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Ties that Bind

Ties that Bind

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Yearning for more out of life, a conservative cougar meets a worldly younger man who unlocks her deepest passions.

No one would ever guess I’m into kink. I’m a slender, small-busted brunette wasp in my early 40s, and I still dress and act every inch the part — at least in public. During my first marriage, sex was something my then-husband and I communicated about in whispers, if at all — for which I blame our conservative upbringings. We also both had demanding careers, so we never opted to have kids — but to be honest, we never “opted” for each other much either.

However, when I unexpectedly found myself single again at 40 — Roger ran off with a graduate student as part of his midlife crisis — you could definitely say my mood plummeted. At first, I just drank vodka. Then I got into yoga and green smoothies. And then I attempted to enjoy my alimony. I splurged on cruises, New Age retreats, spas and shrinks. I tried just about everything, but honestly, I had no idea what I needed to feel better, and I had never felt more disoriented and lost in my life.

Months later during a night out, a close girlfriend of mine presented me with a gift: a “beginner’s pleasure kit” from the local sex shop.

“Now, don’t freak out, but my friend Michelle swears by the pink vibrator there. And see, it’s tiny, so not intimidating,” Angela assured me.

I laughed. “Oh, no, you keep it. You need it more than me.”

“No, I don’t.” Angela giggled. “I already have my own — and then some! You, my dear, are in dire need of a good orgasm however.”

I smiled and drank down the remaining wine in my glass. “Hmm, I think I’m done with the drama of all that for a while.”

“I’m not talking about drama — I’m talking about pure, drama-free pleasure.”

“Well, I’ve never been much of a sexual person anyway.”

“Oh, whatever.” She waved me off.

“Come on, you know me.”

“Of course I do. I’ve known you since college — you’re no cold fish. You’re the Kappa sister who got voted ‘best ass.’”

“And ‘biggest cocktease,’ remember?”

We both laughed this time.

Then Angela continued: “Look, don’t get mad, but I think you getting over feeling sexually ‘blah’ is half the battle right now. Seriously, when was Roger ever that great at, well, rogering you?”

I rolled my eyes and uttered, “Ugh.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — but Claire, I’m only looking out for you. Your sad divorcée routine is starting to scare me. You aren’t dead, and you’ve still got a hot ass!”

She made me smile. “Fine, fine — I’ll take home the dildo.”

 “Good! It’s a start… until I convince you to get on Tinder.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” I began sifting through the box. “So, what else is in here? Oh my — ”

Nestled between the pocket rocket and massage oil was a set of fur-lined cuffs, a feather tickler, a black satin blindfold and a tassel whip.

Angela almost choked on her wine. “That’s not supposed to be in there!”

“It’s not? I don’t understand.”

“Oh shit, I know what happened. There was someone else who set aside his stuff on the counter. Our orders must’ve gotten mixed up!”

I put the whip back in the box. “I think I need more wine now.”

“Me, too!” Angela laughed and poured us another round. “But I’m serious. This is totally not even on my receipt! But hey, here’s to free bondage gear!” She clinked her glass against mine.

I played it cool for the remainder of the night, but I couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to have someone cuff my wrists and tease me with that wicked whip.

Naturally, Angela was right on about the vibrator and the curative power of orgasms. My last vibrator bit the dust pre-divorce, and I’d been too lazy to replace it. Making myself come on a regular basis definitely seemed to help my mood — and yet, it also made me frustrated and left me wanting more. In a way, I felt like Sleeping Beauty, waking up after a long, boring almost sexless marriage. But instead of a prince, I had in my nightstand drawer double-A batteries and a whip that intrigued me.

My ever growing curiosity made me long to meet a man who’d really rock my world.

After a couple weeks of enjoying my new toys, I decided to do some Internet research. I wasn’t even sure what exactly I wanted to know, but the feelings ignited by my “accidental” BDSM gifts were testament to the fact that deep down I’d always fantasized about being bound and taken during sex. Somehow being unable to resist equaled total permission to let go. But really, what woman doesn’t want to have a man totally take charge sometimes? The fantasy of being totally restrained was quickly draining my supply of batteries.

My ex-husband was a passive man in bed, and in retrospect, I see what a disaster that was for someone like me, who is already naturally submissive. If no one ultimately ever takes charge, well, sex is as boring as watching paint dry.

As I trawled through the web, seeing various porn tube videos and websites, I wondered, “How do you even ask someone if they do that? Is this what people ask about on dates, instead of religion or politics? How do you find a great guy who is otherwise normal and not scary, but who can give you that rush and release?”

In between searches, I took to masturbating while wearing the blindfold. The darkness made it easier to pretend that someone else was “forcing” me to climax.

Luckily, I didn’t have to pretend for very long. I soon stumbled across a fetish social networking site, with lots of information on BDSM — and the potential to meet local partners. Since my adventures on more popular dating apps were going nowhere, I figured I’d give it a shot. In any case, the prospect of having such a nasty secret life that none of my prim and proper friends knew about was delicious, and in a few clicks, I’d signed up and got an invite to a mixer at a nearby bar.

That’s how I met John, my current husband — talk about the “ties that bind!”

