Chapter 9: Bondage & Begging
The scent of the garage—oil, sweat, sex—clung to Joanna’s skin like a second layer even after Riley’s quick, utilitarian shower. They rode back to Riley’s loft in a comfortable silence, the old truck rumbling through the twilight. The memory of the workbench, the risk, the crude possession, was a live wire between them in the cab.
Riley’s loft was a different world. High ceilings, exposed brick washed in the deep gold of the setting sun, and those vast windows overlooking the city’s waking lights. It was clean, almost sparse, but soft in the details: a worn leather couch, a single large philodendron thriving in a corner, the scent of vanilla and clean linen.
Joanna stood in the living area, feeling oddly displaced. The raw, grinding need from the garage had cooled to a quiet hum. Here, the stakes felt different.
Riley came out of the bedroom, having shed her work clothes for soft gray sweatpants and a tight black tank top. She held two glasses of water. “You’re thinking too loud,” she said, handing one over.
“Just…” Joanna trailed off, sipping the water. “The shop. That was…”
“A lot,” Riley finished, her eyes knowing. “It doesn’t have to be like that here.”
But the energy was still there, a current under the calm surface. Riley set her glass down and stepped closer. She didn’t kiss her. Instead, her fingers traced the line of Joanna’s jaw, then down her neck, over the pulse pounding there. “I see you,” Riley said quietly, her thumb brushing Joanna’s bottom lip. “Not the model. Not the fantasy. You. The one who bit her arm to keep from screaming.”
The simplicity of the statement unspooled something tight in Joanna’s chest. She leaned into the touch.
“Come to bed,” Riley said, her voice a low invitation.
The bedroom was bathed in the last of the day’s light, the satin sheets glowing like a pale sea. Riley undressed Joanna slowly, this time, each piece of clothing removed with a deliberate care that felt more intimate than any rough gesture. When Joanna was naked, Riley just looked at her, her gaze traveling over the curves of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the soft thatch of hair, down to her cock, already half-hard from the attention.
“Lie down,” Riley instructed.
Joanna settled onto the cool sheets, watching as Riley went to a simple wooden chest at the foot of the bed. From it, she pulled out a length of dark, soft-looking rope. The sight sent a jolt of pure, sharp anticipation through Joanna’s core.
Riley knelt on the bed, the rope in her hands. “You trust me?” she asked, the question heavy in the dusk-lit room.
Joanna’s answer was immediate, a truth she felt in her bones. “Yes.”
Riley guided her onto her knees. She started at Joanna’s thighs, wrapping the rope in a firm, practiced harness around the tops of her legs, the rough fibers biting deliciously into her skin. She worked upward, weaving the rope over Joanna’s hips, across her stomach, under and around the full swell of her breasts. Each pass was tight, constricting, a relentless embrace. Joanna’s breathing grew shallow, her world narrowing to the feel of Riley’s hands and the rope.
Finally, Riley took Joanna’s erect, leaking cock in her fist. She fed the rope around its base, pulling it taut in a snug, unforgiving knot that made Joanna gasp. The pressure was intense, a constant, aching squeeze. Riley then guided Joanna’s hands behind her back, where she bound her wrists together, securing the end of the rope there. Joanna was trussed, presented, utterly helpless. Her arousal, trapped and swollen by the tight binding, throbbed with each heartbeat.
Riley sat back on her heels, admiring her work. Her eyes were dark pools in the fading light. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice husky. “Fucking perfect.”
She ran her hands over Joanna’s restrained body, tracing the patterns of the rope, cupping her bound breasts, pinching a nipple until Joanna whimpered. Then her hands slid down, over the desperate curve of Joanna’s ass. She spread Joanna’s legs wider, the movement restricted by the thigh ropes.
“You don’t get to come,” Riley growled, leaning close, her lips brushing Joanna’s ear. “Not until I’ve fucked every last drop out of you. You’re going to take everything I give you. You’re going to beg for it. And you’re not coming until I say.”
Before Joanna could respond, Riley’s phone buzzed violently on the nightstand, shattering the tense quiet. It wasn’t a call. It was a cascade of messages, one after another, the screen lighting up with a frantic, predatory glow.
Riley’s eyes flicked to it, her body going still. A shadow passed over her face. “Fuck,” she muttered, but she didn’t move to stop it.
“What is it?” Joanna asked, her voice strained from the bondage and the sudden shift.
Riley reached for the phone, her jaw tight. She read the messages, her expression hardening into something cold and dangerous. She turned the screen to Joanna.
The sender was listed as MARCUS. The messages were a brutal avalanche:
Thought you retired, whore.
New girlfriend? Cute.
Does she like to share? I’ve got the old tapes. The really good ones.
