Page 48 of Twisted

Zeke’s grin lit up the night. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He ran his hands down her back, stroking her ass, caressing around her body to glide over her slick belly and breasts. His hands left tingling trails behind, and she shuddered with pleasure. Then he returned to her wrists, still resting on top of each other behind her back, where he had left them. He gripped them, his touch fierce and demanding, in a way it hadn’t been for a time. “Don’t move. That’s an order. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her, a deep kiss that promised much, and headed inside.

As he loped into the house she left her face up to the sky, her mouth open, greeting the rain as it fell. Kissing it as it kissed her.

Zeke was back before she had time to miss him, carrying a battery lantern, its yellow light contained by rainfall, and some soft rope, a spare length of cotton clothesline that lived in a kitchen drawer. He shifted her hands in front of her, tied them together quickly. It was the simplest of ties, little more than a loop, but for Ellie, bondage had never really been about elaborate ropework and strange positions. No, it was the soft, firm touch of the rope that did her in, and the sense of being, for the time she was bound, Zeke’s possession, though at all other times they were equals. Because this tie was so simple Zeke could do it without a second thought, because within seconds he was leading her by the rope away from the house, it added to the illusion that she was a possession. A slave. A pagan sacrifice.

In the other hours of the day, she’d smack Zeke if he even hinted he thought of her that way, but now the fantasy made her tremble, slicked her thighs with her own hot moisture on top of the cooling rainwater.

Zeke led her to the poles that held the clothesline, hung the lantern on the crosspiece. It hung at a slight angle, so the circle of light it cast on the browned-out grass was asymmetrical. For some reason, Ellie’s brain clung to that detail as Zeke untied her wrists, then positioned her so he could tie one wrist to each side of the A-frame that supported the clothesline. He’d cut the rope into shorter lengths, she realized. Probably used her kitchen shears, a homely detail that cut through the fantasy of being a slave staked out for punishment, or as a sacrifice to the gods of rain.

The reality made it more erotic, rather than less so. He had only enough rope to loop around one of her ankles and tether it to the post, more a symbol than a real restraint, yet that too seemed hot. So much of their life on the farm was like this, makeshift, making do with what they had. But they had each other, and now they had rain, so it was all right. Perfect, even.

And the warm rain was still coming down, drenching her, drenching Zeke, soaking into the ropes. The ropes were cotton, so as they got wet, they’d stretch to the point where the bondage would be even more symbolic. She didn’t care. Sometimes the symbol was all she needed.

Zeke adjusted the lantern on its makeshift hook—so the light fell better on her ass, she speculated—then got into position himself, lining up to spank her. Tingling and throbbing with anticipation Ellie thrust her ass out before she was told, pulling on her bonds just for the pleasure of feeling that long-missed tug, that tug that pulled intangibly on her nipples and clit.

The first spank felt like thunder, felt like the sky opening. She rebounded back from Zeke’s hand and yelped, even though she repositioned herself immediately, eager for more spanking. And more came, that wonderful combination of sting and seduction, soaring pleasure and the safe confines of rope. After the first few smacks, she stopped trying to count—it was all so surreal tied up in the drenched dark that counting anything, even the number of times she was spanked, seemed as futile as counting raindrops. Better just to experience the spanking, soak it in as the parched ground soaked in the rain. Her ass throbbed, and her cunt throbbed along with it, open and hot and slick. Her butt felt huge, and so did her clit. Even the slightest movement magnified the sensation of the wet rope. Each raindrop that danced over her nipple or slipped into the crack of her ass aroused her more. Her world narrowed to rope and rain and Zeke’s hand inflaming her, turning water to steam and restraint to freedom.

As they played, the rain picked up, washing over them like a great, warm wave, isolating Ellie even further from what might pass as reality. Was the house still there? Did she even care? Lost in sensation, she had trouble comprehending when Zeke said, “The way you’ve stuck your ass out, you have a puddle at the base of your spine.” She couldn’t imagine what he meant until he bent over and licked rainwater out of the hollow of her arched back.

