AMY
The last night of our holiday, neither of us could have predicted how things would turn out.
Rob stands me in front of him, naked, fresh from my bath, hair done up on top of my head and ready to get dressed for the evening of cocktails and dancing he’s promised me. I turn a questioning glance his way, but he just smiles back at me in that enigmatic way he’s mastered so well. I sense this evening is not going to be as straightforward as I had thought.
On the bed, I’ve laid out my dress and underwear for the night. I watch as he picks up my bra and knickers and carefully puts them back into the drawer. Then, with deliberate movements, he opens a bag and pours the contents out onto the bed.
Slithering out comes yard after yard of thin, white rope.
I shiver, bite my lip, and stare. He steps towards me, rope in hand, noticing the expression on my face and giving me a reassuring kiss.
‘Nobody knows us here,’ he says, positioning my arms with my fingers laced together on top of my head, so they’re out of the way. ‘I want to take you out, all sophisticated and demure on the outside, and my sex toy underneath.’ His words affect me as much as the rope that he’s now looping around my chest, beneath my breasts which have been lifted by the position of my arms. After several loops, he ties it off in the centre of my back and winds it again around my chest, this time above my breasts, squeezing them tight at their bases. My breathing is constricted into that now-familiar sensation of having the ropes squeeze me hard whenever I breathe in. I breathe more shallowly, which sounds like a gentle, erotic pant. As he cinches the horizontal bands of rope together in between and at either sides of my breasts, they stand out in sensitive globes, nipples painfully tight.
He gently pulls my arms down to my sides, and kisses me on parted lips as I sigh. Then he runs rope across each shoulder, forming the straps of the rope bra he’s creating around me. My dress will hide it all.
I know I have a long evening ahead of me, so I try to remain cool and collected, but the embrace of the ropes round my body is intoxicating. I hold on to the bedstead, breathing shallowly, as Rob slides something into me, something small, hard and cold in the shape of an egg. It lodges deep within me and forms a hard core of promise inside me.
‘Rob,’ I whisper, ‘I can’t take this for long,’ but he shushes me and kisses the back of my neck.
‘Have patience,’ he murmurs into my ear. ‘It’ll be worth the wait.’
I groan as he then slides something cold and slippery across my bottom, and starts to push another object deep inside me. It has a narrow neck, so when it pops inside with only the base protruding, I find I cannot squeeze it out again.
Instinctively, I move my right hand to my twitching clitoris but Rob catches it and chides me silently. I have to make do with a long, deep kiss and the feel of his hands running over my rope-scored skin.
He’s not finished with the rope. He runs four long lengths down from the ropes around my chest, two in front, two at the back, even spaced around my body. Then he laces them tightly down towards my hips, looping them around each other and pulling so a diamond pattern is traced out all around my waist and back. The rope corset digs in just on the uncomfortable side of pleasurable, and I feel like he’s claiming me, inch by inch.
He finishes by running the ropes between my legs, and tying them tightly off. My body restrained from all directions, but my limbs free, I run my fingers over the ropes that bind me, and close my eyes. The crotch ropes press firmly into me, and move with every movement I make.
He hands me a light jumble of material. When I open it out, I find it’s a very fine slip, with thin straps, made from a black, lace stretchy fabric. As I step into it, I find it comes to mid thigh, clings to my skin, and curves seductively round my breasts.
I move to the mirror, gazing at how the flimsy garment only half covers the flesh and rope beneath. Rob stands behind me, his hands on my hips, his erection pressing against me through his trousers. My bound breasts swell beneath the material, nipples an infinitesimally darker shade of skin glowing through the lace. The tracks of the ropes round my chest, stomach and back are just visible.
‘Put your dress on over the top,’ he says, ‘and the rope should be invisible.’
I do as he asks, pulling my elegant black silk dress over the top and stepping into my heels. He’s right. From the outside, everything looks normal.
We kiss, then with a grin he picks up his jacket and leads me out to the car. I follow, feeling the rope tighten round my body and the objects inside me moving invitingly around.
