Best Bondage Erotica 2013 Read online

  Closing her eyes and drifting on the blissful feelings, she was only vaguely aware of the growing discomfort of the skin of her back, bottom and thighs. It was only when she felt the restraint at one wrist being undone that she came to. Taylor was moving fast now, holding her up as he quickly slid her across the hood so he could undo her other tie. Then he yanked her up onto her feet, before reaching into the vehicle to kill the engine.

  “Can you stand?” he said, looking concerned.

  She nodded, though she wasn’t one hundred percent sure if she meant it or not. Taylor let go, then put his hands to her hips and turned her around. The featherlight touch of his hands on the heated skin of her thighs made her gasp.

  “Shit,” she heard behind her, “I’m sorry, Mais. I should never have left you on there that long. Let’s get you indoors. I’ll put some cream on you. I’m really sorry.”

  She said nothing, merely nodding and allowing Taylor to fuss over her. She deserved it, after all. The guy had tied her to a car and allowed her to really feel the heat from the engine, for god’s sake!

  The fact that she’d really enjoyed it and had come so hard she’d seen stars was something that she’d keep to herself. At least until he’d finished pampering her, anyway.

  YOU CAN LOOK…

  Evan Mora

  I’ve been looking at it all day. From afar, up close, out of the corner of my eye. The big square box in the center of the bed, wrapped in shiny red paper with a black satin bow.

  Bryn’s at her office even though it’s a Saturday, having left me with a hungry kiss, a smack on the ass and very clear instructions not to touch.

  “Not the box, not the wrappings, not even the little bow.” Leave it to the lawyer to eliminate any loopholes.

  It’s driving me crazy, but of course, that’s the point. I love presents—the giving, the getting, the wonder, the pretty paper, and Bryn never fails to surprise me. But I hate waiting. It makes my fingers itch. I lie on the bed staring intently, as though I might spontaneously develop X-ray vision, but the box remains impenetrable.

  Shiny red paper and a black satin bow. It’s not my birthday, and it sure as hell isn’t Christmas, but it is the day of the biggest fetish party of the year. Imagine literally thousands of leather-clad (or unclad) kinksters of all genders and orientations dancing to killer beats and playing in the low red light of a massive industrial warehouse. At least, that’s what I imagine it to be; we’ve never been. Bryn is a wicked top, and she gives me everything my submissive heart desires, in private. She’s quite content to keep it at home, but me? I’m a closet exhibitionist and voyeur both. I’m not saying I want her to fuck me in public, but to see and be seen…the thought sends shivers of excitement down my spine.

  It can’t be a coincidence, the appearance of this present on the day of the fetish ball, can it? My fingers inch toward a carefully taped corner. Maybe I could just—

  “Ah-ah-ah.” Bryn’s admonishment from the bedroom door has me jumping clear off the bed, a guilty blush staining my cheeks.

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “Of course you weren’t.” She grabs my ass and pulls my pelvis snug against hers, slanting her mouth across mine by way of greeting.

  “Well?” she says expectantly when she lifts her head. I stare at her blankly; kissing Bryn always makes my head feel fuzzy. “Are you going to open it or not?”

  “Right!”

  I tear into the brightly colored wrappings with all the gusto of a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Ooohhhh…” I exclaim when the contents are finally revealed. “It’s so pretty.”

  Pretty is probably not the best word to describe the intricately designed leather body harness lying inside the box, but it’s all I’ve got. My mind’s already three steps ahead, imagining how the soft leather will feel against my skin, the way my breasts will be displayed by the crisscross pattern, and the way Bryn’s eyes will darken with the possessive hunger I love when she sees me in it.

  I look up at Bryn, who’s looking back at me with an indulgent smile.

  “Does this mean…?” I let my sentence trail off, scarcely believing we might actually be doing this.

  “You’d better get dressed, Cinderella.” Bryn says. “You don’t want to be late for the ball.”

