Bound - Volume 1 (A BDSM Erotic Short) Read online

  Bound – Volume 1

  Written By:

  Sabrina Sexton

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Sabrina Sexton

  Copyright © 2013 by Sabrina Sexton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  My hands are tied behind my back. Master has tied them tightly with woven hemp. It's very abrasive and will cut my skin if I move too much, no doubt why he chose that particular rope. The rope on my wrists is attached to one at my ankles, pulling my body completely straight. It is impossible to hunch, or even relax, so taut the muscles stretched, my shoulders pulled back, my chest pushed out.

  The floor of the men's room is hard against my knees and I'm uncomfortable. Master has prepared me for this. He has told me I will wait here for two hours, two whole hours before he returns. Two hours of helplessness. Even if nothing else occurs, kneeling in this position for two hours will take its toll. A tear falls down my cheek as I imagine what will happen when the bar opens. I glance down at the sign around my neck, a raggedy piece of cardboard with big blocky letters written with a sharpie.

  DICK

  SUCKER

  I look cheap, trashy, 'perfect for the dive bar my buddy owns' Master had said in explanation of today's punishment.

  “You've been far too lofty lately, enjoying your status as my pet. It’s time to bring you down a few notches,” he’d said.

  “Please Master,” I had begged when the full import of the punishment dawned on me. “Please don't leave me in there by myself.”

  “Why not, pet?”

  “Anything could happen, Master. Please don't leave me to their mercy. Please don't humiliate me this way. Anyone could come in.” I'd said.

  “Exactly,” Master had said. “And you, my little cum slut, will be there to service them if they desire.”

  “I can’t,” I had said. “Please don’t make me.”

  “You will bear it pet,” Master had said. “You will bear it, or your punishment will be severe, something that matches my disappointment, should you fail me in this.”

  The sound of the juke box fills the air and I snap out of the memory, trepidation slithering over me like snakes now that the bar has opened. Another tear falls as I think of my sorry state, alone, bound, crying in the corner of a men's room on my knees, waiting. I try to think positively. Perhaps no one will come. Could it possibly remain empty from nine until eleven? Is it unreasonable to hope for such a thing on a Thursday night? Yes. Unreasonable. Completely fucking unreasonable.

  The door opens, the sound of the music growing louder for just a moment before it's once again muffled. The sound of footsteps sends a chill down my spine. They come nearer, stopping eventually in front of me.

  “Billy told me there was a surprise in here,” a man’s voice says. I glance up, recognizing the bartender. He must not have seen me come in earlier with my Master.

  “Yes,” I say, unable, for the life of me, to think of anything else.

  “Guess it's my lucky night,” the man unzips his pants and pulls his cock out, the dark red head growing before my eyes.

  I open my mouth obediently, dismissing the thought that this is a stranger, that I have no idea where his cock has been, whether he's showered today, whether he's clean. Master wanted to take me down a few pegs and I feel it completely as the guy shoves his cock deep in my throat, not even a warning thrust. I gag, tears coming to my eyes as he grabs my head and pushes deep. I take it, trying to swallow past my gag reflex, humbled.

  “Oh yeah,” he says. “You’re a good little cock sucker aren't you?”

  With my mouth full, there's nothing really I can say, and despite this activity usually being one of my favorites, I'm embarrassed to be talked to this way, used this way, by someone I neither know nor trust.

  “AREN'T YOU?!” he yells.

  I moan, hoping that will be enough as the man pulls my hair, hard, using it to guide my mouth up and down his dick. My pussy creams, despite my humiliation, despite the fact that I'm crying. I hate myself a little, for that, for being so weak. I don't want to like this. I don't want to enjoy it. I’m not enjoying it. Definitely not enjoying it. I’m only doing it because Master commanded me.

  I cough, my gag reflex finally overpowering my will as the man thrusts all the way in, his cock pushing past the small opening of my throat and down, forever down. His pubes tickle my nose, the musky smell of him invading my senses. His cock swells in my mouth and I know he's about to come. I prepare myself to swallow it down. One, two thrusts and then he pulls away, squirting me in my face, hot sticky jets of it. I cry out at the thought of ropes of semen decorating my cheeks, my nose, my lips, knowing he will leave me this way, that another will enter this room and find me, looking so very, very cheap and trashy, used and ready to be used again.

  My pussy clenches and I cry, fat tears running down my face, mixing with the evidence of his pleasure. No doubt I look like exactly what I am. A cum slut. That’s what Master had called me. There was no menace in it, but it fills malicious now. The way this man fucked my face, the harshness, and the marking of me with the evidence of his orgasm. Evidence that I had done this unspeakable thing. It is purposeful, and I wonder if Master didn’t request it specifically, perhaps on his way out.

  “Good girl,” the bartender says, stuffing his cock back in his pants. He turns and leaves without another word and I sob silently as I think of how I must look.

  I don't have long to wait. Another person comes in and I look down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. I am so very, very humiliated to be labeled this way, marked this way, covered in the bartender’s cum. More tears run down my face, mixing with the thick globs of semen dripping from my jaw. I stifle my sobs and bear the weight of next man’s stare.

