Bound and Humiliated Read online

  Bound and Humiliated

  Bound and Humiliated

  Midpoint

  Bound and Humiliated

  By Sara Tyr

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011, Sara Tyr and Pink Leash Publishing

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Your non-refundable purchase allows you to one legal copy of this work for your own personal use. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload, or for a fee.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Disclaimer: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: male/male sexual practices, multiple partner sexual practices, strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experience practitioner. Neither the publisher nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  First Edition

  ©2011

  It’s late when I get home, and you hold me. You see how tired I am, but I try to hide it. I smile and make it sound like these late nights aren’t so bad. I can take care of myself, I insist. You tell me you’re not so sure. When I just smile again, you give me a little smack on the butt. It stings and you tell me it’s your job to take care of me. And if I don’t do a good job, you’ll have to take matters into your own hands. You’re sweet. You make me feel young and small and vulnerable. Some part of me really likes it when you look at me like I’m a naughty little girl who needs a firm hand.

  You lean down and kiss me, sliding your hand down my back to the curve of my butt. You squeeze and I giggle a little. You always take control in moments like these. I have no idea how much control you’re about to take. I won’t find out that part until the morning when I wake up. But for now, you’re nothing but my loving boyfriend to leads me back to the bedroom.

  You’re firm with me, touching your lips to my neck. A little moan escapes my lips as you kiss me. Your hands are strong and firm with me, stripping me of my tank top. Then you pull down on my jeans and I step out of the confining fabric. All I have on now is my bra and panties while you’re still completely dressed.

  Without thinking, I run my teeth along my lower lip. I want you. I want you so badly. I love how you take charge, how you can own me with just a glance. But you’ve never pushed it. And I have no idea what you’re going to do with me.

  In just a few hours, you’ll have me powerless again, but it’ll be different.

  Completely ignorant of what’s going to happen, I focus on this moment here. I reach out for you. You put your arms around me and heft me up onto the bed like I was a little girl. I land with a giggle, smiling up at you even as you pounce.

  You’re on me. You force me down onto my back. The power of your body is only limited by the tenderness of your touch. You whisper how much you love me, how you’ll always take care of me. You lean down and your voice is soft against my ear, “I’ll take care of you, even when you don’t quite know what you need.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  You don’t answer me, not with words. Instead your fingers slide over my breasts, lightly caressing my nipples. I gasp again, all thoughts of what you might have meant gone.

  I look up at you, hopeful as I reach for your belt. You make me wait and a shiver of denied pleasure races through me. At moments like this, I know I belong to you. I can’t help it. You don’t give me a choice. You make me wait another agonized second before you nod and I’m allowed to pull off your belt.

  Straddling me, looking down at me like I’m your most treasured possession. You unbutton your shirt and make me wait again. You see my chest rise and fall, the colored flush at my cheeks. Finally, you get to the final button. You slip off your shirt and toss it to the floor. Then you lean down again, kissing me even as you slide off your pants. I can feel how hard you are, how much you enjoy having me helpless and docile.

  “Annie, I’m going to make you mine,” you tell me.

  “Yes,” I agree, but I have no idea what you mean or just how serious you are.

  I wake up without opening my eyes. It was a long night, and I immediately start thinking about what I have to get done today. I think about my reading assignments, and what time I have to be at work. I start thinking about when I’ll go to the gym and when I’m supposed to meet up with my friends. Without opening my eyes, I exhale a long sigh, thinking about Stephanie and Jessica. We got into a huge fight the last time we were together; they said I was too immature, and I said that they were too controlling. Stephanie is a year older than me and she thinks she can boss me around, tell me who to date and what to wear. Her little sister, Jessica, follows her lead. Jessica is only fifteen, but she acts like she’s older too. I sigh again, sure that the headache pounding my forehead just comes fatigue. I haven’t been sleeping much lately, and I haven’t seen you much either.

  I’ve always appreciated how understanding you are. You’re always there when I need you, even though I’m not the best girlfriend in the world. I’m always busy with work and school, but you’ve never been mean to me about it. Even when I call to complain about the stress in my life, you’ve always been there for me. Somehow you’ve always known what I needed, even when I didn’t.

  I roll onto my back and stretch my arms above me. My fingertips touch something wooden, but that doesn’t make sense; there’s nothing above my bed. Groggy, I open my eyes and look up. I blink, not sure if I’m dreaming, but it looks like there are bars above me. They’re about a half-inch thick and they’re painted bright pink. They shine in the morning light with a girly cheerfulness that makes me grimace. I tell myself that I’ve got to be dreaming, so I roll over, convinced that I’ll see my room the way I left it.

