Читать книгу Forever Bound - Elizabeth Coldwell - Страница 5

Emma Grafton was wrapping up the tiramisu her mother had asked her to bring when she heard her husband’s voice behind her.

‘Strip.’

She turned around, a little disbelieving. Connor stood in front of her, holding a large coil of rope in his hands. The smile playing across his lips told her he had plans for her, the kind that usually involved either tons of patience and discomfort or copious amounts of sweat and semen. Unfortunately, they didn’t have time for such plans. They were supposed to be at her parents’ in an hour, to celebrate her brother John’s thirtieth birthday. The whole extended family had been invited, and her mother had insisted that they come early. She couldn’t believe Connor had forgotten about the party, especially after she’d been slaving away in the kitchen to prepare the tiramisu that was a favourite with all her nephews and nieces.

‘You’re aware that we have to be at my parents’ in an hour, right?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. She wasn’t questioning his judgement; she was just reminding him of something that appeared to have slipped his mind. He wouldn’t take offence at that, would he?

‘Very aware,’ he assured her. He grinned at her with the nonchalance that had stolen her heart six years earlier. It still affected her today, after five years of marriage, mostly because she’d come to associate it with their weekend sexcapades. This was the grin he reserved for when he was about to do dirty things to her – the sort of things that tended to take more time than they had at present.

‘So … maybe we shouldn’t be doing this now,’ she suggested.

The grin disappeared, only to be replaced with a frown. ‘Are you being contrary, Em? I thought we had rules about that.’

Oh, they had rules, all right. Rules which stated that they were equals during the week, but that she was to obey him in everything on the weekends. Generally, she loved obeying him, to the point where looking forward to the weekend had taken on an entirely different dimension since she’d met him. But this was a special circumstance. It was John’s birthday, and she didn’t want to be the person who showed up an hour late for the festivities. Not today. Lord knows she’d done it too many times in the past.

However, one look at Connor’s increasingly stern face taught her the error of her ways. Whatever he had in mind, he seemed to have set his heart on it and, when Connor had set his heart on something, it was best not to mess with him. Not on a weekend, anyway. Emma had learned that to her detriment on a few occasions. She’d had trouble sitting afterwards.

With a sigh, she took off the top she was wearing, then the elegant grey trousers she saved for special occasions. Her eyes were focused on Connor’s as she unfastened her bra and stepped out of her knickers. When she was naked, she assumed the position he’d taught her. Standing tall, she pulled her shoulders backwards, thus making her breasts more prominent. She pressed her heels together and did her best to lengthen her neck. Then she put her hands behind her back, assuming that Connor would want to bind them. He usually did.

He surprised her, though. ‘Lift your arms sideways, feet slightly apart,’ he ordered.

She obeyed, and watched with bated breath as he uncoiled the rope, a good thirty feet of thickish hemp. Hemp was tricky, she knew. It held knots extremely well, but could be abrasive, even though Connor had done his best to make it less so. She’d sat next to him as he’d burned off loose fibres and had endlessly sanded the rope in order to make it smoother. It was much smoother now than when he’d bought it, but it still irritated her skin when she struggled too much. ‘That’s the idea,’ he had explained to her with a mischievous smile when she’d had the audacity to complain. ‘To teach you motionless submission and prevent you from struggling.’

She watched a little nervously as he folded the rope in half and slid the loop around her neck. Two inches below her collarbone he tied the two lengths together in a large, flat knot. He then proceeded to tie three more roughly equidistant knots, until the rope reached her pussy, where he re-tied his most recent knot several times before he appeared to be satisfied with it. Then, smiling at her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he slid the rope between her labia and, stepping behind her, pulled it backwards through her legs. She could feel it tightening in her crotch and arse crack as he lifted it and began to tie more knots in it behind her back. Then he looped it underneath the rope at the back of her neck, leaving her with a vertical line down both her front and her back.

She knew now what he was making. It was going to be a karada, a decorative rope harness in the Japanese style. He’d practised it on her a couple of times before, on both occasions turning her into artfully trussed meat.

