Boundless Love Ch. 01

A trigger warning. Although the acts in this story are consensual, there are mentions of rape, which could be disturbing to some readers.

*****

Liddy traced her finger over her clitoris, closing her eyes as she sank into her pillows, breathing deeply. Memories of the past weekend, spent naked in a snowy cabin in Vermont alone with Patrick, flooded her mind. She remembered his scruffy beard tickling her face as they kissed, giggling as he sucked melted chocolate from her nipple, crying out as he fucked her, tied to the bed...

She grinned. Their romantic weekend, a treat before Patrick had to go away for several weeks on business, had been a success. Although she was unaccustomed to being alone in their apartment, she didn't feel lonely at all as she relived their foray into her deepest fantasy.

Liddy had always been excited by vulnerability, before she even understood what it meant to feel that way. As a child, she volunteered to be the bad guy in any cops and robbers game, relishing how it felt to be tied to a chair, or to have her wrists clasped in plastic toy handcuffs. An irresponsible babysitter once let her stay up late, unsupervised, and she found herself transfixed by some TV movie where a red-haired woman was kidnapped and chained to a pipe. The tingly, breathy sensations she remembered from that scene made sense when, as a teenager, she realized she enjoyed it when her various boyfriends would pin her down or pull her hair during their sweaty explorations of each others' bodies.

In college, she lost her virginity to the boy next door-literally, they shared a wall of their dorm rooms-and then promptly moved on, searching for something that brought her more of a thrill, once he proved to be interested in little more than receiving blowjobs and fucking her in the missionary position. She bought a vibrator and taught herself to use it (hoping that the boyfriend could hear the buzzing through the wall), and began to seek out dominant men. However, most of the boys she met on campus were only interested in domination in a rape-y, frat boy kind of way. "I want someone to respect me as a woman and fuck me like a whore," she wrote in the online dating profile she eventually turned to. Yet although she received plenty of responses-some from condescending, narcissistic perverts and a rare few from polite, attractive older men-she was too cautious to risk meeting a stranger for sex, especially since she wanted to ask the stranger to restrain her and maybe hurt her. Liddy considered herself a feminist, and struggled to make peace with the paradox of wanting to submit to a man in the bedroom, despite her frustrations with how women were treated in general. Eventually, she gave up searching, hoping that she would one day trust a man enough to totally relinquish control. In the meantime, she resigned herself to exploring her darker fantasies only with her vibrator.

One such fantasy had come true this past weekend. As she reached for the vibe in her bedside table, Liddy relived the events that had brought her to the cabin in the woods. Circling her clit with her fingers as she switched the vibe on, she remembered the first time she met Patrick. She was a year out of college, and they'd matched on tinder after her most recent fling had ended. Patrick was six years older than her, taller than her, and well dressed, with curly brown hair, dark eyes framed with thick lashes, and-her weakness-strong arms. He took her for drinks in a kitchsy themed bar, then to an upscale whiskey bar with a view of the city. They made out on a park bench until Liddy agreed to break her rules and go home with him. She came twice that night, and at least twice every time since; he was the best (albeit vanilla) sex she'd ever had. He was attentive and caring, generous and respectful, and his cock was a thick seven inches, crooked in a way that made blowjobs delightful. They had sex every time they saw each other: on every surface of his apartment, drunk in a public park on a weekday evening, on top of a mountain after a hike. By the second month of their relationship, she was spending more nights at his place than hers, and in a year, she'd moved in officially.

A few months into their relationship, one lazy Sunday morning, Patrick was between Liddy's legs, eating her out. She ran her fingers through his hair, moaning softly as he licked her, writhing slowly against his face.

"Stop moving," he laughed, looking up at her, her juices coating his face from his nose to his chin.

She bit her lip. "Maybe you should tie me down, then."

His face clouded, and Liddy's heart began to beat faster. She trusted him, but Patrick had never expressed an interest in bondage, and although there were elements of domination and submission in their lovemaking, they had never explicitly discussed the dynamic. Patrick wiped his face, and came to join her at the head of his bed, taking her in his arms.

"Is that something you want?" he asked.

When she nodded, he explained that he'd been in a relationship once before with a girl who'd been raped, and she had asked him to hold her down and beat her. At her insistence, she had tried tentatively slapping her ass, which caused her to burst into tears and be inconsolable for the rest of the night. Patrick knew that Liddy had her own demons, and didn't want to provoke them. "I'm only interested in consensual sex," he said.

She tried to explain that it would be consensual, that that was the point. How giving over her own body, her power, to him was a sign of trust, and how the dynamic could increase the passion of their relationship. He heard her out, but was unconvinced, still uncomfortable with the idea. Finally she had to relent; it wasn't fair for her to pressure him.

Liddy paused in her deft fingering as she remembered the concern he had shown for her; Patrick was always so sweet. On a whim, she grabbed her phone and snapped a few photos of herself. She chose her favorite to send to him: grinning up at the camera, her hair fanned on the pillow behind her, nipples poking through his t-shirt that she wore, and two fingers inside her wet, pink slit. She knew he'd appreciate it; he traveled often for work and they both enjoyed the reminders of what he had to come home to.