Remember the ‘Backyard Anal’ shoot? The one where you cried? Everyone would love to see that again.
$50k keeps it private. You’ve got 48 hours.
The words were like physical blows. The loft, the ropes, the fragile trust—it all crumbled to dust. Joanna’s stomach twisted. Marcus. Her former co-star, occasional “boyfriend,” and relentless parasite from her past life. He’d always been a snake, but she thought he’d slithered away for good.
Tears of shame and rage pricked her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words hollow.
Riley was silent for a long moment, staring at the screen. Then, with a calm that was more terrifying than any outburst, she placed the phone face down on the sheets. She turned back to Joanna, her eyes roaming over her bound form, not with desire now, but with a fierce, calculating focus.
“No,” Riley said, her voice low and steady. “You don’t get to be sorry.” She crawled back onto the bed, her movements predatory. Her hand, rough and warm, cupped Joanna’s face, forcing her to meet that intense gaze. “He thinks he can scare you. He thinks he can scare me.”
A wild, illogical hope sparked in Joanna’s chest.
“You said you trusted me,” Riley stated, her thumb stroking Joanna’s cheekbone. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Riley’s lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, only a sharp, gleaming edge. “Then we’re going to make a movie of our own.”
She leaned in, her mouth capturing Joanna’s in a hard, claiming kiss. It was nothing like before. This was a branding, a pact. When she pulled back, her eyes were alight with a new, furious purpose.
“He wants to see tapes?” Riley’s hands went to the ropes between Joanna’s thighs, her fingers probing the tight, weeping flesh of Joanna’s cock, still bound and straining. “We’ll give him a fucking show. But it’s going to be on our terms. My camera. My direction.”
She shifted, pulling her own sweatpants and underwear down in one fluid motion. Her cock, hard and thick, sprang free. She didn’t prepare Joanna, didn’t use anything but the wetness already leaking from Joanna’s own restrained arousal. She positioned herself, the head pressing against Joanna’s entrance.
“This is mine,” Riley growled, her eyes locked on Joanna’s. “You are mine. He doesn’t get to have any part of you. Not a memory, not a fucking clip. Do you understand?”
Joanna, her body vibrating with fear, anger, and a desperate, surging need, could only nod.
Riley pushed in.
The invasion was brutal, a deep, shocking fill that tore a ragged cry from Joanna’s throat. Riley didn’t pause, didn’t gentle. She seated herself to the hilt, her pelvis grinding against Joanna’s bound ass. She leaned over Joanna’s restrained body, her breath hot on Joanna’s neck.
“He wants $50k?” Riley hissed, beginning a slow, punishing rhythm. “I’m going to fuck you so good, so fucking deep, that when he sees it, he’ll know he lost. He’ll know you belong to something real.”
The pain from the intrusion, the tight grip of the ropes, the emotional whirlwind—all of it fused into a white-hot catharsis. Each of Riley’s thrusts was a punctuation mark against the threats, a reclamation. Joanna pushed back against her, meeting force with force, her bound hands twisting in their bonds.
“Yes,” Joanna gasped, the word ripped from her. “Fuck him. Fuck me.”
Riley’s pace intensified, becoming a relentless, driving piston. The bed rocked against the wall, a steady drumbeat. Riley’s hand snaked around, finding Joanna’s bound cock, her fingers squeezing the trapped, swollen flesh in time with her thrusts. The dual sensation, the overwhelming fullness and the ruthless pressure, coiled a spring inside Joanna tighter and tighter.
“You gonna come for me?” Riley grunted, her own control fraying. “You gonna come all over these ropes for that piece of shit to see?”
The crude permission was all she needed. The orgasm detonated, a silent, seismic convulsion that locked every muscle in her body. She screamed into the satin sheets, her release pulsing against the tight bindings, a hot, wet spill against her stomach and the ropes.
Riley watched her, her eyes blazing with a feral triumph. A few more ragged, desperate thrusts and she followed, her own climax wracking her body as she buried herself as deep as she could go, her release flooding Joanna’s insides.
They collapsed together, a tangled mess of sweat-slick limbs and rough rope. Riley, still inside her, rested her forehead between Joanna’s shoulder blades, her breathing a hurricane.
After a long time, Riley carefully pulled out. She moved with a sudden, shocking tenderness, her fingers working to untie the intricate knots. The rope fell away, leaving deep red impressions on Joanna’s skin. Riley gently turned her over, cradling her against her chest on the ruined sheets.
She picked up the phone again, ignoring the other messages. She opened the camera, switched it to video, and hit record. She aimed it not at Joanna’s face, but at the vivid marks the ropes had left on her thighs, her waist, the wet, spend-smeared skin of her abdomen.
