First Time with Bondage
"Baby Steps," a Licorice Whips short story by Elizabeth Coldwell
Frame Two, by China Hamilton (available at ObsessionArt.com)
Sometimes, you have to be very careful what you say. Some casual remarks can come back to haunt you long after you’ve forgotten all about them, while other words can become a shield you hide behind, too afraid to say what you really mean.
So it was, with me and Richie. For a long time, we had skirted ‘round the idea of becoming more adventurous in bed. Not that we had grown bored of each other; far from it. I never failed to get excited by the feel of Richie’s fingers on my bare skin, his tongue roaming over my body, and I knew he felt the same way about me. We knew each other inside and out, and that was part of the problem.
Often, we shared fantasies as we lay curled up in bed together, and Richie was aware that many of mine involved situations in which I was dominated. Thinking about him taking control turned me on – I wasn’t ashamed to admit that – but I had always been afraid to turn those fantasies into reality.
I loved Richie deeply, and trusted him more than any other man I’d been with, and yet I still found it so hard to let that love and trust be enough. Part of me was scared of what would happen if I gave up control to him. What if I didn’t like it? What if I liked it too much?
Then, one night, I was weaving Richie a fantasy in which I was helplessly restrained, unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure of the moment, and he had dipped his fingers into my sex and brought them away coated with my juices, proof that simply talking about submitting to him was enough to get me wet.
“Come on, Sian,” he said, “we’ve got to give it a go. I want this so much – and you can’t deny that you don’t. Not when this is telling me exactly how you feel.”
He pressed his finger to my lips, letting me taste myself.
That’s when I knew he was right, that I couldn’t go on running away from my desires any longer. “Okay,” I said, “but let’s not go too fast. I can only do this if I take baby steps.”
He smiled – a smile whose significance I didn’t realize until much later – and slithered down between my legs to thank me properly for agreeing to his suggestion.
****
Nothing happened for the next couple of weeks. Indeed, I had almost forgotten my promise to explore my restraint fantasies, until the night Richie came home clutching a large cardboard package and beaming broadly.
“It was delivered this afternoon,” he said, placing the box on the kitchen table. “I told the lads in the office it was a spare part for the vacuum cleaner, otherwise, I’d never have heard the end of it.”
“So what is it, exactly?” I asked, squinting at the address label. It appeared to be from a company called Command Control, whoever they might have been.
“It’s a present for you, and I know you’re going to love it.” He went to take a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard by the sink. “Now, go change into that really sexy black basque of yours, and we’ll play with your new toy.”
“But dinner–” I began, thinking about the chicken casserole which was bubbling away in the oven, the potatoes slowly crisping in their jackets.
“Can wait,” Richie replied. “I’ll expect you back in here in five minutes. No longer.”
I couldn’t fail to notice that his voice had taken on a suddenly dominant note, low and insistent. It sent an unexpected shiver of excitement through me. He hustled me out of the kitchen and I went to don the lingerie he’d requested, wondering just what kind of toy he’d bought for me. The box was far too big to contain a vibrator or a string of “love beads,” which were the obvious choices for adding a little bit of spice, but if he simply wanted to tie me up, as I suspected he might, then why had he sent away for something special? Surely a couple of the silk ties in his top drawer would have been perfectly effective for some impromptu bondage?
I was still mulling over the possibilities when I walked back into the kitchen. In addition to the basque, which nipped in my waist and molded my breasts into a full, inviting cleavage, I was wearing black lacy panties and a pair of strappy heels. Richie hadn’t so much as removed his suit jacket, and I felt conspicuously under-dressed at his side.
“Very nice,” he said, looking me up and down. “And prompt, too. Now you can open your present.”
He gestured towards the box on the table. I sliced open the parcel tape that secured it, then reached inside tentatively, aware that my husband was watching me with an amused expression. Buried deep among a mass of styrofoam nuggets was a chrome bar about two feet long. On each end was a thick cuff made of soft, supple leather. Blush pink leather. Definitely not Richie’s shade. Whatever I had expected to find, it wasn’t this.
“What is it exactly?” I asked as I lifted the contraption out and examined it more closely.
“It’s a spreader bar,” he informed me. “Here, let me show you how it works.” He took the bar from my grasp and knelt down in front of me. “Now, if we take your right ankle and put it in here–” As he spoke, he was swiftly buckling one of the cuffs around my ankle. “And then we take your left and do exactly the same. And then we fasten them with a padlock, like so...” Like a magician well versed in sleight of hand, he plucked two little heart-shaped padlocks from his jacket pocket and locked the cuffs in place. By the time he had finished, my legs were secured in place in a stance, which was not quite wide enough to be uncomfortable, but certainly looked ungainly. And I had no way of getting out of my restraints until Richie decided to release me.