  “Rachael?” a voice says and I groan.

  No. No. NO! I cannot be so unlucky, that someone who actually knows me would be the one to find me. This can't be happening. I cannot bear it. I close my eyes, hot tears leaking down my face. How dare he look at me? Recognize me?

  “Oh my god, it really IS you.”

  I don't recognize the voice, but I'm damned if I'm going to confirm it, not while I'm wearing this fucking sign, not while I'm covered in a stranger's cum, globs of it on my cheeks and even on my chest where it has dripped. Not while I'm so very, very low.

  I can't help but wonder who it is that is looking at me, possibly considering using me as I've just been used. Curiosity gets the better of me and I open my eyes. I recognize the guy, someone I've seen before, but not someone I know. I work with this man. I fucking work with him. Nothing could possibly be worse.

  How? How could Master do this to me? How am I ever going to walk the halls of my job again, knowing that this man saw me like this? My eyes are drawn to his pants, where a bulge grows. Fuck no... No please, please please. I don't want this. I don't want this man I work with to fuck my face. God, he will tell people.

  “I heard that about you, that you were a freak,” he says, a lewd grin on his face.

  I hate him. I don't know him, but I fucking hate him. And still, my pussy, with a mind of its own, pulses. First the bartender, now him? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I control myself? Why am I such a slut? How could I possibly be turned on by this situation, knowing how much I hate it?

  “Was this your idea?” he asks.

  I shake my head, my voice hiding though I cannot.

  “But it turns you on,” he says, a statement more than a question.
He knows.

  Oh GOD! Master why, oh why? This is horrible. You can't have meant for this to happen. You can't have meant for me to be brought this low. You just can't.

  I'm helpless not to answer, my body answering for me as my pussy throbs again. I nod, biting my bottom lip to stop its trembling.

  “That's fucking hot,” he says, unbuttoning his pants. “So god damn hot.”

  I open my mouth, obediently, waiting. He pulls his dick out. It's bigger than I thought, bigger than the last guy. He strokes it a few times, a drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip. Helpless, I am so fucking helpless to stop myself. I lean forward and lick it, savoring the salty fluid, rolling it on my tongue. Perhaps this is exactly what Master wanted. To prove to me what a slut I am. That I don't care that I'm kneeling on a dirty bathroom floor, sucking the cock of one of my co-workers, letting him use me and see how very low I am too. I am a slut, a dick-sucking slut, just as Master has labeled me with this infernal sign.

  My pussy pounds as the unknown co-worker’s cock pushes past my teeth. I open my mouth wide, letting the saliva collect, it drips from the corner of my mouth and rolls down my chin. I no longer care. I will give this stupid fuck the best blow job he's ever had and he will remember, each and every fucking time he sees me that it was something he’ll never get again.

  I put my skills to work, manage my gag reflex, throwing myself into it like my life depends on his pleasure. I moan as my body responds, my nipples tightening, my cunt creaming. That's right you fuck, I think to myself, you're using me but I'm using you too.

  He lasts two minutes, two minutes of me sucking and thrusting his cock down my throat, two minutes of me rolling my tongue along the base with every, single shove.

  “Holy fuck,” he says, shoving himself deep, his cock swelling and shooting all at once. He holds it there, forcing my lips against his abdomen as he comes down my throat, each spurt swallowed straight down my throat. Forever, he seems to come, until I can’t take it anymore and pull my body away from him. My chest heaves as I suck in great lungfulls of air. I look up at him and lick the last few drops of cum from the tip of his cock, giving a small suck.

  “God damn,” he says when he can finally speak.

  “You liked it?” I ask, doing my best to fill my tone with nonchalance. I'll be damned if this dope will ever know he got to me.

  “Hell yeah, I did.” he says, panting. “You're fucking incredible.”

  My pussy throbs, the praise from a nobody, praise none the less.

  “Thank you,” I say demurely.

  “No thank you, Rachael.”

  I cringe at the use of my name, but hold my head high.

  “Don't thank me,” I say. “It was my Master who left me here like this for your use.”

  “Well that fucker deserves a medal,” the guy says.

  “He deserves a lot of things,” I whisper, secretly reveling in the pegs he's brought me down. Yes I am a slut, a fucking whore for him. And I finally realize why he has me tied as I am. Because this slimy fuck who just fucked my face could fill my gaping holes right now and I wouldn't care. I even want it. This jerkoff from my job. His cock is big enough and I’m so turned on already. He'd barely have to even touch me and I'd cum. Master hadn't said I couldn't. But would it please him to know I took so much pleasure from his task?

  I shake my head. No. This is a punishment. A humiliation. One with lasting repercussions as I wonder if the dumb fuck in front of me will tell everyone, if it will end up in the rumor mill, the story taking on a life of it’s own as rumors are wont to do. Next thing you know, two guys will become two hundred and there will be an overflowing ‘tip’ jar next to my knees.

  “You're way hotter than I thought you were,” the guy says.

  “A good blow job usually has that effect,” I say, acknowledging the reason for my increase in esteem.

  “Wow,” he says. “You just say exactly what you think, huh.”

  “I just swallowed your come,” I say. “Be kind of weird to get shy now.”

