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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.<
br />
  * * * *

  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