Excerpts from Secret Slaves: Erotic Stories of Bondage

I have a bunch of stories I'll be excerpting from Secret Slaves: Erotic Stories of Bondage - here's my co-editor Christopher Pierce's introduction and some sexy bits from the book with many more to come. You can also hear Zaedryn Meade read part of her brilliant opening story "Unlocking" a week from today at In The Flesh. She's one of those writers I was so thrilled to find and hope to publish many more times in future anthologies.



Secret Slaves: Erotic Stories of Bondage

Want to be tied up with tantalizing tales of beautiful bondage? Do handcuffs have a trusty place next to your bed? Does a coil of rope or the crack of a whip make you quiver with desire? Here are thirty sizzling stories to satisfy your desires.

Giving It Up (an Introduction) or To the Infinite Power (an Introduction)
by Christopher Pierce

In 1992 a man I was dating asked me if he could handcuff me before we had sex.

It was the first time such a question had been asked of me.

I said sure, what the hell? And he did. Then he fucked me.

The experience was a revelation for me.

You see, I hate reality.

It started when I was a kid. I hated the humdrum world of school, church, Boy Scout meetings, swimming lessons and Monday Night Football. It was all so ordinary. I knew I was destined for greater things, and I found them in my imagination. Dinosaurs, flying saucers, monsters from the deep, robots from outer space, handsome knights, fairy princesses, ray guns, swords, sorcery, good and evil! Now those were worlds I could get excited about. Stimulated by books, TV shows and movies, I found the excitement and adventure so lacking in my everyday life. The universes created by Walt Disney, Ray Harryhausen, J.R.R. Tolkien, George Lucas and others showed me there was more to life than turning in your homework and going to Sunday school.

I felt the same way twenty years later when I graduated from college.

Sure, coming out to my friends and family was an amazing, soul-nourishing milestone in my life, and finally having gay sex was great, but there was something missing.
Some spark.

I found it that rainy day in 1992. And the fire it started hasn't gone out since.
Our modern world in some respects is so safe. With tolerance and understanding forging a better future for us all, sometimes it leaves our present world a little too cautious. With the devastation of AIDS has come the restriction of spontaneity and the need to negotiate with our sexual partners. Now don't get me wrong, I can enjoy a nice quiet evening of traditional missionary position sex (or what passes for that for gay men) as much as the next queer.

But where's the spark, where's the fantasy, where's the danger?

Bondage is all about danger.

Because it is also about power.

Having it, taking it, giving it up, surrendering it, offering it, exchanging it.

Bondage takes the emotional, internal aspects of sex and externalizes them, making them undeniably real.

You say you trust me?

Prove it.

Let me blindfold you, tie you up, throw you over my shoulder and carry you to my bed where I will do exactly what I want with, when and how with you.

No? "Too kinky?" Guess you don't really trust me, do you?

You say you want me to be yours?

You say you want me bound and gagged, helpless and at your mercy?

Prove it.

Show me in actions that you will not harm me, that the ability to render me powerless is a gift you want given willingly. Earn my trust, and I'll have myself wrapped up and delivered to your door over the shoulder of one of those handsome men in brown uniforms whose shorts are always a tiny bit too tight.

Besides power, bondage introduces something frequently missing in sex.
Fantasy.

Fantasy makes the real surreal and makes the ordinary extraordinary. Corny? Perhaps.

But I'll tell you one thing.

I never knew what Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire was talking about when he whispered to his wife about the "colored lights" they got going when they had sex—until the first time I got tied up and fucked. (I hope somewhere Tennessee Williams appreciates that.) The same thing happened the first time a guy let me blindfold him, gag him, cuff his wrists and ankles and gave himself to me. Bondage elevates sexplay out of the everyday world and into one where you can be anyone you want to be, where the possibilities are unlimited, and where raunchy wet dreams comes true.

The world of 9 to 5 jobs, grocery shopping, income tax and jury duty need not be your only world. Just add bondage, and you add spark, you add danger, you add power.

I hope you like the stories.

If you get a third of the enjoyment out of reading these as we did finding them you're in for one hell of a time.

From "Obedience" by Tanya Turner:

The back is just a warmup for what I consider The Real Thing. While the flogger can feel soothing against my back, like a kinky deep tissue massage, on my ass, John's anything but gentle. He rears his hand back and lets fly, the suede strips slamming against one cheek and then the next. My body gets pushed against the wood, and I revel in the impact, the force, the feeling of the flogger hitting my skin but then going deeper, its dual impact walloping me through and through. In this process, we meld into one, joining forces as he lands each blow as if offering me a bit of himself. It's beyond the ache for his cock inside me, beyond the rush of pain and heat, beyond the ropes chaining me to the wood. The details stop mattering the more I skid against my restraints, the more I succumb utterly and fully to these urges that take me higher and higher even as they literally keep me securely in place, for what they are really doing is letting me take flight. If you've never truly been tied up, never been fastened snugly like a baby, grounded so all you have left is your own desire, you may not understand the sheer bubbly joy his beating brings me. I am at his mercy, should he choose to pause or stop, choose to lance me along the backs of my legs, or turn me around and beat my breasts, making pinpricks of blood form along my chest. I am his and only his, the only one I'll let strap me down like this, the only one who can do it and give me such euphoria, because I know he knows precisely what it means when I do.

