By Jeff Sinclair

Originally Published in Bondage Life No. 20, May 1985

Transcribed by guardian46w, Sunday, July 1, 2018 11:25:10

Story Codes: F/m, bondage, cons, naked, ropes, cuffs, gagged, panties, oiled, teased, oral, climax, X

Stephen Smallwood grinned tightly as he wrestled with the Spitfire around another icy curve.  He enjoyed the sudden uncertainty as the back end turned abruptly light and floating, slithering sideways across the ice and challenging his control.  He steered into the skid and tapped the gas, reasserting his mastery as the little car swerved obediently back onto the straight and narrow.  He grinned hugely and eased the pedal a little lower, listening to the humming power of the engine as he zipped on up the mountain road.

His mind filled with warm images of Lucy, - tall, slim, lithe Lucy.  Lucy of the laughing eyes and rich mouth.  Lucy of the rich breasts and firm, beautiful ass.  Lucy of the shining black hair and winter tanned skin.  Lucy of the blue eyes that smiled like a little girl’s… or smoked like a whore’s.  Lucy was waiting for him and the thought moved the gas pedal a fraction of an inch further while lazy, lonely flakes of snow flashed in his headlights like lost diamonds.  Here and there he passed an isolated house and people looked up at the hurrying whine of his engine, wondering what could prompt anyone to drive so fast on such roads… but then, they didn’t know about Lucy.

---

The Spitfire topped a last ridge line and slithered down the narrow road on the far side.  Glowing windows gleamed welcomingly through the thickening snow, and even Stephen found himself forced to drive slower, extending a grudging respect to the treacherous road and worsening weather.  But that was all right – he was here, now, and he pulled gratefully into the scraped driveway.

He parked in front of the old barn Lucy had converted into a garage.  He switched off the engine and lights, hearing the sudden, intense silence of a snowy mountain night descend upon him.  The warm air trapped under the thin convertible top remained as warm as ever, yet somehow it felt abruptly colder, as if a chill danced just above his skin.  He wondered how much of it was the gentle whisper of the cold mountain wind outside the car and how much of it was the furnace heat thoughts of Lucy that had lit deep inside his skin?  He took his heavy coat from the passenger’s seat and shrugged into it – no easy task in a Spitfire for someone his size.  The leather coat creaked as he tugged on his gloves and opened the door, climbing out into the squeaky powder of the snow.  His breath smoked about his head, snatched away on the mocking wind with the flakes of snow, and he gasped as a sub-zero night hit him full force for the first time.  Then he laughed delightedly.  God, how he loved nights like this.

He plowed through the snow, hugely pleased as his passage and his strength threw up glittering clouds of white crystals in the yellow light streaming from Lucy’s windows.  He was a man who delighted in sensations, in feeling his world about him.  Whether it was the lazy warmth of an afternoon in the sun of the arctic blast of a night like this mattered little to him.  What mattered was that he was alive, and never more alive than when he visited delicious Lucy.

He stamped up onto the front porch of the old farmhouse and rapped loudly with the brass knocker.  She must ha heard him drive up and been waiting right inside, because no sooner had he knocked than the door swung open and she was smiling up at him, white teeth flashing in welcome.

“Howdy, stranger!” she chuckled.  “I was beginning to think the roads were too bad for you to make it.”

“Too bad for me?” Stephen laughed at the thought.  He shouldered through the door, huge, broad-shouldered, towering over Lucy’s five feet ten of shapely femininity like a Titan.  He closed the door behind him and gathered her in his arms, kissing her firmly.  Her mouth opened against his, her tongue darting out to twine with his, and she purred like a huge cat against his cold-stiffened leather coat.  The tiny beads of melted snow on his coat dampened her sheer silk blouse, but she paid it no mind as her arms went slowly around his neck and she clung to him, soft and warm, her clinging mouth hot and sweet against his.

“You really know how to welcome a friend, honey,” he said finally, leaning back to break the kiss.  His green eyes laughed down at her as she purred again and rubbed her cheek against his chest.

“That’s not all I know how to do, lover,” she whispered.  “In fact, I’ve put a lot of thought into what to do with you now that you're here, and I think I've thought of something you'll like.”

“I always like whatever you do,” he said simply.

“I know.  But you'll like this even more than usual.  Come with me, lover.  Let Lucy show you what she’s got for you.”

