Perhaps I Should Have Told Him

by EveryBody_Else

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© Copyright 2011 - EveryBody_Else - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; F/f; M/ff; D/s; solo-f; bond; straps; tape; hood; outdoors; bdsm; barn; discovered; hum; boxed; transported; object; messy; oral; sex; climax; true; cons; XX

Author's note: I have really tried to enhance my story this time by adding stuff not particularly dealing with how and where. I'm afraid I'll have to admit that descriptive writing isn't my strong side, and I'm having to ship the story as is. While I'm writing this I have the tingling sensation in my secret place from a self whipping session which involved nettles. Somehow on the holiday described in this story I have become obsessed with nettles, and while I finish proofreading I am taking full advantage of the season's last nettles. If there is a God, I'm sure he will send me straight to hell, but I hear that there are plenty of nettles there... And as always - any sbelling misdakes are there for your entertainment and to satisfy your need to feel superiour - if you have the need for such a thing. To all of you superiour beings that have English as a native language, I'd like to ask to send me your extended comments on my grammatical errors, spelling and split infinitives in Danish and with the correct spelling and syntax. I hope you will enjoy the story about my last summer holiday in Sweden. I usually write about my self bondage experiences, but this time my husband beat me to it. I was proofreading a story from my past when events overtook me in the fast lane. This is the story of my life changing suddenly and dramatically, but luckily for the better.

It is easy to see now, where I should have taken another cause of actions. Perhaps he wouldn’t have gotten so angry. But it is also easy to see that if he hadn’t gotten so angry, I’d have missed one of the best experiences of my life (so far).

I came home from the shops after doing some last minutes shopping before our holiday. Four weeks in our cabin in the Swedish woods. It is an old farm with bedroom, kitchen, entrance area, living room, a loft and a small bathroom with a shower stall – no bathtub. Next to the cabin is an old barn (not very big) and a shed, where we keep the lawn mover and some gardening utensils.

The summer had been good up till now and the weather forecast promised us a perfect holiday. We like to go away in the late summer. That way we can avoid all those bloody tourists with their demanding ways and their rudeness in the shops and on the streets. Somehow it seems as if tourists have this attitude of “It doesn’t matter how we behave – we are not coming back to this place.”

Anyway. I walked in the door, and there was my husband sat at the table in the kitchen looking very sincere. On the table were my laptop and an assortment of ropes and leather strips of various length and width. My toys were there – even the pieces of “plumber’s tape” bent into hoops of assorted sizes - as well as my duct tape helmet (the one with the built in ring gag - if you have read my other stories you will know what I mean).

I stopped dead in my tracks and blurted out; “Where did you find that?”

Some of you might find that to be a silly question and I quite agree. I knew where he found it. He had found it exactly where I had been hiding it for a long time now. Apparently he didn’t think it was a very smart question either. He didn’t answer me and turned the laptop, so that I could see the screen. Loads of text on it, and as I bent forward to look at it, I recognized the story about my visit to the Adult Cinema. The story was about something that happened many years ago, but I had only recently written it and was in the process of proofreading it before I’d post it on the two web sites where I usually publish my stories.

It occurred to me that I should be angry for his fiddling with my computer. It is mine and I don’t even consider turning on his pc. On the other hand there was something in this situation that stirred my insides ever so slightly. It’s not that he doesn’t know that I practise self bondage, and certainly not because we never practise bondage together. No it’s more that the equipment he had put on the table and my stories are my personal property kept from him because…Well, I don’t rightfully know why it is kept from him. Maybe I am ashamed of my desires. As you well know, if you have read my stories, I am very keen on (some) pain, the risk of discovery and not least a healthy dose of humiliation should the discovery bit come true. I am not really ashamed as such, but how do you tell your healthy spouse that you like rolling in sheets wet with your own pee, because you had an accident (that in truth was caused by your own designs)? I have ‘accidentally’ crapped myself a little on a city street and loved the feeling of the poo being worked into my lower pubic hairs and massaged into my secret place. But tell my husband? You have got to be joking.

