Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

NECK MAGIC Nancy Irwin

I have developed a fascination with your neck. I put my hands around it and you immediately drop, like magic, into a submissive space. The look in your eyes says that you’ve become consciously captive and are waiting for my command. There’s something that you want, or is that need?

I used to like to watch you bring yourself down and get ready for play. But most of that time I was busy getting the space set up, organizing bondage equipment, getting lube, gloves, chucks and cum cloths ready. I would catch a glimpse of you in the bathroom, or in the bedroom. I have an image of you, a muscular butch wearing a black long-sleeve dress shirt, open and with the cuffs rolled up—and wearing boots, as I requested. You stood in my bedroom door, looking down the hall toward the dungeon. I spotted you and you looked down. The next time I saw you I had entered the bedroom. You were standing at the foot of the bed with your back exposed and your head down. I meant to enter slowly but I was so turned on by the sight of you that I pounced against your back and wrapped my arms around you. Your submission turns me on.

I like that I don’t have to take care of you after. What I mean is that you’re a strong person, fully capable of running your own life. You manage construction projects, a complex work schedule, properties with tenants, and maintain a Ford Explorer, a couple of Jeeps and a Harley-Davidson. Oh, and you have a boi devoted to serving you. All that requires skill and dominance. When you choose to submit to me, you do so freely. You give up control for a specific time. I may have the pleasure of sharing some ecstatic moments and the peaceful bliss that comes after. This is a gift you share with me, but it’s not mine to keep. You’re not mine to keep. All this is ephemeral, like a spring blossom or soap bubble; beautiful, but gone in a blink. What lingers is the possibility of more.

So you like to top, do you? I enjoy the wonderful sensations you give me when you fuck me, gentle, then hard. It’s taken me a while to relax into you, to allow you to use your specific bondage on me, be placed in a compromised position and let you fuck me harder than I want, harder than I can handle. I can always say stop. It’s taken me a while to trust enough that you can punch me in the way you like, which is a way I like. I just can’t always take it. My cunt has to be relaxed. But you’re right about something: I don’t submit. I enjoy specific pain. I get off on it. I mean, I really get off on it: selective, specific pain. There’s more I like that you don’t know yet. That’s okay. I like what you do know. And we’re both fortunate for one thing, which is that there are others who we play with who have different interests and talents to share that give us pleasure.

But back to your neck. I remember running a sharp blade along it, nice and slow. You seemed to stop breathing. When I take my hands and cover your neck you don’t resist but stay perfectly still. That time at the play party when I took your tie and used it like a noose against your throat you began to drop, and I saw all sorts of fireworks flash in your eyes, because you weren’t at all in a place for submission. But it was happening, uncontrollably—until I released the pressure. Sigh. You asked what I was doing. I said I got distracted for a moment, which was true. I didn’t want to take you down, not there. If I’m going to have that pleasure I want all of it, your complete undivided attention. A public play party is not a place you can let your guard down, I’ve learned. So at a public play party I expect to be the bottom. So long as I can’t see a line of people watching, I can float in my own little world, one that I share with you. My guard is already down. And with you to watch over me, I feel safe. Besides, I could pop back to fight in an instant, cause I’m not going that far down in a public space either. Like you said the last day we were in Heaven, we both have to drive. I have to leave a play party walking, possibly riding a motorcycle. I’m not afraid of submitting, because I don’t. And I like that you recognize and appreciate that, because it’s specific too. If you needed that, we wouldn’t have lasted longer than a moth to a flame.

The more you submit, the more I want. I don’t want to own you. I want to explore you. How far can I go? What do you really want? Can I go there with you? Hmm. I’ve already learned to be careful. You like intimacy of a sort. But you can shut down without notice or visible cause. I have to be prepared for that and keep myself guarded. Can’t fall for you, no. You’re not available—after you are. There’s a trick. Ha. Caution. I think that’s what I should name you. You’re intriguing, intelligent, powerful, adventurous. I really like adventure. You’re willing to play. But you could shut me out at any time. I must always remember that. Caution.