Positively twitching with arousal, I get into the car thinking that it will be a long time till I get any kind of relief. Rob sits beside me, holding the key to my predicament – he inserts it into the ignition, and pulls away from our holiday home and, I think, any chance of an orgasm till we return. Impatient by nature, I realise Rob has found the ideal torture for me.
Twenty minutes later, Rob pulls up outside a small, low key club which advertises cocktails and dancing, just as promised. We haven’t been here before, but we’ve heard good things about it. I climb from the car, nipples tight in the cool of the evening, breasts aching from sensation in their bondage. This is the first time we’ve gone public, even hidden under clothing, and an unaccustomed exhibitionist thrill is confusing and delighting me. Taking Rob’s arm, I walk with him into the club, more conscious than ever of the eyes turning towards us as we enter.
‘You’re causing quite a stir,’ comments Rob, not without a hint of pride, as I lower my eyes in embarrassment and take a seat at a corner table in the intimately lit interior of the club. ‘Every man and woman in this room can see the arousal in your eyes.’ He’s teasing me, I know, but still I squirm in my seat, feeling my muscles contract around the objects inside me.
‘Would you get the drinks?’ he asks, and the look in his eye tells me that’s an order, not a polite request. I stand reluctantly, smoothing my dress nervously before I head for the bar, eyes straight ahead.
I’m half way across the room when the vibrations hit. Suddenly, deep within me, the hard egg springs into life and sends a strong judder through my body. After only five seconds, it stops. Unable to help myself, I gasp, and stumble a little, aware of the heads turning in my direction as I try to stand up straight again and continue the seemingly endless journey to the bar.
I reach the bar with no further assaults, and hold in tight to the polished wooden surface, feeling dizzy. The barman looks at me like he knows my every secret, and produces a bottle of wine and two glasses with a friendly flourish. I smile vaguely at him, still in shock. Rob must have some kind of remote control for the vibrator inside me. I picture him watching me walk away from him, waiting for the right moment to flick the switch, seeing me stumble as it hits.
As I turn to walk back to him, I can see his dark eyes glinting from across the room. I try to walk sedately, but the urge to hurry is strong. His expression is daring me to fail in this test of my composure. When he flicks the switch again, I’m more prepared than before, but being able to look into his eyes as he stimulates me in public makes the experience even more intense.
I place the wine and glasses safely on the table and sit down jerkily. He slides an arm around me, kisses my cheek and pours the wine.
‘Thank you, darling,’ he says, as if everything is normal.
All evening he tortures me with the device. The club is a friendly place, relaxed and intimate with a band playing funky numbers in one corner, and soon a couple has joined us at our table, wondering at our English accents, sharing enjoyable small talk. The vibrator hums on its lowest setting from the moment they sit down to the moment they move on to join friends. I fix a glassy smile on my face, cross my legs hard and struggle to keep my head above water.
When we dance, in each other’s arms to a slow waltz, the objects move inside me, the crotch rope rubs me hard, and I keep nearly missing my footing.
‘Are you having a good time?’ Rob enquires as we sway round the dance floor, him supporting me more than usual because my legs are weak.
‘You’re evil,’ I murmur back. ‘Please take me home and fuck me.’
He runs a hand down my back and traces the ropes beneath my dress. ‘Not just yet,’ he replies. ‘Be patient.’
I groan, impatiently. I’d go down on all fours now and let him take me. He knows this, and uses my desire against me to drive me even higher.
As the music stops and we start to walk back to our table, a man in a dinner jacket runs to a small stage in the centre of the dance floor and holds a microphone up to his mouth. As we sit down, he begins.
‘Ladies and gentleman, as those of you who grace us with your presence regularly will know, the first of the month is competition night.’
Rob and I look at each other, and wonder what is about to happen. I assume a dance contest, or maybe karaoke.
The regulars are calling out and clapping, clearly pleased at the prospect of the entertainment. The compere continues.
‘Tonight, we have a celebration of the female form.’ Whoops from the audience. ‘A fine art form that combines skill, beauty, and, let’s face it, usually not a lot of clothing. Bring on the pole!’
From the corner of the room, a long metal pole is fetched, and the bar staff fix it to floor and ceiling vertically. There’s a lot of laughter, and people teasing their friends. Clearly the competition is usually run for laughs rather than prizes.
