For those who've already read
Best Bondage Erotica 2011, I'll have to come up with something else, but for the rest of you, as a little holiday treat (ha ha), here is my story "Vegas Treat," which you can also read about (and see a photo of me tied up) at
CulturePOP by Seth Kushner and hear more about live at
In The Flesh and
Heeb Storytelling. Obviously the story is copyrighted, so don't steal it, but feel free to link here.
Vegas Treat
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
I fingered the metal clamps, my body already seizing up in reaction to them. “You want me to wear…all of them?” I asked softly. I’d been the one to volunteer for the bondage photo shoot, it was true. I’d never done anything quite like that before, but when he’d seen me strolling around Las Vegas while on vacation with the boyfriend I was pretty sure I wanted to break up with, Tyler had picked me out and approached me. I felt like a modern-day Lana Turner, but instead of a drugstore counter, I’d been approached at a slot machine where I was well on my way to losing many quarters.
I guess I’d looked the part of bad girl gone wrong: bright red hair, freshly dyed; eyeliner galore; black rubber bracelets circa Madonna 1984; dark, tight jeans and a white tank top with a flimsy black bra; hot pink platform sandals and an I-could-care-less look. Well, the look wasn’t just an affectation; I wasn’t really into the whole Vegas mystique, but Eric had offered to pay to get us out of Michigan for the weekend, flush from a win at Internet poker and eager to try his hand at the real thing. When I told him a stranger wanted to photograph me, maybe nude, he merely grunted and asked me to get him another soda from down the hall. I stalked off to get his soda and run some ice over my neck. The room was air-conditioned, but I was bored. So I pulled out my phone and hit DIAL after letting my finger hover over Tyler’s number. We should’ve been celebrating my twenty-first birthday three months before, but Eric’s not the type to notice anything like that; I’d been drinking with him for the last two years and had the fake ID to prove it. I didn’t want a surprise party, but a little attention would’ve been nice. The slot machines were kind of fun, but not enough to make up for feeling like I was so undesirable my boyfriend was more interested in money than me.
And that’s how I wound up topless, wearing just my skimpy white panties with pink flowers on them, one of the most girly items I owned, while Tyler dangled a pair of nipple clamps in front of me. Actually, it wasn’t a pair, it was a trio, because there was a clamp to go on my clit. I wasn’t a virgin or anything, obviously, but maybe I’d been meeting the wrong men because none had ever proposed so much as a threesome, let alone bondage and sex toys.
Here was Tyler, barefoot, in a ripped black Violet Femmes T-shirt and holey jeans,, assessing me like I was a piece of meatæa very sexy, tender, juicy, delicious, lucky piece of meat. And just then, I wanted to be the rarest cut of all, the one whose taste lingers not just on your tongue but all through your insides long after it’s been swallowed and discarded. I didn’t want to fall in love with Tyler and live happily ever after, but I wanted to make my mark, wanted him to remember me not just as some random girl who spread her legs for his lens. I was sick of guys looking right through me, or seeing only what part of me they could grab, use and walk away from.
Tyler seemed to be hungry for a part of me that he couldn’t get just by fucking me, As if he wanted something deeper and, full of youthful bravado, I wanted to give it to him. “Now, Rina, you know this is going to hurt, right? It’s going to hurt a lot…maybe not at first, but when I take them off, the blood’s going to rush back to your nipples and clit. It’s going to look so hot; trust me,” he said, then flashed me the grin that had made me talk to him in the first place. “And I have a feeling you’re going to like it. You have something about you that tells me you need a little pain to rile you up. Not to tame you, because nothing could do that, but to somehow give you back all the energy you bring to your life.” That was deeper than I was expecting from a twenty-five-year-old UNLV dropout, but I liked it. I was sick of people treating me like a baby, assuming that I had nothing going for me simply because of my age or how I dressed. Even if Tyler was just bullshitting me, it made me feel good, like maybe this photo would catapult me out of my small-town, dead-end life and going-nowhere relationship.