He waits until I am frantic, on fire, going mad, until I could both stay in this position forever and am clawing at the wood, giving up on my manicure to dig my nails into anything they can reach—the X, the rope, my skin, in order to reach down and touch my most sacred place. Only when I am that frantic, that far gone, does he relent. The blows get softer, maddeningly teasing as the suede lightly brushes me, like he's dusting me off, polishing my pink skin. Then he drops it on the floor, where it lands with a solid thud.

This is when, were we in another sort of position or location, he'd tell me to spread my legs—but they already are, wider than I normally make them. His fingers find what they are seeking, then tap against my open pussy lips. I am exposed, my cunt his for the taking as he taps away, his fingers thudding harder and harder against my sex until I almost want to cry. He switches hands, using his left for my pussy and his right to smack my ass, the noises and sensations tipping me over the edge. I've given up clawing, struggling, moving, and just wait for him to do whatever he's going to do to me, my body ready to please.


From "Two Mistresses Are Better Than One" by Marina Saint

Coral stood in front of him and slowly unzipped her catsuit, fondling her nipples, and I sidled up between her and Mark and began to suck on them. My ass, covered in a plain black skirt—I was going for a schoolteacher look—was right in front of him, but he couldn't touch me, could only moan as he watched us get off. "You better be quiet, my friend, because I have ways of shutting you up," Coral promised, and I had no doubt it was true.

But suddenly I became much more interested in playing with her beautiful breasts than in simply tormenting my horny boyfriend. He'd get an eyeful either way, and would certainly learn to be carefully what he wished for. Coral dragged me over to the bed and ripped the little pearl buttons from my blouse as she tore it down the front, scraping my skin with her claw-like nails. I shuddered beneath her, my own dominance giving way to my natural submissiveness, a side I only really bring out for very special people. Mark had never seen me give myself over to someone like this, but I'd never before been with a curvy woman in a catsuit determined to make me heed her commands. I shuddered as her tongue roamed all along my skin, leaving trails of wetness as she licked. I chanced a glance back at Mark, who was sitting there, eyes bulging, cock erect as her mouth made its way down, down, down until she had my skirt up, stockings off, and pussy lips spread wide open to her tongue's ministrations. She licked me expertly, but just as I was about to come, she turned me over onto my stomach. I pressed my greedy clit against the cool sheets, and she got up. "Stay right there," she warned and I did, my head pressed against the sheet, my body on fire. I was no better than Mark, no more able to control my urges, my needs, my submission.

She returned and I heard a loud thwap, peering behind me to see that she was holding the very paddle I'd bought to use on mark! The sound seemed to take on a life of its own, ringing in my ears and making me tighten my ass, even though I wasn't afraid of it. It was a welcome sound, one I'd remembered from long ago, a distant, welcome recollection. Then I heard another, a snipping, and saw she had a sharp, new-looking pair of scissors in her hands. "You don't mind if I borrow some of this, do you, Mark?" she asked rhetorically of my bound boyfriend as she snipped off just enough pink rope to tie my wrists together. Part of me wanted to protest—hey! I'm supposed to be running the show too!—but I was too turned on. This unexpected turn of events had my pussy thrumming, and when she did take that paddle and slap my ass, scorching my padded behind, I gasped loudly, already craving more. She delivered it, with whap after solid whap to my ass and upper thighs, before turning me over and hitting my breasts. No one had every done that before, and at first, I was horrified, but moments later I noticed my nipples tingling, the reddened skin of my tits straining for more. When her free hand swept along my slit, I melted against her, letting her fingers easily slip inside. She didn't let up on the spanking, and my wrists were chafing against their bonds as I struggled in vein. Every time the pink bonds rubbed against me, I clamped down more tightly around her until I was coming, the tremors rising up through my body as I crushed her fingers so tightly I thought I might hurt her. She gave one loud, strong, final smack that made me open my mouth wide but no sound commensurate with the pain could come out. Finally, her fingers slid out of me and she untied me. I sat up, dazed and disoriented, looking around.

My poor boyfriend's mouth was wide open as he stared at us. She pulled me close, kissing my cheek, bobbling my breasts as she stood, taking me with her. "Well, Mark, what do you think? Are two mistresses better than one?" she asked, "Even if one of them's getting smacked silly?"