Bibliophile Érotique: Erika Lust
Handcuffs
Since signing the final divorce paper only a few short years ago, and vowing never to belong to anyone ever again, I’ve seen lots of places like this. A discrete little hotel, dimly lit, with a piano bar hidden in it’s shadows. These are now my haunts, so that no one may linger in my life, my home, my body. No, I prefer my new love life to be filled with glamorous art-deco mirrors, old-fashioned cocktails, and infinite possibilities – the key to a room close at hand in case things get intimate, an easily-reached back door in case they turn ugly.
Only a few minutes into the night, and I’ve already located my nearest emergency exit. My date, “Enigma72” according to his online profile, is outrageously boring. I should have known that a guy who chooses that kind of alias would be about as enigmatic as a Preparation-H ad. My mysterious beau, called Nicholas in reality, is nothing like I’d come to expect. He, on the other hand, seems charmed by me, though not by any effort on my part. Not even ten minutes after greeting each other, he has suddenly insisted on putting his mobile, and accompanying photo of course, into my address book. Between this faux pas, and the unrelenting torrent of chatter coming from him, I’m fairly certain I can guess the color of his briefs without requiring any undress whatsoever.
I glance towards the exit longingly, trying to decide whether to make up some pretext leave suddenly, or to at least finish my drink first. Then I see them enter. It’s her I notice first: a girl of maybe twenty, hidden beneath an immense fur coat, floating like a cloud through the bustle of the bar. At her arm is an incredibly attractive man, too attractive for this kind of place, elegant but with a touch of badness to him. His stature was that of a prizefighter or a bodyguard: harsh features coupled with grace of movement unthinkable for one his size. I gulp at the thought of what he could do with that body of his.
The couple opts for a quiet corner booth. The man slowly removes her coat, and I will never forget what I see next. I’m delightedly surprised with a full view of her sinuous back, as her liquid silk dress plunges to impossible depths, snaking around her waist, finally resting on her smooth hips, yet adamantly refusing to cover them either. What truly shocks me, makes me stifle a moan, is that her delicate arms are clasped behind her, bound in handcuffs. Never in my life have I seen a creature so very fragile, and yet so desirable. Everything about her is like an offering at the altar: the smooth skin, the nakedness of her back, the endless legs of a nymph, and her firm, round buttocks peeking shamelessly above the lowest slit of her dress, daring anyone to seize them.
Not only has she been handcuffed, but the girls is also utterly submissive. She appears neither to possess nor desire any will but his own. He leans in with some confession, then retreats, taking in the sweetness of her face, all the while apparently oblivious to her semi-nude display of flesh. She sits straight, wrists kissing each other at her back, wetting her parted mouth for speech. As she whispers a few words into his ear, he begins to softly caress between her legs. Submitting to this sweet ecstasy, she looks every bit the part of a good girl being corrupted, an innocent victim of a nefarious game. But her skin belies this sweet act of hers: creeping black designs hint at a wild garden of tattoos, barely concealed tonight beneath the few folds of her gown. A slutty, punk-princess, I think to myself, wearing a disguise for the night. I breathe in the fantasy, and I feel an intense pang of desire.
Meanwhile, Nicholas’s monologue, so intolerable just a few moments ago, has been reduced to a faint buzz: joining in with the background piano music, the clink of glasses, and the soft, murmuring voices of the other customers. I have eyes only for this mysterious girl, who in turn has eyes only for her master. He barely touches her, except to do for her what she cannot do for herself: raising a glass to her lips with tender generosity, cleaning drops of champagne with loving care from their blushing pillows, offering them puffs from his cigarette.
I get up in an effort to better observe them, but in doing so realize that I can hardly crouch at the shelf behind them. I need to see more, so I take a slow tour of the space, step by step towards the restroom, stealing surreptitious glances in the direction of their corner. Once there, I take a deep breath, smooth my hair, retouch my makeup, plan my next move. I don’t want to leave the bar yet, but I know it’s pointless for me to stay. This is their fantasy, and the thought of seating myself across from the insufferable Nicholas again only makes the realization all the more bitter. My mind would not stray from that image of the sweet girl in handcuffs and the intoxicating power of her lover. Obsession mingling with frustration, in my minds eye I see them – against the wall in the vestibule between restrooms, unhurriedly entwining their tongues, biting each others necks hungrily.
But, oh god, this can’t be a vision! For then, she carefully kneels before him, more vulnerable than ever. Her lips part at the sweet smell of sex before her, out of reach though just barely concealed under a millimeter of fabric. She tips her head up to look at him, exposing the long neck of a ballerina, as if asking for something. I cannot help myself now, nor do I want to, and am spying fervently at the crack in the door. He seems to comply with her request. Unzipping his pants, he removes a white cock, as enormous and graceful as he is. It rests near his thighs, panting with pleasure. Maintaining her air of innocence, all the while looking up at him with those dark pools for eyes, she licks the head carefully. She passes her strawberry tongue over every fold, every vein. That little round behind, now completely exposed, is poised and taut to keep her balanced … her hands are still bound. For an instant, I think I see her glance at my hiding place, but I’m stuck there, a prisoner to their scene, connected to the pair by some invisible force.
At relinquishing her mouth’s sweet embrace, the man throws his muscular arms wide and shouts a loud groan of pleasure. I have to bite my finger, hard, in order to stifle my own. He raises her up to stand in front of him again, her intense gaze never leaves his own, until she suddenly swings around to face the wall, arching her back and offering her perfect cheeks to him. He penetrates her from behind, and with her shudder of pleasure I feel like I’m going to cum.
A phone has begun to ring. They stop. It seems the whole planet stops with them. It takes me some moments to realize that the awful sound was coming from my own mobile. I fumble through my purse franticly. It’s Nicholas, who is searching for me – I guess he finally realized that there was no one there, and he was just talking to himself. I switch it off, but the damage is done, and silence hits me in the face. They know I’m here … that I’ve been here the whole time, watching them. The room seems to contract. I have no escape. His massive hand clasps the door and swings it wide. They stare at me, all seriousness. What will be my punishment?
Now he examines the two of us appraisingly from his seat, eyes roving up and down. It seems that he likes what he sees. Here, before this unknown man, I stand close to the mysterious tattooed girl. Hip to hip, hand to hand, we were bound together in those cold, steel shackles. We were his two prisoners. I have no intention of going against his will, that which I had witnessed in it’s full force tonight. And I could only imagine what would happen next.
Note from the Editor: “Handicuffs” is the written erotica version of Lust’s short film, Handcuffs. It can be watched here.
The author: