She waited for him to come home. The house was clean, the dishes out of the dishwasher and put away, the laundry done. There was nothing else for her to concentrate on. She hadn't gone into the lab. The day before she'd spent sequencing the same virus over and over; it felt like busy work and he was working to stop a new strain of virus that was killing puppies. His job seemed so much more worthwhile; more what she should be doing. She'd gotten into Virology to help people, not to map the same damn virus over and over again. Not that she wanted everything to be a level four bio-hazard, she was just bored.
So she waited. He finally called and said he was on his way. Her spirits plummeted. She had expected to see his headlights any minute. The lab was half-an-hour away. She poured herself a second glass of wine and played the conversation out a little further. The dress she wore floated around her, barely touching--certainly not rubbing--her nipples. She wore no underwear, per instructions. Nothing touched her anywhere.
She burned. She wanted something to caress her nipples, something to snuggle up against her crotch. She wanted to press herself against the edge of the sink, or run her hands down her hip bones and inward. She wanted to keep him on the phone. She licked the rim of her wine glass and said something to him, but he sounded tired and her spirits sank lower. Time to start dinner, then, something that could simmer on the backburner while they sat and discussed their individual days. Stew or chili. Something warm.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, aware that every movement felt sensual, even the light dress she wore brushing against her mound, even the tendrils of long blonde hair escaping the clasp at the back of her neck and falling to stroke her shoulders and throat. All these things felt erotic. She bit her lip, enjoying the sharp sensation, and tried to lose herself in dinner. There wasn't anything else she could do. There were rules. Their rules, come up with together. What she could and couldn't do without permission. What she had to ask for. What she had to wait for. He liked her to be ready, hot and anticipating. She liked him to be in control. Most of the time it worked.
But lately, with the puppy virus making life miserable for him, no cures or vaccines in sight, she was hot and ready to no avail and the rules were making her crazy; desperate for him. She wanted his cock in her mouth and in her pussy, she wanted to be filled, held down and fucked. She didn't want to wait.
She was almost as tall as he was, five-nine to his five-eleven, able to lock hands and ankles at the same time when he lay flat against her, cock pressed against her belly, eyes laughing into hers in the moments before he relented and entered her.
She wanted it all now when he was at work, hard up against it, and wouldn't be home for lunch or home early. She had called that afternoon, called and asked. Getting through the receptionist and assistants had made her hotter refusing to leave a message, refusing to say why she was calling. The lab acted like Brent had security clearances. They acted like she intruded on their time with him. She had thought about telling them all what she wanted, but instead she simply said she needed to speak with him briefly, reminding each and every roadblock that she was his wife.
"Lily?"
"Hi."
"No," he said, with no preliminaries, no softening. No argument. Just the sound of her voice was enough to tell him what she wanted.
She thought about protesting, "You don't even know why I'm calling" but he did know, so instead she said, "Are you going to be home-?"
"Late."
She imagined he was smiling. A half smile, somewhat tired, mostly amused. He knew how she was feeling. He liked that no one else in the lab knew what they were talking about. She pictured him, tall, broad shouldered, strong hands that didn't look right for the minute, exacting lab work he did, buzz cut auburn hair, green eyes. Tired green eyes lately. "Late, and tired, I suppose." She sighed.
"Very. Move your legs apart."
They were pressed together. It wasn't helping, but she hated separating them. "I did."
"Where are your hands?"
"Both on the phone." She wanted to take the receiver and press it between her legs.
"Keep them there."
He was in a lab. He had a cubicle, but it was likely he wasn't in it. His colleagues were all around him, people he worked with, people she knew, people who knew her reputation in virology as well as his. He couldn't say much, but she knew he was smiling, and she knew if she didn't hang up now she'd have nothing left to work with.
She didn't hang up. That wasn't allowed either.
"You don't have permission," he said, and then, "For what? List."
Oh, God. He'd disallow everything. Her crotch throbbed, wanting, like a mouth longing for water. "To touch myself."
"Where?"
"Breasts. Throat. Mouth. Between my legs."
"Be specific."
She was alone, but her face burned. "My clit. My cunt. My ass. My lips. I need to sit on soft chairs or a pillow. I must keep my legs apart. I can't use-"
She couldn't use vibrators or dildos or hairbrushes or-
"You can't use anything," he said.
Her need rose a notch. To be filled. To be held. To be forced. And he was making sure nothing would even touch her. "When will you be home?"
"Be careful," he warned. It was a little too close to asking for something else. "Late. I'll call if it's past eight. Why aren't you in the lab?"
