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.
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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
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.
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
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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