“Oh, Sian,” Richie said, “you wouldn’t believe how beautiful you look like that. But you’re probably wondering why I chose this, why I didn’t go for something a little more conventional? Well, you gave me the idea, you know. You told me yourself that you’d like to be more adventurous, but you’d only take baby steps. Well, that’s all you can do with your legs spread like this – take baby steps.”
Later, I would smile at the way my husband had so cleverly twisted my words to manufacture the situation. But now I could only stand and wonder what he might have in mind for me. Now I was clearly his to command.
“Right, Sian, what I’d like you to do is walk to the bedroom and we’ll continue this there.” It was a simple request, and the distance wasn’t far – out of the kitchen, down the hall past the living room of our flat, and to the bedroom where I had changed into my revealing basque so recently. But with my legs hobbled by the spreader bar, I knew it would be a slow, tortuous walk, and one I was suddenly reluctant to take.
Richie snapped at me, “Do I need to show you what happens to bad girls who can’t obey instructions?”
Was he suggesting he was going to punish me? That, too, was something which had often cropped up in my fantasies, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about the possibility of him spanking me for real. So I began to move, one foot just an inch or so in front of the other at first as I grew used to the way in which the spreader bar hampered my movements. It was a waddle, rather than a walk, and I was sure I must look stupid. Richie wasn’t laughing, though. Instead, he was watching me with an expression that seemed to mix pride with undisguised lust. As I glanced at his crotch, the swelling of his cock was all too obvious in his gray trousers; clearly, he was enjoying this.
And I was excited, too. Though I had never imagined that tonight, within half an hour of my husband walking through the door, I would be half-dressed and placed in a bizarre form of bondage, now that I was, my heart was beating faster and there was an answering pulse between my legs, too strong to ignore.
By the time I reached the bedroom, my legs were beginning to ache. Muscles I rarely used protested at such a demanding workout. To add to my delicious humiliation, before I was halfway down the hall, Richie had reached into the cups of my basque and pulled out my breasts to play with, though in truth, my nipples had been hard even before he’d rolled them with his thumbs.
At last I stood awaiting his next instruction. “Face the end of the bed,” he ordered, and I turned in a slow circle. “Now take hold of the footboard.”
Assuming the required position meant I was bending forward slightly, my bottom raised temptingly. Richie accepted the invitation.
He slapped first my right arse cheek, then my left. Not particularly hard, but there was a definite sting. I yelped indignantly, and he chuckled, then continued with another four or five slaps to each cheek.
Richie brought his mouth close to my ear. “Another time, I’ll spank you till you really are begging for mercy. But I just can’t wait any longer...” As he spoke, I felt him tugging at the waistband of my panties. He didn’t even attempt to pull them down, he simply ripped them in two with a strength I’d never seen him demonstrate, then dangled the ruined garment in front of my face. The scent of my juices on them was almost intoxicating.
“Look at that,” he said, “they’re absolutely saturated. You’re a bad girl for getting so excited, you know that?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
Richie’s hand delved between my widely parted legs, rubbing and teasing my clit ‘till I whimpered, demanding to feel him inside me. I expected him to tell me that I was in no position to make demands, but instead, all I heard was the grating sound of his zip coming down, and then his cock nudging between my pussy lips, opening me up. Spread as wide as I was, it was easy for him to push all the way into me,’ till I could feel the rough material of his trousers against my most sensitive flesh.
I clung on to the end of the bed as Richie began to fuck me. He cupped my breasts and squeezed them, and I thrust my bum back at him as best I could, urging him on. Normally, sex was a slow exploration, fingers and tongues teasing as we warmed each other up for the pleasure to come. This was as far removed from that as I had ever known: rough, frantic, and utterly satisfying. It was as though we were discovering each other in a whole new way. Within minutes, Richie was coming in sudden, powerful bursts, and my orgasm followed rapidly behind, coaxed into being by my own fingers as my husband’s cock gently subsided inside me.
Finally, he took pity on me and released me from the confining ankle cuffs, unfastening the little padlocks and massaging the life back into my aching legs.
“I’m going to be sore in the morning,” I sighed, as we cuddled together on the bed, “but it was absolutely worth it.”
“Let me run you a bath,” Richie said. “You deserve to be spoiled after that.”
As Richie wandered into the bathroom and I lay on the bed, listening to the sound of running water, I thought how much I loved my husband for having forced me to explore my fantasies. Taking baby steps had been so exciting, I couldn’t wait to make more progress. With the aid of the spreader bar, I knew it would be slow progress – beautifully slow – and I was so looking forward to it.
Originally published March 2010
