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One Night Stand by Bishop
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
"ONE NIGHT STAND" by Bishop, is reprinted from "BISHOP ON BONDAGE"
published by "HOM Inc. PO Box 7302, Van Nuys, California 91409-9987
HOM is a publisher of magazines, video tapes, and films. Bishop is one
of the pre-eminent Bondage artists and writers in the field today.
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ONE NIGHT STAND!
by
"The Bishop"
She felt more naked than if she had actually been naked. She looked at
herself again and turned to see her back in the mirror. The boots looked
sprayed on and were so black that she felt that her gaze could sink beneath
the surface. A rippling series of bright little highlights chased themselves
up and down her legs as she moved. The heels were four inches high, and the
tops of the boots ended just barely beneath her crotch. The opera-length
gloves on her arms were of the same material, and just as shiny, and just
as tight.
Spectacular as they were though, the boots and the gloves were only
accouterments to the literal centerpiece of the ensemble, the suit. It
somewhat resembles the currently fashionable French cut swim suits, except
that it was of the same shiny material as her other apparel. And there were
other differences.
Rather than being covered, her breasts jutted firm and round through
openings in the suit. The material immediately around her breasts was
thicker and acted as a kind of flexible frame to mold them. She looked at
her breasts in the mirror and then looked directly down at them mounding
out below her chin. She raised one hand and lightly, carefully stroked one
of the nipples. She was astonished at how sensitive they had become and how
rock hard they were. Just from the suit!
She looked in the mirror again. The really erotic aspect of the suit,
though, was at the other end, the crotch. Or, rather what there was of it.
The crotch was comprised of three parallel narrow strips which descended
down her belly. The two on the outside went down, one on either side of her
pussy, through her crotch and up between the the cheeks of her buttocks.
The center strap-ah, the center one, went between the lips of her sex and
followed the other two. The two outside straps were linked with kid
leather. The center one was lined with a six inch strip of softly firm pink
rubber cilia-like fingerlings, and these came into tight and intimate
contact with her clitoris. Walking was an ...... interesting experience.
From the top of the suit at the juncture of her straited breasts, a
short strap reached up to the bottom of a high, padded collar. The only
part of the thing she didn't understand was the single chrome buckle
attached to the front of the garment directly over her belly button.
Doubtless she would soon find out, she told herself with a tiny smile.
"It's ....... beautiful," she said in a somewhat subdued voice.
"We can go out and hang around with the punkers," he said, getting up
off the couch where he'd been watching her watch herself. She cast him a quick
over the shoulder don't-hold-your-breath smile. He gave her a somewhat more
predatory look, walked up behind her, and looked at her reflection from over
her shoulder. It was obvious to both of them that she was becoming sexually
aroused.
"Turn around," he breathed into her ear. She did. He was very close,
and her nipples brushed his shirt. She jerked and gave a tiny gasp. God,
they were so sensitive!
He grinned at her and she returned a sheepish smile. Her body, as
always was betraying her. "Put your hands behind your back and spread your
legs." Again, she did as she was told. He reached out his hands and
carefully stroked her nipples. She arched her neck and sucked in her
breath. When one of his hands with equal subtlety stroked the
smooth-shaven twin mounds jutting between the crotch straps, she moaned.
When one large index finger pushed the cilia-laden center strap deep
between the lips of her sex, she moaned again and felt her legs begin to
go. The hands went away. Damn, damn, damn, she thought.
"Turn around. Keep your hands behind your back." It begins, she
thought. The cuffs were simple steel bands covered with thick leather. They
fit her wrists exactly and locked together with a small, firm grasp. First
one hand, and then the other. She felt her hands lifted to the small of her
back. The two cuffs were joined by a snap-fitting at the end of a leather
strap. The other end of the strap was threaded through a buckle at the rear
of her collar and was pulled. Her joined wrists were raised higher and
higher up her back until they were right under her shoulder blades. This
much was familiar, at least. There was more to come.