From here, she knew, the two ends of the rope would be separated again, and each end would be wrapped around one side of her waist, weaving back and forth between the central rope on her front and the one on her back until her skin was criss-crossed with lines. There would be diamond shapes and triangles and interesting geometrical patterns. It would be a veritable piece of body art, one which no one but the two of them would ever see, but of which Connor would be rightly proud.

As he walked around her, directing the ropes between and underneath her breasts to create a hemp bra, she watched his fingers, so meticulous and assured. With great dexterity, he slipped an end of the rope into the space between two knots on her belly and pulled it backwards again to loop it into a similar space on her back. He repeated this process several times, moving further down with each repetition. She watched transfixed as the diamond shapes began to take form on her belly, luxuriating in the sensual feel of the rope sliding across her skin.

She’d heard karadas described as rope prisons. She herself didn’t think of them that way. To her, a karada was a caress, a hempy kiss to go with the sweet caresses Connor would occasionally bestow on her neck and breasts as he arranged and re-arranged the ropes. She relished the intimacy of the experience, the perfection of the patterns, the meditative ambience that Connor had assured her was the most important aspect of bondage. Most of all, however, she relished the way the crotch rope shifted each time he looped an end beneath it. It wasn’t long before she found herself responding to the movement, feeling chills of pleasure run up her spine with each subtle shift. And then, suddenly, Connor stopped.

‘Aren’t you … aren’t you going to bind my arms?’ she asked a little hesitantly when the harness was complete and Connor had tied the ends of the rope on her back.

He looked at her, his head cocked to one side. ‘Do you really want me to deliver you at your parents’ doorstep naked and with your arms tied behind your back?’

She chuckled at the notion, a little embarrassed. ‘No, I guess not. But what …?’ Her voice trailed off as she saw his face.

‘You’re going to go to your parents wearing this karada under your clothes, to remind you that you are bound and bonded to me, and that only I can set you free. You’re going to feel my hand on you even when I’m not physically touching you. And wait …’

He walked to the dinner table and came back with a pair of nipple clamps that he had apparently removed from his toolbox while she’d been busy wrapping up her four bowls of tiramisu. To her relief, they were tweezer clamps, which weren’t too painful. Of course, their relative painlessness did have a downside, which was that Connor often made her wear them for several hours on end, which was uncomfortable.

She waited patiently as he played with one of her nipples to make it stiff, then attached a clamp and slid the ring sideways to determine the amount of pressure. He repeated the process with the other nipple. Then he stepped back to admire her from a little distance, looking satisfied with his own work. ‘Yes, that will do nicely. Now go and get dressed. The purple skirt, I think. A top that fully covers the harness. No underwear, no stockings. And don’t put up your hair. I want it down.’

She nodded respectfully and spoke the words he wanted to hear whenever he gave her a direct order. ‘Yes, Connor.’ Once in the bedroom, she found the loose purple skirt he had specified, plus a thick black sweater which she thought would do a good job of hiding the harness underneath. As she slipped into the skirt, the crotch rope dug into her arse crack, an unsubtle reminder of its existence. For the time being, though, the nipple clamps were a greater source of discomfort than the harness.

When she was fully dressed, she turned around in front of the mirror to see if the rope and clamps were visible underneath her clothes. After satisfying herself that they weren’t, she went back into the living room and presented herself to Connor, who subjected her to an equally thorough examination.

‘OK,’ he judged eventually. ‘Now let’s get on the road.’

As she slid into the passenger seat, Emma once again felt the rope dig into her crotch, a feeling that was both uncomfortable and surprisingly pleasant. With a start, she realised that the bottom knot was right on her clit. No doubt that was intentional. Connor wouldn’t have redone that knot several times if he hadn’t intended it to be exactly where it was.

‘How long will I be wearing this?’ she asked, trying to hide her excitement by making small talk.

‘For the duration of the party and our drive back. Unless you’re bad, in which case I’ll let you wear it until bedtime.’

Until bedtime. It was a scary thought. Emma didn’t think she could wear the harness that long. At some point the hemp would start chafing, and possibly even rupture her skin.

‘For my information, what constitutes being bad?’

‘Anything that goes against my wishes. Listen to my instructions and you’ll be fine.’

So there would be instructions. Bad ones, most likely. The prospect intimidated her a little, but it also sent a thrill of excitement through her.

