Best Bondage Erotica 2015 Read online

  BEST

  BONDAGE EROTICA

  2015

  BEST

  BONDAGE EROTICA

  2015

  Edited by

  RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL

  Foreword by

  ANNABEL JOSEPH

  Copyright © 2015 by Rachel Kramer Bussel.

  Foreword copyright © 2015 by Annabel Joseph.

  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,

  609 Greenwich Street, Sixth Floor, New York, New York 10014.

  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: 978-1-62778-089-6

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-104-6

  CONTENTS

  Foreword: The Moment • ANNABEL JOSEPH

  Introduction: Bondage at Home and Away

  The Centerpiece • ERIN SPILLANE

  An Unforgettable Ride • ELISE HEPNER

  What Happens in Vegas… • TIM RUDOLPH

  The Thug • SOMMER MARSDEN

  Housewarming the Craftsman • DADDY X

  Multiple Choice • EMILY BINGHAM

  Tying the Knot • ROB ROSEN

  Baddha Konasana • CORVIDAE

  Queen for a Night • ROBERT BLACK

  Bound to Lie • NICHELLE GREGORY

  Tied and Twisted • JODIE GRIFFIN

  Cocoon • ANNABETH LEONG

  Auction, in Quotation Marks • LN BEY

  Melt • ELIZABETH COLDWELL

  You Shall Not Come • D. L. KING

  Point and Click • L. C. SPOERING

  Stuck on You • JENNE DAVIS

  In Suspense • SHENOA CARROLL-BRADD

  Trinity’s New Hobby • LUCY FELTHOUSE

  Plastered • ANNA WATSON

  Of Human Bondage • RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL

  About the Authors

  About the Editor

  FOREWORD: THE MOMENT

  Annabel Joseph

  I’ve always had a thing for short stories.

  I cut my teeth on Ernest Hemingway, then started on the O. Henry Award anthologies, containing the most notable short stories of each year. When I got older and kinkier, I started reading erotic anthologies, and oh, that was a wondrous discovery. The thrill of short stories and eroticism together…well. More on that in a sex. I mean, sec. Ahem.

  My love for short stories isn’t a time-saving thing—I’ll read a bajillion-page book if it holds my interest. People who love short stories don’t love them because they’re short. They love them because they’re sharp. Short story authors hone desire and emotion to a glittering, fine point and then jab you with it. See? Do you see?

  As much as I love short stories, I generally write full-length novels, where there’s lots of space to tell a complex story. Novels allow for twists and turns, for chapters’ worth of buildup, but a short story demands brevity and finesse, and that fine, glittering point I mentioned earlier. Maybe it’s better to call it a moment.

  Oh, the moment.

  In a short story, there is always that moment when you realize something out of the ordinary is happening. It might be a sneaky, provocative tease of a reveal, or an earth-shattering shock that blows your mind. Either way, you’re hooked, and you read on until you reach that fine, glittering point the author meant to poke you with. In erotic tales, the moment is almost always about fulfillment, or connection, or a realization of something about oneself. In the best moments, you, the reader, find pleasure or joy.

  In bondage too, there is that moment when you find yourself trapped in rope or cuffs, or yarn, or plaster, or one of the other delightfully creative bondage methods in this volume. In the best cases, you’ll feel yourself without recourse for getting away, and you’ll think Ah, and Oh, and What will happen to me now, and Will I be able to endure it? Will it change me?

  How?

  Or perhaps you’re the one doing the binding, and your moment arrives at the sound of your subject’s pleasure. Or terror. Perhaps it’s that moment when your gaze locks on your partner, and both of you realize, Wow. We’ve created this moment together. We’ve created this magic between us, at least until the bonds let loose.

