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Bound Beauty

31100 words

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/F

Sierra is young, beautiful, and alone in the city where she's attending school, until she makes contact with her aunt Sabrina, a successful photographer long estranged from the family. Sierra is talked into posing for her aunt, who takes erotic photographs to hang in galleries around the world. At first they are mild and don't show her face, but as her aunt lures her into deeper and heavier eroticism, Sierra discovers her aunt is a bondage photographer, and she is soon spending much of her spare time naked and bound while her aunt and her muscular black assistant take pictures. Sierra develops a fascination for bondage, for degradation, and is helpless to say no as the photographs become more and more graphic. Whips and flogs are introduced, and she becomes the unknowing star of erotic bondage and sex videos orchestrated and filmed by her own aunt.

Price:  $6.95

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Chapter One
The radio clicked on, and the melodic sounds of Mozart began to rise in the shadowy room. The sounds slowly grew in volume until, with a groan, the white duvet shifted and pushed back. A pale, slender arm emerged, the hand reaching for the bedside table and grasping a small remote control. The mound shifted, rolled, and the arm pointed it across the bed at the other table. The music continued, but softened.
Sierra grunted and buried her face in the down pillow. Her gleaming red hair was sprayed across it as she greedily clung to the last few minutes of rest. Then, with a sigh, she pushed the covers back and sat up, blinking. Beneath the covers she wore a tiny cropped camisole, the spaghetti straps all but baring her slender shoulders, the thin white fabric laying lightly across her breasts and baring her trim stomach and lower chest.
She swung long legs out of bed and her bare feet touched the small green rug beside it as she stood. Aside from the cami she wore only a matching thong as she made her way across the room to the door and pulled it open. The air was still chilled and her nipples were already starting to harden as she checked the thermostat. She liked the house kept chilly at night, but warmed in the day. She adjusted the thermostat and passed on to the bathroom, where she reached down and peeled the cami up and off, dropping it on a hook, then skinned out of the thong.
She yawned and checked her face in the mirror, satisfied at the unmarried and unblemished smoothness of her skin. She turned on the radio, then slid open the shower door and turned on the water. Then she was underneath, and the hot water poured down around her head and face, rivulets streaming down her body, over and around her firm, outthrust breasts. She washed her hair quickly, then soaped up with practiced ease, her hands moving swiftly, smoothly over her breasts, then down her body and between her legs.
No need to shave, she thought with more than a little smug pleasure, and not for the first time by any means. The laser hair removal had been – embarrassing – at times, but it had done wonders, and there was not a trace of hair around the tight, neat slit of her sex, nor anywhere down the length of her beautifully contoured legs, nor, for that matter, under her arms. She briefly wondered how much time that would save her over the course of her life.
Done, she braced herself, then reached out and adjusted the water. She shivered a little as it grew cool, and gave herself a minute to adjust. Then she turned it again, and the water became cold. She hugged herself, squeezing her arms against her breasts as the water poured over her, shifting from foot to foot and turning around slowly. Then she shut it off with a gasp and pulled the door open, reaching for a towel.
She toweled off the wet mass of her hair first, then ran the towel down her body. Overhead, the fan whirred, as the radio played Brahms. She left the room, naked, padding up the hall to the kitchen. The coffee maker had already done its timely job, and she poured herself a cup, adding sugar and milk before heading back to the bathroom.
She brushed out her hair. It was a foot and a half long, or thereabouts, hanging well past her shoulders. Cut in waves, it would curl in awkward ways if not properly tamed each morning. Fortunately, the taming was relatively easy, and as she wielded the blow dryer her hair puffed up and hung straight and sleek around her head, parted in the middle and flowing past her shoulders, with long bangs also parted in the middle covering much of her forehead.
* * * * *
Minutes later, she sat cross-legged on her sofa in thong and cami as she ate and flicked through the news. She wasn’t a big fan of the news but little else was on at that time, even with the hundred or two channels the satellite afforded.
She lived alone and liked it that way. She lived her life however she felt, doing whatever she wanted, going where she would. She had her own house, a bungalow, left to her by her grandfather, fully paid, with a large back yard she was in the process of sculpting into something – special.
But she was not, by any means, wealthy, and so, as the clock ticked over, she rinsed off her dishes, put them into the dishwasher, and headed back to her bedroom. There before the mirror she pulled on a black silk thong, then picked up the box of adhesive bandages on the dresser and pulled out two. They were round bandages, and she peeled off the backing of one, then raised her jade eyes to the mirror and looked at her nipple rings.
She wasn’t quite sure how she’d become fascinated with the idea, perhaps pictures she’d seen. Her nipples were small and pink, with areolas no larger than a dime. But both nipples were pierced by very thin gauge stainless steel rings the size of silver dollars. Studs would have been less noticeable beneath her clothes, but she disliked studs, and she liked to know she was wearing the rings. It was her little secret at work; one of her little secrets.