“How’d you know I’d never done this before?” I asked. I could’ve been referring to the modeling or the clamps, but he went right ahead and answered.
“I just know. Girls who’ve done this before just roll right with it. They don’t look at the clamps the way you are.” Did I look scared? Was I scared? I was so used to being bored that scared never even entered into it. Maybe I looked scared and that was a good thing; maybe he wanted me to look scared, to make a better image. I didn’t think about it too much; after all, he hadn’t asked me to act, but to model. I wasn’t sure if he was paying me, but I didn’t really care. I was doing something I was sure no girls back home were doing.
“Relax,” he said and touched my arm, sending sparks the likes of which I’d never felt before shooting along my skin. I hated feeling young and naïve usually, and anyone who suggested I was either would get a scowl and the finger. But Tyler didn’t sound like he was laughing at my inexperience. He was more like a teacheræa very sexy teacher. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop and do something else. But something tells me you’re going to like it, Rina,” he finished, then stood and stared at me, his face so close and bold and open, I had to look away after a few seconds. No one had ever looked in my eyes like that, not even Eric. They looked at my body or my face or my hair, they looked long enough to know, maybe, that my eyes were a murky hazel, that I could win a staring contest, that I was tough on the outside, but not enough to see beneath that brash surface. Tyler saw and asked for me to peel it away to give him something else, something deeper. Tyler seemed to want to know everything, even though this was supposed to be a work thing for him, and all of a sudden my nipples were standing at attention, getting ready for their journey. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see all of me, but it turned me on that he wanted to, so I decided to go with it.
His voice was so sensual, so smoky and intense, the aural equivalent of rich Texas barbecue, that I melted into it the way barbecue melts on my tongue. “Now this is a cute little outfit,” he said, fingering my panties, “but I think we need to take these off. Maybe I can stuff them in your mouth later,” he said. His voice was deadpan but it still sent shivers along my skin. He was so close I could smell the smoke lingering on his breath and I whimpered. “Can I take your panties off, Rina? Or do you want to do it?”
I had to answer now. I swallowed, then braved a look at him. “You can take them off.” He didn’t just pull them down the sides of my legs. He reached inside and felt that I was wet, felt that my juices had soaked the panties, before he singlehandedly pull them slowly down my legs, making me aware of the sensation of the cotton tugging against my skin, exposing me. He dropped them on the bed and then I was just naked, bright red hair, big eyes, erect nipples. “Come over here for a minute,” he said, then he showed me the biggest collection of handcuffs I’ve ever seen, even now, years later, and I’ve seen a lot. There must’ve been three dozen sets, from metal ones to padded leather to silk to fur-lined. Some had pink hearts, some had shiny black bows, some had Velcro. One pair said BRAT across them. I didn’t even know that handcuffs came in such assortments; I’d truly never given it any thought. I’d barely had anyone even hold me down. I shivered.
“You like what you see, Rina?”
“Yes,” I said softly. Already, he’d taken me down a notch; I wasn’t vulnerable because I was naked, but because this was so new, and I suddenly wanted it so much. Seeing all those cuffs let me know that plenty of other people did these kinds of things too, otherwise there wouldn’t be such an array; manufacturers wouldn’t bother. Silently, that drawer full of restraints spoke to me and calmed my fears. “We’re here for you,” they said. “We want you, we welcome you. We’ll take care of you, even when if feels like we’re not. We need you.” Maybe that was melodramatic, but I’d always felt more kinship with things than people, with the clothing I used to adorn myself, the books I lovingly read and reread, the bike I used to zip as far and fast down the street as I could. But these belongings came with an owner, a man who was quickly making me melt. He was the real force behind what I was experiencing.
I lifted a pair of black leather cuffs, admiring their heft. He reached for them and dangled them before me. “These are ankle cuffs,” he said, “in case I really want to immobilize you. Let’s stick with your wrists for now. I want you to spread those pretty legs wide for me.” His words could’ve sounded dumb or cheesy, but they didn’t. They made me wet.