  I’m half turned on before we even get in the door. It’s everything: the snug feel of the harness beneath my little black SEX SLAVE T-shirt; the rich, sensual smell of the leather; and the smooth, supple feel of it caressing my skin. My leather skirt is barely long enough to cover the curve of my ass, and there’s nothing beneath it but naked skin all the way down to my knee-high, kick-ass boots. Bryn’s in long pants and army boots, and beneath her bomber jacket she’s got a short-sleeved leather button down that makes her look a bit like a leather daddy cop, which is high on the list of things-I-can’t-stop-thinking-about.

  Once we’re inside, it’s warm and dark, and although we’re still far from the action, I can already feel the thrum of the music stealing inside me, fueling anticipation and desire both. Bryn directs me to a changing area where we’ll check our coats and her duffel, but first she pulls out a slim collar I’m intimately acquainted with and slides it around my neck. There’s a shift that happens when she snaps it into place—in the energy between us and internally in me as well.

  “Okay?” she asks, looking deep into my eyes. I nod my head and offer a small smile.

  “That’s my girl.” She kisses my lips gently.

  “Now,” she says more firmly, “take off the T-shirt.”

  I oblige, drawing it over my head in a single movement, and handing it to her silently. My nipples immediately harden into tight nubs, despite the warmth of the room.

  “Very nice,” Bryn says, tracing the lines of the new harness with her fingertip. She cups my breasts in her palms, testing the weight of them, then tugs at the ring piercing one of my nipples, sending a current of electricity straight to my center and drawing a small gasp from me.

  “Very nice indeed,” she says.

  She reaches into her duffel again, this time producing a pair of leather restraints that she efficiently fastens about my wrists, joining the D-rings on each together with a sailor clip. Then, with another clip, she attaches my bound wrists to one of the rings on the body harness, just above my navel.

  “Comfortable?” she asks. I can’t move my hands more than an inch or two in any direction, and I sink a little deeper into that space I love, where my world is only as big as Bryn allows, and I am snug and secure and, paradoxically, free.

  “Well?” Bryn prompts. I’m not in any discomfort, so I nod. “Good girl,” she says. She retrieves a final item from her bag, a short chain leash, which she affixes to the drop ring on the front of the collar.

  “Now,” she says, gripping my chin firmly and holding my gaze with utter seriousness, “the rules. You can look…but you can’t touch.” That much seems obvious, given my bound hands.

  “Also, I haven’t changed my mind about playing in public, so if you try to punk your way into a spanking by behaving badly we’re out of here, understood?”

  I nod again. Bryn hasn’t told me I can’t speak, but the fact of the matter is, I can be a punk, and my mouth tends to get me into trouble more often than not, so silence seems a wise choice.

  “However,” she continues, letting go of my chin and trailing her hand down the side of my neck and across my chest, rolling a pebble-hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger, “if you’re good, we’ll see about rewarding you properly after the ball.”

  Her words stoke the fire that’s been building in my nether regions, and when she kisses me soundly, sweeping her tongue deep into my mouth, I can’t help but moan and press myself against her. Bryn breaks the kiss after a moment or two and takes up the leash in her hand.

  “Let’s go then,” she says, and we head out into the crowd.

  As balls go, let me tell you—Cinderella’s got nothing on this. There’s more leather and skin on di
splay than I’ve ever seen and an entire upper level kitted out with spanking benches, tables and in one corner a doctor’s exam bed with stirrups that’s being put to good use by a group of hot women in PVC nurse’s outfits and a boy who’s clearly got a medical fetish. Even the sofas and chairs, liberally dispersed throughout the space, are filled with subs who are bent over the knees of their Masters and Mistresses receiving paddlings and spankings, or seated at their feet worshipping their boots, or taking some water curled up in their arms in the aftermath of a play session.

  It’s a feast for the eyes, and I greedily drink it all in, though in truth it’s not the sight of a whip falling or the abundant naked flesh that arouses me, but the intimacy of the interactions. It’s the moment of rest between lashes when a Master’s hand softly strokes his or her sub’s poor reddened bottom, or when one bestows a gentle kiss to tear-stained cheeks. It’s the whispered words of encouragement and the tender aftercare that make me feel like a real voyeur, because those are the truly private moments, so much more so than the beating and the fucking.