He only spoke one sentence; “You should have told me.”

That was it. One sentence and then he pushed four leather straps and some padlocks towards me, and looking me straight into my eyes he took the key bundle and put it in his shirt pocket. He then looked at me and waited. I pulled the cuffs towards me and he nodded. I looked at him and tried to guess what he wanted me to say. “What do you want to know?” I said. It would be best if he asked me specific questions. That way I only had to tell him specific things that he wanted to know. I wouldn’t by accident disclose something that he didn’t need to know. He put his finger to his lips and indicated that I should be still. I looked at him and held one cuff toward my wrist. He nodded, and I realized that he wanted me to put the cuffs on my wrists and ankles. I reached for a padlock and he shook his head - NO! I put the other cuff on and he nodded again. Again I reached for a padlock and again he shook his head. He looked very stern and a bit frightening. I held my hands behind my back and he shook his head. He looked at me and I tried again with a cuff. NO! We had this game for some minutes and in desperation I cried out, “WHAT IS IT YOU WANT”. He looked really angry now and I quickly shut up. Eventually I gave up. I wasn’t going to play his silly game so I started to take off my sweater. He nodded YES!

HA! He wanted me to undress before I put on the leather cuffs.

Did he want to play a bondage game? Did I want to play a bondage game? I’m not sure what he wanted and I needed only one look at his face to realize that if I did comply I was in for a very different bondage session than what we normally would have. What was it he wanted? Did he want to punish me? We never had violence or punishments in our bondage games, and I wasn’t sure I liked the thought of starting now. Bondage between us was mostly the tying me up and having sex with me style of bondage. But nothing violent or painful. On the other hand, he had never displayed any violent inclinations before and I was relatively certain that his idea of punishment would be well within any limits I might have. I decided that I would trust him and – after all – I probably needed a little punishment for writing about him. Come to think of it, I might have written something about his lacking abilities in the world of proper bondage. Yes, - I definitely deserved a little punishment.

So I quickly discarded my clothes and put on the leather cuffs, locked my ankles together and locked my hands behind my back. I might even have seemed a bit eager to comply. This could be fun. I bared my self to him in all my glory. My large 34DD breasts were quivering and my flat stomach and healthy muscle tone was golden in colour and accentuated the mound at the place where my long legs met. YOU WISH. The truth is more like smallish A-cups, broadish hips, a large pubic bush that wasn’t very dense, very large inner labia and my legs weren’t that long. All in all I was slightly over 5 foot and weighed about 72 kilos which really isn’t an indication of slimness. My hair is reaching my shoulders and is nothing special as it is almost always tied in a pony tail. If men turned their heads at me it would be with a remark something like this; “She has childbearing hips.” Ah. Where were we?

Next thing I knew was him putting my Duct Tape Helmet on my head and tying it very tight. It used to be closed in the back with strips of Duct tape, but I recently punched a row of holes along each edge in the back and now it is closed with a long lace from a walking boot that had seen its last service. This makes me able to tie the helmet tighter and to tie it to a better fit than before. I was still able to see what was going on thanks to the transparent plastic on the inside of the helmet where the eye holes were. It was now very snug, and my mouth was forced open by the built in ring gag. He left me standing there while he packed all my other toys away in a box and left the kitchen. I heard the back door open and close and then the car door. He was bringing my toys with us on holiday. I was certain of it. This would be fun. I was sure it would. And there was no question about what my little secret place thought of the situation. Mmmmmm.

He came back to the kitchen and picked up my clothes from the floor. I saw him stuff them into a carrier bag and then he left again. So he wanted me to stay naked for a while. But we were to leave for Sweden in less than an hour. Hmmm. Maybe not so good after all. Surely he would allow me to dress before I got into the car? As it happens. No he didn’t.