She remained quiet for the next ten minutes, aware of nothing so much as the knot between her labia. It was right on her clit, and every time she shifted, it pressed down on her like Connor’s fingers, except a little drier and itchier. The hemp felt harsh on her tender flesh, but not unpleasantly so.

Feeling experimental, she tilted her pelvis a little, trying to get the knot where she wanted it to be. A thrill shot through her as it hit the right spot. She tried it again, with the same result. Soon she was rotating her pelvis in a series of rhythmic movements, so small that they were barely visible to the human eye. Except to Connor’s, obviously.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked, looking sideways at her. Judging from his smirk, he knew exactly what she was doing. He always did. Undoubtedly he’d been waiting for her to do this, for her to discover the self-pleasuring properties of the rope. No doubt he was hoping to have her randy as fuck by the time they reached her parents’. A little shamefully, she had to admit that it was a distinct possibility.

‘It’s … interesting,’ she said. She slumped in her seat, which made the rope grow a little tauter between her legs, then brought her pelvis upwards a little. She could barely suppress a moan as the hemp tightened over her clit.

Connor grinned. ‘I’m going to have fun watching you this afternoon. Seeing you get yourself off while chatting with your uncles … I’ll gladly suffer your mum’s food for the pleasure of that.’

‘That’s because you’re a horrible sadist,’ she answered, shifting ever so slightly against the rope.

He just laughed at her. ‘Too right, sister. Don’t you forget it.’

* * *

As she had expected, Emma was half mad with desire by the time they arrived at her childhood home. She felt a little embarrassed as she congratulated her brother and watched him unwrap the present she’d bought him, a set of Blu-rays of films he’d loved as a child and had said he’d love to watch with his own children. The paranoiac in her was certain that he could smell her arousal or, failing that, would notice she wasn’t wearing any underwear, or that there was a chain dangling between her nipples. Who knows, he might even hear some rustling as her thick sweater interacted with the hemp harness underneath. She couldn’t hear it herself, but his ears had always been sharper than hers.

However, if John noticed anything out of the ordinary, he didn’t let on. Nor did her father, who had an uncanny knack of spotting things that she felt self-conscious about, and a nasty habit of pointing them out in public. Nobody at the party said anything about her looking unusual or uncomfortable; if anything, they seemed to think she was looking healthy and rosy. But, although they didn’t seem to notice anything, she was very much aware of Connor’s amused glances, and that they made her every bit as wet as the rope and clamps she was wearing.

She soon learned to move as little as possible, so as to prevent the rope from chafing her skin and the chain between her nipples from visibly moving under her clothes. She spent at least half an hour rooted to the same spot, waiting for other people to come to her rather than the other way around. Eventually, though, she had to leave her spot and mingle. It would be rude not to.

As she flitted around the room, chatting now with a cousin, now with an aunt, she was aware of Connor’s eyes following her. He smiled every time she shifted her position ever so slightly in an effort to get the knot on her clit in the right spot. He shook his head almost imperceptibly as she scratched herself under a breast, surreptitiously trying to displace the itchy rope that was digging into her skin. He grinned sardonically whenever she glared at him, telling him with her eyes how hard she was finding his torment. And, judging from the bulge in his jeans, he found her predicament as arousing as she did.

Finally, when she found herself without a conversation partner for a moment, he sauntered over to her, turning his back to the other people in the room to hide his erection from view.

‘I bet you’re sopping fucking wet,’ he said under his breath as he handed her a glass of wine.

She coloured, hoping that no one would have heard the words.

‘Well? You’re dripping, aren’t you?’

She nodded, speechlessly.

‘Tell me,’ he instructed her.

‘I … I’m wet, Connor.’ She glanced around, checking whether any of her relatives were within earshot. Only Aunt Muriel and Uncle Fred seemed to be close enough to be able to hear them, but thankfully, they gave no indication of having overheard anything they shouldn’t have.

Her words weren’t good enough for Connor, though. He wanted details, as he always did. ‘Tell me how wet you are, Emma.’

Flames erupted in her cheeks. She didn’t want to be having this conversation in public. It was too embarrassing. And yet she couldn’t deny that it was turning her on immensely, as Connor would undoubtedly have known. ‘I’m … I’m very wet, Connor.’