  I could spend my night just watching this, but a tug on my leash tells me Bryn has other plans.

  “Don’t forget the real show’s on the main floor,” she says, and I follow her obediently downstairs.

  She’s right, and even after the visual feast upstairs, it takes me a moment to process everything that’s going on. It’s hot down here, even hotter than upstairs, and there has to be close to a thousand people on the dance floor, moving to the hypnotic pulse of the music. Even in the dim red lighting, you can see the sheen of sweat glistening on skin, and the air smells like sex and leather.

  On a raised dais on the right, a DJ is spinning, and she’s flanked by two St. Andrew’s crosses, the first with a muscle bottom restrained facing the cross being whipped by his equally muscle-bound Master, and the second featuring a beautiful redheaded woman whose spectacular breasts are being tortured by her Mistress. To our left next to a long, stone-topped bar, there is another woman suspended from the ceiling being posed in elaborate rope bondage.

  It’s the main stage, though, where most of the attention is focused. The headliner is a famous trans porn actor, and he puts on a hell of a show. Shaved head, huge muscles, innumerable tattoos, he comes out dancing in a leather vest and pants and everyone, gay, straight or otherwise, watches. First he unzips, revealing a huge silicone strap-on, then he continues the striptease and the pants disappear entirely. Finally, the cock comes off and he fucks his pussy with it, center stage, to a deafening chorus of cheers and shouts.

  I’m transfixed, completely engrossed by the spectacle, when Bryn’s wry tenor pulls me back to her.

  “You like what you see?” she says in my ear. The front of her body is pressed tight against my back, and my ass is nestled snugly against her pelvis.

  The truth is, there isn’t a show or ball or anything else in the world that can compare to this woman. I take a step forward and turn so I’m looking at her, taking in everything from her short dark hair with its sprinkling of silver, to her warm dark eyes; her broad shoulders and strong, capable hands.

  “Yes,” I say, breaking my silence for the first time since we’ve arrived, “I like it very much.”

  She kisses me then, and despite the noise and the bodies and a million other things, it feels like we’re completely alone, just the two of us. Her tongue parts my lips and steals inside to tangle sensually with mine. I press closer to her, loving the leather of her shirt against my breasts. It’s Bryn’s turn to moan, and she fists one hand in my hair and grabs my ass with her other, pulling me tight against the length of her body. My hands are mashed awkwardly between us, and it’s enough to jolt us back to the reality of the moment. Bryn looks down and chuckles.

  “You make me forget the world…” she says, before adding, “Come on—I’ve got an idea.”

  She leads me to the center of the dance floor and unhooks my bound wrists from the body harness. She raises them up, then steps into the circle of my arms, letting my wrists come to rest behind her neck.

  “Much better,” she says, pulling me closer so that our bodies are flush from chest to thigh.

  All around us, the sea of bodies crowding the dance floor continues to move, straining toward one another, driven on by the pounding bass and the sexual energy vibrating unmistakably through the air. But Bryn moves to a music all her own, slow and sensual, her hands tracing the pattern of the harness on my back, fingertips dipping between the diamonds of leather to tease my sensitive skin. Her tongue finds the hollow just above my clavicle and my head falls back of its own accord in invitation. Bryn obliges me, sinking her teeth deep into the juncture between my shoulder and neck. It’s a straight shot of nirvana that makes my breath catch in my chest and my cunt clench wildly.

  “Please…” I moan, though I’m not really sure what I’m asking for.

  Bryn eases up, swirling her tongue into the deep indentations left by her teeth while her hands slide lower, cupping my ass as she presses a hard thigh between mine. She rocks me forward, stimulating my clit, and her mouth moves higher, teasing bites along the column of my neck until she claims my mouth with a kiss that robs me of reason. It goes on and on, and my hips pick up the restless rhythm she’s leading, the smooth slide of leather against leather as I ride her thigh.

  “Lean back,” she whispers against my mouth, her hands moving upward to support my weight.

