Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Twisted: Bondage with an Edge


Twisted
Excerpt from “Body Temperature” by Thomas S. Roche

            We’ve got the windows open, fans blaring in the windows on high, but nothing helps. It’s ten o’clock at night and just as hot outside as inside. Maybe at 3:00 a.m. Aisha or I will stand in
front of one of the fans and make a soft sad sound of fleeting relief. But for now, every cubic inch of air within blowing distance is body temperature or hotter.
            She’s got pillows under her back, about six of them, which raise her frame to a forty-five-degree angle and give me the perfect canvas to work on. She’s tightly tied, now, wrists to headboard, ankles to footboard, knees and thighs to the side rail and tits bound tight, distended painfully. Aisha has perfect breasts, the ideal size for her frame if you ask me, and frankly, she knows it. She loves it when they get attention, but nipple clamps and Tiger Balm only go so far—especially when every material or substance on her body makes her scowl.
            And yet I’ve wrapped her in rope in a half-dozen places, the hemp rope like blankets. And I’ll admit I’m getting off on making her suffer in the heat a little just to get her bondage fix. Her flesh is a vibrant pink, her face beginning to glisten. The scavenged yard thermometer in the living room says ninety-eight degrees—body temperature. But I’m certainly not telling her that.   
            She’s sweating, panting slightly; I can tell it’s from a combination of temperature and arousal. The bondage is turning her on, all right, but she’s fighting with the heat—the way she fights with it every minute of every day this time of year. She squirms a bit, fights against the bonds while I caress her; my fingers go up in her and I find out she’s even more aroused than I thought she was.
             “Close your eyes.”
            I have to say, “Keep ’em closed!” twice as I slide my fingers out of her, then kneel down beside the bed and open the cooler. If she recognizes the sound, she doesn’t show it. I tell her again to keep her eyes closed as I get what I want and bring it back to bed.
            She’s really glistening now, covered. She smells fresh from the shower, but slightly musky from the heat. The scent of her pussy mingles with sweat. It’s a wonder I can smell her over the unpleasant mingling of the tight, close, stale air of our apartment with the city stink from outside the window.
            I set the plastic bowl on the nightstand and stand to the side as I blindfold her.
            The blindfold was fresh and firm from twenty minutes in the freezer when I put it in the cooler as she showered. Now it’s slightly less ready, but still cold as hell.
            The blindfold may have softened since it left the freezer, but in contrast to the air in the bedroom, it feels freezing—I can tell. By the time she opens her eyes in surprise, I’ve got the elastic around her. Her shoulders tip down, the small of her back up. Her ass leaves the sweat-soaked sheets. The ropes go taut. She wiggles.
            I fetch an ice cube from the bowl on the nightstand.
            I press the ice tight to the hot-pink side of her neck. I await that sound of scared surprise that I crave. She gives it to me— the gasp and the curse that says You’ve blown my mind, baby. It’s followed by a pleasurable murmur, and she tips her head and presses her neck against the ice as I rub it all over her. If she had the faintest clue what was coming, she doesn’t show it. It seemed like an obvious tactic to me; why I haven’t thought about it before is utterly beyond me. But then, we both tend to lose brain function when the mercury hits these levels.
            I stuff an ice cube in her mouth. Aisha sucks on it, crunches it up with her teeth.  She chews and sucks and moans softly while I fuck her harder with my fingers. I’ve reached over and retrieved another ice cube by now. This one makes its way across the exposed portions of her tightly bound tits. When it hits her nipples, Aisha curses, grits her teeth. I linger there. She shakes her head back and forth, coal black hair dancing. Some plasters itself to her shoulders; I peel it away and brush it back. I ice each hard nipple in slow, tight circles and feel the pink buds harden. I zero in on one and plant my hand over her breast, ice cube in the hollow of my palm, until I have to grit my teeth, too. By then, she’s pulling a Stevie Wonder, mouth dropped open and curses coming out. She can barely stand it. Her vocalizations go from curses and pleasured sounds to a high-pitched squeal of panic; then I palm the ice and shove it into her mouth.
            There’s not much left. She crunches. Impatient little slut.

            I seize two cubes of ice. I kneel between Aisha’s legs, acutely aware that I’m so overheated myself that I’m dripping sweat all over her. But this time she doesn’t complain—at least, not about that. I run one ice cube delicately from her neck to her face, over her forehead, down the other side of her neck and across her collarbone to the tit I haven’t abused yet. Its nipple’s hard and sensitive already, stiffened in sympathy for the other. I circle it with the ice; when Aisha seems about to scream, I circle wider and let the melting cube orbit her breast at an altitude of maybe two inches.

About the Author/Editor
Alison Tyler has made being naughty a full-time job. Her sultry short stories appear in more than 100 anthologies, and she is a prolific editor of bestselling erotic anthologies like Twisted, Bound for Trouble, and The Big Book of Bondage. In all things important, she remains faithful to her husband of 15 years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume. Find her at alisontyler.com and alisontyler.blogspot.com

Purchasing Links:

Dark Secret Love: A Story of Submission by Alison Tyler




Twisted: Bondage with an Edge edited by Alison Tyler




The Big Book of Bondage: Sexy Tales of Erotic Restraint edited by Alison Tyler



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