I reached for a pair of purple padded cuffs; it’s always been my favorite color. They were soft to the touch, nothing menacing about them…nothing except the look on Tyler’s face, like he could read my every pervy thought. Was I that easy? Was every girl’s first time like this? I’d prided myself on being so different for so long, but now, I wasn’t so sure. My heart was pounding as I handed the cuffs over to Tyler.
“Good choice,” he said, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He paused and just watched me, and I got the impression there was no right answer, but that each action of mine would trigger one of his, would let him know what I was up foræor thought I was up for. His trusting patience, his interest, his sexy eyes watching me, more than anything else, made me relax, even as I became more and more excited. My body was primed for almost anything, but my heart was calm. Tyler would take care of me. I pawed through his offerings, adding to the pile like we were shopping. Pink bondage tape, the cuffs, the clamps…
“What’s this?” I asked, holding up a metal contraption with a wheel full of spikes attached to a silver handle.
“It’s called a Wartenburg wheel. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took it and lightly ran the metal spikes along my arm. It didn’t hurt, and he did it so lightly at first that I didn’t think it could, but then he did it again, a little harder, before turning my arm over and tickling the underside of my wrist with it. “This can be used anywhere.” He let the possibilities dangle in the air.
“I’ll help you get ready.” He hummed as if to himself as he bound my arms behind my back with the cuffs. The first thing I did was tug on them to make sure they were tight enough. He noticed but just stood there, waiting. My breath came heavily as I realized that there was no turning back now. I stood upright, at attention, proudly looking back at him as I offered him my breasts, the nipples now harder than ever. Tyler took the clamps and fastened them one on each nipple. He knelt down before my clit and just stared for a moment, then spread the hood so it popped out. “Are you ready, Rina?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered as he pressed the padded edges of the clamp against my clit, prodding it, teasing it. If such a thing was possible, I was ready. I breathed through my nose, tears aching to surface.
“Don’t breathe through the pain, breathe into it,” he told me.
“Can I tape your mouth?” he asked, holding up the bondage tape.
I surprised myself by moaning. Yes, it all hurt, but even more, it felt wonderful to have my wrists warm and snug in the leather, the heat coursing through all three points of contact with the clamps. It made me focus on the parts of me I could move—my tongue, my head, my toes, my hips—before darting back to that heat, that pain with pleasure edging up underneath. I nodded, then sealed my lips. “You can make noise through the tape, but that won’t be your safeword. Shake your head back and forth three times in a row if you want me to stop,” he said. “Do you understand?” Tyler looked directly into my eyes. I nodded.
I should’ve been nervous and scared, but I wasn’t. I was wet, remembering his promise to make me part my legs. The tape was almost gentle as it sealed my lips. I swallowed hard and without any warning he started shooting. I stared back at him, bold, direct, my green eyes fixed on him, hoping he liked what he saw. Tyler was so focused on whatever he saw through his lens I didn’t know if he even realized all the emotions I was going through. I was wet, turned on, unsure if it was from being bound or because of him or both.
“I’m gonna zoom in, Rina. Show me what you’re feeling. Show me everything.” He made it sound so easy. I didn’t focus too much on being a “good model” but rather thought about all the things the toys were making me feel, all the things my body had clearly been yearning for but would never experience with Eric. They made me want to cry and grin at the same time, to curl up into a ball and to roar like a lion (once the tape came off). Every time panic started to set in, I willed myself to be calm, knowing there was a great reward awaiting me at the end.
I became the brat who wanted to get her punishment, the girl whose body was blatantly exposed to not just Tyler, but the world. I thrust my chest out, pushing my bound wrists behind me and downward as best I could. I shook my hips, smiled, bit my lip. I stepped closer to the camera, wishing I could run my hands up and down my body, give Tyler a real show, but from the constant clicks, I knew he was getting what he needed.