‘I suspected as much,’ he answered smugly. ‘Tell me, my little slut. Are you so wet your juices are running down your thighs?’

Her mouth went as dry as her pussy was wet. She couldn’t believe he was doing this to her at a family get-together. She couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to be having this conversation in front of so many people, and that she was actually indulging him. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I … I’m so wet it’s running down my thighs, Connor.’ She whispered the last few words in a voice so low that it was barely audible.

‘Show me.’

She stared at him, not believing her ears.

‘I said: show me. Find yourself a quiet spot, stick your hand between your thighs and show me how wet you are.’

She let out an involuntary groan. ‘Connor …’

‘No remonstrations. Go touch yourself, Emma, then show me your hand. Show me what a dirty girl you are.’

Just then, she felt a trickle run down her left thigh, agonisingly slowly but surely. It was ridiculous how wet Connor’s games made her.

‘Now, Emma.’

She sighed, then took a few sips of wine for extra courage. With her heart pounding in her chest, she put down her glass and made for the toilet, brushing off the two nieces who accosted her. Once inside the small cubicle, she lifted her skirt and put her right hand between her legs. She didn’t even have to push the rope aside to feel how extraordinarily wet she was; she could feel the cool moisture pooling on her inner thigh. She ran her hand through it, then pulled her skirt down with her other hand. When she emerged from the toilet, her cheeks were aflame, burning at the thought of what she was about to do.

She walked over to Connor, relieved that he had removed himself from the crowd. He was standing at the table, helping himself to some of the finger food her mother would have spent hours preparing.

She held up her hand for him to see. With a bit of luck, she hoped, it would look from a distance like she was showing him a ring.

He inspected her hand, then her face. ‘So fucking wet,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘Go on, lick your fingers, you little tart. Clean those dirty fingers.’

Again, she couldn’t help staring at him.

‘Lick your fingers for me, Emma,’ he repeated in mock exasperation. ‘Stick your fingers in your mouth and lick them clean for me, one by one.’ She noticed with some alarm that he wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down. It was a good thing no one was within five yards of them, or they would have heard his order, loud and clear.

There was nothing for it. She stuck her index finger in her mouth and licked it, slowly and methodically. She experienced the taste of herself on her tongue, a little salty but not disagreeable. It was the taste of her submission, a taste she fully associated with Connor. No other man had ever made her taste herself. No other man had ever got her to do the things he did.

Without taking her eyes off him, she licked her middle finger, then her ring finger, lingering a little longer over her fingertips. She tried not to think of what the other people in the room might be thinking if they happened to be watching her. She tried to ignore the flood between her legs, as well.

‘Good girl,’ said Connor softly when she had withdrawn the last finger from her mouth. ‘I bet you’re twice as wet now as before you went to the loo, aren’t you?’

You have no idea, she thought. She was so wet that she could feel a steady trickle down her left thigh. If this went on much longer, her wetness would start showing under her skirt. Either that or people would start smelling her arousal from across the room.

‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ Connor whispered. ‘Do you want me to shove my hard cock between your dripping thighs?’

Her heart stopped a moment. With a flash, she realised that this was what he’d intended all along – to fuck her at the parents’, after getting her all worked up without anyone even being aware of it. She also realised she’d never needed to be fucked more badly. She needed his cock, pounding her into submission. She needed it now.

‘Yes, please, Connor,’ she whispered. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

He lifted her chin with a fingertip, forcing her to look up at him. ‘Beg me for it,’ he commanded. ‘Beg me to fuck you, you dirty little slut.’

Her mind went blank. She was reduced to nothing but the throb between her legs, an ache that urgently needed a release.

‘Please fuck me,’ she whispered. ‘Please give me your cock, Connor. I need it.’

He grinned. ‘Go upstairs, to your old room. Bend over your desk and lift your skirt. Part your legs. Wait for me.’

She did as he told her. As she climbed the stairs, the rope between her legs dug into her cunt, making her clit pulse like a sore tooth. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but she’d never been randier in her life.

Her childhood room hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen it. The only difference she noticed at first glance was a pair of suitcases in the corner next to her bed and the stacks of books her parents had placed on her desk. They seemed to have decided to turn her room into a storage space for things that didn’t fit elsewhere in the house.