She took his coat and he followed her gladly down the narrow hall, admiring the graceful motion of her ass under her tight, worn denims.  The old farmhouse was Lucy’s birthplace.  More than a hundred years old, it had been thoroughly modernized when she inherited it, but the old wainscoting had been carefully preserved.  As the wind strengthened outside, moaning around the eaves, the warmth and intimacy of his surroundings sank deep into Stephen.  It was strange how the peacefulness of the house could merge with the simmering expectancy at his core and fan both sensations higher without diluting either.

Lucy opened a door and Stephen followed her through it, pausing in the threshold.  The small-paned windows had been covered by drapes and a fire crackled on a hearth.  The hardwood floor was partly covered by a thick puddle of carpet, and candles stood around in holders.  Dozens of candles.

Stephen looked about him slowly while Lucy snuggled against his side, her cheek against his upper arm.  There was a closed footlocker in one corner, the only item which seemed out of place.  Well, no, not really.  There weren’t too many floors with shiny steel ringbolts screwed into their planks.  His eyes rested on the ring bolts for a long moment, then he returned his attention to Lucy, looking down at her smiling face.

“Your devious little mind has been working overtime, hasn’t it?” he said.

“Of course, it has, lover.  A girl likes to keep her man happy, you know and up here, we can do whatever we want, can’t we?”

“I suppose we can,” he said slowly.  Then he nodded more firmly, his eyes brightening as he savored what she was offering.  “Yes, I’m sure we can.”

“Good.  Then why don’t you start peeling out of those clothes, honey?” she suggested softly.

Stephen nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt with eager fingers.  Lucy went and perched on the footlocker, crossing her legs and watching with bright, flashing eyes as he dropped the shirt to one side and pulled off his boots.  He reached for his belt buckle, and she smiled brilliantly as he pulled his trousers off and tossed them aside, then peeled off his socks.  He was naked but for his shorts, and his tall, rangy powerful body seemed to glow under it pelt of chestnut body hair as he stood before her.  Her eyes moved over him slowly, caressing him like a lover’s hand, and he felt himself swell with pride.  He eased his shorts off and stood before her, naked as the day he was born, but no new-born babe ever had the proud erection like the one lancing from his loins.

“Nice,” Lucy said softly, sliding off the footlocker slowly.  Her eyes were like a feathery lash as they roamed over his skin, and he watched her nipples tent her blouse as her high-crested breasts swayed sweetly beneath the fabric.  She moved very close, the smoothness of her silk-covered breasts rubbing his chest.  She reached down, and her fingers circled his cock, squeezing gently.  His hips shifted and his lips parted with pleasure as she massaged him, teasing him expertly.

“Very nice,” she murmured, and bent her head to lick his chest slowly.  Her saliva glittered on his thick chest hair and he felt himself begin to tremble.  Damn, but Lucy could always do it to him!

“Come with Lucy, honey,” she said, turning lazily as she tugged gently on his cock.  He followed eagerly as she led him to the center of the rug and stopped him.  The fir’s heat licked over his ass and shoulders as he stood there, hands at his sides, waiting.

Lucy moved to the footlocker with languid grace, but her slow, teasing movements didn’t fool him.  She was as eager as he was.

She opened the locker, her denims pulling even tighter over her heart-shaped ass as she bent and reached into it with a chuckle.  She selected a coil of soft cotton rope and turned back to him.

“Hold out your hands, lover,” she purred.

Stephen’s eyes grew still brighter as she held out his hands.  The rope circled them and snugged tight as Lucy tied it off.  He looked down at the smooth bracelets of white cord, feeling the familiar tingle.  He had never been able to define it, not really.  There was embarrassment, of course: the sense of humiliation at being bound by someone so much smaller and weaker.  Then again, it was his idea, too, and that added another kind of embarrassment: the embarrassment of wanting to be bound.

But the tingle was more than just embarrassment.  It was throbbing excitement and a sort of all-consuming tenderness, such as a man is not encouraged to admit feeling.  The sort of tenderness which wants to submit, and the sort of tenderness which embraces submission eagerly.

But he had to admit, it was the embarrassment he always felt most strongly.  After all, it was pretty damned humiliating for a big, hairy man to be tied up by a soft, slender woman.  Wasn’t it?  Or was it?

Lucy smiled as if she understood exactly what he was thinking.  Then she tugged down on his wrist rope.  He knelt, obediently, and she laced the cord through one of the ring bolts and tied it, holding him there.  Then she stroked his cheek softly and kissed him once more.