  “My name’s Jason,” he says.

  “You obviously already know mine,” I say.

  “I’ve seen you around,” he says. “And people talk about those books you write, so pretty much everyone knows you or at least knows of you.”

  I swallow. Those infernal books were supposed to be an outlet for my sexuality, which to my dismay, has steadily increased over the last few years. I’ve always been highly sexual, but now, I could go four or five times a day. In fact, I almost need it that much. Writhing the books though, that helps. Well it did until everyone found out about them. Now my kinky side is on display for the entire company.

  “Look,” I say, my voice blank. “You enjoyed yourself, right?”

  “Fuck yeah, I did,” Jason says.

  “Good,” I respond. “I’m glad. But we’re done now. We’re not friends. This isn’t a campfire where we’re singing Kumbayah. Yes, I’m a freak. You’ve now officially experienced proof and you’ve got a great story to tell everyone at work. Have mercy on me, please, and just go…”

  “I’m not gonna tell them,” Jason says, the look on his face almost wounded.

  Great. Just fucking great. Now his feelings are hurt. I’m the one who’s tied up giving out free blow jobs to anyone who wants one and he’s the one who feels bad?

  “Sorry,” I say dejectedly, my bravado slipping from my shoulders. “I’m just wigged out, I guess. I never thought I’d run into someone, well that they’d run into me rather, when Master left me this way. It’s… Fuck I don’t know. It’s disconcerting.”

  “I get that,” Jason says. “But hey, I won’t tell. Really.”

  I laugh, but it has that wild sound to it, more like a sob.

  “You don’t have to lie to me, Jason,” I say. “I know how they all talk about me. And I’ve never done a thing with any of them. Now someone has proof. It’ll get out.”

  “Tell you what,” Jason says. “Give it six months or so. If you haven’t heard anything, then allow me to return the favor.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “Why not?” Jason says. “Who’s to say you won’t enjoy it?”

  “Maybe I would,” I say. “But the truth is, I have no pleasure that is mine and mine alone. If you want to please me, you’ll have to take it up with my Master.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Jason says, his eyes filling with something I do recognize. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Jason turns and walks from the room as I consider his proposal and the fact that somehow or another I will be seeing more of him in the future.

  The End

  An Excerpt from Chained © Sabrina Sexton, 2012, available for sale at Amazon.com.

  “Wow,” the bouncer said. “You look great! I kind of thought you were a tomboy.”

  Krista didn’t usually put much effort into her appearance. She favored comfortability over the ridiculous airbrushed images portrayed by fashion magazines and Hollywood. More importantly, she actually liked her face when it wasn’t covered by fifteen layers of chemical combinations.

  Tonight, however, Krista was hoping to catch the attention of one super, sexy bartender who had been on her agenda for some time now. With all the eye candy he was used to seeing, she figured she’d have to go overboard for Damien to even notice her. Thus the outfit – black knee boots, a tiny, black, pleated skirt, and a ripped wife-beater that showed off the edges of her black lace bra. As an added touch, she’d worn her long, light brown hair loose, letting it brush the top of her ass.

  “I am,” Krista said with a wink. “Just feeling a bit mischievous tonight, Brian.”

  Truthfully, she was way beyond mischievous. Krista was twenty eight years old and had never been in a serious relationship with a man. Her last relationship had survived just three short months before she broke it off. Like all the others, there had been something important missing. She wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, but the mysterious missing quality was a deal breaker.

&nbs
p; “If you need any company tonight, let me know,” Brian said, grinning as he opened the door and held it for her. “I’d be happy to give you a hand, maybe two if things get interesting.”

  “Save your pick up lines, Brian,” Krista said. “We both know you bat for the other team.”

  “Girl, the way you look tonight,” Brian said, looking her up and down, “I’d take my chances at the plate and worry about labels in the morning.”

  “You’re adorable,” Krista said, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Brian said, nodding towards the open door. “You might want to be careful on the dance floor, lest you flash that curvy ass of yours.”

  “I wore a sexy thong, just in case,” Krista whispered in his ear, laughing as she walked through the door.

  Krista surveyed the room letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. It was eleven o’clock, and the club was already busy. The bass was booming – a hard, steady beat that stirred her blood. She couldn’t wait to dance away the stress of the week. It was at the top of her list – after she made eyes at the sexy bartender, of course.

  Krista pushed through the throng of people around the bar. But when she reached the counter, her favorite bartender was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, she ordered a drink from the other guy and laid a five on the counter.

  “Never should have spent a whole hour getting ready,” she said to herself when she realized Damien wasn’t working that night.

  Krista finished her drink in one long gulp and danced into the center of the floor. She let the music move her. Winding sensuously, her body caressed the air around her, seduction shimmering as sweat beaded on her skin. She didn’t know why, but her personality seemed to morph into that of a temptress – seductive and sexy, when she danced.

  Five drinks and several lame come-ons later, the bathroom beckoned. Krista moved towards it and figured she’d leave afterwards. If she hurried, she could beat the rush of drunken yuppies, maybe even find a cab. She glanced over at the bar, shaking her head at the stragglers crowded around the bar trying to get their last calls.