Bondage bites, p.1
Bondage Bites, page 1
BONDAGE BITES
69 SUPER-SHORT STORIES
OF LOVE, LUST AND BDSM
EDITED BY
ALISON TYLER
Copyright © 2015 by Alison Tyler.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson Street, Thirty-Seventh Floor, Suite 3705, Jersey City, New Jersey, 07302.
Printed in the United States.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: iStockphoto
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-118-3
E-book ISBN: E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-134-3
Love is the master key which opens the gates of happiness.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes
If one is master of one thing and understands one
thing well, one has at the same time, insight into and
understanding of many things.
—Vincent van Gogh
Contents
Introduction: Why Bondage?
B • ALISON TYLER
Danger• SOMMER MARSDEN
Stripped• STELLA HARRIS
Dollface• TAMSIN FLOWERS
Chalk• KATHRYN O’HALLORAN
Up/Down• VIDA BAILEY
Taken for a Ride• TILLY HUNTER
Showing Restraint • THOMAS S. ROCHE
Touch • SOPHIA VALENTI
Temptation • OLEANDER PLUME
Pride in My Work • SOMMER MARSDEN
Hobble Me • KRISTINA LLOYD
Jake Holds Me Down•TERESA NOELLE ROBERTS
Misadventures on a Velcro Wall • KATHLEEN TUDOR
Minute to Minute • TENILLE BROWN
Top Game • ANNABETH LEONG
If Only • KIKI DELOVELY
The Gate • JADE A. WATERS
Don’t Break the Chain • GISELLE RENARDE
Pop • ELISE HEPNER
Unbreakable • SOPHIA VALENTI
In the Morning • JADE A. WATERS
Lobster Lover • KRISTINA LLOYD
Dirty Laundry • BRETT OLSEN
Yes, Mistress • ERZABET BISHOP
Getting into Trouble . LAILA BLAKE
Blindingly Obvious . TAMSIN FLOWERS
A Silken Thread • KATHLEEN TUDOR
Best Foot Forward • EMILY BINGHAM
Anything But Loose • TENILLE BROWN
D • ALISON TYLER
Proper Presentation . JACQUELINE APPLEBEE
Learning the Ropes • KATHLEEN TUDOR
Tongue-Tied • BLACKSILK
Fire and Steel • CHRISTIAN FARADAY
7:00 a.m• • G. C. ELIZABETH
Safety Shears • JADE A. WATERS
Power Struggle • ANGELL BROOKS
Strange Arrival • ANNABETH LEONG
Pitching a Tent • EMILY BINGHAM
Kissing Hemp Instead of You • TERESA NOELLE ROBERTS
Trail of Flowers • SOMMER MARSDEN
Hose/Toes • GISELLE RENARDE
Scent-sual • MOLLY MOORE
S • ALISON TYLER
I’m Tied Up Right Now • LUCY FELTHOUSE
Truss • KATHLEEN DELANEY-ADAMS
Hand Delivery • HEIDI CHAMPA
Audience of One • SOPHIA VALENTI
Massive Attack • GISELLE RENARDE
Tangled • ANDREE LACHAPELLE
Wet Nails • ASHLEY LISTER
Not Before Time • VIDA BAILEY
Just Another Scold’s Bridle Story • TILLY HUNTER
Wiggle Room • RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL
The Dungeon Club • KRISTY LIN BILLUNI
Morning Routine • STELLA HARRIS
Bound • JENNE DAVIS
Double Dare • ANNABETH LEONG
The Present • KATHLEEN DELANEY-ADAMS
Going Down • SACCHI GREEN
Switching It Up • HEATHER DAY
Burn • HANNAH WINSTON
Seven Knots • TAMSIN FLOWERS
Hurt Me, Sir • SOPHIA VALENTI
Rustic Tart • SOMMER MARSDEN
Special Order • STELLA HARRIS
The Dream Police • KRISTINA LLOYD
M • ALISON TYLER
About the Editor
INTRODUCTION
W hy bondage?