She slipped on the black bra which matched her thong, and adjusted her breasts in the lacy half cups, then reached for the dress.
Often, she wore blazers or jackets, or heavier clothes, so they wouldn’t show. Today, she pulled on the green dress; one of her sweater dresses. It was soft and elastic, and hugged her lithe, slender frame like a second skin, pulling in tight around her narrow waist, flaring out around her hips and across her buttocks, and, of course, across her firm breasts.
The dress fell well past her knees, almost to her ankles, restrictive, somewhat, but stretchy enough her legs could move freely underneath. She bent and stepped into the boots, long black boots with two inch heels, smart, sexy, but mostly hidden under the dress. Then, her heels clicking lightly on the floor, she turned off the light and went back to the front room.
She paused, hesitated, licked her lips, and then went back to her bedroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, at the sweater hugging her body all the way up to its turtleneck top. The turtleneck pulled in softly beneath her jaw, hiding her throat entirely. She let out a small smile, and reached for her jewelry box. She took from it a thin chain attached to a very thin silver plaque.
She pushed the turtleneck low and slid the plaque inside, laying it flat against her slender throat as she drew the chain behind her and clipped it behind her neck. The plaque had one word on it, in graceful script; whore.
She let the turtleneck slide back up to hide it and smiled coyly at herself. Then she took a thicker gold chain from the box. The necklace was attached to a golden emblem of a flower and a bee. She fastened it behind her neck outside the sweater, and let the flower fall to hang against her chest just above her breasts.
She turned and left the room, then, with purse in hand, walked downstairs and up the hall to the garage. The flick of a finger on the key popped the locks, and she slid into the Mazda RX8. It was a sleekly beautiful and expensive car for someone her age with her salary. But with no mortgage or rent to pay she could afford it.
She adjusted the music, then clicked the garage door opener. The door slid up, the lights on the Mazda came on, and she drove up the steep paved driveway to emerge at street level. The sun shone bright above, even through the tinted glass, and she reached for a pair of designer sun glasses, slipping them on, then pulled out onto the quiet residential street and headed for work.
She quickly reached the parkway and her foot pushed down on the accelerator. With a low, barely heard growl, the Mazda sped up. Sierra’s brother was a city cop. That didn’t make her immune to traffic tickets by any means, but he had imparted a certain amount of knowledge to her regarding how many police where likely to be where and at what time. She rarely failed to exceed the speed limit, but had never gotten a ticket.
Not that she hadn’t been stopped on occasion, but girls as beautiful as Sierra, as long as they had a talent for charm, rarely got ticketed.
She slowed at Riverside, then turned onto it and accelerated rapidly. There were no cars in sight, before or behind her, and the Mazda quickly reached a hundred on the long, empty road. She couldn’t maintain that speed long, of course. She raced past the first green light, then the second, then saw traffic ahead and began to slow. She was still doing eighty as she passed a Ford Suburban and approached a red light. But the roads were wide open here and she could see for blocks in both directions. No traffic approached, and she breezed through the red light as if it weren’t there, though continuing to slow.
Traffic picked up as she approached Smyth, and was heavy as she turned onto it. She followed the four lane road to the highway, then raced along for the three exits it took her to reach her ramp. She slid down it into the city center, and in among the mix of blocky concrete and graceful glass and steel towers. City traffic slowed her now, as Rachmonanof flowed from the car’s expensive speakers, and, bored, she raised her eyes, examining the buildings and people around.
Her eyes lit briefly on a series of waist high posts before a post office. The posts were rounded, with shining metal balls on top.
Sierra stood in an empty room, nude, legs well apart, ankles bound in metal attached to chains. Her arms were behind her back, shackled together. A post was beneath her, a rounded metal post. Atop it sat a glistening metal ball the size of a baseball. It glistened because it was slick with lubricant. And it was pressed tightly against the smooth opening of her sex.
She groaned into the ball gag filling her mouth as the chains clicked, pulling an inch further apart, and her pussy came down against the rounded ball even more firmly. She could feel the pressure against her opening, could feel the strain on the lips of her sex as they pulled in and back.
Directly before her was another post, quite narrow. A horizontal spike sat atop it, the sharp, gleaming point of it directly at the level of her clitoris, a scant half inch, if that, away from it. If she tried to shift her hips forward, it would impale her sensitive, swollen clitoris. There was no such spike behind her to prevent her from pulling back, only a narrow chain attached to the post which held the spike, the chain reaching up tautly to the silver ring which pierced her clitoral hood. The ring was identical to those piercing her nipples, and it was pulled out tautly now, preventing her from pulling her buttocks back and removing her pussy from atop the fat silver ball.
The pressure was heavy. She ached, but dully. The ache had a tinge of sharpness to it, though, and that tinge grew as, slowly, slowly, her sex lips were stretched apart by the remorseless pressure. She groaned as the strain fed pain into her system Slowly, the lips of her sex spread further apart than they ever had before, the ache growing, and then the silver ball pushed up through her straining entrance, and into the tight, pink, elastic sheath of her sex.