She'd been in the lab the day before. In her cubicle, doing paperwork, trying to ignore the tests she'd run that afternoon sequencing the virus hitting elementary schools, nothing more than a day of nausea per child. Boredom was about to send her screaming when Brent came out of nowhere. He leaned over, slid his hands down her shoulders and over her breasts, then circled them back up to hug her.
"What are you doing here?" She was too surprised to say anything else.
"There's a welcome every man loves to get."
From her vantage point he was upside down, his grin somewhat demonic. When he swung her chair around to face him, she automatically wrapped her legs around his calves.
"Careful." He grinned, that lopsided, ironic grin, the one that kept him from being a little too handsome.
"It's just a hug." But she'd released his legs and risen to give him a kiss and step back, properly respectable in her own cubicle. Around them people came and went, someone used the centrifuge, and several people typed, though what she couldn't imagine. They needed an outbreak, something curable but interesting. "I am so freaking bored!" she whispered fiercely.
"I wish I was." He ran one hand over his hair, which settled right back into place.
She cocked her head at him. "Why did you-?"
"Needed a break." He closed his eyes, rolled his head in a neck-cracking circle, trying to loosen the tension. "Just wanted to see you." He glanced at his watch. "And now that I have-"
"You're going back to it." She slid into his arms and smiled up at him. Their labs were a mile apart on the university campus, virology and epidemiology, one for humans, one not. The distance between them made for a nice walk when one needed to get away from sterile air and sterile work. "I could walk you back," she suggested. It was probably the most she was going to see of him for a while. She looked up at him, and caught the glint in his eye. "What?"
"You can't walk me back," he said, "because you need to take care of a few things."
And he whispered in her ear, walled off by flimsy cubicles and the sound of scientists typing, whispered to her to go into the bathroom and play with herself until she was wet enough to soak her panties. And speaking of panties, he didn't see any reason she should be wearing them, so she should take them off and put them in her purse. "You're not to make yourself come," he instructed, caressing her hair away from her face. "I'll take care of that tonight."
But he hadn't, not that night, and not the next morning, and Lily got hotter and wetter and wanted him even more watching his long legs disappear into jeans, and his chest vanish behind a long sleeved shirt as he kissed her and said, "Only coffee, and I'll take it with me. I love you." Then he was gone, exhausted, distracted, and she couldn't concentrate enough to make an appearance at the lab. Everything reminded her of sex. Sex she wasn't having.
She changed into a loose dress, one that tied under her breasts to support but didn't rub. She typed up old lab notes. She had lunch. She folded laundry. She read some erotica, but it didn't help; it made things worse. She thought about what she wanted to do with him.
Early in the evening she had a glass of wine. She had been reading, but her mind wasn't on the story and all she could think about was sex and wanting him. That was when he called to tell her he was on his way. That was when she gave up.
The rules were their rules. They had made them up together. Besides, he hadn't warned her about anything else when he called, and he wasn't going to be home for a while, and he wasn't going to be in the mood for anything when he got home anyway. By the time he wanted her she would be just as hot and ready as if she'd never touched herself in the first place.
If she thought about it anymore than that, she would have to admit she was doing it on purpose.
She didn't think about it anymore.
She checked on dinner. She kept her legs apart. She stood in the kitchen in her flowered dress with no underwear, wanting and needing, and reminded herself of the rules they had put in place together. She checked the clock. He had called fifteen minutes ago. He would be home soon.
She went into the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and just looked. There was the gym bag Brent called the "toy" bag when they went places. Sometimes he let porters carry it. It made her squirm and he liked that. The bag was flat, empty, everything spread out around it like an exploded sex shop, all the things she loved having used on her, all the things he liked to use on her. She knelt with her legs apart, just looking, checking the clock, but he wasn't due home yet. Her legs crept closer together and her hands folded and interlocked, tucked themselves between her knees, and started moving up.
I'm just looking, she told herself. At her favorite dildo. At the ball gag he had bought for her the last time he told her to keep quiet and she didn't. At the various internal and external paraphernalia.
Her fingers unlocked. She was still looking at the contents of the drawer, touching none of it, not using it, not even caressing it, but her hands were moving of their own accord, one index finger beginning to circle her clit, round and round. She was wet even there; her shaved pussy must be drenched. One finger circled, then pressed. Her other hand slipped lower, took hold of her sex lips and drew them up and out, opening and pressing. Her vision filled with accouterments, everything she loved to be touched with, played with. She let go of her labia all at once and three fingers slid into her very wet sex. Her circling finger stopped moving and pressed directly against her clit. She gasped, and moved her hand very fast, in and out of herself, three fingers fucking her, her mouth open, her eyes glazing, everything swimming around her as she climaxed, panting, her body trembling.