She placed half of the books on the floor beside the desk, and pushed the others to the side. Then she bent over the desk, wincing as the rope grew even tauter between her thighs. There’d be some abrasions there the next day, she suspected. Her nipples, too, began to throb even more furiously, as they always did when she bent forwards while clamped. No doubt that was part of the reason why Connor liked having her bend over for him. Knowing him, he’d probably yank the chain between her nipples while fucking her, making her whole body explode with pain and desire.

Propped up on her left elbow, she extended her right arm behind her to lift her skirt and pull it over her back. Then she waited, clenching her thighs rhythmically to hold on to the immense throb inside her.

Connor kept her waiting for a long time. Throughout the wait she wondered if he’d been drawn into a conversation by one of her relatives or if he was just testing her patience. She was painfully aware that he was very much the kind of sadist who’d keep her waiting just because he could.

When she eventually heard footsteps ascending the stairs, she had an irrational fear that it would be her mother, or the nieces who had tried to ambush her earlier. What would they say if they found her like this, greeting them with the sight of her sopping, rope-bisected pussy? She couldn’t begin to imagine the embarrassment, the mortification. No doubt her mother would press her to seek a divorce from Connor at once.

Thankfully, the footsteps turned out to belong to Connor. He whistled softly as he entered the room, then closed the door behind him.

‘Wow, look at you, Emma. What a gorgeous sight.’

She knew what would happen next. He’d position himself behind her and make endless comments on her appearance, her wetness, her shame. He’d prod her and inspect her, taking his time to do so, while she was burning up, waiting for him finally to give her what she so desperately needed. That was their ritual. The prospect of it frustrated her, but she couldn’t deny it turned her on beyond reason.

True to form, Connor slid his fingers along the rope that was splitting her pussy, inspecting the results of his elegant torture device. ‘Fuck, you’re wet. You can’t wait to have my cock in there, can you, dirty girl?’ He softly pulled on the rope, making it dig into her flesh even deeper. ‘The rope is soaked. I’ll have to wash it tonight. I may have to punish you for that, Em.’

So unfair. And yet such an utterly delectable prospect.

‘Or alternatively, I may make you wash the rope yourself, to give you a proper appreciation for how insanely wet you get when I tie you up. Would you like that, kitten?’

She couldn’t restrain herself any more. ‘Please, Connor …’

‘Please what, kitten? “Please let me wash the rope I’ve soiled with my filthy pussy juice”?’ His hand glided upwards, to her bottom, away from the spot where she wanted it to be.

‘You know what I mean,’ she muttered, a little exasperated. She’d had enough of the foreplay and the shaming. She needed him to fuck and finger her senseless.

‘I have no idea. You’ll have to be much more explicit, kitten.’ He patted her backside as if it was a small child in need of some encouragement.

She nearly groaned in frustration. ‘Please fuck me, Connor,’ she begged. ‘Please fuck me into oblivion.’

He chuckled. ‘That desperate, eh? All right, you filthy hussy. I’ll give you what you want. But first we’ll get rid of these nasty clamps, shall we?’

He pulled down her skirt, and his hands crept under her sweater, hot and searching. With a dexterity born of experience, they loosened the clamps before taking them off altogether. The pressure on her nipples disappeared, but as the blood flowed back into them they tingled with lingering sensation, a throb that was even more painful than when the clamps had been on. She squirmed against the table, shocked by the pain, but also by how much her body seemed to crave it.

She was still squirming when Connor pulled down her sweater and lifted her skirt over her back again. The next moment she heard the sounds she’d been waiting for. His belt being undone. His jeans and underwear being pulled down in one swift movement. He put a hand on her hip, then hooked a finger of his other hand under the taut crotch rope and pulled it aside, exposing her slick entrance. She felt the rope dig into the tender skin where her groin met her thigh, but ignored the sensation. The rope was not what mattered now. Her newly exposed entrance was.

He didn’t even bother to open her up with his fingers. He just put his cockhead against her opening and pushed it in. She was so wet that he nearly slid out before he was properly inserted, but a second hard thrust solved the problem. No sooner was he inside her than she forgot all about the abrasive rope and the dull ache in her nipples. All that mattered was the cock that was claiming her, giving her what she needed.

