Amy gave the ribs a stir, put the lid back on the crock pot, and checked her apron. There were no spots., which was a good thing since the apron was for decoration, not effectiveness. She put the finishing touches to the crab dip, gave it a stir and a taste, nodded. She set the bowl on the tray and headed into the den.
"How's it coming?"
"Almost done, Sir."
He slid his hand onto her bare ass and gave it a squeeze. Not only was the apron ineffective, it covered nothing but her bush, and, being sheer, it didn't even do that, which pretty much left her naked except for the black spike heels on her feet.
Amy set the tray on the cabinet that doubled as an end table. It occupied the space between the recliners. The door was open and there was a cascade of white rope spilling. The sight of which got her pussy to dripping. It was like that. Just seeing bondage gear or even walking down the pet aisle and seeing the collars and such made her wet. What she didn't like seeing was the device. It sat on top of the cabinet, a black cord leading to the wall outlet.
She went back to the kitchen pulled the pony keg of beer from the fridge, set it in the cooler and filled the space with ice. She set two glasses on top, hefted the cooler and went back to the den.
After a quick trip to the bathroom to check her makeup she presented herself to be bound.
He started with her wrists. He always did. It went back to the days when he physically dominated her, wrestling her to the ground, binding and gagging her. He didn't need to do that any more. Bondage was a part of their lives - a big part. She glanced at the device. Bondage and discipline. But she kind of missed those times.
She had held her own at first. A life-long dancer she was both strong and agile. All she needed was a toe hold. But he soon learned her tricks, grabbing the offending foot and hoisting her off the ground, dragged her to an open space.
He'd bind her wrists, creating the first level of helplessness. Struggling didn't leave any breath to scream, but once bound she could make noise. But the gag was always right there. Once that had been wedged in her mouth and buckled in place it was all over. Even if her legs were free she couldn't outrun him. Although, once in a while she tried, just to be perverse. Just for the animal pleasure of being chased down, dragged to the ground, ravaged.
"Amy."
Back to reality. He had bound her wrists in front of her using several snug wraps of cotton rope.
"Yes, Sir?"
He was holding the ball. She opened her mouth. The grapefruit-size sponge ball filled her mouth and then some. He worked it in with his fingers.
"Bite."
She bit, barely able to touch her teeth or close her lips. He picked up the roll of black tape. It wasn't duct tape, thank goodness, it wouldn't peel off her skin, although it would leave a red mark when it came off several hours from now.
He pressed a piece across her lips. Peeled another piece and ran it under her chin like a chin strap on a ball gag.
He gestured at the chair. "Bend over."
Amy bent. He nudged her legs open and slid his hand between them, stroking her for a minute or so. She enjoyed the feeling of his fingers as they slid between her slick pussy lips. She wouldn't need lube - not in front anyway.
The device was a long, thick shaft and a butt plug connected by a curved strip of metal all sealed in a layer of rubber. He had gotten the idea from a Christmas tree display. As the lights flashed, they seemed to climb up the tree, then down. Then there was the random flashing. Both settings had a speed control to change from a slow flash to a dazzling twinkle. There was also an intensity setting, from soft glow to blazing color.
He had taken the computer and remote and replaced the lights with electrodes. The shaft was studded with bits of shiny metal. The butt plug held the battery. The computer was glued and sealed to the metal strip. Level 1 produced very little sensation, level 2 felt like a well lubed finger sliding in and out of her, level 3 was like being fucked, level 4 was like being fucked with a stiff bristle brush, and level 5 was pure torture. It felt like she was being stung by a swarm of angry bees.
On the shaft end of the device there was a little, spoon-shaped tongue. It, too, had several electrodes on its surface. This was made to nestle under her clit hood for a bit of extra stimulation ... or torture.
She knew he would probably set it at level 2, just to provide a little distraction. The real point of having it in her was to keep her quiet. Amy had never been a sports fan, but she had gotten into football, if by 'gotten into' you mean she wore her team jersey everywhere and screamed at the TV. It was the screaming that annoyed him.
At first he'd banished her from the den, but he liked having her around because she was decorative - literally. There were hanging plants scattered around the house. The cords ran through pulleys to cleats on the walls making it very convenient for watering the plants. Except the plants weren't real and the hardware was bolted to the studs. Oftentimes she found herself hanging by her wrists in the corner of one room or other.
So, he'd allowed her to watch the games, bound, gagged, and strung up in the corner of the den. The gag was only marginally effective. Hence the device. She couldn't help it and knew that at some point (probably at several points) she'd get a disciplinary zap.
He pressed the shaft into her pussy and after a couple of inches had slid in he applied some lube to her ass. It took some pushing on his part and grunting on hers. At one time she'd have accepted the plug easily. That was during her anal training. He had decided that even though he was not a big fan of anal sex, she should be available if he felt the urge and, besides, he had found other, more entertaining uses for her rear passage.
Those entertaining uses kept her reasonably accommodating back there, but this plug was on the big side, borderline painful going in. With one last push and one last grunt it slid home, dragging the shaft further into her pussy. He nestled the spoon under her hood, up against her clit.
He clicked the remote. It was level 3. Instead of lights running up and down a Christmas tree, she had moderate zaps of electricity running in and out of her pussy. He clicked 'random' at level 5 and the bees attacked. Amy screamed. Mercifully he left it there for only a second.
He stepped into the corner and undid the cord, lowered the plant, and unhooked it. Amy took its place. He wrapped rope around her knees and ankles. He'd remove the ropes at half time so she could serve lunch, still wrist bound and tape gagged most likely. He clipped the hook to her wrists and pulled, hoisting her off the floor for a moment, then setting her down again. Her toes settled into the carpet and she was able to take some of the strain off her arms, but she was still more hanging than standing.
The doorbell rang. Timing, as they say, is everything. Amy glanced at the clock. 12:55. Five minutes to kickoff and Drew was right on time.
They came into the room, Drew stepped over to her and ran his hand over her tits.
"Hello, beautiful."
Amy mmf'd and nodded. She closed her eyes. She was still uncomfortable with the intimacy even after, what?, two years. Sir knew this, of course. It's called bondage and discipline for a reason and where's the discipline if it's all fun? And on the plus side, Drew never overstepped his bounds. Apparently there was some agreement that he was limited to touching and kissing ... or maybe not. Sir had given her to Drew. But never gave him her slave name, which would have confered ownership rights, which implied Sir had made her available to him to be enjoyed as he pleased, with restrictions. Sir never defined those restrictions. Drew limited himself to a bit of necking and fondling. He's kind of weird like that. It's okay to have her in his lap, fondle her, kiss her, tie her up and watch her squirm, but that's as far as he'd go with his best friend's wife. For which she was thankful. Sir was still her first and only.
Drew tugged her bush, gave her a peck on the cheek, and settled into the lounger. Sir poured beers, clicked the device to life (thankfully on level 2), thumbed the TV remote.
Are you ready for some football?
12.08.11