Sierra gasped with relief now, head hanging back as she gulped in air. She realized she was sweating, and the shackles around her wrists were now slick with her perspiration.
Her pussy was tight, but much more elastic than her opening. She could feel the fat ball nestled firmly inside her there, and then, as the chains attached to her ankles slowly pulled them apart, she sank lower, and the ball pushed higher into her pussy. She groaned as it pushed higher, and then higher still. The lips of her sex had closed behind her, and now slid slowly across the length of the stainless steel post underneath. The post was only narrow in comparison to the ball, yet still it was thicker than any cock she’d ever had within her.
And she had had – many. More than she could count, more than she could remember.
Her sex lips slid slowly down as her ankles were pulled farther and farther apart, and the silver ball pushed deeper into her belly. The spike which had threatened her clitoris was now pressed against the flesh of her stomach eight inches above her groin. Fortunately, the chain attached to her clitoral hood was on a ring which circled the post, and which sank down as she did.
But she had now come to the end of her descent, for the post, though well above the floor, now had held a branch, or rather, two branches of steel on either side. The steel was a sharp, triangular wedge which protruded out four inches on either side. Sierra’s glistening pussy now slid down to press against the narrow wedge of steel, and was held firmly in check from any further downward descent.
That was a good thing, for the silver ball – by no coincidence, had reached the very end of her vaginal tube and was now pressing demandingly against the entrance to her very womb.
The chains clicked, pulling her feet wider still.
Sierra cried out, back arching, as her pussy was jammed even more powerfully against the wedge of metal on either side of the post.
The chains clicked, another link pulling in, and then another, and Sierra’s ankles, already spread extraordinarily wide beneath her, were forced still further apart. Her trembling feet were lifted entirely off the floor now as the tendons in her thighs strained and ached and burned. Almost all her weight now came down on that narrow wedge of metal pressed against her pussy
The longer she sat atop that wedge of metal the more she felt the pressure against her sensitive mons. Her tailbone, too, pressed down against it, with nothing but a slender strip of flesh between the bone and hard steel. She began to ache, the ache growing in strength, throbbing and burning.
And then, deep inside her, the metal ball – sparked.
The jolt of was not severe. One might easily get the same from touching a bit of metal while wearing a sweater and getting a little snap of static electricity.
Even so, one might gasp, or yelp, and draw ones finger back from such a shock.
The ball was deep inside Sierra’s belly.
And the little jolt was followed by another, and another, and another – and another, in rapid, but irregular intervals.
Wide eyed, gasping, yelping, twisting and writhing atop the wedge of metal, her eyes darted to the figure before her, the figure who had been present the entire time, who had moved slowly around her, camera in hand, snapping pictures. There was no look of recognition in that figure’s face, no sign the figure knew or cared about Sierra’s startled reaction.
The camera snapped, and snapped again. At several places around the room, video cameras sat silently recording.
Dozens and dozens of shocks rattled Sierra’s mind, and when they finally halted she was gasping, sheeted in sweat, gulping in air through her nose. Her hair was matted against her skull now, and her bright eyes were glassy and slitted.
Sierra was alone now as the minutes passed. Her mind slowly fit itself back together again, yet the pain from her groin was relentless and growing. The longer she sat atop the narrow wedge of metal, the more bruised her soft flesh felt, and the more pain came from it.
After a time the figure returned and reached for the spike atop the post. She unscrewed it, slid it down lower, directly before the gasping, moaning girl’s clitoris, then pushed it slowly forward.
Sierra gasped as she felt the pin prick of pressure against her sopping wet, swollen clitoris. Then the spike began to buzz, to vibrate. A small, almost gentle buzz of electricity slid into Sierra’s body even as the metal itself vibrated powerfully.
Slowly, despite the pain, Sierra’s body began to tremble in time to that spike, her breaths becoming more ragged, her chest heaving as the siren call of lust and passion which rarely hovered far from her mind grew and strengthened. For long, long minutes she trembled in the throes of a near feverish sexual heat, muscles spasming and body trembling.
Then the ball began to spark deep inside her again, and the vibrations grew even stronger. The orgasm rose like a hurricane and swept over her, and her mind descended into glorious madness as she screamed into the gag, screamed and screamed, her body thrashing and shaking and jerking spastically.
Her hips bucked frantically, and while the rod impaling her allowed for very little movement in any direction, it allowed for some.…
The spike pressed directly against her clitoris, and as her hips bucked and jerked, it thrust into her, stabbing directly into the soft, burning core of her being. Her screams rose in pitch as the agonizing sharp pain added its fiery sensations to the raging storm within her mind and body.
What little there was left of Sierra’s mind was battered down. Now nothing remained but a howling animal gnashing its teeth against the latex ball in its mouth, its limbs straining and spasming, its body arching and twisting in mindless ecstasy. The orgasm went on and on, astonishingly long, and then she collapsed unconscious, her mind unable to handle the power of the sensations sweeping through it.



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