The Bookshelf Vol. 01: James Bondage

"Yes, Miss Cox?" If we got married, I'd be Mrs. Deep-Cox. The thought made me giggle, and I realized I was completely out of it.

"Are you...are you going to have sex with me here? In the VIP room?"

"No, Miss Cox." I was taken aback a bit, which was furthered when I looked up to see Damien dragging an enormous poker table over toward the wall of windows. I honestly thought for a moment that he was trying to build a barrier, like he was expecting a classic James Bond-style shootout.

Is that actually a thing that could happen? Is there some storyline somewhere where the spy gets shot right in the middle of fucking his flavor-of-the-movie?

But as I blinked in my confusion, Damien Deep turned and cleared the space between us in two powerful steps. I felt his hand close around my throat again, and as my body stiffened in response, his other hand slid between by legs, and he picked me off the ground...

...by my neck and my pussy, I thought, holy fucking shit. I was terrified, but the pressure from his fingers slipping inside me and holding up me was...oh, fuck god what a fucking man. Then, as he held me up, he pulled my head close enough that he could growl in my ear. "I'm not going to have sex with you. Not until you've shown everyone who wants to see just exactly how badly you need it."

I whimpered, and squirmed, impaled on his insanely strong fingers. Damien carried me over to the poker table and managed to dump me onto it in a way that was almost violent but somehow didn't hurt me at all. He grabbed my legs and powerfully pulled them apart, and then slid me down the table until my naked cunt was practically rubbing the glass of those windows, shoving some sort of cushion under my shoulders so I was propped up, easily able to look out and see...

Oh shit...that's the casino floor out there. And Damien Deep was pounding on the window with his palm, drawing dozens of gazes up toward us. I froze. It was one thing to be the insane-but-classy Irene-Adler type naked woman choosing a lover like she was choosing a chocolate bar...and totally another thing to be helplessly tied down and ruthlessly fucked silly by a gang of incredible cocks...but this was...this was...

I watched one man out on the casino floor lick his lips, his eyes locked on my glistening slit. And another shift uncomfortably from the sudden swelling in his pants.

This was... This is...

Damien's voice snapped through me like a whip. "Show them, Felicia." I glanced over at him, and it took me a moment to understand the words. "Show them that I own you."

I nodded. "How can I...please you?" I heard my voice catch, and my acute awareness of my own heaving chest and shallow breath made me sound completely helpless.

This is fucking hot!

"Fuck yourself. Open that pussy wide and fuck yourself like a cock-starved slut."

Well, that was easy -- I was, at this point, exactly that. A cock-starved slut, literally salivating at the sight of the huge bulge running down Damien's pant leg. My eyes didn't leave that bulge as I promptly and shamelessly jammed three fingers into my pussy, moaning out my pleasure with an intensity that I had never achieved with any previous masturbation.

My vagina twinged with discomfort. As wet and horny as I was, I hadn't actually been fucked yet in this particular fiction, and so my pussy wasn't quite ready for three fingers at once. The realization that I was both unfucked and un-stretched-out rapidly lead to the realization that Damien's cock might actually be big enough to hurt on its way in...and that thought, in turn, made me put some serious effort into getting ready for the jackhammering I prayed to God I was going to take soon.

I added a fourth finger to my plunging, jamming my hand into my slit and deliberately spreading my fingers out as hard as I could, stretching myself out so that I could be my master's proper cock-whore without squealing or trying to move away. I wanted him to be able to slam that beautiful dick into my pussy just as masterfully as he had used it to violate the depths of my throat.

My masturbations were so violent by now that they were splattering the glass with my pussy-juices. I don't know what was happening outside -- nor did I care. My eyes were glazed over, but still focused on my master's now-straining bulge. I was drooling a little, but I didn't care. I started to feel an orgasm stirring in my depths, and I could feel my muscles begin to stiffen. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, and my eyes closed involuntarily. Not that I noticed -- I was so far gone into my daydreams about what having that powerful cock inside me would feel like that I wasn't really seeing anything at all anyway.