The compere slaps the pole with his hand, and gazes out at the gathered guests.
‘So, which lovely lady will entertain us first? Come on, no need to be shy. Gentleman, wouldn’t you like to see what your ladies can do for you?’
The whole thing is decidedly tongue in cheek, and it’s causing great hilarity. Women all over the room are shaking their heads, or pushing their friends towards the stage. More alcohol is needed before anyone volunteers.
The compere calls again for someone to get the party started. I’m sitting close to Rob, hoping to hide behind him.
‘Amy will,’ says Rob in a loud and confident tone. I jump and stare at him in disbelief, but he’s for real. He’s pushing me to my feet, gesturing to the stage. A swivel light lands on me as I hesitate, paralysed by the public attention.
‘And let’s have a round of applause for Amy!’ calls the compare, and the smattering of clapping drives me forward to the stage, with many a glance back at Rob. He is unrepentant, sitting back in his chair with his arms folded, getting ready to enjoy the show.
As I slowly climb the three steps to the stage, the music starts: a low, melodic pulsing tune. I can’t do this. I can’t do this, I mouth at Rob, feeling as if some horrible dream has just leapt into my waking life. He just gazes back at me, till I give in.
My heels ring on the wooden floor of the stage as I approach the pole. There’s three lights pointing at me, obscuring my view of the audience. I hesitate again, hearing impatient rustlings from the floor. I try a few desultory, clumsy moves and stop in despair as a few jeers rise from the crowd. They want an entertaining exhibitionist, unembarrassed and uninhibited, not a nervous wreck like me.
From his seat, Rob reaches for the remote control and sets the vibrator buzzing gently inside me.
Surrender does not have to be to ropes and gags. Tonight, I am surrendering to a command. Slowly slipping into that place in my head, I step away from the pole in a trance, reaching for the zip of my dress. The audience thinks I’m giving up, and some people even start to boo. With the music pulsing in my head, and the lights dazzling me, I let my dress fall to the floor and stand in full view, scantily clad in the black lace slip that barely covers my bottom, the white ropes gleaming subtly through the material.
I hear several gasps of surprise. I don’t think I’m supposed to be taking this seriously, but I can’t help it.
I step back to the pole and grasp it in both hands, pulling myself towards it, spinning around it, slipping it between my legs. The disgruntled boos turn to louder cheers and shouts as I pull my hair free of its clasp and let it tumble down around my shoulders, tossing and turning as I gyrate around the pole, running my hands down my body, feeling the ropes under the thin material and knowing everyone else can probably see them quite clearly. I’ve never done this before, but the moves well up inside me, and my body writhes like a pro whilst my astonished mind does back flips.
With a gasp, I tip my head back as Rob turns up the vibrator to its maximum.
I don’t have to act – I’m running on lust and the giddiness of exhibition. I rub myself against the pole, eyes closed, biting my bottom lip, then spin around it again, feeling the blood run to my head and send me even higher. I’ve been so aroused all night, it doesn’t take much to push me to the top. The music is picking up pace, and the audience are clapping and staring. I’m in my own world, an existence confined to a three foot radius from a vertical pole, bathed in light. I climax with my legs wrapped round the pole, my body arching backwards, hands clutching the pole to stay upright; and I realise later I’ve let fly a long, guttural orgasmic moan into the silence that descends upon the audience.
They know what they’ve seen is real, and are in awe. It takes several seconds for the ripples of whispers to rise into applause and shouts. I hurry to the edge of the stage, pulling my dress on in double quick time, avoiding everyone’s eyes. I’m still on fire, and as Rob finds me and ushers me swiftly out of a back exit, his hand clamped tight on my arm, I know he is as hot as me.
We’re in the open air, in the alley behind the club. The fire door closes behind us as Rob lifts my skirt and manoeuvres the slippery egg out of me. Then he presses me against the wall, holds my hands above my head and enters me, hard, his hot skin burning against mine, the crotch rope pushed to either side.
I wrap my legs around him, opening to him fully, feeling his monumental erection squeeze into me against the plug that’s still inside me. Breathing hard, my chest expands against the ropes that wind around me; my swollen breasts bump against his chest.