He drove into her aggressively, his hands gripping her hips tightly. His hard loins whacked against her buttocks, making an obscene sound that she was sure could be heard outside the room. If anyone were to come upstairs now, they’d have no doubt as to what was happening in her old room.

As Connor rammed himself to her depths, pushing her a little further into bliss with each stroke, she found herself moaning despite her fear of being heard. She couldn’t help it; he always had that effect on her.

This time, though, he didn’t seem to want to be heard. ‘Quiet,’ he groaned as he ground his pelvis against her arse.

His next thrust was so hard she actually let out a small shriek, provoking Connor to give her another warning. ‘Be quiet, or I’ll let you wear this for the rest of the day, until we go to bed,’ he hissed. ‘I warned you about that, didn’t I?’

She didn’t answer. Instead, she rode back against him, shifting her buttocks towards him in anticipation of his delicious thrusts.

‘I asked you a question, Em. Did I or did I not warn you about wearing this all day if you disobeyed me?’ He punctuated the word ‘disobeyed’ with a ferocious thrust that had her thighs banging against the desk. She could feel the wood digging into her flesh, another indentation to add to the ones created by the rope.

‘Yes, Connor,’ she managed. ‘You did warn me. I’ll try to be … quieter.’

‘Good. Now finger yourself, slut. Go on, show me how hard you need to come.’

Her fingers flew to her clit, eager to finish the job started by the rope. As he gripped her hips and shoved into her again, she worked her cunt feverishly, in time with his raw thrusts. Gradually, her orgasm built, coming closer with each stroke of his thick cock, each single flick of her fingers. Just then, he twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling her head backwards to him. The pressure on her scalp was enough to bring her to the edge.

‘Oh, God,’ she moaned. ‘God, Connor …’

He pulled harder, as if to punish her. ‘That’s it, you noisy slut. You’ll be wearing this for the rest of the day. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She didn’t care. All she wanted was to come, right there and then. ‘Please … Please, Connor …’

‘Come,’ he commanded. ‘Come all over my cock.’ He shoved into her again, and the next moment her release exploded through her, all the more intense for having been so long in the making. The muscles in her cunt tightened around him, squeezing his erection. Her whole body went weak, and she was wrenched by the contractions of one of the most powerful orgasms she’d ever experienced. She just managed to swallow the shriek which had been building inside her throat, fearful of what might happen if she let it out.

No sooner had she come than Connor eased his cock from her body. ‘On your knees,’ he commanded, his voice hoarse with urgency.

She dropped to her knees, ignoring the rope that dug violently into her groin as she did so, and opened her mouth for him. As he jerked himself off in front of her, she couldn’t wait to see him explode onto her tongue. She wanted to see the tremor in his thighs just before his semen spurted out of him, just before …

He shot his load into her. She could feel it pool on her tongue and lips, all soft and runny, and only just managed to resist the urge to swallow it before he was fully done. Eventually, though, she did swallow, feeling the semen go down her throat like a spoonful of salty jelly. His hands tightened in her hair as she sucked his cock dry of its final oozings, cleaning him as she’d like to be cleaned herself. Not for the first time, she realised that she loved his hand in her hair, loved the possessiveness of his claiming her like that. Even more than this ropes, her hair was her leash, the one with which he enforced her absolute obedience.

When she’d got to her feet, he placed the rope between her labia again and helped make her look presentable, pulling down her skirt and smoothing her hair as best he could. ‘That was sensational,’ he whispered as he put his lips to her forehead. ‘I look forward to seeing what the evening will bring.’

The evening. With a pang, Emma realised she’d be wearing the harness for the remainder of the day. Six more hours until bedtime. Six more hours of this itchy, uncomfortable torment, which was leaving marks on her body that would take hours to fade. Oddly, the thought didn’t bother her. As they descended the stairs, ready to mingle with her relatives again, she felt the excitement of anticipation settle over her like a fever. The evening wasn’t over yet. It was only just beginning, and it was going to be fun. She knew it in the itchy spots beneath the rope, where wisdom lay.