...and then, less than a second away from another orgasm, I felt Damien's hands wrench my hands away from my slit. I was so close -- so mind-breakingly desperate to come -- that I rubbed my wet cunt up and down on the glass, hoping beyond sanity that one last sensation against my crotch would be enough to make it happen. But no -- he pulled me away from the glass, rolling me onto my stomach, where I screamed my frustration.

His voice ripped through my head, whispered harshly in my ear. "Who am I?"

"DAMIEN!!!" Every ounce of my desperation echoed through the VIP room, and I could hear involuntary sobs making my voice quake. His hand came down sharply on my ass, enough to make me squeal and writhe.

"Wrong." The whisper rocked my brain. "Who am I?"

My brain raced, but the answer didn't come from my brain. It bubbled up from my aching clit, twisting my stomach and setting fire to my nipples as they brushed across the felt of the poker table. Finally, it wrenched itself out of my mouth in what wanted to be a shout, but came out as a strained, defeated whisper. "Ma...master."

"Owner," he corrected. "I own you. Say it."

"You own me. You own me. You own me." I was practically babbling, still sobbing into the table, mourning my lost orgasm -- but starting to flare up with hope for what might come next.

"And now, Felicia Cox, I will not have sex with you."

I cried. I couldn't help myself -- my broken shame and my blind lust and my shattered hope burst out of my chest with a sob I couldn't control, and I cried. For several seconds, I cried.

Then, a hand -- a blessed, familiar hand -- laced itself through my hair, and pulled my face off of the poker table. I found myself staring at the perfectly-shaped head of the thing that was violating me in my cum-soaked imaginations. Damien Deep flipped me onto my back with an expert twist of my head, and slid me so that my head was hanging off of the table.

"But I will fuck you."

And the sensation of that cock taking my throat -- of those heavy balls coming to rest on the bridge of my nose -- of the sting of intense man-smell filling my entire reality -- was a relief like none I had never felt before.

My owner was here.

―

"OH MY FUCK! OH MY FABULOUS FUCKING FUCKER, DAMIEN DEEP, DON'T YOU DARE STOP FUCKING ME!" Just moments later, I was pressed up against the glass of that window wall, tits flattened out, cheek flattened out, screaming my ecstasy out of a throat that was raw from being fucked by my owner's impossible manhood. That same manhood was currently being rammed into my insatiable cunt so hard my cervix was making me gasp in pain -- but I still pushed back against him violently, wantonly, my pussy craving my owner's cock with an addiction so violent it made me cry.

Literally. There were tears streaming down my cheeks, down the glass beneath the cheek that was flattened against it.

Even as I was jamming my ass backwards into him hard enough to bruise his hip-bones -- even as his enormous penis was actually threatening to tear up my insides because I was forcing it in farther than he ever could on his own -- I wanted more. I wanted to come. I NEEDED to come.

But Damien Deep had said 'no.' My hands had tried -- while he was partaking of my throat once again -- but he had pulled them away a second time, and he had said 'no.' So now here I was, deliberately hurting myself with every thrust of that perfect penis into me, so desperate to orgasm that the people on the other side of the window were actually starting to look concerned for my health.

Not that I noticed. I was still screaming, still crying, bellowing out my need and enjoying the pain as it ripped through me. I'd never been able to come without something touching my clit -- ever -- but some deep, animal-brain part of me seemed to insist that no, I was fucking James Bond (close enough), and if anyone could make me come without that bit of stimulation, it had to be him...right? If I just pushed a little bit harder...

...Damien Deep would come inside of me with a roar so loud it shook the window under my cheek. Or rather, he did come inside of me. Deep inside of me. Between his final, crazed orgasm-thrust forward and my desperate, frenzied need-to-orgasm thrust backward, I could swear I actually felt his cock head form a tight seal with my cervix and his cum spurt straight up into my uterus and start frolicking around.

So that is what a perfect cock is for, I thought. It was mind-rendingly erotic, except I was already so turned on that I was still mindlessly humping his cock as hard and fast as I could. And being a lover of completely fictional ability, he didn't particularly see fit to stop fucking me, either. His cock started to soften, and then firmed right back up again as he moaned into my hair, pressing his entire body up against mine, forcing me up against the glass.

"The next time I come," he murmured, "I want you to come with me."

Thank.