  The lovingly crafted erotic tales you’re about to read also build to a moment. In some cases it’s a quiet moment, and in others, a surprising or humorous moment. No matter what kind of moment, it will make you feel something. That’s good bondage—and good short-story writing. If you’re like me, you’ll pause on the page to enjoy the desire, or discovery, or emotion. Perhaps you’ll go back to reread and savor it again. Perhaps you’ll even go off to find a partner to savor it with in a more hands-on way.

  To me, short stories and bondage go together as perfectly as subject and rigger, as top and bottom, as Mistress or Master and slave, because they all strive to create these memorable moments. If you’re reading this collection, you probably already agree with me. If you don’t agree with me yet, read a few stories and you’ll see.

  I wish you many fine, glittering moments in reading, in bondage and in life. And if you haven’t had any moments lately, perhaps it’s time to start looking for them. I promise you’ll find many inspiring ones in the pages of this book.

  Annabel Joseph

  New York Times bestselling author of Comfort Object

  INTRODUCTION: BONDAGE AT HOME AND AWAY

  Every year, different themes emerge from the submissions I receive for the Best Bondage Erotica series. This year bondage writers stuck close to home—literally. This year, I received stories like “Housewarming the Craftsman,” by Daddy X, and “Stuck on You,” by Jenne Davis, focused on housing, real estate and home improvement, that are both humorous and offer some creative forms of containment that prove you don’t need a Red Room of Pain to make someone writhe. While in “Tying the Knot,” by Rob Rosen, bondage gets mobile, there’s a sweetness to this engagement story that tethers the protagonists close to each other, and their marital home. In “Bound to Lie” by Nichelle Gregory, two business adversaries battle it out in the boardroom for the ultimate form of control.

  In these kinky tales, bondage happens as part of yoga, knitting, a birthday present, with a collar, a cage, duct tape, a webcam, and a very sexy pair of thighs. Bondage, in some cases, is in the eye and mind of the one being bound. It’s what happens after these eager, curious, brave characters are trussed up, immobile, secure in their trappings, that makes for the most powerful sexual encounters of all.

  Whatever form the bondage takes, each of the characters you’ll read about in Best Bondage Erotica 2015 struggles and delights in the power and intimacy invoked in the name of knowing one’s place, literally and figuratively.

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Red Bank, New Jersey

  THE CENTERPIECE

  Erin Spillane

  I stop at the open door of Greg’s office and hesitate. Many nights with him are a surprise, and I have yet to experience one that I didn’t like.

  I am completely naked except for the ballerina heels on my feet, which are beautiful, with flowers made out of beads and lace covering the entire surface. I’m walking on the tips of my toes, making balancing extremely difficult, so my full concentration is on each step I
take.

  Inside, I can see Greg working at his desk. He is an utterly beautiful man, and he’s all mine. Short black hair, deep-green eyes and a goatee that shapes his wide, full lips. His nose is straight and long and his cheekbones are prominent and high. He rarely shows any facial expression when we play, making it hard to determine his mood in the moment. He simply takes my breath away.

  “Oh love, you are going to make such a beautiful centerpiece tonight,” he says as he comes over to me and takes hold of my elbow, guiding me into the room.

  I’ve been in this room many times over the past year, but tonight, there is an odd table over by the fireplace that I take a moment to study. It’s a half circle, the flat end facing the fireplace, almost like a blackjack table. And where the dealer would stand is a pole straight out of a strip club. About a foot up from the table, attached to the pole, is a small shelf that sticks out toward the seats. Chains and leather straps dangle from all ends of the equipment. On the shelf, a rather large piece of metal sticks up, already wet with something, because it shines from the overhead light.

  I stand there getting wet, thinking of what Greg plans on doing tonight. Arousal courses through me and I tingle all over, while my legs start to shake from the strain of standing in these heels and the excitement of what’s going to happen.

  Greg doesn’t give me long to look over the table before he’s urging me over to it.

  “I bought this for you, love. I think you’re going to like it. Now, up you go, stand on the table.” His voice is calm, but his eyes shine with excitement.