A short leather strap was buckled around her right ankle. The other
part of the strap was alot longer and was left unbuckled. She watched it
jouncing from her ankle and wrinkled her nose. Curious. The gag was new
too. Apparently of some dense sponge like stuff, the ball was huge, far
larger than anything she'd worn before. She hoped she could get it in her
mouth. She'd better! She already had her mouth open to accept it, but the
gag was simply draped around her neck for the time being. He had more in
mind, it seemed.
"Come" was the simple command. she turned, guided and propelled by the
large hand at her acutely bent elbow, and they went out. The walk through
the rooms was a precarious clatter on the enormous heels. As for the strap,
she made it to the bottom of the stairs, but halfway up she buckled against
him and crumpled with a hissing moan. Large hands at the end of the arms
suporting her under the elbows cupped her breasts and twirled the nipples.
She bucked against him again with another shuddering intake of breath. Her
thighs were soaked.
"You're not supposed to do that yet," came the vaguely annoyed voice.
A quick, vice-like pinch to both nipples straightened her like a shot, but
came damn close to setting her off again. Men just don't understand about a
woman's nipples, she thought, still gasping. Or maybe they do. They resumed
the journey.
There was another full length mirror before her, and as he began
threading the buckle, she could see that this strap, too, had more of the
damnable, inescapable, wonderful rubber cilia! He noticed her discovery,
and gave her arched eyebrows, and a self congratulatory smirk as he walked
around behind her. Hell, lady, I think of everything!
He brought her legs together to buckle her knees, and as she went from
"attention" to standing erect, she got taller. The strap attached to the
dildo and her suit obligingly pulled the dildo further up to suit the
change in vertical height. The cilia in the strap sunk deeper into her
puss, and she almost spasmed again. The broad band crushed her knees
together, and the other loop at her ankles went clear around the pole and
pinioned her other ankle to it.
He walked around and around, looking. Incredible, he thought.
Absolutely fucking incredible. She stood bolt upright, a thin sheen of
sweat covering her body where it wasn't covered by leather. The dildo was
completely encased in her belly with the strap erupting out between the
smooth pink mounds of her mons and proceeding up a deep furrow to its
buckle on the suit. She could, he knew, by dint of standing on her tiptoes
against the securing straps, raise or lower herself fractionally on the
dildo. An entertaining internal friction, he imagined. Also, every twitch,
every spasm no matter how small brought the devilish cilia into full play.
With her wrists snuggled behind her back, there was no way she was going to
get away from them either. But there were three more touches he still
wanted to add.
First, the gag, if a gag is good, a little overkill is even better! He
brought over three feet of overkill. It was an elastic bandage four inches
in width and adhesive on one side. As he smoothed the end on her left cheek
and pulled it tightly over her mouth and the other cheek, she spasmed yet
again, and he paused until she stilled, then proceeded using up the rest of
the tape. When he was done, the bottom half of her face had disappeared
under an apparently seamless smooth band of white. Her cheeks bulged over
the top of the band.
The second to last thing was the riding crop. He pecked her gently on
one nipple until she opened her eyes, and he watched her recoil with a
smile from ear to ear as she focused on the thing in his hands. The handle
of the crop had a tiny loop of cord, and this he used to hang it from one
engorged nipple. She made tiny cries of pleasure from behind the gag. He
wanted her to know her much loved friend was close at her side. It dangled
from her breast, swinging in gentle arcs.
The third and final act was a blindfold, thick and heavy and leather.
Without her eyes, she could spend all her time concentrating on her other
senses, particularly her sense of touch. He would drop in from time to time
and give the most delicate, the most subtle of kisses with the crop, and
many other things, and she'd never know when or where they were coming
from. It would be a long and wonderful night for her, and when he released
her from the pole sometime during the coming day, she'd be intimately aware
that the term "ONE NIGHT STAND" could have many connotations!
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