She sent the photo, turned up the setting on the vibrator, and settled back into her pillows. She rolled her clitoris between two fingers, pressing the vibe into her sopping hole. She felt a warmth build inside of her as she played the memory of their weekend jaunt from the start: shopping for stockings and garters as a romantic surprise, pausing in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant halfway through the drive so she could go down on him, gleefully exploring the cabin after twisting through winding mountain roads in the dark, inspecting all three bedrooms and vowing to fuck in a different one every night.

As it turned out, they only used one bed, which they barely left all weekend. Venturing from their love nest only to cook or cuddle in front of the fire, watching the snow fall through the window, they passed almost the whole weekend naked. On their final evening, she surprised him with the stocking and garters, stamping out of the bathroom in a pair of four-inch black heels and posing enticingly in the doorway. Patrick had shown his appreciation by bending her over the bed and taking her from behind, both of them impressed by how erotic her long, slender legs looked in the trappings.

It was after they had collapsed, sweaty and satisfied on the bed, that Libby got the idea. Unlike their bed at home, which had a solid wooden headboard, this bedframe was brass, with a series of vertical bars connecting to one horizontal bar along the top. She stroked Patrick's hair as he rested against her. "I've really enjoyed this weekend," she said.

"Me too," he said, snuggling closer. "Let's never go back to the city."

"Never," she agreed. "I don't see any reason to ever leave this bed."

Patrick continued distractedly tracing patterns on her stomach with his finger.

"This is the kind of bed I've always imagined being tied down to," she ventured.

He looked up at her. "Oh yeah?"

She nodded, trying to read his expression. "Mhmm," she ventured, "you could tie my arms above my head, my ankles together..."

Suddenly Patrick stood up and walked to the bathroom without a word. Libby squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, certain that he was rejecting her proposal again. She started to swing her legs over the side of the bed to follow him when he reappeared in the doorway, the tie from one of the guest bathrobes in his hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" he grinned.

Libby's eyes were wide. "Are you sure, love?"

In response, he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. They pulled apart and she smiled, her heartbeat already quickening in anticipation.

"How do you want me, then... Sir?" she asked, assuming her most vixen-like voice.

"Lean back against the pillows. Arms up."

He threaded the tie behind a few of the bars of the headboard, then tied each end around her wrist so that her arms were spread wide above her head. He worked gently, focused on tightening the thick strip of terrycloth, but Libby was already squirming with desire.

It was really happening! Her heart raced, and despite the marathon of sex they'd enjoyed that weekend, her body was burning with need. Already, she could feel herself growing wet again. As Patrick finished the tie and leaned back to survey her, grinning, she tested the bonds, a bolt of electricity shooting to her core with each tug. She felt so vulnerable, so exposed...

"You look beautiful," Patrick said. And she was. Her long, lithe form spread-eagled on the bed, still wearing the black nylons and garters, dark blonde hair fanned behind her, her blue eyes wide, gazing up at him in love and lust. "I can do anything I want to you," he said, his finger tracing a circle around each of her small young breasts as she trembled in anticipation. He ran his hand across her flat stomach, down her abdomen, to stop and tickle the thin vertical line of dark hair above her otherwise smooth vagina.

She moaned and twisted towards him, offering her open legs, but he leaned forward and took her breast in his mouth instead. He sucked each one in turn, tonguing the nipples playfully until they stood stiff and swollen. Libby writhed in her bonds, desperate to feel him inside her. Now his fingers traced up her inner thigh... and down the other side. They swirled her pubic hair again, then brushed her labia, avoiding her most sensitive areas. He was teasing her!

"Please!" she begged him, unable to formulate any further thoughts, consumed by her need. He leaned in and kissed her again, deeply, biting her lower lip. She pressed her body against his, wrapping her legs around him, begging him with her moans. Finally, he slipped two fingers inside her. "Fuck, you're wet," he breathed as he stroked her.

"I've wanted this for so long."

He thumbed her clit and she climaxed, thrashing in her bonds, her back arching. She was still crying out, her thighs shaking when he entered her. He thrust into her fast and hard, gripping her waist, and she bucked her hips to meet his thrusts. Never before had she been so lost in her passion, so totally overcome by a sexual experience. They were ravenous animals, consumed by desire, biting and scratching, driven by lust. Libby felt his hands squeeze her breasts roughly, felt her own hands twist, bound above her head, and felt warmth gathering in her abdomen again...

She came hard, her cry filling the empty room, casting aside the vibrator as her orgasm shook her. Her hips gyrated against the empty air, her toes curling. She was settling back, gathering tissues to tend to the mess between her legs, when she felt her phone buzz.

A text from Patrick: "Mmm. Wish I was there to assist you."

She sent him back another photo of her fingers, sticky with her juices, a glimmering web between them. "Miss you."

Her phone buzzed again: "Love you!" She sighed, contented, and drifted off to sleep.