.”

Amanda laughed. She gave Sam’s crotch a playful squeeze.

“Ouch!” Sam exclaimed.

“Oh, sorry. Still sore, but nice and hard for me. Please, continue.”

“She was pretending I was a horse, her car, a circus ride – that sort of thing. I was loving every second of it. She announced I was her prisoner! She threatened to keep me like that
all day. I begged and begged her to let me out, and she finally relented. When I unrolled, she noticed the bulge in my shorts. She asked what it was. I explained it was called an erection, and that
sometimes men got them. She was thrilled! She asked if she could see it. Like the obliging little gentleman I was, I dropped my shorts. She was amazed. She pranced around me, looking at every
angle, as if my bobbing penis was a new and wonderful toy. Finally said she could see it better if I took all my clothes off. I stripped. She led me to the couch. The strangest feeling was coming
over me. This was not the first time I had been aroused, but I sure felt different. She asked me what the erection felt like. ‘I don’t know,’ I responded. ‘Do you want to
touch it?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she shouted. Well, the moment she placed her hand on my little hard-on, in walked her mother!”

“Oh, shit!” Amanda exclaimed.

“Yeah; she was screaming bloody murder. I was crying as I got dressed. Her mother would not shut up. She was slapping her girl’s arm. I wanted to make her stop, but did not know what
to do. Her mother forbade me from ever coming back to the house, or ever seeing her daughter again. As I walked off the front porch and across their yard, I turned to look back. I saw my little
friend watching me from her bedroom window. I imagined she was grounded for life. Her face was red. She was crying. Her hand came up and she slowly waved goodbye. A few years later, my family moved
away. I never saw her again.”

“Oh, Sam.” Amanda slid closer to him. “That is so sad.” She stared out the window for a few moments before continuing. “But total body enclosure, female domination,
humiliation, all at such an early age!” She burst into laughter.

“So, what about you?” Sam asked.

“I can’t claim that early a beginning,” she said. “I had my first impulses early in high school. When looking at fashion magazines, I started fantasizing about tying up
the models, both the men and the women. But I didn’t act out any of it till I got a bit older.”

“Ha!” Sam laughed. “You were a late bloomer.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I liked to wrestle with my boyfriends. I would strike up a bargain with them: if I was pinned, he could mess around with me. If I won, I got to do whatever
I wanted. Unfortunately, the guys always won. Later, I came up with the idea of using ropes. Then, they could have their way if they escaped in five minutes. If they couldn’t escape, well,
they would have to promise to do whatever I wanted. At that stage, I was not very good at knot tying.”

“I wish I’d gone to your high school!” Sam interrupted.

“Anyway,” Amanda continued, “I kept my part of the bargain, although I never dated any of them for very long. But one day, I tied up a classmate who could not escape! I made
him stay tied up for hours. I kissed and bit him. I pinched and sucked his nipples. I even pulled his pants down, and played with his hard cock. I squeezed his nuts until he almost cried. I sat
over him, my crotch only inches from his face. I made him beg to get a taste of me. I threatened to tell his friends what I had done, if he did not consent to be my slave. He pleaded and pleaded,
but finally agreed. He promised he would do anything I wanted. It was so fantastic, I finally took pity on him. But, as I went to untie his wrists, I discovered the knots were loose.”

“You mean he could have escaped, any time?”

Amanda nodded. “God, that drove me wild! This guy wanted to be my prisoner! I had an incredible orgasm right on the spot. I realized that I had to be in charge. This was what I needed.
Finally, I could do what I wanted, take my time if I needed. My desires came first! And all it took was a piece of rope. I had found my first true boyfriend.”

Sam finished his drink. “Amanda, that is such a nice story.” He shifted in his seat again.

Amanda was digging for something in her pocket book. She pulled out a small gift-wrapped box. She handed it to Sam.

“Wow, for me?” he asked.

Amanda nodded, smiling sweetly.

Sam eagerly unwrapped his gift. The box contained a brass metal collar. It opened with hinges at the back, and in the front, loops for a padlock. The inside was padded with soft fleece.
Embroidered on one side, in delicate script, it read: SLAVE SAM – Property of MISTRESS AMANDA.

“Try it on!” Amanda said, smiling broadly.

It was just snug enough for Sam to squeeze two of his fingers under. Amanda produced a little gold padlock. She locked the collar shut on Sam’s neck.

“It fits! It fits!” Amanda exclaimed. She took a triumphant sip of her drink.

But Sam’s expression grew concerned. “This is beautiful. But do I have to wear it all the time? I’ll have a tough time explaining this to the people I work with.”

“If I wanted it on you all the time, you would wear it!” She was staring hard into his eyes. “However, no. But I wish you to wear it at all times in my presence. Whatever we
do, wherever we go. You can wear a turtleneck or a high-collared shirt, if you wish, while we are in public.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Sam answered. Amanda hooked her finger around the gift and pulled him close. Her mouth met his. Sam parted his lips, welcoming Amanda’s probing tongue.
Sam savored her saliva and the attention of her mouth. He wondered if Amanda could taste the hot sauce and his semen.

“Amanda?” Sam asked.

“Yes?”

“So, I guess you enjoyed dinner?”

The hotel we checked into was the most upscale business-class piece of work I had ever seen. It had spacious conference rooms, mini-theaters, even a four-star restaurant.

I had just graduated from detective school. I had passed all my written tests, and completed my courses. In a few weeks, I would be getting my license. As a reward, Amanda was treating me to
this little vacation. During my training at the agency, I had access to national police records; many databases were open to me. One thing we were warned against was digging through the pasts of
acquaintances. Who could risk the lure of finding the dirty little secrets of a co-worker or friend? I resisted the temptation of doing a background check on Amanda. The fact she always was
surprising me was intriguing. But I had promised to work on David’s case, so there was no way of avoiding some confidential information on Amanda.

