Ascension 2 | free bondage story

“What’s your name?”

“K-kate.”

“Do you want to be here, Kate?”

Thankfully, she replied “yes” without hesitation.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Y-you’re Adrian Hunter. The writer. On the Internet.”

So far, so good. “Do you know what I write about?”

“Y-yes.”

“Which of my stories do you like best?” Always the compliment slut…

She thought for a moment. “The ones about J-jennifer.”

Shit, what is it about that girl anyway? Here I spend hours crafting what I consider to be thoughtfully-overwrought tales divining the true nature of romantic restraint, and the one piece everyone seems to cite as my “Layla” is an embarrassingly immature collection of noncon potboiler stroke jokes I scribbled years ago.

On the other hand…

“Funny you should mention her. I’m working on a new chapter to accompany an illustrated version of the original series. I figure if Mel Gibson and Danny Glover can come back for a fourth installment of Lethal Weapon this summer, so can Jennifer and her friends.”

I paused and stepped out of her line of vision. When my heartbeat finally returned to a manageable pace, I came up close behind her, placed a hand around her waist and pulled her hard against me while reaching around to find one of her nipples.

I couldn’t be 100 percent sure if her loud moan meant “yes” or “keep squeezing like that,” but either answer was fine.

I moved my hand down from her waist until it reached her downy softness, then pressed my fingers inside her. It didn’t take long before she started twitching, followed closely by shaking, convulsing, gasping and groaning. I allowed my tongue to slither into her ear, enjoying the escalation of girl squeaks and squeals as she began to climax repeatedly and rather violently. When I felt her legs begin to give out, I pulled my hand away, knelt down, and retrieved the gag from the floor.

Without a word, I pushed the ball back into her mouth, jerked the straps around her head, and buckled it tight, then stalked off to the kitchen to retrieve a tumbler and several cubes of ice. Seating myself on the couch directly in front of her, I filled the glass with vodka and sat back to contemplate my rather stunning change of plans for the evening.

How typical, I rued, to find myself in this exceedingly rare situation with ye olde bag of tricks gathering dust on the top shelf of my closet. I considered scavenging the cabin for additional supplies like a mop to employ as a makeshift spreader bar, or perhaps the inevitable basket of clothespins one tends to find in homes without dryers. Gazing at the pile of ropes and accessories on the floor, then at Kate, I concluded things could be worse.

I chuckled softly to myself. Oh, who’s kidding who here? Utterly, completely alone in a charming cabin nestled in a pastoral wonderland, then a beautiful girl floats down from heaven, literally gift-wrapped with my name on the card. All I was really lacking, I almost said out loud, was some kind of whip or crop. Then my vision drifted momentarily to the still-unlit stack of logs on the fireplace, which brought to mind my abandoned quest for kindling, which lead to thoughts of sticks, then saplings, and I suddenly recalled a childhood fondness for whittling.

“I’ll be right back,” I said as I stood up to find a flashlight, my smile perhaps scaring her a little.

Fifteen minutes later, I returned to find her standing exactly as I had left her. Very impressive, I thought, as I sat down on the floor in front of the hearth and started building a small pyre out of handfuls of brush and crumpled newspapers under the wood. As I lit a match and applied it to the edge of the combustible heap, I realized there was more than a distinct possibility that Kate had been properly trained in this particular sport.

She probably didn’t notice the collection of long green sticks that didn’t make it into the now-blazing inferno. As I watched the flames leap and lick the pile of logs, it was all I could do to resist the urge to say “all in good time, my pretty.” First, I was going to do my best to live up to my guest’s worst expectations.

Kate’s eyes followed mine as I looked up at the support beam running across the length of the ceiling. I leaned over from the fireplace and selected a thin hardcover book from the pile on the coffee table, then set it on the floor directly under the thick timber.

Retrieving the larger of the two vibrators and what seemed to be the longest length of rope from the floor, I clambered to my feet and faced her.

“Are you ready?”

She closed her eyes, which I took to be a yes.

“Very good. Spread your feet apart.”

I pushed the entire length of the soft latex between her clenched thighs.

“Now,” I growled.

As she parted her legs with a soft moan, I began rubbing and twisting the dildo against her secrets until I presumed it was slick with natural lubrication. Before she fully comprehended my intentions, I had already circled her and pressed the tip an inch into her rectum.

“The worse you make it for you, the better it makes it for me.”

It took less than a minute before the remainder disappeared inside her.

Even though she had been delivered to me in a serious state of plug, I could tell by her panting that she wasn’t used to this level of fullness.

I pointed at the book on the floor.

“Stand on top of it.”

She took a few delicate steps as directed, pressing her feet together to maintain her balance.

The wooden chairs surrounding the dining room table looked sturdy enough, so I pulled one next to her, then moved behind her and began untying her wrists.

Once they were free, I leaned over and whispered “last chance” into her ear. When I received no discernible reply, I led her hands around to her front, crossed her wrists, and wrapped them thoroughly with a longer piece of rope from the floor.