For me, that’s like asking, Why food? Why air? Why sleep (however little of it I manage)? But some people wonder. Why does your heart beat faster for kink? Why would you want to tie someone down? Why would you want to be bound?
Oh, sweet heaven, because.
Because of everything that goes with the word bondage. Start with the implements: the cuffs, the ties, the silk, the rope, the hardware, the software, the chains, the collars, the leather. A true bondage fiend can get aroused by the gear alone.
Next let’s discuss the vocabulary. Bondage has its own language, its own rules and regulations. Even beyond that there’s the rhythm, the very cadence, the poetry, if you will: Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Ony our knees, boy. Up against that wall, doll. Did I say to look at me? Did I say that you could stand? Bow down. Count. Do I stutter? No, Mistress. Yes, Ma’am. Whatever you want. Whatever you say.
And then we have the outfits. Sure, you can be into bondage with a stark-naked closet. But why? We have short skirts, tight pants, high-heeled boots, leather, PVC, rubber, masks, costumes. Fashion is often inspired by bondage and not the other way around. Check your latest Vogue if you don’t believe me.
But in my world, the most important part of bondage is the thousand-watt charge of power—the electricity you feel between two (oh yes, or more) lovers. You ask for what you want and someone fulfills your need. Or you don’t even have to ask. Your partner simply knows. This connection doesn’t exist for me in vanilla sex. The power of bondage can be as pure as a command to hold still, or a pair of hands on a lover’s wrists, an emotional bond. Players can move up the ladder to the extreme sensations—but everything begins with that flickering glow of power.
In this book, the stories capture that current. From emotional bondage to full-scale dungeon scenarios, these stories delve deep into the passion of this much-loved genre. The pieces are short—some only one hundred words—but each one is lit up, bright as neon on a midnight sky.
Why bondage?
Because I can’t fucking breathe without it.
XXX,
Alison
B
Alison Tyler
D on’t keep me in your back pocket, tucked into your battered leather wallet, behind the ticket stub for the movie we went to see. Don’t tell yourself you don’t need me, that you can get by with the grown-up cheerleaders, the girls who twirl their curls over drinks, the ones who wait for you to open the car door, who think it’s not a date unless the man pays.
Don’t pretend that what we did has no meaning. That the way you held my arms over my head hasn’t resonated inside of you.
I call foul.
But I have time.
Take her out, the next one, the next sweet young thing. Take her out to the latest restaurant written up by some pompous blowhard in the local paper. Watch her toy with her food. Watch her play with her hair.
Take her home and stand on the front porch beneath the safety light and kiss her good night with the paper fine moths fluttering manically over your head. Know that she is calculating exactly how many dates you’re going to pay for before she lets you in, before she pours you a drink, before she spreads her legs.
Go on home, man. Take out that ticket stub, run the ball of your thumb along the edge, close your eyes and remember.
I had on a black jersey skirt, short, just above the knee. Black T-shirt, cut tight, showing everything I have to show—compact body, high small breasts. I was wearing tights that he’d already ripped once, high up under the hem. You couldn’t see the hole at first, but I felt the breeze. My purse was a simple leather pocket on a thin leather strap. Docs completed the look, tied tight to the knee. I don’t wear much makeup. My face was bare except for dark lipstick, black mascara. In the flicker of the foreign film, you kept looking at me.
I walked out in the middle. You followed me. I headed upstairs to the ladies. You didn’t hesitate. We entered together, and I said, “So you haven’t done this before.”
You shook your head.
The pretty blonde chicklets don’t let you do this to them? They don’t let you cuff them in a bathroom and fuck them against the wall?
I’d told you exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed. I’d told you that if you met my specifications I would walk past you down the aisle. I’d told you to bring the cuffs and the key. I’d signed the mail with my safeword.