She turned away and moved around the room, lighting the candles one by one they flickered as they caught, then burned motionlessly in the still air.  Dozens of bright pinpricks blossomed, and Lucy turned off the lights.  The moaning wind beyond the curtained windows crooned a counterpoint to the soft warmth of their intimacy, and Stephen was panting as she came back to him, her face lovely and mysterious in the soft light of the fire and the candles.

“Now, lover, let me show you what I have for you,” she whispered, and her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse.

Stephen had seldom seen her so self-assured, so very much in control.  She looked innocent as a Madonna in the yellow candle glow, but she moved with the languid, teasing grace of a trained courtesan.

The buttons opened one by one, the silk falling apart to expose the white lace of her bra and the high swells of her breasts.  The dim light threw mysterious shadows and highlight over the perfection of her supple flesh as she slid the blouse from her shoulders and preened before him, stroking her own belly, touching her nipples through the bra.  Stephen trembled, watching her fingers move delicately over the fine-grained flesh as if they were his own bound hands, not hers.  When she looked up, her lips were swollen in the candle light, her eyes dim and hazy, as if she shared the same thought.

Her hands went to her waist and the snap of her denims popped loudly in the quiet room.  She peeled the tight jeans down her firm thighs and long, sleek legs.  She stepped out of them, and Stephen’s eyebrows rose.  Lucy had a mind-blowing collection of lingerie, but this was the first time he had ever seen her in old-fashioned, high-waisted panties.  She smiled at him and her fingers fluttered over the white silk like moths; She clasped her hands behind her head and stretched like a lazy cat, turning before him, and he burned with mingled shame and pleasure.  She was teasing him, taunting him with the barely concealed perfection of her splendid body yet, at the same time, she was offering herself to him, making herself a love gift as his acceptance of her ropes had made him a love gift to her.  The humiliation of being teased merged with the tender recognition of her offer like the conflicting currents of two rivers, and like two rivers, their joint flow was deep and powerful and strong.

Lucy stopped preening and reached for the clasp of her bra.  Her breasts swayed free as the lace cam away from the rosy nipples crowning her breasts.  She dropped it to the floor and hooked her thumbs in her panties.  Her eyes clung to his as she eased the panties down and bared the full, glorious beauty of her naked body.  Stephen gasped in delight, feeling as if he had never really seen her before that moment.

Lucy smiled dreamily and picked up her lingerie as she came to stand close before hm, her sweet-smelling crotch inches from his face.  Her free hand’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, and then she pushed him gently.  He fell backwards eagerly, landing on his shoulders and ass on the rug, his erect cock spearing upwards in the fire and candle light.  Lucy smiled again and knelt across his chest, her black-fired cunt pressing against him, hot and damp and soft.  Then she slowly balled the lace braw into a sphere and gripped his chin.

Stephen quivered.  The thought of being gagged always filled him with mingled emotions.  On the one hand, it was the most humiliating thing she did to him, especially when she used something like her bra or nylons for the gag.  On the other hand, silence heightened his sensations almost unbearably… not to mention the way the humiliation added to his guilty enjoyment.  So, his mouth popped open almost automatically and the bra slid between his lips.  She smiled lovingly and reached behind her to grip his cock, squeezing rhythmically and rubbing herself against his chest, and his hips jerked.  He cried out past the muffling barrier of her bra and thrust his hips more urgently, begging for release, but Lucy was in no hurry.  She brought him once more to the tantalizing brink, then let the pressure ease until he fell back, sweating and panting.

She leaned forward and licked his forehead and closed eyes delicately, then rose, dropping her panties on his belly.  Their silken touch seemed to burn him as he watched her bend over the footlocker selecting the proper gag strap and two leather cuffs studded with metal rings.  She cam back and lifted his head gently, sliding the strap into place and buckling it firmly.  His breath whistled in his nose above the gag as his head fell back and she turned, facing his feet.  She pressed herself against his hairy thighs, the head of his erect cock rubbing the satin of her ass as she fastened the cuffs around his ankles and knotted one end of a long rope to the ring on his right ankle.  Then she rose once more, picking up her panties, and went to his feet.

Stephen floated in a sort of dreamy haze.  He was out of sync with the real world, drifting in a sensual void as he quivered under her ministrations.  So utterly lost was he in his sensations that he didn’t notice what she was up to until it was too late.