  There are bars to my left and I jerk my head to the right, but there are bars there too! They’re all pink, and I’m completely surrounded by them. I sit up a little and there are more bars at the foot of my bed. Then I look around
again, and it clicks. This isn’t a bed—beds don’t have bars, and they’re not pink. I glance at my bedspread, only to see that it’s been replaced by a white and fuzzy covering; Disney princesses in flowing pink dresses, their hair decorated with red and pink flowers, cover the blanket.

  “What the hell?” I whisper. Then I realize that I want out. The idea of being surrounded by bars makes me think that I might be trapped. But that can’t be, I think to myself. I can’t be trapped. This is a joke. It’s gotta be a joke. There’s just no way I wouldn’t be able to control myself, that I wouldn’t be in charge of myself. That’s who I am. That’s me.

  The bars are so low that I can’t even sit up all the way, but if I lay on my back I can try to push up. I grab the pink wood and try to push, praying that the top will give way. But it doesn’t! I can’t get out that way. I tell myself to calm down, that there’s a different exit. But I push at all of the bars, on each side, and none of them give way. I try kicking my way out, growling with effort, but they don’t give way. I’m stuck in this cage, and my eyes start to water. I don’t give up. I keep pushing, kicking, shoving and pulling, trying to get some of the bars loose. My heart is thumping in my chest and I’m fighting to breath, but I don’t care. I have to get out. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes go by, but I can’t get out.

  I lay back down, and I try to keep from crying. I’m not like this; I’m not helpless. I’ve always been able to do anything I’ve wanted to, and now I can’t even get out of bed! I kick out again, another growl of frustration cutting across the room. When I lay back, my arms across my chest, I try to think of other ways to get out.

  Then the door opens and you step inside. I jump up and bump my head on the bars over my head.

  “Silly little girl,” you say as you stroll up to the cage. “You need to be more careful.”

  I spin on you, my fingers wrapped around the bars. “Let me out!” I scream.

  You shake your head at me, a big smile on your face. “What’s wrong? Can’t get out? Da wittle giwl can’t get out?” You lean down, sliding a finger against my hands. I pull away from the bars and you laugh again. “Poor, poor little baby.”

  “Baby?” I demand, “What the hell are you talking about?” When you just chuckle, I keep talking, “I’m a college student, I have a job, friends, responsibilities! You have to let me out.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. You’re the one who has to obey.”

  I fall back against the bars one of the opposite side of my cage. “Fine, what do you want?”

  “A game.”

  “C’mon,” I say between clenched teeth, “I really don’t have time for games.”

  “You’ve been overworking yourself for a long time now, and I’ve let you, because I thought that maybe you were mature enough to handle it, but that’s obviously not true.”

  “Of course I can handle it!”

  “No, I really don’t think you can. I mean, look who’s locked in a crib.” When I stare at you, my eyes narrowed and my nostrils flaring in petty rage, you finally say, “All right. How about this; I’ll let you out, if, you wear something for me.”

  “That’s what this is about?” I ask. “Some fantasy?”

  “If that’s how you want to look at it,” you say, grinning, knowing full well what’s going to happen to me.

  “Fine,” I growl.

  You walk back to the other side of the room, open one of the dressers and pull something out. As you walk back, you keep it hidden behind your back.

  “C’mon, c’mon, I don’t have all day. I really have to get to work!” my whining makes you grin a little wider.

  You step back up to the cage, “You’re sure you want to do this?” you ask because you know the answer. You know my answer will match your will, that soon all of my answers will match you will.

  “Yes!”

  “Say please.”

  “C’mon, I really don’t have time for this.”

  “Say please.”

  “Fine. Please.”

  “Now hold out your hand.”

  Without commenting, I stick one of my hands through the bars. “Good girl,” you say as you put a leather strap in my palm. I glance at it, and I see the strap. There’s a crown shaped tag that reads, “Princess,” and it takes me a second to realize it’s a collar. “Put it on,” you tell me.

  “This is what I have to do, and then you’ll let me out?”

  “That’s what you have to do,” you confirm, without answering the second part of my question.

  I wrap the collar around my neck, connecting the latches at the back. There’s a shock, but it’s small, like static electricity so I don’t think anything of it. I don’t even flinch.

  “Good girl.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Why?” you ask, amused the arrogance running through my tone of voice.