  I do as she asks, arching back, offering up my breasts to her seeking mouth. She takes the right first, suckling it deep the way I like, hard enough to bring blood to the surface of my skin and make me grind my clit harder against her. She can almost make me come like that, and I close my eyes, shuddering as I feel the sensation building in my belly, but she lets go and moves to the left, grabbing my piercing between her teeth and pulling hard. The cry she wrenches from me takes me by surprise and my eyes fly open, quickly scanning the crowd, but nobody gives us a second glance.

  “You make me so hard, I want to tear into you right here.” Bryn’s voice is a rough-edged rasp of desire, and I can feel the tension vibrating through her body.

  “Come with me,” she says, stepping out of the circle of my arms and leading me off the floor by my wrists.

  We’re gone in hardly any time at all, with only the briefest of stops to collect our things. Bryn unhooks the leash and removes the sailor clip attaching my wrists together, but leaves the cuffs and collar in place.

  “Here, put this on,” she says, tossing me her jacket, and when I’m buttoned in she grabs my hand and leads me out the door.

  I snuggle as close to her as I can in the confines of the car, rubbing her crotch through the front of her leathers as she expertly navigates the late-night city streets. I press tiny kisses along her jaw, feeling small and feminine and incredibly turned on, wrapped up in her jacket, surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the more subtle scent that is hers alone.

  “I can’t wait to get home,” I whisper in her ear, which elicits an unexpected chuckle from Bryn.

  “Well then, you’re going to be disappointed,” she says, as the car comes to a stop. I haven’t been paying attention to the drive, but we’re definitely not in our garage.

  “What…?” I begin with a quizzical frown, but in the next second her door swings open and a black-suited valet offers a cordial greeting while waiting for Bryn to exit.

  “Come on,” she says, planting a quick kiss on my lips before stepping out and handing the valet her keys, then circling around to open my door.

  She takes my hand and draws me out, and I realize we’re at one of the most expensive hotels in town.

  “Bryn—I can’t go in there. Look at how I’m dressed!” I whisper urgently in her ear. The valet’s gaze is discreetly averted as he waits to take the car, but I’m exceedingly conscious of my head-to-toe leather ensemble, complete with collar and wrist restraints, and a blush floods my cheeks.

  “Sure you can,” she says, patting me on the cheek. She le
ads the way, pulling me unresistingly behind her, pausing to tip the valet before heading inside, responding to the doorman’s greeting with a casual, “Good evening,” and a nod of her head. She skips the check-in counter and heads straight for the elevators.

  “Bryn, what’s going on?” I whisper. “What are we doing here?”

  She stops then, in the middle of the lobby, whispering in my ear while curious onlookers survey the two of us.

  “I promised I’d reward you if you were good at the ball, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Oh, come on,” she says, trailing a finger down the front of my skirt, which I bat nervously away, eyeing the growing number of spectators we’re attracting. “You think I don’t know how much this turns you on? I bet you’re soaking wet right now, aren’t you?”

  I close my eyes, feeling the heat in my cheeks climb impossibly higher. She’s right—even though I’m fully dressed, I feel like I’m naked in the eyes of all these strangers. I feel like they can see through to my most secret desires, and it turns me on; I can’t deny it. Bryn chuckles at my silent admission.

  “I thought so.” She tucks my hand in the crook of her elbow, escorting me leisurely across the lobby to the elevators like a proper gentleman, seemingly unconcerned by the attention we’re receiving.

  We ride the elevator with a half-dozen other guests in perfect silence, my scarlet flush now accompanied by a slight tremor in my thighs, and I unconsciously hold my breath, exhaling only when we’ve exited and the doors have shut behind us.

  She steals my breath with an unexpected kiss then guides me to our room. It’s clear that she’s been here already; either that or this hotel has the kinkiest turndown service I’ve ever seen. The covers are drawn back on luxurious-looking white sheets, and a length of black nylon rope is attached to each of the four bedposts, the two at the foot of the bed complete with ankle restraints. There’s also a huge bouquet of red roses, a bottle of champagne and a bowl of…clothespins?