I've decided to make my Why I Picked It series a weekly one to run on Wednesdays to highlight why I chose a particular erotica story for one of my anthologies. Today's it's "Point and Click" by L.C. Spoering in Best Bondage Erotica 2015.
During the five years I edited the Best Bondage Erotica series (2011-2015), I did my best to always up the ante and include both common types of bondage and uncommon ones. I believe they work quite well alongside each other. So two of the main reasons I loved "Point and Click," aside from the way the story just pulled me in from the first sentence and didn't let go, are that the narrator is a sex worker and the bondage takes place while two women are in separate rooms, conversing over their computer screens. The interplay between them is fascinating and pushed me to think about what "bondage" truly means, and what can tie someone to someone else, the nature of eroticism and obedience, and how strong a connection people can have even when they are geographically separated.
You can read a little of how the scene starts at The Frisky Fairy, and below is an excerpt that shows how a very unique kind of bondage works in this story. There's voyeurism and exhibitionism here, of course, but I think it's the power play element that really does it for me; there's no real way to "make" the narrator obey her Mistress here, yet the Mistress is able to get her to stay in place all with the power of her words and actions thanks to technology. She knows what she can get her to do even if they've never played in person, and that tension, of being bound yet free, of not having a physical restraint like ropes or handcuffs to strain against or hold the narrator down, is expertly played up. I love erotica that surprises me, that puts a new twist on a topic I've read about countless times, and this story provides that and so much more.
From "Point and Click" by L.C. Spoering in Best Bondage Erotica 2015Read the whole story in Best Bondage Erotica 2015, for sale at:
“You keep your hands where they are. Like I’ve tied them down,” she says. I flex my fingers in place, imagine the ropes she might wind around my wrists, anchoring them to the desk, wrapped around the legs of the furniture, a knot where I can’t see it.
“You stay on your knees, kitten,” she goes on, and I’m suddenly aware of them, the bend of the joint and the way the bone presses into the carpet, carpet that seems so soft when padding barefoot across it, but is now much firmer, seemingly rocky under my weight.
“I want you to watch me.” Her legs are parted wide, but my eyes go to her face, half-shrouded in the darkness that has fallen over her room. It’s night where she is too, and the lamps are offset enough that only the barest pools of light lap at her toes and the tips of her hair.
“I want to watch you,” I say, and it’s like an admission, a confession, my hands pressed to the hard surface of my desk, my wrists burning with the imagined scrape of rope against tender skin.
“I know you do. You have for a long time, haven’t you?” The dildo is in her hand again, and she lets it rub along the length of her labia, the skin catching against the rubber and tugging along—her cunt moves like a mouth, like lips twitching into a smile just before they are kissed. My tongue feels like liquid against my teeth.
We’ve gotten off together before; I know her face when she comes. But this is different, and I find myself searching her expression for each twitch of muscle and brush of her hair over her forehead. Her fingers are long and graceful; they guide the rubber cock to her slit, pushing just enough that the labia parts and the head inches inside.
“I’ve wanted you to watch me,” she says, as though the thread of conversation is still strung between us, thin and wavering like it’s running full with electricity. She lets out a small moan as the dildo moves farther inside her, and I squirm again, finding my cunt against my calf and pressing down to chase some form of release.
“Keep your hands there, kitten,” she says, arching an eyebrow though her mouth is slightly agape and she is panting just a little.
“Y-yes,” I agree, nodding again, my pinky cramping all of a sudden, as though it knows it’s not supposed to move yet needing that movement for no reason at all but to distract me.
“Yes what?” she presses, and I swallow, almost gulp, my heart ringing in my ears once more.
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