  I’ll never tell him, but his eyes always give him away.

  With his assistance, I stand on the table and look down at him for my next instructions.

  He gestures for me to sit on the shelf with my back against the pole. I can see now that the metal piece on the shelf is actually a steel ribbed dildo. I carefully start to lower myself, letting the metal touch the entrance of my pussy, when he stops me with a hand on my ass.

  “Now, love, that won’t do. I have something else to fill that hole.”

  I stare at him in shock. There’s no way that’s going to fit in my anus. I look toward the door as if to escape, and Greg just chuckles. I wouldn’t make it far if I ran, especially with these ballerina heels on. But to be honest, I wouldn’t run from this night anyway. Greg would never hurt me.

  I maneuver my body until the tip of the metal rests against my asscheeks. The heels make it impossible to push my body down any farther without falling. I look at Greg for help.

  I know not to speak without permission when we play, but I don’t have to worry. I trust Greg and he always seems to know when I need something.

  “Let me take your weight,” Greg says. The feel of his cool hands on my hips has goose bumps breaking out on my heated skin.

  With his support, I move my feet to the side, until my ankles are at an odd angle and touch the table.

  Greg pushes me down and the pain of being so full, so quick, sends an odd sensation through my body. It takes my breath away. My eyes water while my body tries to adjust to the large object in me.

  “Breathe, love. Take a nice, deep breath for me.”

  I try, but it’s hard. I end up taking short quick breaths, which earns me a hard swat on one of my nipples. I’m so wet, I should probably be embarrassed about my reaction, but as the pain works through my body it makes me feel so alive. Energized and eager for more.

  Before my body adjusts to the invasion, a warm, tingling sensation starts to spread through my insides from the plug. I look up at Greg in horror, and he calmly stares at me. I bounce up and down to try and alleviate the burn, but Greg grabs one of my legs in his hand and swivels the pole around. The motion sends the metal deeper in my ass, holding me immobile. I dangle from the pole by just the piece in my ass and Greg’s grip on one of my legs. The shelf between my leg digs into my thighs.

  “I have a special lubricant I thought we’d use this time. Remember the ginger lube we saw the other day? I bought it. I love watching you squirm on the pole. The feeling lasts for a while. Even after I get you down from there, we might have to wash you out to stop it. It has some cinnamon in it, too.”

  The thought of the lube worries me. No matter how much time has passed, new things still have the ability to frighten me.

  I can’t stop gyrating on the pole. I try to escape the heat but I can’t; he won’t let me. How long does he plan to keep me up here? How long will it last? And how will he clean it out later? The questions pelt my brain one after another. Tears squeeze from my eyes. I cry out without thinking, and it earns me another swat on my nipples.

  “Grab the pole above you, and don’t let go,” he demands in a tone I can’t ignore. I instantly grab hold of the pole above my head, no hesitation in my movement.

  Greg takes hold of my legs above my knee, and I am so happy when he places my thighs on the shelf. The pressure lessens, and I feel some relief. The shelf is only large enough to hold me to my thighs, so my knees are bent and my toes point straight to the ground. His rough hands caress my legs before separating them until I am in a split position. The shelf is two pieces, one for each leg, and Greg reaches down to find the leather and metal straps to wrap around me from my upper thigh to above my knee. It doesn’t take him long to complete the process, binding my legs and leaving me no give to close them.

  I look down at the wide-open display I’m bound to. My pussy is completely bare, spread open with nothing to shield it or the anal plug that I sit on. Instinctively, I tighten my muscles to see if the shelf will move at all, but it’s locked. My predicament settles in, and I shiver in bliss. I love this part, the point of no return.

  Helpless.

  Greg steps away from me and looks at his handiwork. When his gaze makes it to my face, one side of his mouth twitches slightly.

