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      INVITING TROUBLE

      BDSM ROMANCE

      OLIVIA LONDON

      ISBN 9781615087631

      All rights reserved

      Copyright 2012 Olivia London

      This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

      For information:

      http://SizzlerEditions.com/Submission

      Sizzler/Submission Bondage

      A Renaissance E Books publication

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      Parts of this book originally appeared on the web site Every Night

      Erotica.

      2

      CONTENTS

      OF HIBERNIAN BONDAGE

      INVITING TROUBLE

      ROLE PLAY FOR A SPECIAL DAY

      WALK-INS WELCOME

      AFTERNOON TRYST

      3

      OF HIBERNIAN BONDAGE

      "I'm so horny, I wish a penis would drop from the sky and fall in

      my lap; I'd know just what to do with it."

      Lana was sitting in bed next to Malachy, her boyfriend of two years

      for what would be their ninetieth evening of sexless coupledom. She

      was keeping count, day after frustrating day. Ninety nights in a row,

      for three sere months Lana had worn sexy lingerie and stiletto

      slingback heels, sometimes even "tripping" on a cord in a shameless

      effort to unplug her sweetie's laptop.

      Malachy sighed and gave his sweetheart an affectionate, albeit

      noncommittal pat on her shoulder.

      "Honey, you see I'm working. I'm always looking for ways to

      improve. I'm working twice as hard just to keep us where we were a

      year ago. Why don't you put on that new CD I bought you and take a

      hot bath?"

      Plucking at her diaphanous negligee, Lana said, "I don't want to

      take a bath, not by myself, anyway."

      She kept staring at her man as if she could will him into taking off

      his clothes. Finally, unable to bear the proximity of wondrous

      maleness without reaping its benefits, Seattle's horniest dame let her

      fingers glide under the band of Malachy's boxer shorts. He responded

      by snapping shut his laptop and repairing to the living room.

      "Blame the economy, love," was her boyfriend's last word on the

      subject.

      Lana would not blame the economy. When she and Mal started

      dating neither one of them had regular jobs and could barely afford a

      pint of Guinness between them. Yet they managed to make love

      every day of the week. No, what they needed was an element of

      surprise. Something outside the purgatory of same old, same old.

      The next night when Malachy came home, he tossed his briefcase

      and laptop on the couch then went to the kitchen to nosh. When he

      was ready to retrieve his computer lifeline, it was gone.

      "Looking for something?"

      "Lana! What the hell?"

      4

      Lana stood before him now, completely naked, her hands manacled

      behind her back.

      "There are two things I've taken pains to hide. Your laptop and the

      key to these cuffs. You can't have one without the other and you'll

      never guess the hiding places of either, so I suggest you play along."

      Malachy ran his fingers through his girlfriend's long, blond hair and

      kissed her on the top of the head. He had to admit, he was getting

      aroused; still, he had work to do.

      "Sweetheart, where's the key?"

      Lana licked her lips. "I'll gladly tell you after I've made a palate

      cleanser of your penis."

      "I'm living with a crazy woman," the Hibernian hunk said through a

      broad smile.

      "You're living with a woman who misses you."

      "Baby, I'm sorry. I've missed you, too."

      "Don't be sorry; just undress."

      While Malachy took off his clothes, Lana was surprised by the

      rivulets of moisture coursing down her inner thighs. She was turned

      on, ready to roll out the red carpet of her tongue to give her man's

      cock the star treatment. Malachy was still smiling big as a lottery

      winner.

      "What's so funny, Mal?" She had to look away before he could

      answer. He was so handsome, so completely and unequivocally what

      she had always wanted, she couldn't look at him sometimes, in fear of

      jinxing her good luck.

      "It cracks me up, that's all. Now that women have achieved parity

      with men, they want to be dominated for fun."

      "Don't spoil this."

      Malachy chucked his clothes in a heap. He'd been hard from the

      moment he saw his girlfriend naked.

      This was something new. Lana typically guided Mal's penis into

      her mouth with one hand while using the other to surf her lover's

      torso. Now, she'd have to wait patiently for what she wanted. It was

      enough to drive her mad.

      5

      Lana was sitting on the edge of the bed so Malachy had to bend

      over to kiss her. She turned her lips to murmur in his ear, "Let me go

      down on you."

      Malachy straightened and held his erection like a bough within

      tantalizing reach. As Lana's lips stretched toward their coveted mark,

      Mal stepped back a pace.

      "Are you sure you want to go down on me? I don't want you to do

      anything you don't want to do."

      "Mal, don't make me beg."

      He wouldn't make her beg. No Irish guy's a sadist. He stepped

      forward and offered the tip of his penis like a piece of candy.