She slipped the panties over his feet deftly and, before he knew what was happening, she already had them half-way up his muscular thighs.  He stiffened in outraged surprise as he realized what she was doing.  Then heaved suddenly at his bound wrists.  The rope seemed to stretch slightly, yielding without really giving in, but by the time he had jerked twice she had the panties up around his waist.

Stephen’s brain tried to rouse, but Lucy was moving far too quickly for him.  She threaded his ankle rope through on ringbolt, then through second three feet away, then through a ring on his left ankle cuff.  By the time he had mustered enough awareness to think, she had stretched his ankles wide, spread-eagling him on the rug.  Then she tied the rope and stood, smiling down as he thrashed and jerked at the ropes.

Damn it!  She had no right to do something like this!  He must look like an absolute ass lying there in her panties!  His face flamed with shame at the thought and he heaved at the ropes, quite uselessly.  But when he stared up into her face she wasn’t gloating at him, all he saw was the same tenderness and love.

The realization stopped his struggles dead and he went limp.  As he quit struggling, something strange seemed to awaken in his brain.  After all, logic whispered persuasively, he couldn’t look a lot more foolish than he did lying there with her bra in his mouth and her ropes on his limbs, could he?  Of course, it felt more embarrassing… but it also felt… odd.

His head whirled as he adjusted to the smooth fabric against his skin.  It seemed to caress him, tingling his nerves.  His erect cock burned against the thin silk drawn snuggly down over it.  It felt… good.  Yes, damn it, it felt good!  Embarrassing, humiliating, all of that, and might damned good, as well.  His eyes opened wide as he realized that part of him wanted those panties exactly where they were, jest as part of him wanted them anywhere but where they were.

“Now, lover,” Lucy purred dropping to her knees beside him on the rug and letting her hands roam over him greedily.  “I've always known how much you like to feel things, Steve, so I’m going to let you feel them.  You look kind of sweet, really.” She chuckled wickedly as his cheeks burned once more, but there wasn’t anything taunting to it.  It was as if she understood exactly what he was thinking and feeling, as if she shared it and was pleased to offer it to him.  “And something that looks as sweet as you do should smell sweet, too,” she murmured.

Stephen wasn’t sure just what she meant, but by now his dazed mind was ready to accept almost anything.  He watched her sway off through the halos of candle light, returned a moment later with a small bottle.

She opened the bottle and lowered it over his body, tilting it.  Stephen gasped and twitched as a thin stream of oil spilled into his navel, puddling on his flat, muscle-ridged stomach.  Lucy dropped to her knees once more, her hands moving to splash in the oil, spreading it, stroking it over his flesh in delicate, gentle, teasing touches.

Stephen quivered in every muscle as the scented, spicy oil covered him.  It was like a second skin, glittering and iridescent in the light, shining on him like sweat.  Lucy knelt between his opened thighs, smiling into his face as her hands moved up and down the column of his body, coating him with oil, her breasts swaying, the shadow of her cleavage dark and soft and womanly in the candle’s glow.  She oiled his belly and chest, his neck and face.  She poured out more oil and coated his thighs and calves.  Every square inch of his naked skin glistened under her careful ministrations, and whatever had been used to scent the oil burned into him.  He’d never felt anything like it.  Whatever it was, it crawled down into him meeting his inner fire and smoldering under his skin.  It mingled with his confusion, his embarrassment, his lust, and it was as if she had soaked his insides in napalm.

Lucy rose once more, pouring more oil into her hands and as he watched, she slowly oiled her own perfect skin.  Her hands moved slowly, langou0rously, stroking and petting her own soft curves, turning herself into a glistening statue of oily female perfection.  Then she set the bottle aside and slithered down atop him, pressing her oily breasts to his oil chest, rubbing her slick, lithe body against his hard-muscled helplessness, and the sensation drove him wild.  His head rolled as he thrust up beneath her, trying to work her body down his, trying to bring their loins together, but he was helpless in her ropes.

Lucy laughed delightedly, feeling the trembling passion in his limbs, knowing that she had roused him tonight as never before.

“My, aren’t you eager, lover,” she purred, nuzzling hi oiled cheek with her own.  The candle light danced across her face as she laughed, and Stephen moaned through the gag pleadingly.

“All right, lover, all right,” she whispered.  “But we’ll do it my way, won’t we?”