  He turns to grab a chair that he pulls over in between my spread thighs and climbs onto it. This close, I can smell his subtle cologne, a smell that always comforts me. He reaches up to pry my hands from the pole and raises them even higher. Pulling my body taut, he shackles my wrists to the fur-lined cuffs that dangle from the top.

  “Some of my friends are coming over tonight to go over some business. You’re going to be our centerpiece. Centerpieces look so nice, and I think you might be the prettiest any of them has ever seen. Sometimes they smell nice. I have a feeling this will be one of those times.” He reaches between my legs and swirls his finger in my opening. “Become the perfect centerpiece, and we’ll have a wonderful night.”

  I give him a nod; I will be perfect. He smooths my hair back and kisses my forehead. Out of his back pocket he pulls a piece of fabric, which he wraps around my head and settles over my eyes. The fabric is thick, with no give. I can’t see anything.

  Without sight, my other senses are now amplified. I hear the chair scrape over the wood floor as he places it back at the table. His footsteps are soft, barely noticeable. And then everything goes silent and I strain to hear anything that will give away his location.

  I’m not sure how long I sit there before I hear him walk back to me. Time has no meaning, not when I’m lost to every sensation my body has to experience. His breath warms my chest seconds before his mouth engulfs my nipple and he sucks, hard. Greg gives my other nipple the same treatment before rubbing something onto them. The burn begins immediately. It’s the same lubricant from the plug, and my nipples immediately pucker. My body clenches with the pleasure of the heat, but it only lasts for a moment before he puts a nipple clamp on and screws it tight. He quickly places a clamp on my other nipple before I even feel the pain from the first one. With both clamps on and tightened, pain shoots through my chest and brings tears to my eyes. But I am still getting wetter.

  All my muscles are so tight, I can barely draw a breath. I know I have to breathe through it, but it’s hard. I think I am about to pass out from lack of oxygen.

  But Greg knows this and barks out, “Breathe. Now.” And because he told me,
and I don’t want to disappoint him, I do.

  “The clamps match your heels. They have such beautiful flowers on them,” he breathes into my ear.

  I try to imagine what I look like. The clamps are heavy, pulling my breasts toward the floor. My chest is pushed out and pulled tight from the bonds at my legs and arms. I try to draw even, slow breaths so my breasts won’t jiggle, but it doesn’t matter how hard or shallow I breathe. With the heat and burning in my anus, I can’t stop moving anyway. I don’t have much room, but I take advantage of the space I do have. I’m not sure I could stop even if Greg told me to at this point.

  “Only two more accessories, love. I can already hear the gentlemen downstairs.” Even though my body is on fire, that statement sends a shiver through my body. I hear the men, too. Greg is serious. How exciting!

  Something cold touches the mouth of my pussy and slowly, Greg pushes the device in. It’s a tight squeeze with the large anal plug taking up so much room, but it goes in smoothly.

  “Now this, this has those beautiful beaded flowers and butterflies hanging off the end. It looks like your greedy little mouth is a spring garden in full bloom. Lucky for us, it’s so wet there we don’t have to worry about watering them anytime soon. This piece has different vibrations but I’ll let the gentlemen play with that.”

  Once he secures the new device to the plug so that it will stay in place, one of Greg’s fingers gently plays with my pussy. I’m on the verge of coming when he pulls his fingers away and places them on my lips. I pull his fingers into my mouth and lap at them. It’s an exotic experience to taste oneself and even though I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, it doesn’t bother me like it once did.

  The pain from my nipples and the fullness in my ass and pussy have me silently begging to come. God, I wish he’d let me orgasm. I’d do anything at this point to fly over the edge. But Greg likes to drag our play out, and in the back of my mind, I know it will be so much better the longer I wait.

  Something rubber touches my lips; I automatically open my mouth so Greg can push a gag in. Oval in shape, it almost touches the back of my throat, forcing me to breathe through my nose. My lips stretch wide to accommodate the intrusion, and my tongue is held immobile. A whimper escapes, but he just pats me on the thigh.