She didn't move as the last of the spasms ebbed. Her eyes were closed, and when she opened them she knew he was there, standing silently in the doorway, watching her. She didn't know when he had arrived and it didn't matter. He had seen the end of it, surely, and if he hadn't, she was still kneeling with her hands between her legs, her head hanging forward, her lips parted breathlessly.
When she turned and looked at him, he smiled lazily. "Was it worth it?"
She shook her head. It was never as good without him. She could tell herself what to do, give herself orders of a sort, but it wasn't the same. On the other hand, the look on his face said he was awake now, and that she wasn't finished.
"Take that dress off," he commanded.
She untied the ribbons beneath her breasts without hesitation, slipped the garment over her head, and let it fall to the floor beside her.
"Go hang it up. No sense getting the house all messy."
Unfair, she thought, noting he had already divested himself of shoes and jacket on his way to the bedroom. She could always follow his progress through the house by the breadcrumb trail of discarded clothing. She rose and hung the dress in the closet and came back to stand and wait.
He had gone into the bathroom to wash his hands and he took his time coming out again. She stood with her heart pounding in her chest and between her legs, the heat growing inside her again.
"You were studying that drawer pretty hard," he said, drying his hands. He deliberately dropped the towel on the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied her.
"I was just looking." He made her feel defensive.
"At the toys," he agreed, but his meaning was clear. "I want you to look at them again. You need to get a few out of there."
Her pulse sped up even more.
He didn't move from the bathroom doorway. "Nipple clamps."
Lily took the alligator clips from the drawer, carried them carefully to the bed, and laid them on her pillow. Then she stood and waited again.
"Purple dildo."
She tried not to flinch. The purple one was large, the biggest they had, and it stretched her a little. She took it from the drawer, added it to the clamps, and waited.
"Medium butt plug."
She swallowed. So he was irritated. He had told her she couldn't touch herself and she had anyway. But this was the agreement they had entered into, what she had wanted--to be controlled, to be held in sway. It made her hot just knowing he could tell her to do anything or not do anything, and that she had agreed to unquestioningly accept his direction.
"Hairbrush."
"Brent ..."
He raised an eyebrow. Clear across their master suite she could see that and she was sorry she had spoken. The smooth wooden hairbrush joined the collection on the bed. Only then did he cross the threshold, walk up to her, and kiss her on the mouth, his hands running down her back to her ass. He squeezed gently, then pushed her away from him, just hard enough that she lost her balance and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Legs apart, Lily. Farther. Put your hands at your sides, palms up." He waited until she had arranged herself, then he moved one of the freestanding mirrors in front of her. Her breath caught at the sight of herself, spread open and waiting. He crossed to the drawer again, her image disappearing and reappearing as he moved in front of her. Two more items emerged--a knotted bandana and a handheld bell.
Her eyes flew to his face.
He didn't even blink. "I want to catch the news," he said, and slipped the knotted scarf into her mouth, tying it behind her neck. The bell sat at her feet. If she needed him, if something was wrong, she could ring it."You're so beautiful." He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and then moved down to lick her nipples. He pushed her breasts together in his hands, squeezed them hard, and sucked their stiff points. He bit one, harder than she liked, tongued her soothingly, then bit her again. Then he straightened up and looked down at her, loving and stern. "Think about what you did, Lily. Think about what we agreed, and think about why, and think about what I'm going to do."
)
BDSM is shorthand for two distinct lifestyles that can but do not always come together. B&D stands for Bondage & Domination. S&M stands for Sadism and Masochism. One of the reasons many women are afraid to explore their sexual submissiveness is precisely the BDSM acronym; they are worried one inevitably leads to the other, which is not actually the case. Every BDSM relationship is as unique as the persons involved in it. What dominant and submissive individuals do together is determined by both of them. The idea that becoming a Sex Slave means being forced to live out the full and often extremely painful and offensive gamut of Sadomasochistic activities is completely untrue; it is a negative stereotype and in no way an accurate portrayal of the sane consensual BDSM lifestyle many loving couples have been living for years. In Bound to Love, Maria Isabel Pita has gathered together nine erotic love stories written by some of today's hottest writers of erotica. In each story the darker side of sexuality is explored through realistic, well-developed characters deeply in love with each other and otherwise leading normal lives together. The men and women in Bound To Love are involved in serious, long-term relationships in which their deeper feelings for each other are inseparable from their erotic interaction. The stories in Bound to Love are some of the best in their genre precisely because they transcend it.
