Best Bondage Erotica 2012 by Rachel Kramer Bussel Page B

you’re still at my mercy.”
    â€œNo, Ma’am,” he said, a plea I couldn’t quite understand in his voice. “I don’t forget that. But I’d almost forgotten the rope. Thank you for reminding me.”
    â€œRemember that you’re thanking me now,” I said. “You’ll probably curse me later. Then you’ll thank me again.”
    Then I worked my way back up, blowing on his cock and balls in passing but not touching them, and repeated my performance on his other straining leg.
    By the time I made my leisurely, teasing way back, poor Martin’s face was as red and straining as his untouched dick. His muscles were even more defined now, tense with need.
    I took a long, deliberate moment to admire my handiwork, no contact with him except a hand resting lightly on his thigh. “Beautiful boy,” I breathed. “Beautiful, beautiful boy. Be good and don’t go anywhere. Oh, wait. You can’t anyway.” I smiled as I said it.
    â€œCurse you, Ma’am,” he said in a small yet happy voice. “Curse you and bless you. I couldn’t take this if I wasn’t bound.”
    I leaned in close, cupped his face. “Yes, you could,” I whispered, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice, “if I wanted you to. But I’m being kind this time.”
    I turned away long enough to grab the lube.
    Martin winced at the slight coolness of the slick substance as I coated his cock, or maybe the wince was simply because
he was that sensitive. That thought made me grin.
    The grin turned into an outright laugh when he sighed with pleasure and thanked me. “Don’t thank me yet, sweet boy. You said you wanted to suffer for me, and suffer you will.”
    Then I proceeded to give my boy the most teasingly drawn-out hand job in the long history of hand jobs.
    I watched his face as I stroked him; listened to the subtleties of his breathing; checked how his muscles tensed, how his hands clenched and strained against the ropes, how his feet tried and failed to move. Whenever his breath caught in his throat too much, or I saw his ab muscles start to twitch, I backed off, resting my hand on his hip bone, stroking that smooth, hot skin lightly, until his breathing regularized.
    By the third time I did this, he was thrashing against the ropes so hard I’d have feared for my bed if it wasn’t a sturdy Mission frame. His skin was glazed lightly with sweat, making him look all the more beautiful. His eyes were all pupil, and he stared fixedly, frantically, as though he was looking through time and space and seeing the face of the divine in me. His lips moved in a silent litany. I could guess what he was saying, or at least the gist of it, but nevertheless I demanded, “Speak up, Martin. I can’t hear you.”
    â€œPlease,” he begged, his voice still barely audible. “Please, Ma’am. Please.”
    I knew what he was pleading for, of course, but I wanted to hear him say the words. “Please what, dear?” I stroked his rigid length idly—only it wasn’t idly at all, but carefully, calculatedly, just enough pressure to keep him hard and aching with the need to explode, but not enough to bring him any closer.
    â€œPlease…” It was clearly an effort to make his brain form a coherent thought. “Please let me come, Ma’am. Please.”
    â€œDoesn’t it feel good?” I was stroking more forcefully now, cupping his balls.

    I bent down and ran my tongue over the head of his cock, just once. My mouth had never gotten anywhere near his cock before.
    He arched up off the bed with a harsh cry. Without the ropes, I swear he might have levitated until the ceiling stopped him. “Hell yes, but almost…too…sensitive. Almost hurts.” His voice was strained almost to breaking.
    â€œShould I stop?” I sat up, withdrew my hand. Withdrew all contact from him except my hip brushing