Fucking.

God.

"Yes, owner." I couldn't help but mewl my relief. And then, the realization of exactly what he said sunk in. The next time he came. That meant waiting another...no, no it didn't. This wasn't reality, and Damien Deep most likely had absolutely no concept of the term 'refractory period.' I had proof positive in the form of a still-rock-hard dick filling me up as Damien ground his hips into my ass cheeks.

Grinding backwards, I leaned my head back on Damien's shoulder, forcing my boobs even harder onto the glass. The activity in the casino was practically full-stop at this point, and several men were openly standing with their hands in their pants. I knew that those were, more or less, the same-ish men that had tied me up and gang-fucked me until I passed out -- there wasn't really any reason to distinguish the two groups -- and I thought about how good it had felt.

And suddenly, I knew exactly how I was going to earn my owner's permission to come. I was going to be a bad girl. "Damien," I whispered into his ear, trying to use my desperation to hide my nervousness. "I want you, Deep."

"Not as deeply as I want you, Miss Cox. Your body is like a labyrinth I want to walk every branch of. Like a song that lifts me higher with every note." He inhaled in preparation to continue his quasi-poetry, and I leaned in and bit his earlobe, hard. "You make m--Ah! Oh! You...you just..." I watched Damien's face suddenly darken dangerously. "You...are going to pay for that little bit of insubordinance, Miss Cox."

"Pay?" I was suddenly nervous, even though his response is exactly what I was looking for.

"You will pay..." he growled into my ear, "by giving up your final, sacred space to me."

"My...oh!" My heart started to pound in my chest. Was he really going to...?

"Miss Cox...I will fuck what I need out of your fetching backside, and I will love every second of it."

He pulled out of me, and I felt my entire set of internal organs gently rearrange themselves back into their accustomed places. Jesus Christ, how am I ever going to take that up there? It was, in fact, exactly what I was hoping to hear...but still...

I put my faith in the genre. The rules were pretty clear: good guys don't hurt their love interests. At least not in a way they don't like. It would be a good opportunity for me to learn -- and I really wanted to learn -- how a relatively inexperienced ass like mine could be trained to the needs of a mammoth member like that.

Apparently, one of the 'ends' of this particular story...is mine. I blushed at the horribleness of my own inner pun -- and then gasped as Damien Deep once again plucked me off of the ground and put me exactly where he wanted me.

÷

In this case, Damien had me bent over the poker table, and had tied my hands behind my back with a bit of that velvet rope they used to divide the VIP room floor. I was facing out the glass, watching wide-eyed as a room full of stupidly gorgeous men (and women, too, but who gave a shit about them?) watched as Damien Deep knelt down and, with great ceremony and obvious anticipation, slowly but very thoroughly licked every inch of my exposed sphincter...and then plunged his tongue as far up my backdoor as it would go.

I was no anal virgin -- third boyfriend -- but this was definitely a first for me. I'd never even guessed that a man would be willing to put his tongue near that particular orifice -- much less up it. I couldn't decide whether it was mildly disgusting or uniquely erotic...but then, my owner's incredible fingers made that an easy decision as they slid into my (ridiculously loose, ridiculously wet) fuckhole and started to gently massage my pussy from the inside, almost like he could feel where the cramps were and knew exactly how to get rid of them.

Uniquely erotic it was. As evidenced by my involuntary moan and shudder as the combined finger-tongue dual fucking brought me almost instantly back to the edge of orgasm. If he keeps this up, I thought, I'm going to end up hurting myself again, trying to come.

But my owner had other plans. The moment my pleasure threatened to become unbearable, he leaned back, withdrawing his tongue from my ass...and plunged a fingertip into that same hole, just deep enough to make me squeal and tense up. "No!" his voice cracked like a whip. "You have to relax, no matter what happens back here."

"I...how am I supposed to do that?" But that hurt!

"By trusting me," he whispered gently. "You told me to prove I was the best lover here. I still have two hours left...and I intend to use at least one of them making you come until you beg me to stop."

That sounded like the best idea I'd ever heard, and Damien felt my insides clamp down on his fingers in anticipation. "But if you intend for me to have that much time left, you're going to have to relax. Just...ride the wave."