Why would I trust a novice dom?
Because I sensed you’d be eager to give me the moon.
You had my arms over my head, pulling me to my full height. You kissed me, and I could feel your hard-on against your jeans. You said, “Why do you want this?” and I said, “You don’t get to know that yet.”
You dragged me to the last stall, cuffed my wrists, pushed me up against the cold plaster. You slid my skirt to my waist, stroked my ass through the stockings, let one firm slap land on my ripe cheeks. The sw eet spot.
You said, “What does bondage do for you?”
And I said, “You don’t get to know that yet.”
“When?”
“When you prove your worth.”
You had my stockings down, torn farther in your strong hands. You had my panties down, too, and you spanked me until my ass felt swollen. It had been too long. I stared at the graffiti scrawled on the wall—JOHN LOVES JANE 1972—and I steeled myself and I thought of him and I thought of you and I almost came. You ground your hips against me, your clothed cock against my naked split, and you said, “I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere else.”
I shook my head. Not yet. Just this.
You spread my legs. You let your fingers spank my cunt. And I came. Fiercely, silently. I came on your fingertips and then you brought your hand to my mouth and I licked the juices—my juices—away.
You split your jeans, opened a condom. I could hear the crackle, the rustle of the Mylar. Sheathed, you slid into my pussy, so wet, so ready for you. I set my forearms against the wall. I rested my forehead on the cold tile. I accepted the force of you, brutal, powerful, your thrusts rhythmic. Like poetry.
When you came, you bent to bite my shoulder through my T-shirt. I wore your teeth marks home that night.
You undid the cuffs, you set me free. I left the stall and waited for you.
“Do you have your ticket?” I asked.
“I need a ticket to ride the ride?”
I waited. You handed it over. I dug in my bag for a pen and I wrote my number on the edge.
“When you’re ready for what comes next,” I said. “When you’re sure about what you want.”
—B
DANGER
Sommer Marsden
Iliked the danger of it. I liked the thrill. It was Teddy who jokingly said I should let him put me in his display. That was after a drunken night out on the town. One too many sips pink Moscato and one too many confessions.
It’s how I found myself bound to a telephone pole in his Halloween display. Luckily it wasn’t too cold and I had time alone—just bound there half-nude and thinking—to contemplate if I wanted to go through with my little exhibitionist’s dream come true. One breast was artfully exposed. And my pussy was barely covered in what looked to be old dirty rags, but were actually pieces of linen we’d stained with tea to give them that aged look. I was set up to look like the damsel in distress. The waif. The girl held captive by the monster. I was Fay Wray on display.
I thought about it a thousand times in the course of the twenty minutes before he opened the gate. Wondered if I should leave. If this was a bad idea. Considered that I was quite possibly insane. And yet every time I opened my mouth to call out to Teddy to ask him to let me loose, I quickly silenced myself. I shut my eyes and simply listened. To my pounding heart. To the pulse of my body. And I let myself focus on how wet—no, how drenched—I was between my thighs.
And I shut my mouth.
The first wave of people didn’t seem to notice anything off with me. I kept my breath shallow. My body still. I hung my head as if dejected but mostly it was to keep in character and to cover my face. I watched the parade of people who sought fear and titillation, and I tried not to react to the starburst of excitement that detonated beneath my skin, thrilling me to the core.
The second wave was different though. As I studied them, a man studied me back. A tall, thick man with forearms the size of my thighs. His dark hair was shaggy and his blue eyes were bright. Interested. I felt my pulse skip erratically, felt my head go muzzy and light from holding my breath. Under his gaze my knees dipped just a little. Imperceptibly really.
But he smiled.
Caught.
The rush it gave me was like no other. The rush it gave me was intoxicating.
I exhaled, disappointed, when he continued on down the line.
My shoulders ached, my back, too. I’d been clenching my jaw and the tension radiated down my neck and up into my temples. I wanted so badly to shift and had to control the instinct. I was focused on the piercing ache right between my shoulder blades when I felt someone loosen the ropes.