That made me relax. He didn’t want to see me in distress, just to see me. Maybe he was a pervert, but maybe pervert wasn’t such a bad word. Tyler muttered things under his breath like, “Give it to me, Rina,” and “Struggle against those cuffs,” and “Snarl at me,” then other words that rumbled together into a kind of sexy song, like background music. I realized that though he had been the one to physically tie me up and put the clamps on, I was the one bringing the real show. Amidst so much fake glamour, this was real.
I twisted and turned as much as I could, spreading my legs while he zoomed in. While the pain had plateaued after the first rush of intensity, now it was back and I longed to bite my lip, my favorite coping mechanism, but of course I couldn’t. I focused on his mantra to breathe into the pain, and I did, every second of it. The tears came unbidden as I took deep breaths through my nose, walking close to Tyler’s camera until I could toss my hair back, feel it tickle my bound wrists, and expose my clamped nipples right to the eye of his camera. His clicks came fast and furious until they stopped, and he put the camera down and took me in his arms.
First he undid the tape. “I have to do this fast,” he said and tore it right off. My lips were a little numb, but I didn’t mind. He traced a finger over them and then let me rest my head on his shoulder. I could tell he was hard, but he wasn’t trying to simply screw me; our encounter had gone far beyond that. “Now I’m going to take off the clamps, but let’s have you sit down right here on the couch first,” he said softly. “You were amazing. I got so many good shots and I’m going to send them to some bondage and fetish magazines. They’re gonna love you.”
Now I bit my lip, because I knew something big was coming. First the clit clamp came off. I let out a cry as the blood came rushing back. “Good girl,” he said and lightly trailed his fingers over my wetness. I had barely realized it but I was very, very wet. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, with no trace of the tough guy I’d glimpsed previously. Then the nipple clamps came off. I watched as he eased the lever down on what I now know are tweezer clamps and saw my flattened nubs come to life again.
He dropped the clamp on the floor and leaned down to suck one bud, lightly tracing his tongue against it. The wetness made me squirm, in a good way. His fingers again found my wetness, plunging deep inside. Now I could talk, but I didn’t have anything to say other than a series of insensible moans. There was too much to feel, and I was glad my wrists were still bound. Too much freedom all at once would’ve been a shock to my system.
I rocked against him as he gave me what I hadn’t known I’d been missing, his fingers going deep, his mouth switching from one tormented breast to the other. This was my initiation ritual, my belated birthday present, my kinky debutante ball featuring just the two of us. I gave myself to him as I’d done before and in return, Tyler gave me the best orgasm of my life, one that rocked me from the inside out, spiraling through my body like a tornado. I cried when I came, and he kissed my neck, then my lips, placing his over mine so he could take my breath from me too.
Tyler made me come I don’t know how many times, then he showed me some of the photos he’d taken. Only much later, after I’d had some water and fruit and cheese, after he’d removed the cuffs and shown me another pair, did he even show me his cock. Then it was my turn to select a pair of cuffs for him. I fumbled a little putting them on, but when I got them secured behind his back, I sank to my knees and toyed with his cock, savoring every second of his stern, stiff heat as I discovered that blow jobs could be a lot more fun when I was in charge.
Tyler gave me so many gifts on that first trip, and the photos were, indeed, a hit, necessitating many more trips back to Vegas. It was easier to get there once I moved to L.A. and started a new life, far from Eric and Michigan and the innocent girl I’d once been. Every time I slip into a cage or offer myself up to a lover to bind, there’s still a part of me that remembers the treat Tyler gave me, and what he saw in me before I could see it in myself. I hope every girl is lucky enough to have a Tyler in her life.
Order
Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.comKindle editionBn.com (Barnes & Noble)Books-a-MillionBordersPowell'sIndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)Cleis PressLabels: Best Bondage Erotica 2011, bondage erotica, Cleis Press, CulturePOP, Las Vegas, photography, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Seth Kushner, sex toys, Vegas Treat
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