His fingers began to move again inside my pussy, and I felt the wave surge. I rode it, quite happily drooling on the poker table, looking through the glass to see that several of the couples on the floor had abandoned all pretenses, and there were at least three active acts of fellatio and one blatant fucking going on out there...because of the insanely hot action that was going on inside of me.

The wave threatened to reach critical mass -- and Damien's other finger began to slide in and out of my ass. The sensation was so intensely different from the smooth but urgent cock I had felt the few times I'd had sex this way...Damien's finger was much rougher, but moved much more gently. It was still enough to cause the wave to come crashing down again...but somehow, when it had finished crashing, the finger -- the motion inside my backside -- had become normal.

And that's how it went. One finger, deliberate surge to near-orgasm, and a second finger penetrated my asshole. A few minutes until I was bucking against my owner's hands and moaning into the table, and the two fingers started pumping me like a horny, very oddly-shaped cock. Crash. A few skilled tongue-flicks and a fingertip dance on my G-spot to get me writing and groaning, and a third finger(!!) jammed itself in my now-exceedingly-uncomfortable hole.

That one took a while. It was so much mass (...in my ass) that even perfectly still, I was nevertheless unable to relax. My breath came in jagged, sharp jolts, and even the perfect heat of Mister Deep's moist tongue bathing my clit didn't help...at first. But he remained perfectly still, perfectly poised, and patiently, endlessly, he flicked my clit with his tongue over and over again until I started to shake, violently, and I felt a scream start to rip itself out of my throat.

...and, of course, as I knew he would, he stopped. And, after a moment of exquisite yearning, hoping he would start again but knowing better, I started to move. I pushed backwards, and the feeling of those three strong digits threatening to tear my straining asshole was somehow exactly what I needed. The pain started to nudge me back down from the painful, tear-stained edge of orgasm, and I needed that. I needed relief so badly that if I couldn't have the orgasm, I'd have the pain.

And just like that, I started working my own asshole open on my owner's fingers. I wasn't easy on myself -- I was violent. I fucked my own ass, enjoying the sensation of being violated by something bigger and clumsier than the modest cock I had barely dealt with last time. I fucked my own ass hard, and -- true to Damien's promise -- as the pain and discomfort made the even-more-painful need to come melted away...I relaxed.

My owner continued to violate my ass with his fingers for several minutes, occasionally stroking something in my other hole just to keep me on my toes, but I was ready. I felt like there was nothing that could hurt me now -- like I was finally my owner's perfect fuck, and I would enjoy absolutely anything he could do to me.

And then the Deep dick dominated my oh-no-worries little asshole with a single, powerful stroke that drove my owner so far inside, his balls slapped hard against my wet pussy with an absolutely nasty noise...and OHMYGODYES -- I screamed so hard my voice went hoarse with a half a lungful left to go.

―

I thought I had fucked my own ass on Damien's fingers...my ass had no clue what being genuinely fucked was actually like. I thought that my insides had shifted around when Damien withdrew his cock from my pussy...but this was something completely different. Damien was merciless, driving himself into my ass like a pneumatic hammer. My insides weren't sure what to make of it -- but my rising tide of horniness sure did.

The last time I had anal sex, the man I was with was slow, luscious, enjoying the feeling of my ass against the head of his cock with every deliberate thrust. Damien's intent wasn't enjoying the feeling of each thrust -- it was pure, simple, mind-boggling lust. He was owning me, taking his pleasure in showing off to the crowd outside that he could fuck my most sensitive, most forbidden hole with every ounce of force his considerable body could muster and all I would do -- all I could do -- was lie on the table, glaze-eyed, and moan out my pleasure...all the while wishing passionately that my owner would let me touch myself.

But he didn't. I was still tied, wrists behind by back, and Damien was using them as a handle -- as leverage to try to fit one more thousandth of an inch of his thick, heavy cock up my ass. Some distant part of me knew that I was going to be stiff as hell when this was all over...and had zero fucks to give. I was being victimized quite liberally by the man I had asked to own me, and a huge crowd of intensely horny faces was watching me with an intensity that I was only barely aware of, but was nonetheless quite palpable.