      She licked and let her tongue idle like a flâneur before committing

      to the rigors of phallic love. Her arms were beginning to feel heavy,

      like waterlogged cushions, yet she had the sensation of floating; it was

      a heady feeling she wished would last forever.

      The fluids of her lover's erection roiled as Lana's lips held to the

      base of the shaft and then Malachy was pushing her gently away,

      guiding her into a supine position so he could pivot his penis right

      where she wanted it all along.

      The cuffs were beginning to chafe but she didn't care. All that

      mattered was being loved and she had her man's love like a storm

      within her at last. No more sere days or nights.

      "Wow," Malachy said, as the pair huddled together in sweet, post-

      coital aftermath. "I feel like I ravished you. Is that okay?"

      "You can ravish me anytime. But right now you need to uncuff me.

      The key is tucked between pages sixty and sixty-one of Mariette in

      Ecstasy."

      Malachy grabbed the key and read aloud from his girlfriend's

      favorite novel of the week: "She whipped herself with knotted apron

      strings. She rebuked temptations against chastity by lying naked on

      thorns."

      "Isn't that great?" Lana asked.

      "You're twisted, you know that."

      "That's why you love me."

      6

      "No, I love you because you'll go down on me at the drop of a

      feather and you laugh at my jokes."

      Malachy unlocked the cuffs and kissed the mullioned imprints

      where the fetters had recently glazed his girlfriend's skin.

      "I really do love you, Lana."

      "Good. Now, you can have your laptop back. It's on the top shelf

      of the closet under the pla
    id blanket."

      Malachy got into bed with his girlfriend and pulled her into a prime

      spooning position. "To hell with the laptop," he said. "Let's just stay

      like this for a while."

      * * * *

      Lana and Malachy were discovering their passions ran deeper than

      either of them knew or dared to admit to the other. After a three

      month celibate spell had threatened to doom their union to the status

      of a roommate situation, Lana was glad she brought home the

      handcuffs. Lana had her Malachy back and she had even found

      nirvana in a new kind of focused fellatio.

      A few nights after that initial experiment, Seattle's horniest blond

      presented her lover with a bolster and leather restraints. Malachy's

      eyes had widened with alarm.

      "Honey," he said, weighing the articles carefully as if they might

      implode, "I thought our little experiment was going to be a one time

      thing."

      Slowly unzipping his fly she said, "Oh, I think we need to

      experiment some more."

      Whether kneeling on the bolster or trussed in a supine position with

      the prop supporting the backs of her knees, Lana was now a woman

      liquescent with desire, her legs quick to go bandy while her mouth

      assumed a command post of its own, with plenary powers to pamper

      her lover's penis.

      To a neophyte observer of role play, Malachy and Lana's tethered

      lovemaking may have appeared as effortless as dressage, but as a

      good rider is attuned to his horse's every muscle, a good lover knows

      like he knows his own soul the body splayed beneath him.

      7

      And so Mal intuited that his girlfriend liked to be blindfolded

      sometimes when he fucked her with her hands pinned to either side of

      a pillow and he knew just when to remove the tabby scarf with which

      he would restrain her wrists in a Saint Andrew's cross.

      He soon discovered she liked to be blindfolded and restrained, but

      never both at the same time.

      The more proprietary interest he took, the more in thrall she was to

      the bonds of his touch, and this was bringing them closer and closer

      together, as tight as mortise-and-tenon. No matter where they landed,

      one of them would always be the verso of the same coin.

      She was constantly wet because she couldn't stop thinking about

      him. Throughout the day, if she couldn't reach him by phone because

      he was in a meeting or driving somewhere, she'd have enjoyable

      conversations with him in her head. Talking with one of his

      doppelgängers always moistened her mound and then, walking

      through the door of their Belltown condo and spotting his favorite

      jacket hung on a hook or the latest book he was reading, she'd be

      wetter still. She wasn't ashamed. Her yielding was open and witting;

      she could only stand still in the lee of his embrace.

      The best tool was a leather restraint, soft as charmeuse but thick

      and sturdy enough to spancel a wild mare.

      The moment Mal secured Lana's wrists with the softer than

      chamois leather, she squirmed with anticipation, instantly aroused, her

      prodigal carnal fluids unchecked, free to create runnels with which to

      tickle her inner thighs.

      She loved this, more than getting fucked, she loved this new pivot

      toward uninhibited bliss. It was pure bliss taking her lover's cock in

      her mouth, his erection the only ballast she needed to remain

      grounded to a planar surface. It was as if life were now a slippery

      slope and her lover's cock was the only thing that could keep her from

      falling into the abyss.

      One night, after a superb dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant,

      Lana handed Malachy her favorite new toy and said, "You know what

      I'm really hungry for."

      8

      They quickly got undressed but as Mal guided his girlfriend to the

      bed, she listed toward her lovingly acquired portal to pleasure.

