Page 58 of Bonds of Shame, Bonds of Lust

Janice told me where to stand, so she could watch me and I could see everything.

I'd said yes. Of course I had.

Now Janice stood in front of the cross and James talked to her in a voice too low for me to hear. She nodded. He stepped behind her and lifted her hair off the back of her neck. He kissed the place where her neck met her shoulder, slowly, and her eyes closed.

I stood about ten feet away.

He turned her around to face the cross. He undid the tie of her slip dress at the side. The thin wine-colored fabric slid down her body and pooled on the wooden ledge at her feet. She stepped out of it. Black lace bra, black lace panties, the faint sheen of her skin in the amber light. He reached around her with both hands and unhooked the bra. Slid it down her arms. Set it aside on a small table where he'd also set a folded towel and a length of black silk.

He turned her again. She faced the room now. Faced me.

Her eyes found mine and stayed there.

He took her right wrist. Lifted it above her head. Buckled the leather cuff around it. The metal click was very quiet. He took the left wrist. Did the same.

Janice's arms were spread above her head now, her body extended along the cross, breasts lifted with the angle of her arms. The line of her ribs showed. The line of her hips. The black lace of her panties was the only fabric left on her.

She didn't look away from me. I had to remind myself to breathe.

James knelt and took her right ankle. Cuffed it to the lower right point of the cross. Took the left. Cuffed it to the lower left. Her legs were spread now. Not wide. Enough that the line of her thighs opened cleanly and the lace between them sat in the amber light like something set out on display.

I hadn't moved.

My breath shortened. My breasts rose against the silk. The intense need in my pussy had decided what it thought of this already.

James stood. He ran one hand from Janice's collarbone down between her breasts to her stomach. Slowly. The way you run a hand down a thing you own.

"Ready?" he said, low, to her.

"Yes," she said, and the word was for me.

He kissed her. Thoroughly, one hand cupping her jaw and the other low on her hip, and Janice's body strained gently against the cuffs, not trying to get free. The bound arms moved a fraction inside the leather. The bound legs flexed against the ankle cuffs and didn't pull. She kissed him back without any of her usual coordination, because she didn't have the use of her hands, and the small disorganization of it, Janice without her hands free, Janice having to receive instead of provide, was the most exposed I'd ever seen her.

He kissed down her throat. Down between her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth and Janice gasped, a small sound that ran the length of her body and made her hips lift fractionally against the restraints. He moved to the other. The same patient attention. Her eyes flickered with the second gasp and then settled back on mine, pupils enormous now, breath quickening.

His mouth went lower. Down her stomach. He knelt.

He kissed her through the lace once, very softly. Then he hooked two fingers into the panties at her hip and drew them down her thighs as far as they would go, which wasn't all the way, because her legs were spread and bound at the ankles. The lace caught at the curve of her hip and hung there. He left it.

He stood up. Undid his belt without looking down. Slid his pants down with the boxers underneath and stepped out of them. He was already hard.

He stepped close to her. Lifted her right thigh under the knee, sliding his arm under it to take her weight. The bound ankle stayed cuffed but the angle opened her completely. His other hand found her, fingers sliding through wetness I could see from where I stood.

Janice's eyes didn't leave mine. She licked her lips.

He took himself in hand. Pressed against her. Pushed in slowly.

Janice made a sound I'd never heard from her. A low private exhale, between a sigh and a moan.

He moved inside her, slow. Held her thigh up with one arm, gripped her hip with the other. The bound arms above her head, the bound ankles below her. Janice spread on the cross and looked at me, only at me, the whole time.

The heat in my body had gone past managing. I hadn't moved my arms from my sides. I felt the pulse that had answered the first push of him into her like a counter-rhythm. My nipples were so hard against the silk it almost hurt.

Janice held my eyes while James found a rhythm. She held them while his pace shifted from slow to less slow, while her breasts moved with each thrust and the lace at her hip slipped a little farther down her thigh and the muscles in her bound forearms flexed against the leather without trying to pull free.

She held them when she came.

She didn't look away even then. Her face changed, opened, gave way, went somewhere private, but her eyes stayed on mine the whole time her body shook against the cross and the small high sound left her that I'd carry around in my head for weeks, and the cuffs creaked once at her wrists, and James said that's it, baby, that's it, and held himself inside her while she clenched around him and came down.