I stepped up onto the seat of the chair and instructed her to lift her arms over her head. Taking her bound wrists in one hand, I grabbed the end of the rope hanging from the beam in the other, and starting looping the slack around the crossed part until the line went completely taut. I tied off the remainder with a knot that would frighten a sailor, hopped down, and placed the toe of my shoe against the edge of the book she was standing on.

“Whoops,” I said flatly as I pushed it out from under her feet, causing her to drop down perhaps two inches. But the sudden strain on her crotch must have made it feel like two miles.

Her toes scrabbled on the floor and found momentary traction, allowing her to balance precariously by straining her arches like a ballerina, dispersing at least some of her body’s weight from the rope to her feet.

There has to be some string or twine around here, I muttered under my breath as I wandered into the kitchen and starting searching the drawers and cupboards, actually yelping “bingo!” when I came across a reel of fishing line. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the knife rack and returned to find my new friend wavering uneasily on her tiptoes.

A few snips removed the clamps from the banner, but they were soon restored to their proper place around her swollen buds. I measured out two long pieces of filament and tied the ends around her big toes. Fortunately, my benefactor had been prescient enough to add weights to the bottom of his message, which I detached and tied to the other ends of the fishing line. This made it easy to toss them over the beam. Two knots later, her nipples were straining skyward while the weights swung near her navel. Every time she moved a foot, several laws of physics were demonstrated concurrently, and sometimes excessively.

I returned to the couch and took a long sip of France’s finest while I contemplated my next course of action. Doing nothing more than watching Kate writhe definitely had a certain appeal, so I sat back and polished off my drink before picking up the other vibrator off the floor.

I wondered if the soles of her feet were ticklish.

They were. But not as much as under her arms.

Her efforts to escape the buzzing made her dance like a marionette in the hands of a child. At one point, an errant kick caught me square in the jaw and knocked me backward onto the hardwood floor. She looked aghast and tried to act chagrined, but I couldn’t help laughing out loud at the telltale smirk that was so obvious even behind the gag. This Kate probably gives her boyfriend, or whatever, the fight of his life. What a treat it would be to enjoy her forever.

Rubbing my chin, I informed her she would have to pay for her misdemeanor. She shot me a look that would have been accompanied by a stuck-out tongue under different circumstances, but that quickly changed to one of alarm when I picked up the control box attached to the vibrator in her ass.

“First, let’s make sure we remove the temptation to try that little stunt again.”

I picked up the shortest piece of rope from the floor and began coiling it around her ankles, saving the longer lengths for her knees and thighs. Once her legs were secured, I nudged the dial on the box to its lowest setting, stood up and went to look for the rest of my friend’s fishing gear, confident I would find a decent knife that was suitable for slicing the bark off the green saplings I had collected earlier.

Those Swiss Army troops really had a clue, I thought to myself half an hour later as I sat on the couch admiring my handiwork. I may have flunked out of Boy Scouts, but the smooth finish on my makeshift switch was still impressive for an amateur.

I was pretty sure she had deduced exactly what I was whittling long before I tried a few practice strokes against the sofa cushion, but any doubts were removed when I touched its tip against her stomach and slowly traced the letters of my name on her shuddering flesh.

I reached into my back pocket and produced a bandanna that I had found in the tackle box to cover her beseeching eyes. She soon learned to anticipate the whistling, but the specific target was always a surprise.

By the time I was finished, we were both exhausted and slick with sweat. I tossed what was left of the switch into the fire and used the scissors to cut the fishing line above and below Kate’s nipples, then quickly untied her legs and finally the knot holding the harness rope around her waist, after which she collapsed soundlessly into my waiting arms.

I carried her limp body into the bedroom and lay her on top of the comforter covering the king-size mattress.

“This may hurt a little,” I warned, but she hardly flinched when the clamps came off. I rolled her onto her stomach and eased the vibrator out of her backside, then removed the blindfold and unbuckled the straps holding the gag around her head.

I presumed another glass of water was in order, but she surprised me by asking for a sip of my Grey Goose instead. When she was finished, I picked up my tube of suntan goo off the dresser, turned off the lights and climbed onto the bed next to her.

I eased Kate onto her back and stretched her still-bound wrists over her head. Starting with her toes, I methodically coated every inch of her aching body with the cool, soothing lotion. When I sensed her setting sail for Neverland, I positioned her on her side and lay down behind her with my arm around her waist.

Despite her fatigue, her hands wandered down to her groin for one final skyrocket display.

“Nice try,” I whispered, my fingers manipulating the knot between her wrists. “But that’s my job.”

I pushed her onto her stomach and retied her hands behind her back, then returned us to our original setting, only this time with my hand brushing ever so lightly against her sex.

Kate sighed deeply and started grinding her hips against my crotch. Desperately wishing there was something in my wallet besides frequent-flyer cards and guitar picks, I pulled myself back a few inches and made “uh, uh” noises while nuzzling her neck.

A minute later, I felt her hands groping for the fly of my shorts, then her fingers started returning my favors.

Drifting into a state somewhere between rapture and unconsciousness, I found myself grinning as I mentally planned a feast for three, wondering if a different holiday menu might be more appropriate for this particular Fourth of July celebration.

Perhaps something along the lines of Thanksgiving.