So this is my first semi-erotic story written exclusivly for this site. I have quite a few more on the back burner, so if you enjoy this I'd love to share some more of my work, though only a small portion of it is in the BDSM scope. I'd love any feedback!
It had been a lovely evening, and the anticipation Allishia felt had been building since she exited the uber in front of the bar. She attempted to preserve her composure for the sake of her expensive lingerie, but gave it up as an inevitable loss almost immediately.
It was a small place, and not especially fancy. One of those establishments built into an old downtown building with chipped stone brick walls and peanut shells on the floor. But it was nice despite its simplicity, it glowed with a social warmth and the abundance of regular patrons who joked and riffed on each other, while the bartender made jokes at their expense gave the impression of a large family, or a group of brothers drawing their cares in the bottom of light beers and well whiskey. A working class watering hole, Kit had called it.
She felt completely over dressed in her single piece red dress and black shawl, the one that pushed out her less than ample bust and stuck to her thighs like glue. Self conscious amidst all the med in their work clothes, she perched at the bar, and ordered a martini. Dirty, extra olives,well shaken, and in a rocks glass. Her nerves relaxed as she took her first long draught. It was quite good, cold as an ex’s heart, with crystalized ice suspended in around the large queen olives.
The bartender chatted with, flirty, a bit coy, but it was clear he was just playing a part, he wasn't hitting on her, and she was more than reciprocal to his conversation. Midway through their small talk, her eyes perceived movement at the door, and she glanced up. The room seemed to go silent.
Kit wasn't an imposing figure, but in her mind he towered over everyone else, and she felt her guts attempt a series of acrobatics they were in no way qualified for. He sat next to her, but ignored her as he signaled the bartender for two more of the same, tipped generously, and asked for a basket of peanuts.
She didn’t feel overdressed anymore, she felt like a child playing dress up next to Kit. Polished black shoes with cast iron tips buffed smooth, immaculate grey slacks, a charcoal black dress shirt, unbuttoned casually and matching vest. His hair was slicked straight back and bound in a bun pinned at the nape of his neck. She could feel the blood rushing to her nethers and her cheeks felt fevered. She stayed silent, meek, only opening her mouth to thank the bartender for refreshing her drink.
Finally, Kit ordained to address her. Crushing the shell of a peanut between his muscular thumb and index finger as he did.
“Not exactly a 5 star establishment, but it’s friendlier than any bar downtown. Nowhere I’d rather drink.” He sipped his martini, and skewered an olive from his glass on a toothpick.
“It’s nice, It feels like somewhere you don’t have to be on guard or anything.” Allishia could feel the comfortable rush of warmth from the gin swirl in her body, complementing her arousal as she shifted her legs on the bar stool.
“I enjoy it, glad your comfortable.”
Allishia smiled, then started the game.
“Yes Mr. Carillo, I like it very much.”
Kit peered at her over his raised glass without taking a sip, and lowered it slowly, revealing a devious and satisfied smile. He reached into his vest pocket and produced a chain of intricate interwoven black metal, perhaps a quarter of an inch in diameter.
“Get yourself ready, I’m going to buy my friend a drink, but don’t keep me waiting.”She wondered just how long she could keep him waiting. She bit her lip to hide her smile.
Kit dropped the surprisingly weighty chain into her lap, directly on top of her swollen sex.. Allishia sat up very straight, perched like a bird on her stool.
“...Y-Yes, Mr. Carillo.” She stood, chain enclosed in a sweating fist and walked towards the room labeled ‘catchers,’ with the silhouette of a squatting baseball player on the door. She assumed ‘batters’ was the mens room, as it was adorned with a comic sign. Players with short bats must stand closer to the plate. Her thighs were slick.
In front of the mirror, she clasped the chain around her neck, hands trembling. It had little slack, like an inflexible iron choker. The metal was warm from the heat of her hand. Every breath she took was a reminder of the sturdy metal band around her neck.