Her voice, when she spoke into the microphone, was calm, clear, and utterly chilling. “Marcus. This is Riley. You see these marks? You see what’s mine? You touch her past again, you send one more text, and I won’t be sending you a video. I’ll be paying you a visit. And I don’t need a camera for what I’ll do. The $50k? Use it for a hospital deposit. You have zero hours.”
She stopped recording and sent it. Then she tossed the phone aside like a piece of garbage.
She pulled Joanna closer, wrapping her arms around her. The city lights twinkled outside, indifferent. Inside, the only sound was their breathing slowly synchronizing.
Joanna, buried in the scent of Riley’s skin and their sex, felt the ghost of Marcus retreat. In its place was the solid, terrifying, and exhilarating reality of the woman who held her. The problem wasn’t solved, not fully. But for the first time, she wasn’t facing it alone. The threat was now theirs. And Riley, she knew, was a far more dangerous enemy than Marcus could ever be.
The silence after Riley sent the video was absolute, a vacuum filled only by the hum of the city beyond the windows and the slow, synchronizing beat of their hearts. Joanna felt untethered, her body a map of recent sensations: the deep, throbbing ache between her legs, the ghostly pressure of the ropes still etched into her skin, the cooling stickiness on her stomach. Riley’s arms around her were the only solid things in the universe.
“He’ll call the police,” Joanna whispered into the dark hollow of Riley’s shoulder, the thought arriving with a cold, bureaucratic clarity.
Riley’s laugh was a soft puff of air against her temple. “No, he won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because men like him are cockroaches,” Riley said, her voice a low, steady rumble Joanna felt in her own chest. “They thrive in the dark, on shame. They don’t bring their shit into the light.” Her fingers traced the raised lines on Joanna’s hip. “This was the light. He’ll scuttle away.”
Joanna wanted to believe her. The part of her that had spent years sculpting a persona for a hungry camera believed it. That part knew the market for damaged goods plummeted when the damage was a promise of violence, not just the simulation of it. Riley had traded a currency Marcus understood: brute force, territorial claim.
But another part, the part that longed for softness after a lifetime of performance, trembled. “He has the tapes. The real ones.”
Riley shifted, propping herself up on an elbow. In the dim light, her face was all hard angles and resolve. “Let him leak them.”
“What?”
“Let him. Then the world sees Joanna Levin, retired, living her life. They see a pathetic, grasping has-been trying to profit from old shit.” Her hand cupped Joanna’s cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear Joanna hadn’t felt escape. “And they see that you belong to someone who doesn’t give a fuck about any of it. You think I care what you did for a camera ten years ago? I care about what you do in my bed. In my garage. For my own fucking camera.”
The words were a storm surge, scouring away the last remnants of her old fear. Joanna pulled Riley down into a kiss. It was salty from her tears and fierce with a newfound defiance. This time, she initiated, rolling Riley onto her back and straddling her hips.
The earlier violence had melted into a different kind of urgency. Joanna looked down at Riley, her muscles taut under smooth skin, her gaze watchful and approving. The power dynamic had subtly shifted; she was claiming her own narrative now, with Riley as her willing accomplice.
“My turn,” Joanna breathed, her voice husky.
She leaned down, capturing Riley’s mouth again as her hands explored the landscape of her body. She kissed a trail down Riley’s neck, over the swell of her breasts, taking a nipple into her mouth and suckling hard until Riley hissed, her hands knotting in Joanna’s hair. Joanna moved lower, her tongue dipping into the hollow of Riley’s navel, her hands spreading Riley’s thighs.
The scent here was musky, primal, entirely Riley. Joanna buried her face between her legs, licking a slow, flat stripe through her wetness. Riley’s hips jerked off the bed. “Fuck, just like that,” she groaned, her head pressing back into the pillow.
Joanna obeyed, her tongue finding a ruthless rhythm. She licked and sucked, delving deep, drinking her in, her own neglected arousal a hot, insistent throb between her legs. She was a virtuoso with her mouth, using every skill learned in a thousand fake performances to deliver one devastatingly real one. She brought Riley to the edge quickly, feeling her thighs tighten around her head, hearing her breaths become sharp, staccato gasps.
But then Joanna pulled away, leaving Riley gasping on the precipice.
“You’re a fucking tease,” Riley panted, her eyes blazing.
“You don’t get to come yet,” Joanna said, echoing Riley’s earlier words with a faint, dangerous smile.
She watched the frustration flare in Riley’s eyes, a beautiful, combustible fire. Joanna leaned back, kneeling between Riley’s spread legs, and finally allowed herself to look. The reality of Riley, fully unveiled, was breathtaking. Thick and heavy against her stomach, Riley’s cock lay rigid, a clear bead of moisture glistening at its tip.