‘Jesus, Amy,’ he whispers hoarsely, ‘you came on stage with everyone watching, strangers looking at your half naked, bound body…’ The repetition of the words drives him even faster, and he shudders to climax inside me just as I tip over too into orgasm.
Steam actually rises as we hold each other in the cool night air, never wanting to let go.
***********
I always get nervous at customs. Maybe I have a naturally guilty conscience. This time, I’m thankful that we’ve sent most of our purchases by post: anything with metal components, or with a motor. A few items we stuffed in amongst our luggage, but not many.
The end of the our holiday is now upon us, and I have a combination of feelings – a warm glow of pleasant memories, anticipation of house hunting when we get back, and that general miserable sensation of having to go back to everyday life. Our holiday has certainly been, well, memorable…
I slip my hand into Rob’s and squeeze as we take a step forward in the queue for the check-in desk for the London-bound flight. He glances down at me and kisses my forehead.
American airport security being what it is, we have to pass through a variety of stages before we can board the plane. After check-in, Rob is waved through the metal detector and his bag is spared a random search. Safe in international territory, he turns and looks back at me through the security barriers.
I step through the metal detector and hear no dreaded beeps. But out of the corner of my eye, I see my case being picked up from the conveyor belt and a uniformed guard is escorting me to one side.
With a despairing look at Rob, I am taken into a small room and shut in with a female security guard.
I know this is all routine, but the gun she carries makes it scary nonetheless. I stand nervously as she lifts my case onto a table in the centre of the room, and explains about the random search. Of course, there’s nothing illegal in there, but I’m half convinced she’s going to pull out a bag of white powder at any minute…
I watch her as she roots through my clothes. She’s quite short and stocky, with a no-nonsense face that looks like she’s seen far too many fancily-dressed girls on holiday like me. Her uniform is stiff and unflattering, but I notice a necklace that speaks of a hidden personality.
No bags of white powder emerge, of course. But as her hand grasps something and starts to pull it out of the tangle of socks, I know immediately what she’s found and a hot blush flashes onto my cheeks.
A coil of soft, red rope.
I stand silently, trying to look calm, wondering if I can pass it off as climbing equipment. She raises expressionless eyes to mine, then resumes her search, placing the incriminating evidence on the table top in full view of the security cameras.
Last time I saw it, it was wrapped tightly around my arms and legs as I kneeled before Rob, his cock in my mouth.
She’s looking with increased determination now, though why, I don’t know – surely kinky items aren’t illegal? She raises her eyebrows as she withdraws a squat butt plug and a roll of duct tape. I shift from foot to foot and involuntarily squeeze my thighs together, cursing myself for becoming aroused despite the excruciating embarrassment.
‘What was the purpose of your visit to the States?’ she asks in a flat tone without looking at me. It must be a routine question.
‘Um, we were on holiday,’ I whisper, then clear my throat and repeat it. By now, she’s looking at a small white square of card that she found between the pages of a book.
This time, she lifts her eyes and looks at me squarely. I can practically see the polaroid image of me – naked, entwined with rope, hanging from a beam in our holiday home in what is clearly sexual exhaustion – reflected in her eyes.
For an instant, we share the same thoughts. As I shrug my shoulders in embarrassed admission of my holiday activities, I see a faint flicker of a smile touch her lips.
‘Lucky girl,’ she says briefly, and winks.
As I walk hurriedly away, clutching my handbag and wheeling my case, I see Rob waiting impatiently for me. He notices the blush on my cheeks and my flustered appearance.
‘Tell you later,’ I mutter, and we head for departures.
ROB
We have had an ace holiday and as we sit in silence on the way home, I leave Amy to think and reminisce myself on the whole fortnight. I feel we have come on so much and I now feel that I understand her a lot more than I did.
She is so sexy. The dance last night followed by the best sex in my life, and then the soft cuddles we had in the bed back at the house had made me feel so in love with my soon-to-be-wife that I determined to be the best master ever. The only thing is I don’t actually know much about it and she seems to want to be pushed until she breaks, which does worry me. How would we be if she does reach the point of no return?
01.06.06
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story continues in The Initiation 7
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