When John and I met at the party, the chemistry between us ignited like a barge of fireworks. Our connection was so hot that our age difference didn’t even make me self-conscious — even when Angela and my other friends later asked me how it felt to be the “older woman.” Jeez, what jealous bitches!

John was only 29 when we first met, but he was already an up-and-coming tech executive. Prior to meeting me, he’d gotten quite the kink education, courtesy of many global trips for business and pleasure. He vividly described British spankings, risqué Parisian dungeons, a visit to the red-light district in the Netherlands — where he stayed at the B&B of the Happy Hooker herself — and private lessons in kinbaku, traditional Japanese rope bondage.

Of course, no one could ever guess he had such a dirty mind — not even my prying friends. He was the epitome of Prince Charming, with dark hair, a toned swimmer’s physique and piercing blue eyes, not unlike my own. He easily enticed all of my repressed urges out of hiding. His depth of sexual knowledge and maturity made me feel both safe and desired — and eager to get nasty.

Still, John insisted we wait at least three dates in order to develop a rapport, and make sure playing together would be both fun and mutual. Before he came over to my place, we went over my hard limits and decided on a safeword (vanilla) in case anything became too intense. I didn’t think I’d need to use it — and I was right.

On that fateful night, I greeted him at the door wearing only a sheer lace teddy. I kissed him and expected him to be warm and reciprocal. But instead, John was very stiff and stern.

“Claire, you answered the door nearly naked!”

“Well I thought — ”

“No, Claire. You didn’t think at all. You’re a naughty, impulsive brat! Anyone could have been at the door!”

My pulse started racing. “I wanted to surprise you… ”

“You need to be taught a lesson!”

The words flipped a switch inside me, and I suddenly felt free enough to engage in the role-playing game he’d laid out for us.

“Please, I promise I’ll never do it again,” I beseeched.

John grabbed me and pinned my arms behind my back with one big, strong hand.

“You’d better watch it, baby. Because if you do that again, I’m going to have to punish you.” He pinched my nipples through the thin lace with the fingers of his free hand.

I moaned and squirmed, but he held me firm.

“If this is how you’re going to behave, Claire, you leave me with no choice.”

Letting me go, he turned and opened his briefcase, pulling out a length of white cotton rope. “Hold out your hands in front of you.”

I obeyed, feeling my pussy quiver with anticipation as he doubled up the rope and expertly tied two single column knots around my wrists.

“Now, that’s a start. Come with me,” he ordered with a hard spank on the ass that pushed me forward helplessly and made me yelp in shocked surprise.

“He flicked the leather against my tits before focusing on my pussy.”

He carefully and slowly led me up the stairs, bringing along his briefcase.

My pussy felt like it was flooding with wetness, even though we’d barely begun to play. 

We arrived in my bedroom, where I realized my vintage four-poster bed frame was finally going to come in handy.

“On the bed,” he commanded, with another slap. John arranged me in the middle of the mattress, and then adjusted my bonds, tying my arms and legs to the bedposts with additional hanks of rope he pulled from his briefcase. He bound my legs especially tight, leaving me exposed and helpless.

Being under the firm control of my “harsh master” made me hornier than I’d ever been in my life!

Once he finished tying me up, John looked contemplative. “I don’t know if I like this teddy on you.” And with that, he tore the lace bodice just enough to let my nipples poke out. “That’s better.”

He plucked and tugged at my sensitive buds. I moaned, desperate to close my thighs and use the muscles to indirectly squeeze my clit. But John had other plans for me.

He opened my nightstand drawer and got out the whip I’d told him about earlier. He gently flicked the leather thongs against my tits before focusing on my pussy.

“What do we have here, Claire?” he asked as he unsnapped the crotch of the teddy to expose my wet slit.

I squealed and wiggled as he spread my pussy and manually stimulated my clit.

“Oh yes, John,” I moaned.

“You’re so fucking wet. It’s almost like you started without me.”

He tsked in mock disapproval and swatted the inside of my thighs lightly with the whip. “You’re gonna need to help me catch up.”

“How can I do that?” I asked, feigning innocence.

John grinned and unzipped his pants. Thanks to his forethought, I had enough slack in my bonds to sit up slightly and suck his dick. I got more than a mouthful — not only was John very well endowed, but with my hands tied, I couldn’t stroke his shaft or caress his balls. I had to rely solely on my oral abilities. Of course, John was a consummate gentleman, holding my hair back and watching me carefully for visual cues that might hint at my discomfort.

After I sucked and swallowed cock like a pro for a good long while, you’d better believe I was ready to be fucked!

I pulled away from him to beg: “Please, I need you inside my pussy.”

But with another teasing tweak of my nipples, he shook his head and smiled. “Not so fast, Claire. When we play together, you have to be patient.”

He repositioned me again, this time loosening the restraints on my ankles and then bending and lifting my legs so I was spread as wide as possible. My asshole and cunt were totally on display. Next, John reached inside my nightstand drawer and pulled out a vibrator. He knelt before my spread pussy and proceeded to tease my clit with the buzzing toy. He varied the speed of its rumbling motor, keeping me on edge as he moved it in slow circles over my clit.