I gasped, thinking it had to be Teddy. Until an unfamiliar gruff voice rasped in my ear. “I’m here to save you, Pretty. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you breathing? It was hard.” He chuckled then at his double entendre. “But I noticed. I’m a hunter. We’re trained to be observant.”
I realized I should fight. Deny him. Maybe call out for Teddy. Very few people paid attention to the giant man untying me and scooping me up in his arms. Most probably assumed it was part of the Halloween display. I didn’t know him. He was a stranger. And yet…
Arousal swept me under, filled every cell in my body. Made me go limp in his arms.
“Good girl.”
He smelled good. Soap and clean cotton and some subtle spicy cologne. His arms were huge. His beard tickled my forehead where it touched me. He carried me to a greenhouse that was dark and closed—not part of the event.
He set me on a potting bench and parted my thighs. His fingers, as if by magic, found my wetness and he let loose another low laugh. “Should I introduce myself?”
I shook my head. No. That wasn’t what this was. This was…a craving.
The danger and the rush and the fear were all part of the turn-on.
I relaxed under his touch, wondering if I should, not caring. I shuddered when he stroked my clit again. Sighed loudly when he slipped a thick finger inside me.
“You’re a good heroine. Very convincing. I wanted to save you the moment I saw you,” he said, pinching my bare nipple and then baring the other one so they matched.
His mouth was hot, his facial hair perfectly harsh. Goose bumps pebbled my breasts where his beard rasped.
As he sucked he slid another finger inside me, then added a second. He burrowed both fingers deep inside me, curling them gently at first, and then fucking me roughly with them. My body gripped him tight and pleasure swept me along. Heat and wetness unfurled inside me and I arched my hips up on the rickety potting bench, hearing it groan even as I came with a stifled cry.
In the semidarkness, I heard his zipper perfectly clearly. The evening chill was setting in and a smell tremble had started deep in my bones. He smoothed my hair back, tsking roughly. When he grabbed my hips and hauled me forward so my ass was on the lip of the bench, I gasped.
Big hands parted my thighs farther, held my thighs as if supporting my body was no effort at all. His cock, hot and hard, slid the length of my nether lips, kissed my clitoris, making me tremble. And then he was in me. One hard thrust. One brutal entry.
He held me stable, fucked me hard, rocking into me so the bench smacked the back wall making the small structure shake. I let myself slip deeper into the fantasy. Gave in to the feel of the rescue by the hulking stranger. Allowed myself the sensation of being safe in his grip.
He pressed his hot mouth to my throat, clasping my hips so tightly I imagined red fingerprints remaining there on my flesh for hours. He grunted like some beast and that made it all the better. All the crazier. All the more dangerous.
I felt myself shaking in his grip and he pinched my nipple again, bit my throat gently, slammed into me. I came when his teeth found the tip of my breast, when his cock hit just the right spot, when his fingers pinched a tad too harshly.
I cried out loudly this time and as he chuckled, amused by my loss of control, he pulled free of me, painting my thighs and my belly with his come. It seemed luminescent in the purpling gloom.
“Do you feel safe?” he asked, grinning in the almost dark.
I was too shaken to answer. My entire body was a heartbeat.
“Would you like me to tie you back up?”
I shook my head.
The big man reached into his pocket and took out a card. He tucked it in the small remainder of the tank top that had barely covered my chest. Then he kissed me and turned to go.
“Just in case you want me to save you again,” he said.
And then he was gone. I was alone, nearly nude, and in possible peril once again. Just the way I’d always fantasized.
STRIPPED
Stella Harris
Grace dresses carefully, choosing each garment with precision, from matching lingerie to the most flattering outfits. She dresses for access and appeal: skirts that can be pulled up around her waist and heels that lengthen her legs. But in the end it doesn’t matter.