      "Don't forget the leather straight jacket," she cooed.

      Mal laughed. "Tie you up, tie you down. Let's go round and

      round."

      "Something like that," Lana agreed, licking her lips with a profound

      hunger.

      This time, when he bound her wrists, it was a little tighter than

      usual but she didn't say anything, refusing to demur. Instead, she

      thought of the elaborate dinner they had just shared and how,

      throughout the meal she longed to have Malachy's anatomy for

      dessert. Half-Italian herself, she thought of a word she occasionally

      heard growing up in Central Florida where there was only one decent

      Italian bakery in the whole soulless city with a singular espresso

      machine the locals gawped at as if it were a UFO.

      "Mangiatutto" is Italian for "eat it all" and if your put-upon

      progenitor went out of her way to take you to Frazetti's for pizza,

      cannolis, and garlic laden antipasto, you knew to "mangiatutto" if you

      ever wanted to see real food again.

      With haunches leveled to a crouch, Lana leaned toward her lover's

      priapic goodness, determined to mangiatutto.

      She napped the lobe of his cock for good measure, her tongue

      licking corn rows before swirling widdershins. Her vulva clenched

      and unclenched with excitement as her lips flowered mid-shaft and

      then her loins were sleek with want as they always were when her

      glossa made a sinuous path to the base of her lover's erection.

      Lana heard Mal gulp back a groan as she surrendered her fauces to

      the treasure within and then suddenly her man was groaning with

      approbation as her entire being cut loose for the service of deep throat.

      She held nothing back. He was her rapture, her every irrepressible

      need and she would show him her gratitude as often as he'd let her.

      She was grateful for the timbre of his voice, the pullover sweaters

      that revealed splices of T-shirt and the press of his lips at the nape of

      her neck. She loved the ebon of his hair and the spectacles he

      9

      occasionally wore. Her happiness grew like a Russian vine every time

      he called just to say hello.

      And she was grateful for the smells of their sex, the attar of their

      lovemaking filling every crack in the ceiling, every crease in the

      percale sheets.

      When they finished making love, Mal took Lana's face in his hands

      and kissed her deeply. When he removed the fetters, he gasped.

      "Lana, honey. You should have told me these were too tight." He

      rubbed the bas-relief made by a braid in the leather. Then he raised

      her wrist to his lips and kissed it.

      "That's okay, Mal. I was so focused on you, I didn't even notice."

      "No, it's not okay. I don't like this rubescent stripe on your skin.

      Something like this was bound to happen, playing around with sex

      toys. From now on, we make love au naturel, no accoutrements."

      When Mal saw the crestfallen look on Lana's face, he amended,

      "Okay, we can use the tabby scarf to bind your wrists, but I'm tying it

      loosely."

      She got up to busy herself in the kitchen, having offered to pour

      them each a glass of wine. Really, she didn't want him to see the tears

      coursing down her cheeks, her face once again flush with gratitude.


      * * * *

      The next day began like any other. She was wet for him. She was

      always wet for him. Trouble was: her lover wasn't home yet. He

      worked a lot. He was busy. He had a heliotropic effect on people;

      everyone just naturally reached out to him like plants busying their

      leaves toward the sun.

      Lana was busy too, though no matter how exhaustive her To Do list

      or excelsior packed her days, every activity not attendant with the

      realm of love left her feeling isolated and logy. Over the years, she

      had met countless women who confessed to only feeling fulfilled by

      work whereas sex drained them with inevitable ennui while creating

      burdens of unrealistic expectations. With Lana, it was the exact

      opposite. She lived for Malachy and Malachy alone, her soul mate

      and lover exemplar. She didn't care what the self-help gurus would

      have to say about such an admission. By thirty she had long grown

      10

      weary of herself and what she would do to achieve this goal and

      surpass that hurdle.

      Every good thing that had happened to her had been because of

      love and she didn't know the meaning of the word until she met

      Malachy. She loved losing herself in him, folding her longing into the

      crook of his arm and reveling in the reliable warmth of his smile.

      He smiled a lot. He was a happy person. Lana never knew what he

      saw in her, though they were both "live and let read" type folks who

      wryly regarded the foibles of their culture while flipping the same

      page. Malachy was the only man she had ever met who didn't care

      what kind of family she hailed from and she guessed her saturnine

      temperament was constantly weighed against the fact she was good in

      the hay.

      She would do anything for Mal, but she especially loved going

      down on him. Uh-oh. Just thinking about wrapping Mal's penis with

      the ribbon of her tongue was making her horny and she couldn't take a

      moment to pleasure herself, not now, not with all the work piled up on

      her desk. She would read something sobering for a while and ignore

      the twitching of her vulva, the subtle but excruciating signals her body

      was emitting in a desire for sexual release.

      After skimming the same paragraph for the umpteenth time, she

     


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