Thrice Bound Chest Novels & Stories

They both were. They all were. Suki sighed, “Okay. Three…” The men positioned themselves at her neck. “…Two…” They both summoned their fangs. With a hitched breath, she exhaled, “…One.” Their mouths landed on her neck, and they clamped down hard. Suki’s eyes widened, and she let out an audibly loud gasp as the pain of immense binding magic surged through her.

With my back to him, I heard him pick up the rope and unwind it. He asked, “Is this what you want? Bondage?” “Yes.” He began by looping the long rope around my chest. When knotted at my breastbone, he split the rope and wrapped it tightly around my chest. Like a stiff bustier, it kept me from taking a big breath. Next, he wound my arms into the matrix, binding them to my sides. I focused on his eyes as he pulled the end of the rope across my back and around my arms. Working like an artist, he wrapped and tightened it, so my front chest expanded, and my back arched. He continued looping the rope around each arm in this way so that the knotted rope became sleeves that bound my arms to my sides

Every breath makes the rope shift, rubbing, teasing without mercy. Marlowe watches, transfixed, lips parted. When it’s her turn I repeat the pattern—but I add a twist. I bind her arms first: wrists crossed in the small of her back, rope winding in a box-tie (classic takate kote). Elbows drawn close together until her shoulders strain and her chest thrusts forward involuntarily. The harness follows—diamonds marching down her sternum, framing her heavier breasts until they’re presented like offerings, rope biting just enough to leave faint red welts that will darken to purple by morning.

“Track. It.” He turned and barked orders into the comm system. Wolves scrambled. Magic users were summoned. The coven liaison arrived within minutes, her fingers already glowing as she summoned threads of residual magic from Naomi’s path. And still, I waited. I waited, and I burned. Every minute she was gone, the worse it got. The ache in my chest wasn’t metaphorical anymore. It was physical. It was savage. It was the fucking mate bond—howling in my bones like a wounded animal.

Like I was a problem to solve. Or worse— A possession. “I’m not staying,” I said, forcing my body to move again, pushing against the lingering command. This time, I made it five steps. Then— Pain. It hit suddenly, violently, dropping me to my knees. A sharp gasp tore from my throat as something inside my chest twisted, pulling tight—like an invisible thread yanking me backward. The bond. I clutched my chest, struggling to breathe. “What… is this—”

I snarl, pacing back and forth in front of her, squeezing my hands into fists until my claws dig into my own palms, drawing blood out. ... But I don’t care, I heal fast anyway. This little sting I'm feeling now is far better than this burning annoyance I feel in my chest. “But you didn’t say she would become----- whatever she is now!” Tapping her crooked stick against the ground, the witch says, “Perhaps her mate bond is resisting the spell. Triplet ties are rare and strong, and when cut, sometimes they bleed strength into the one meant to die.” My jaw literally drops to the floor at that moment.

I struggled to move, trying hard to set myself free, but what I had considered little was actually way tighter than the first time I was bounded to a chair. This time, my hands were curved backwards, and they were tied around the wrist, and my entire chest region was bounded too with the ropes around the chair. I tried to screen out, shaking myself free if that was ever possible, but it wasn't, and for the very first time I was about to scream for help, or possibly Giovanni's name, I could only hear muffled screams in place of my light tone. I couldn't swallow hard, and at the same time, I struggled to breathe with my nostrils, especially at that time where I was tied around the chest region

In the real world, there would have been a staff. Here, there was only intention. Three lights ignited. Silver‑white at my sternum. Storm‑steel at Kael’s. Wild sapphire at Rian’s. Threads snapped into place between them, humming. Not straight lines. A triangle. Equal sides. “Three hearts,” Kael said quietly, eyes on the point of light at my chest. “One mark.” “One very annoyed witch,” Rian added. “Bonus.” The hall’s ceiling split. Through the crack, I could see flickers of the real chamber—the flash of swords, the flare of spells, the silhouette of Master Binder with her hands outstretched, still pouring power into the tether that linked this nightmare to my body.

What I wasn’t ready for was telling him to take off his shirt. “The poison concentrates in three areas,” I said. “Chest. Spine. The base of the skull where the wolf-bond anchors. I need access.” He pulled the shirt over his head in one motion and I was not ready. Not remotely. The scar ran further than I’d realized. Not just jaw to neck. It continued down his left shoulder, branching across his chest like a river system carved into stone. His skin was warm-toned despite the November cold. The muscles underneath were taut, controlled, built for violence and currently very still.

The binding open and completing and Varek somewhere in it looking for the gap. She felt her mates. All three of them. Damian at her right hand, his hand on her shoulder, the bond between them blazing. Damon at her left, still holding her hand, his bond a warm flood of everything that was Damon. Silas directly behind the throne, both hands on the high back, his bond the steadiest of the three. Deep and quiet and immovable. Three bonds. All of them open. All of them pouring into the binding completion simultaneously. She had never felt anything like it.