“Oh God! I’m gonna come!”

“Don’t you dare, not without my permission,” John said, swatting my thigh.

In the very next second, as the heat from his hand multiplied and stoked the fire inside me, he slid two and then three fingers inside my pussy. He continued his relentless clit torture with the toy while pumping his digits in and out of me. I relaxed and let him take me, helpless to resist — but also not wanting to fight the sheer pleasure of the moment. In the midst of my surrender, I became a creature of pure sensation, closing my eyes and riding the relentless waves of pleasure.

And just when I thought the experience couldn’t get more electric, he dropped the toy to the side and I felt his wet finger exploring the rim of my asshole. No one had ever touched me back there before, and I felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and thrilling excitement that made my heart pound wildly.

When he slipped that finger inside my backdoor — giving me the heady rush of being doubly penetrated while his other digits still pummeled my pussy — I gasped and struggled to sit up.

John grinned. “You like it?”

I whimpered wordlessly. My face must’ve betrayed my fears and my passions because then he said softly, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck your ass just yet — not this time. We’ll work up to that. But I will have you. I can tell you want to get your ass plowed. Tell me what it feels like.”

“I like it when you finger both my holes.”

“You do?”

“Yes, it feels so… dirty,” I said. “Please don’t stop!”

“You want to come for me now?” he asked, fucking my pussy harder with his fingers and mashing his thumb against my clit.

All I could do in response was moan and grind my hips on his hands, forcing his digits deeper into both of my holes. I felt unhinged and free for the first time in my life. John didn’t let up on me until the orgasm completely consumed me and passed.

Still tethered to the bedposts I did my best to catch my breath while John ripped away the rest of my teddy. With my pussy still throbbing and soaked and my breasts tingling, he caressed my body gently with the feather tickler.

“Mmm, that feels so good.”

“You still want me to fuck you?”

“He knelt before my spread pussy and proceeded to tease my clit.”

I nodded. “Please… ”

“Are you ever going to come to the door again dressed in almost nothing?”

I smiled, “You better fucking believe I will.”

John smirked. “I guess you haven’t learned your lesson then, Claire.”

“I like being your bad girl.” I licked my upper lip.

John shook his head. “You are a nasty one, that’s for sure. Maybe a good fucking will make you rethink your ways.” He set about untying the ropes binding my legs — but only released one of my arms.

I must’ve looked as confused as I felt. John laughed and announced: “Did you really think I was going to untie you all the way?”

“You’d better not,” I quipped.

We laughed as we broke character for a bit. Thanks to John’s “adjustments,” he was able to reposition me so I was standing up and facing the bed, with one of my wrist’s movements still hampered.

It almost felt like I was trapped in a naughty spider web. Before I knew it, John had me bent over the bed while he ate me out from behind, teasing me even more before he would finally fuck me.

“I’ve wanted to taste your pussy for a while now. Humor me, Claire,” he mumbled into my wet snatch.

I groaned into the sheets, feeling his tongue probing me deeply.

When he’d gotten his fill of my flavor, he stood and slapped my ass.

“I think you’re ready for my cock.”

I reared back into his embrace as he nuzzled my neck and pinched my nipples.

“I’ve never wanted to be fucked so badly before.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep you waiting.”

And with that, he began pounding me hard. A year ago, I would have eschewed doggy-style sex — but now I couldn’t get enough. His thick manhood stuffed me like no other man had before. Knowing that I was, in that moment, so vulnerable and so willingly submitting to him made the experience even hotter for me.

John gently tugged on my hair. “You have such a tight cunt,” he whispered hotly in my ear, making me moan.

“I wanna be inside you all night — and then tomorrow, I’m gonna do it again. You’re my fucking come-slave now, Claire.” He spanked my ass cheeks after each outward stroke. As he spanked me and fucked me, I shuddered with pleasure. “I’m gonna train you to come on demand. You’ll see.” He jammed his thumb in my asshole and began pounding my pussy harder.

“Oh fuck!” I cried out.

That extra penetration almost immediately put me over the edge. But I managed to hold on, and we shared a long, passionate night together.

By the end of our playdate, I was on my back in bed. My feet were untied and my legs were draped over his shoulders — but my hands were bound over my head. I was absolutely and delightfully helpless as John jackhammered my pussy and rubbed my clit until I reached another screaming climax.

He pulled out of me and straddled my chest.

“Open wide, baby,” he ordered. I finished him off with my mouth and gladly let him decorate my face and tits with his sticky load when he came.

Once he was spent, John untied me and helped me clean up. We soaked together in my Jacuzzi tub, just cuddling and relaxing.

“Did your first rope session live up to your expectations?” he asked.

“It most certainly did. And so did you.”

That night happened two years ago, believe it or not. To say I’ve “changed” since then is misleading — but you could say that getting tied up by the right man has let me out of my cage for good. And even though John is the most careful and considerate partner, I do sometimes get the occasional rope burn. But it’s no big deal.

When Angela asked yesterday about the red mark around my wrist, instead of demurring, I smiled and said, “Just remnants of a recent anniversary present. Did you know? Cotton is the traditional gift for two years.”

In our case, it was several braided feet of cotton.