Our room was fantastic. A state-of-the-art entertainment center, equipped with multiple format video machines, and a powerful stereo system. The bathroom was huge. It even included a shower and
a whirlpool bath. The furnishings were New England style; Amanda had specifically asked for this room. Now I understood why: the bed was a well-crafted cherry wood four-poster. Was Amanda going to
tie me to these posts tonight?

Amanda started unpacking her suitcase, producing a brown paper bag. She set it on the desk. Next, she had a round silver serving tray in her hands. She placed it next to the bag. Then, with one
quick motion, she slipped her finger beneath the top of her boot and retrieved a switchblade. She popped its release. The blade glinted in the light. We had been seeing each other for close to a
year, yet she still managed to surprise me. I suppose that, in her line of work, she might need that weapon.

“Be a good boy. Make us up a nice platter.” She handed me the open switchblade, grabbed a few things from her suitcase, and pranced off to the bathroom. “I’m taking a
shower.”

The bag contained a light feast: apples, pears, and kiwis, along with a tin of smoked oysters – she loved oysters. A box of gourmet crackers completed the package.

I carefully peeled and sliced the kiwis, then started cutting up the apples and pears. I spread the fruit sections in semicircular fashion along one edge of the tray. Next, I sliced the hard,
smoked cheese. I just unwrapped the Brie. I placed the cheeses just off center. I opened the tin of oysters, carefully plucking each one free from its bed of oil, letting it drain, and setting them
in a little pile next to the cheese. I broke open the pack of crackers, depositing them in a continuous arch with the fruit, forming a completed circle. I wiped my hands, then gently spun the tray
around, admiring it.

Amanda’s suitcase was sitting open on the bed. I could not resist peeking at what playthings she had taken along. I found a pair of sneakers, an extra pair of high-heeled shoes, her little
black dress, a T-shirt, some toiletries, and plain pantyhose. But these were just items any woman would bring for an overnight stay. Where was the stuff from her dungeon? She never left home
without her favorite cat o’nine tails. My exploring fingers found a long metal chain, more the gauge of jewelry than anything confining. Romantic getaways were not her style, unless . . .

“Found what you’re looking for?” Amanda was glaring at me from the bathroom doorway. She was wearing a blue silk robe, and holding her bra and panties.

“You were sniffing for my panties, you little pervert! Well, here!”

She threw the items at my feet. I retrieved them from the floor. It crossed my mind to commit the crime she suspected, to cup them in my hands and inhale her scent. But she was still glaring, so
I gently set them on the bed. She went over to the tray of food.

“Oh, that looks scrumptious,” she complimented. “Now, time for your shower.”

“I was going to unpack . . .”

Her expression grew angry again. “Shower, now!”

I stripped, discarding my clothes in a drawer.

The floral scent of Amanda filled the bathroom. The walls were dark green marble, streaked with yellow mineral. The bathtub was glossy black; it could easily hold four people. Recessed lights
reflected on the mirrored walls. A simple shower stall sat in one corner. I showered, making sure to scrub every inch of my body three times over. After drying off, I wrapped a towel around my
waist and headed back into the main room. Her nightgown was draped over a chair.

She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the blanket pulled up around her. A towel was wrapped turban-like around her head. Her hands rested on her covered kneecaps, her strong arms framing her
pert breasts. I knew that underneath those blankets she was naked. No corsets, bra, boots, or garters. I had seen every intimate recess of her body, but always isolated or presented to me as a
reward for suffering some special humiliation or ordeal. Like the time she butt-fucked me with a strap-on. I came without her permission, but she was not angry. Instead, she offered me both her
nipples to suck. And the times she demanded to be slowly kissed all over – every inch of her semi-clothed body. It was body-worship, not kissing. So her body held few mysteries. But now the
promise of her total nakedness was overpowering. I was in a trance.

“Hey.” Amanda was pointing at my waist. “You should be naked!”

I felt paralyzed.

“Have you suddenly gone deaf?” she asked. Then she shouted, “Lose the fucking towel!”

I snatched off the offending article, tossing it blindly across the room. I noticed that the fine chain was wrapped around my suitcase, looped several times through the handle. A small lock
secured it. Even my collar was locked away. My half-hard penis started to fully rise.

“You will be kept naked – the way you belong – till I decide otherwise.”

We were supposed to be leaving by noon tomorrow. Checkout was sure to be a humiliating experience!

She pulled the covers slightly higher. “Now,” she ordered, “serve me.”

I set the tray beside her. She pulled the towel from her hair. Her thick black locks fell across her shoulders.

“My hair is still damp. Be a dear and dry it for me.”

I ran handful after handful of her hair through my fingers, softly rubbing it dry on the towel. She selected a slice of apple and cheese, and put them on a cracker. She cupped her hand under her
chin, catching crumbs as she ate. Next, she speared an oyster with the switchblade. She kept eating as I worked carefully. After about ten minutes, her hair was suitably dry. She was staring up at
me. I let the final handful of hair fall free.

“Oh, I’m being rude. This celebration is for you!” She brought her flattened palm up to my face. Obediently I leaned forward, my lips meeting her soft, moist palm. I picked the
crumbs away with my lips, cleaning her carefully. I had to use my tongue to get the bits lodged between her fingers. My tongue discovered a droplet of oyster oil, its pungent aroma filling my
mouth.

“Mm,” she moaned. “Such a nice mouth, but I think you should save it for later.”

She withdrew her hand and continued eating. I remained standing next to her, my penis sticking out like an unwanted chaperone. She activated the remote for the media station and started surfing
stations.

“Go ahead,” she said, sliding the tray toward me, “have some.” I picked up the tray and sat on the floor.