She shuddered and mewled. The rain was warm and so was the air, but in comparison, Zeke’s tongue was shockingly hot as he licked and kissed up her spine. His cock pressed against her, seeking entrance. She widened her stance, and the movement reminded her how her ankle was secured, though Zeke had left plenty of play in that tether. Zeke whispered something else, but it was lost behind rain and the blood rushing to her head. “Yes,” she moaned, though she didn’t know what question she answered.

Zeke knew what she meant, though. Zeke always knew, even if she didn’t know herself. He entered her, driving hard, like the rain drove into the earth, his hands clasping her hips, pulling her back against him so while he took her, she was taking him. Each thrust moved her so she felt the ropes again, reminded her that she was tied. Each thrust splashed rainwater as the warm deluge sluiced over them. Fire shot through her, countering all that water, balancing it. She swore her skin steamed. Her cunt clasped on Zeke’s cock, so solid amid all the water. Rain and rope, rope and rain, and Zeke’s strength, Zeke’s persistence, Zeke’s determination that had kept the farm and Ellie going during the drought and now was turned to their mutual pleasure.

Zeke slid one hand from her hip to her clit, wet fingers spiraling on that even slicker nub.

Ellie detonated so hard she thought briefly the light behind her eyelids was lightning, thought the explosion in her pussy and her blood might be thunder. But lightning ended almost instantly, and thunder rumbled for only a few seconds. This bright roar went on and on, as her body burst apart into light and reformed over and over again on the centering points of rope and cock and the rain that reminded her of the outlines of her skin, the edges, now blurred, that separated her from Zeke. She was crying out, not Zeke’s name or even “Oh, god,” but strange, guttural cries that didn’t seem so strange against the drumming of the rain, and her body was trembling, and still, she was coming.

Just when she thought it was over, like a violent but brief cloudburst, Zeke surged into her. His grip tightened, though his fingers scrambled a bit for purchase on her wet skin. Zeke was a quiet comer but the force of this orgasm shook Ellie and set her off again.

Before he untied her, Zeke gently pushed Ellie’s sodden hair off her face, gave her a soft kiss.

“Still raining,” he whispered. “Looks like the drought’s really broken.”

“It sure has.” Half-dazed as she was, Ellie still managed to grin.

JUSTICE

Sadey Quinn

You put money in, and you choose a setting,” he explained, sliding a crisp ten-dollar bill into the machine.

I kept my eyes on her as he fiddled with the controls. She was bound to a metal stool by thick, white straps. Her arms and legs were spread and tied to the ceiling and floor, respectively. Her jet-black hair was damp with sweat, clinging to her shoulders. Mascara ran a little around her eyes and looked sexy as hell. I wanted to touch her but there were two panes of glass between us and her naked body. I couldn’t help but imagine it was me, not her, tied to the machine.

She lit up, like she’d been shocked, and let out a low, steady moan. I turned to him. “What’d you do?”

“She has a plug in her ass,” he explained. “And one in her pussy. That white piece of fabric, right there?” He pointed to her cunt and I nodded; I saw it. “That’s right on her clit. There’s clear tape holding electrodes against her nipples, too.”

I surveyed her body and saw the very faint lines of the edges of the tape. She shivered and convulsed slightly. Her eyes glazed over and a faint smile crossed her lips before she sighed happily.

“So, I paid for her to feel intermittent vibration in her ass for the next five minutes. You want to try?”

He stepped aside and pointed to the controls. I shrugged, and dug into my pocket for a ten. I slid it in, but it was rejected, crinkled and used compared to his. Trying again, it went in, and I looked down at the panel.

“I can spank her?” I asked.

He grinned. “You can’t. But you can direct it. Press the button and a number. You can do up to seven for ten dollars. Twenty, with twenty bucks.”

I nearly rolled my eyes at the absurdity of it all, but obediently pressed the button, then chose THREE. I watched as the machine forcibly bent her forward, the straps holding her arms and legs supporting her weight. The plug went with her, and I clenched my own asscheeks, imagining how uncomfortable it would be to be spanked with a butt plug inside me. Her eyes looked out at us, and though I knew she couldn’t see us through the one-sided glass, she did know we were there. Watching her. Coordinating her torture. She looked worried and I couldn’t blame her.

---