Page 15 of H Is for Hardcore

Michael and Carla both tried not to snicker. “I hope you show suitable gratitude,” Carla said briskly, unwinding one rubber band and then the other. Amy’s nipples throbbed.

“Now, Captain,” Carla commanded, “I want you to hold her steady while she takes her flogging. Wench,” she explained, “you must lean forward, holding onto the foot of the bed like this.” Carla demonstrated. She moved away, and Amy stepped into place, shivering.

Michael sat on the bed, holding Amy’s hands on the brass bed frame. His erection was painfully obvious, but his expression was comforting.

“The best bondage is invisible,” mused Carla. “It consists of willpower alone.” Amy couldn’t see what Michael’s wife was doing behind her. “Carla—Your Majesty,” she burst out, “you’re not really going to beat me with a belt, are you?”

Carla stroked Amy’s lower back and slid a leisurely hand around each buttcheek as though soothing a skittish animal. “You invited me into this game. Don’t you both want to know the worst I’m going to do? Aren’t you curious? I don’t want to hurt you—much.”

Carla stroked Amy’s hair and back so hypnotically that Amy relaxed a little despite her fear. “Listen to me, girl,” Carla warned. “I could do a lot of harm to you or I could show mercy. Michael, what were you planning to hit her with? Just your hand?”

He didn’t answer.

“You see, honey, you were going to get the belt even if I hadn’t shown up so opportunely. This will be a learning experience for you.”

A belt swished through the air and landed with a slap on Amy’s ass. A moment later, she felt the burn. “Oh!” she yelped.

“Arr, girl, you’re a treat for the crew to watch,” Michael told her, pressing courage into her hands.

“You’re such a thin-skinned little princess,” sighed Carla. “Okay, three more and that’s it.” The next lick of the belt felt milder to Amy, but she couldn’t be sure if Carla was easing up or if she was getting used to the burn. The next slap was definitely harder, and the last felt like being stung by a nest of hornets.

Amy gasped, tears spilling down her face. “I’m done, Captain, you can let go,” Carla told her. She grabbed Amy by the shoulders, turned her around, and held her tightly. “Good girl,” Carla crooned into Amy’s hair. “I don’t mind if you want to be Michael’s handmaiden for the rest of your life, but I needed that. You, too. Don’t you feel better now?”

Amy realized that she did.

Michael was there to pull Amy into a tight hug when Carla gave her to him. By then he had a raging hard-on to cover quickly with an extra skin of latex and slide into the willing mouth of a captive princess who needed to learn how to give proper blow jobs as one of her duties. Carla watched with pleasure, and Amy knew that she would soon be instructed in other forms of oral service.

Amy was still kneeling carefully on the carpet at Michael’s feet when Carla walked behind her to admire her own work. “Your bottom is delightfully red, wench,” she said, “as it should be. But I really must teach you and the captain a few things about using the right equipment. I won’t call him a cheapskate while you’re lost in surrender, but he can afford the investment. So can I. And you’re worth it.”

Later, as the three new playmates rolled together on the king-sized bed, they really felt like fellow travelers on a vast, scary, and magnificent ocean, far from the laws of the land.

Carla was satisfied with the booty she had been given.

Amy felt deliciously used, owned, and enjoyed. She felt like the juicy filling in a sandwich. And she looked forward to learning her place in the hold of the Jolly Roger, a most seaworthy relationship.

Michael felt like a salty dog. He was not afraid to put on the bonds of wedlock for a second time, knowing that not all bondage is the same.

SOPHIE MOUETTE

DON’T MOVE

HELL YES,” I SAID, when Emily pointed to a picture of a bound woman and asked if I thought she looked hot.

“Could we try that sometime?” she wondered next, and I had to try so hard not to sound like an overexcited teenage boy that all I managed to get out was, “Really?” Emily’s words, Emily’s unexpected request to try something new and a bit kinkier than our usual fare hit me like some kind of drug rush. Bottle this feeling and I’d be rich.

“Really. At least…I think so,” she said. “Don’t you think she looks hot like that?” She waved the picture at me again.

Wrist-to-thigh cuffs held the pretty model’s hands in place by her sides, and her legs were cuffed at the ankles, spread wide, and then obviously tethered to something not visible in the picture. It was in our favorite sex toy catalogue, so her sex was discreetly covered by PVC panties, but under the shiny black covering, she had to be open, ready to be eaten or fucked.

Eager for it, according to my imagination.

It was a great image, made even lovelier by substituting my girlfriend for the model. Emily’s long red hair would be tousled and tangled from writhing within her bonds—playfully pretend-struggling that was really squirming in pleasure—her skin sleek with sweat, her pussy slick and dripping, ready for me.

The idea shot straight from my brain to my cock, which twitched toward erection at record speed.

“I’d love to,” I told her, pulling her (catalogue and all) onto my lap so I could press my hardening dick against her and let her feel how much I liked it. “You’d look beautiful like that. And I’d love having you at my mercy like that. Helpless, unable to resist.” I caressed her breasts through her tank top until her nipples popped out, dark and stiff behind the thin, light-blue fabric. Returning the favor, she made small circles with her shorts-clad butt, teasing at my erection.

“I couldn’t,” she purred. “Resist, that is. I’d be all open and wet and you could do anything you wanted to me.” Then she giggled and, turning, kissed the end of my nose. “Not like I resist you all that much, anyway, but I really like the idea of giving you control once in a while. Been working up the nerve to talk about it for a while, and the picture gave me a prop to use. But…”

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