I’ll admit it. I’m intrigued. I put a posture collar on your neck and you changed, instantly. Again, it was magic. While I fussed with rope, finding some thin enough to go through the link at your throat—yes, throat—you seemed defenseless. I ran the rope from your throat, down around your torso and made a double run across your chest, trapping your nipples and then tightening the rope with knots until I had knotted right up to your large, trapped victims, fully secure and exposed. Then I tied your torso to the bondage table in a way that secured your arms against your sides. With that alone, you were captured. In fact, with the collar you were. I cannot imagine you wandering around in public wearing such a thing. You would be way too vulnerable. Either that, or you would be forced to block the magic from your world, which would be oh, so sad. That would be worth crying over. May I suggest you never wear such a thing outside the safety of a secure playspace?

I’ve an idea I’d like to try, to perfect. I have a design I’d like to work on, that involves multiple pieces of rope laced around your neck, with lengths available to secure your limbs. That was a plan of mine that was never executed, because we found a portable sling to play with, which provided all sorts of bondage points. I was able to rope your neck nicely, using a few pieces: one to tie your right arm, one to tie your left arm, one to tie your torso and one to tie your neck to the sling. Gulp. That was the one that got my clit hard, the one that pulled against your neck.

That was good magic that afternoon. The morning spent cutting lengths of rope from a spool, color-coding them at the ends, was good foreplay. When I tied the rope around your neck you were clearly aroused. I loved listening to your breathing, which was anything but steady. When I tied you into the sling your cunt got huge, like it wanted to jump out of itself. I wish you could see that as I do! I had your boots in the stirrups, with rope around your legs. I had secured your wrists, with some room for movement, against your hips. Nothing got in the way of your cunt—except for my hand, and only when I was good and ready.

You were very ready. Your cunt was dripping. I ran a finger up the length of it and thought you were going to explode. I played with you with the rope. Then I ran my wrist across your cunt. Oh, that was good. More dripping. I thought to be kind but wasn’t. I put a glove on and lubed up my finger, then stuck it in your ass. I wondered how you would react. It wasn’t what you wanted. I knew that. But it was what I wanted. And that you knew. I fucked your ass gently and you gently squirted. I pulled out of your ass, removed that glove, and then I quickly slid my thumb inside your cunt, then removed it. Nothing but a tease, that was. I watched your cunt throb. I talked with you for a moment. Did you understand anything I said? You nodded your responses. I grabbed the bottle of lube and gave myself a handful. Then I gave you a handful. You were so pent up at that point you had trouble releasing. And then you did. With my fist inside you, you squirted. Then I pulled out and rubbed against the inside of your cunt with my fingers. You gushed and gushed, soaking my boots. I wanted that and told you so. I wanted more. I continued to fuck you and you squirted, even when you thought you had nothing left to give. Your head moved side to side. Your eyes were open but you had a vacant stare. You were flying. It seemed a long time before you reminded me that you had to drive. You were blissed. I was too.

Funny thing that. It’s very different fucking you than getting fucked, but somehow, after a really wonderful session like that one, I’m left feeling as high as if I’d been the one in the sling. How can that be? I’m not really sure. Of course you are way higher. It’s just that I’m so fucking turned on fucking you, so hard from watching you react to my touch that I end up wetting my pants—when I’m wearing any. What was I wearing that day? There might have been a dress. I know I was wearing boots. That’s why it was so much fun to have you squirt all over me. You covered my belly and my legs with your juices, and splashed all over my boots. But my own juices were running down my thighs at the same time.

What are we gonna do next, Max? I know when I expect to see you. Will you let me tie you up again and believe I’m having my way with you, when all the while, I’m doing exactly what you want me to? If it works for me and it works for you, is there any harm in pretending that I’m 100 percent in control and that you’ve given up completely and entirely for my pleasure? The thing is, the more we do this and the further we explore, the less it seems like it matters. I get to have fun exploring you and you get to enjoy being explored. I rather doubt you will get into trouble. You’ve got too many people you play with and too many safeguards in place. You do know about those safeguards, don’t you?

I know about the not so safe: the rope, the knives, my hands around your neck. More dangerous than that are my words, my commands. Perhaps one day we’ll play that way, and there will be no physical restraint. Who would understand that’s the most dangerous of all?