“Eyes on me,” Riley commanded, her voice gritted with need. She gripped herself, giving a slow, firm stroke. “This is what you’re playing with. You sure you know the rules?”
Joanna’s own restraint, her own desperate hardness, pulsed in time with her heartbeat. “I’m learning.” She crawled forward, her body hovering just above Riley’s. She didn’t lower herself onto it. Instead, she rubbed the head of her own cock against Riley’s, the contact sending a jolt through both of them. “He wanted tapes of me. Old ones.”
“Fuck him,” Riley hissed, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking friction.
“But you,” Joanna whispered, grinding her length against Riley’s in a slow, torturous slide, “you make new ones.” She captured Riley’s mouth, swallowing her groan. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth and shared breath. When she broke away, a string of saliva connected them. “Show me how you fuck. For real. No cameras. No audience. Just this.”
It was the last shred of permission Riley needed. In a surge of motion, she flipped them, pinning Joanna to the mattress with her full weight. The air left Joanna’s lungs in a rush. Riley’s hands pinned Joanna’s wrists above her head, her knee nudging Joanna’s thighs apart. “You want real?” Riley’s breath was hot against her neck. “Real is needing it so bad you shake.”
She released Joanna’s wrists only to spit into her own palm, slicking her cock with a crude, purposeful sound. She guided herself, the broad head pressing insistently against Joanna’s entrance. She didn’t ask. She pushed.
The fullness was immediate, a stretching burn that melted into a deep, resonating ache. Joanna cried out, her back arching. Riley buried herself to the hilt, a growl rumbling in her chest. “That’s it,” she snarled. “Take all of me. Let that bastard hear you in his sleep.”
She set a brutal, punishing pace from the first stroke. Each thrust was a claim, a rebellion. The bedframe slammed against the wall in a steady, creaking rhythm. Joanna wrapped her legs around Riley’s waist, heels digging into the small of her back, meeting each drive with a force of her own. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the smell of sex and sweat, the guttural sounds ripped from their throats.
Riley’s hand found Joanna’s cock, her fist a tight, twisting vice around the shaft. She jerked her in time with her thrusts, a ruthless synchronization. “You feel that?” she panted, her rhythm never faltering. “That’s me in you. That’s mine. Nothing else exists.”
The pressure built, a coil winding to its breaking point. Joanna’s vision blurred at the edges. The fear of Marcus, the shame of the past, it all fragmented under this physical onslaught. She was being remade, hammered into something new and defiant. “Riley,” she gasped, a warning, a plea.
“Come,” Riley ordered, her voice raw. “Come all over my hand. Let me feel you break.”
The command shattered her. Joanna’s orgasm tore through her, a violent, silent convulsion that locked every muscle. Her release pulsed over Riley’s fist in hot, helpless stripes. The clenching of her muscles around Riley’s buried length was the final trigger.
Riley fucked her through it, driving deep as her own control snapped. Her thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming short, ragged jabs. “Oh, fuck, Jo,” she choked out, her body bowing. Joanna felt the hot, internal pulse of Riley’s release, a flood claiming the deepest part of her.
They collapsed, a tangled, sweating heap. Riley’s weight was a grounding anchor. Slowly, she softened inside Joanna, slipping out. For a long while, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant city.
Riley shifted, rolling onto her side. She traced the rope marks still visible on Joanna’s skin. “The video won’t be enough,” she said, her voice now quiet, practical.
Joanna turned her head to look at her. The post-coital haze was receding, the real world seeping back in. “What do you mean?”
“He’s a cockroach, like I said.” Riley’s finger circled a particularly dark impression on Joanna’s thigh. “He’ll hide for a while. Then he’ll come back. We need the tapes. The originals.”
A cold knot formed in Joanna’s stomach. “He’s paranoid. They’re in a safe. Maybe a bank. I don’t know.”
Riley sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. She looked out the window, her profile sharp against the neon glow. “Then we find out.” She glanced back, her eyes reflecting the city lights. “You still trust me?”
The question hung in the air, heavier than before. This wasn’t about sex anymore. This was about breaking into a past that was locked away. Joanna thought of the garage, the ropes, the unflinching way Riley had looked at the ugliness and simply claimed it as hers.
“Yes,” Joanna said, the word solid and final.
A slow, dark smile spread on Riley’s face. It wasn't the smile from the garage or the bed. This was something new, something focused and cold. "Good," she said. "Then tomorrow, we start planning. We're going to take it all back."
She lay back down, pulling Joanna against her. The threat still lingered in the room, but it felt different now. It felt like a problem they would solve, a battle they would fight. Not with a camera this time, but with something far more direct. Joanna listened to the steady beat of Riley's heart, and for the first time in years, she felt not like a target, but like a partner in the dark.