He nodded urgently.  Whatever she wanted.  Anything she wanted!

She turned slowly, lifting her legs and swiveling lengthwise, her firm, butter-soft belly the fulcrum of her body as she pivoted atop him.  He’d never felt anything like it, and it stabbed a fresh shaft of white heat through him.  Then he felt her hands stroking his cock through the panties, teasing him, driving him wild with lust.  He moaned, almost sobbing, as she eased the waistband down and his cock sprang free.  Her oily fingers tightened on him and then she had the bottle once more.  And Stephen thrashed in erotic helplessness as fresh oil trickled down the length of his shaft, slicking his balls, exploding in his belly like fire.  She played with him, her fingers like hot coals through the thick coating of oil, and he whined, the helpless pleading sound humiliating him almost as much as it humiliated him when she wrapped the panties around his cock and frigged him gently and slowly with the oily silk.

Her legs moved slowly, her knees opening, her thighs spreading to fall on either side of his head.  He stared up in the shadowed hollow of her crotch.  The candles cast little light there.  But what little there was glittered on her half-unfurled petals and the mingled oils, from the bottle and from herself, that shimmered on them.  She slid a little further up him, her own musk cutting through the scent of the oil and pressed herself moistly against his chin.

“You know what to do, lover,” she whispered softly.  As he stared, her mouth suddenly closed over the head of his cock like a hot, wet vise.

Stephen’s eyes bulged and he whinnied like a spear-struck horse as her tongue tormented him, and then, more tormenting still, suddenly stopped.  She didn’t release his cock; she just stopped, his prick pulsing pleadingly in her mouth, and pushed herself against his chin once more.

He knew what she wanted and he gave it to her.  He had to!  Unless he did what, she wanted, she wouldn’t do what he wanted, and what he needed, thanks to her devilish ministration.  He pressed his gagged mouth against her, rubbing his cheeks, his nose, his gag strap against her molten petals.  He couldn’t do a perfect job, not with the gag in the way, but he did the very best he could.

As he did, so did Lucy.  Her mouth stroked up and down over his cock, matching stroked for stroke, bliss for bliss with the pleasure he lavished on her.  The fire gathered in him, smoldering in his blood, pulsing in his belly and cock, and every slithering slurp of her ripe lips, every sliding, sucking sound of their oiled flesh, every trickle of her juices as they mingled with the oil on his face and throat; all of it gathered with the humiliated pleasure he already felt, smoking higher and higher until it could no longer be resisted.

He exploded.  He more than exploded.  He blew apart into a thousand smoking, screaming fragments as the orgasm rip-sawed up out of his balls.  He heard her gasp as the flaming eruption hit her mouth, heard her choke on the sudden geyser into her throat, but the sound of her surprise vanished in the sudden keening of her pleasure as she exploded in return.  She writhed atop him, oiled thighs clamped tight on his head, locking him against her as she drove the spike of his pleasure deep into her own throat and the two of them rode the cataract of climax down in smoking delirious flame.

---

Stephen lay on the rug, the fire warm against him, as Lucy tied the ribbons on her negligee panties.  He still wore her other panties, his flaccid cock tucked neatly (and embarrassingly) back inside them, just as he still sucked on her bra as he lay in his ropes.  Lucy slipped into the top of her negligee and tied the three ribbons that held it closed.  Even I the candle light, the could see how her oiled flesh clung to the gauze-like fabric.  She smiled down at him and dabbled the toes of one small foot in the oil of his belly.

“You poor dear thing,” she murmured.  “I know you want to go again, but you need to rest and get your strength back, honey.  You're going to need all your strength for what I've got in mind for you next!  But in the meantime, I’m going to go and make us some coffee.  I’ll bring yours in a thermos, because I’m afraid it’s going to be a little while before you're ready to drink it.  I’ll be back in a little while, lover!”

She waved gaily and swayed out the door.  He turned his head to watch her go, grateful that none of his friends could see him at the moment as he lay in the puddle of cooling oil on her rug, humiliatingly bound while she treated herself to a cup of coffee.  Yet at the same time, he felt a great sense of comfort and, yes, even gratitude.  Embarrassed he might be, but he had also never experienced such shattering pleasure, not even from Lucy.

She’d have to go a long way and work mighty hard to top tonight’s experiences.  But he knew that she’d manage it somehow.

You could always expect the best from a lady like Lucy.

The End