She explored the state of her panties with an investigative finger, and carried a bridge of slick moisture that stretched a full foot before collapsing. She stood in front of the bathroom door, counting the seconds, waiting as long as she dared. Back in the bar she stood behind Kit, as he said farewell to a friend, then escorted her out, holding the door open for her.
The game was beginning in earnest now.
_______________________________
“I want you to say it, tell me, what is the one world that will give you power over me, the word that ends the game unconditionally, and give you back all your power?” Kit stood behind her, his pinkly looped through the little slack the chain around Allishia’s neck afforded. He had removed his vest when they had arrived at his house, but Allishia was now completely naked, kneeled on the hardwood floor, knees protesting the prolonged subjection to the unyielding surface.
“Alabaster.” She whispered.
“I can’t hear you, girl.” Kit gave a little tug with his smallest finger, and Allishia’s spine shivered.
“Alabaster.” She said more assertively.
“Very good.” Kit smiled. “Now don't move.” He left the room.
Allishia waited patiently, and when he returned, he carried several lengths of wound chord.
“Onto the bed, on your knees.” She complied, as he led her again with a single finger looped through the chain. This time it was his middle finger, and the pressure was ever so more pronounced.
He began to bind her. Loop. Knot. Pull. Tighten. Repeat. Tight, but not biting. Immobilizing, but not uncomfortable. Soon she was incapable of any movement, other than subtle shiftings that redistributed her weight, and eased the tension on her muscles. They were immaculate knots. The bulge of intricate laced rope between her legs slid against her every time she so much as took a breath, not enough to bring her to climax, more than adequate to drive her mad. Logic and reason where distant memories as she squirmed. It was wonderful
But everything went wrong.
Kit had his hands around her throat, and the pleasant light headedness nearly brought her to climax just there. But when he released her, she lost her balance and fell facefist into the fluffy comforter of the bed, and tried to inhale. No oxygen made it to her lungs, and she began to thrash reflexively. The ropes dung into her skin, and her lungs burned as she tried again to breath.
Something gave way in her wrist, and the knot cut deeply into bound hands, searing them with rope burn.
She was going to die, she was going to suffocate, bound and blindfolded. She was dying, lungs burning. The panic sparked a flood of cold adrenaline that shot through her veins, and she redoubled her struggling.
She was thrown onto her side, and sweet, fresh air flooded into her lungs. It had lasted only seconds, but the game was over.
“Kit, fuck, get me out, come one, get me out!” She gasped for more air as she babbled, and her hyperventilations made her as light headed as the oxygen deprivation had.
Kit hesitated for only the slightest moment, but complied, starting at the finishing end of the knot and working deftly.
But Allishia was dead to reason. “Fuck, I’m done, get me out Now!” She jerked her body, trashing against the knots. Her muscles screamed, and her wrists burned like she had touched them to a stove.
“Allishia, I’m untying you,” Kit’s voice was calm, like a metronome, but she was still panicked, the adrenaline drowning his words out in a tide of pure survival instinct.
“TAKE BACK CONTROL, GIRL, SAY THE WORD!” It was an order. Her brain frozen mid frenzy for just long enough to reach out and grab it.
“Alabaster, Alabaster!” Her voice quivered, but Kit’s domineering demeanor melted, and his hands seemed to soften.
“Do you need me to cut them?” His safety knife was already in his hand, and concern in his voice.
Allishia forced herself to slow her breathing.
“No, no… Just, untie me.” She forced herself to calm, and the room stopped spinning around her slowly, by degrees.
“Of course, Allishia, I’m doing it down.” The knots came apart faster than they had come together, and soon she sat on the bed, rubbing her wrists gingerly.
“Are you alright, really” Kit asked, as he poured her a glass of water from the jug on the dresser.
“Ya, no, I’m good, really…” She sighed, mind lapsing back into normalcy. “It was just… a bad knot.”
Fin