  “Because, it makes me sound like I’m a little girl, a baby, but we both know that’s not true. We both know I’m an adult, in control of my life.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “You think I’m powerless?”

  “I know you’re powerless.”

  “No, I’m not,” I say, my eyebrows tightened and furrowed as I stare at you. You’ve seen me like this before, right before I get angry, “Now let me out.”

  “Why don’t we play another little game?” you ask, but before I can answer you say, “Override: lay down on your bed.”

  Without thinking, without trying to act, I fall on my back, and stretch out my legs. My arms are at my sides and I’m staring up at the bars that keep my locked in my new crib, my new cage.

  “How, how’d this, how’d, what, what happened?” confusion and a trickle of fear lace each word.

  You step over to the crib, pull out a key and unlock the top. You slide down one side of the bars and pull the top off. Setting it aside, you come back and look down at me. I try to move; you can see my muscles as I try to pull myself up, to sit up or reach out with my arms, but it’s like my body won’t obey me. Now matter how hard I pull, no matter how hard I fight my muscles, I can’t get up!

  “You’re a cute little girl,” you tell me as you touch my forehead, running your fingers over my brown hair. “So docile, so obedient.”

  “What’s going on?!”

  “Shhhh,” you say, one finger pressed against your lips. Then you lean down and whisper in my ear, “You can’t disobey me. From now on, I’m your Master, your owner. You tried to be an adult, and you failed. You couldn’t take it, and I know why.”

  I turn my head, my eyes narrowed, panting in rage.

  “Ask me why,” you instruct.

  I tighten my lips, desperate to defy you on any point no matter how trivial, no matter how stupid.

  “Silly little girl,” you say, snickering. “Override: ask me why.”

  “Why?”

  The word is pulled from my mouth; I tried to keep my lips sealed, my voice silent, but somehow I couldn’t! I struggle with my muscles, but I still can’t get up. I’m writhing back and forth, pulling and tugging, but all I can do is wiggle my arms and legs as I try to rip away from invisible shackles.

  You pat my hand, and say, “Good girl.” My eyes go wide when I see you pull yourself onto the bed. You straddle me, above me, and then you look down. “You can’t help yourself. You’re a defenseless little girl who needs to be controlled. You might try to act tough and to look strong, but we both know you can’t take it. I mean, just look at where you woke up this morning, and just now, you put on your collar. I think you really want to be a good little girl; after all, you’ve been behaving yourself so far. In fact, you’ve been such a good girl, I don’t think I’m going to keep you confused about why you can’t move.”

  “You’re going to let me go?” I ask, a nervous strand of hope mixing with my voice. I try to tell myself that you’ve just been teasing me, that this is all a game. There’s no way you’d try to do anything long term. My stomach drops out when I star
t to think about my classes and my jobs, my career and my future. You smile down at me, and I want to believe that you’re going to let me go. You smirk at my question.

  “Let you go?” you ask, stroking your chin, “Okay.” I sigh, relieved that you’re about to let me up. “Override: docile mode,” and I’m confused when I hear you say that but I don’t know what to do.

  The invisible restraints holding my arms are gone and I can move again, but somehow I feel weaker. Like I pull up my arms, but they feel heavy, like I’m really tired, but I don’t feel sleepy. It doesn’t make sense.

  You lean down again and whisper in my ear, “You’re not bound, and you’re not restrained. Show me how strong you are little girl.” I try to push you off but you just grab both of my wrists and hold them over my head and then your kissing my neck and saying things that I don’t understand like, “You’re mine now. I know you don’t understand, but you’re helpless, and I own you now. You’re a doll, a toy, a slave, a pet. You don’t get to control yourself; we tried that and you failed so now you belong to me. You couldn’t take responsibility for yourself, so it’s my turn,” and then your lips are sliding down my neck, to my chest. I can feel your lips over my breasts and suddenly my nipples are getting harder. I try to push you off, to kick or scream but all I can do is grin as hot pleasure rushes through me.

  “Tell me how helpless you are,” you order as you come up for air.

  “No,” I say, and the word’s half-moan, half-protest.

  Your tone changes when you say, “Wrong answer. And for that, I’m going to get you started on your new life.” You pull my wrists to my sides and you sit on them, the palms of my hands beneath your knees. “I was going to let you pretend to be a big girl for a little while, but now I think you’ve gotten confused.” You stroke my cheek with the back of your hand, “But now it’s time you learned your lesson.”