When he came back to the kitchen he went behind me. I felt him bend the fingers on my right hand into a fist and then he used some sort of tape to cover the fist, thus locking it into shape. I knew instantly that this would make it impossible for me to get myself out of any predicament and I began to feel very excited. Perhaps this would be a good place to explain something fundamental to my story. I will often refer to something as making me hot, horny, excited or similar. It isn’t so, that I by the end of the story will be so excited that I tremble with unrelieved sexual tension, and will be on the verge of internal spontaneous combustion. You will have to imagine that I am just like you. I get excited and eventually I cool of a bit – just in time to get excited again.

As Hubby taped up my left hand I also felt my secret place become very moist. Well then. This was definitely getting intense. Where on earth had he learned that tape trick? And equally as important, how could I possibly do something similar to my hands while I'm in self bondage – and still be able to free myself eventually?

He proceeded by taping over the eye openings in my Duct Tape Helmet. I was now blind and THAT put a damper on my enthusiasm for the whole adventure (a cooling down period). If he blinded me, there was a reason for it and I suspected that I’d keep the helmet on for an extended session. If we were going on holiday in less than an hour that also meant that I’d be led to the car with the helmet on. What would the neighbours think? I almost started to panic and I tried to tell him so. Have you ever tried to make sense with a ring gag in your mouth? “I ‘on’t ‘ant ‘o ‘o ‘is. ‘et ‘e ‘o.” It looks a lot better in print than it sounds. Also there is the fact that the effort made me dribble down my chest. I felt it run past one of my nipples and down my stomach. It made all the hotness and breathlessness come back in a flash. (Warming up again – like a rollercoaster isn’t it?).

I squeezed my thighs together and tried to make my secret place feel better. I needed a pee. Standing there in the middle of my kitchen being all hot and bothered I had lost all sense of direction.

“I ‘eed’ a ‘ee.”

No reaction and no sounds from Hubby. So I waited. What else could I do?

I must have been lost in thought because suddenly I felt him unlocking the padlock connecting my ankles. We were about to leave, I thought. He tapped my inner thigh and indicated that I should spread my legs a bit. OH YES. Please play with me a little. I could use an orgasm before we left. He inserted something relatively small into my secret place and there must have been some sort of handle on it, because he held it in place by taping the handle to my stomach. It was now held in place and felt a bit odd. It didn’t go in very far and it wasn’t by any means filling me. Ah well. But there was no resistance whatsoever when he put it in. I was slick as an ice rink.

Slick and very excited.

Hubby then led me out of the door and into the fresh air. I could not see anything and prayed a silent prayer that nobody else could either. But I should have trusted my husband not to put himself into trouble by exposing me like this. I was shaking a bit. Nervousness and apprehension was causing me to get cold and I felt goose pimples forming on my arms and legs. Goose Pimples – or “ant tits” as we call them here in Denmark. My husband held my arm and indicated that I should stop. I heard the slide door of our van open. Weren’t we going in our car?

He helped me inside and made me sit on the wooden floor with my back to the division wall. He unlocked the padlock holding my wrists together and helped me scoot up towards the wall so my back was against the wall. I was actually a bit concerned about my labia getting a splinter. He then started to fasten my chest to the wall – I can only surmise that he was using my own pieces of “Plumber’s Tape” to do this. I heard the electric screwdriver and felt the metal band tightening. Now there was no way I could lean forward. In quick succession he fixated my arms and wrists in the same way. Then a band across my forehead and that took care of not being able to move my head. Another band across the stomach held me close to the wall. MY GODS. This was making me feel very hot. It was almost enough to make me come right there and then. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to be driven on the streets whilst being absolutely unable to move any more than the tiniest bit. I stretched my legs and he pulled my feet so that I sat with my legs spread wide open. Playtime?

Afraid not. He then started fastening my legs to the floor in the same manner as my arms. When he was finished I was stuck in one position. I know I groaned and moaned a lot, but he didn’t say anything. He let his hand touch my breasts and legs – almost as if by accident. Every stroke felt like fire on my skin.

As I sat there Hubby made one last amendment to my bondage. He removed the tape from my stomach and bent the handle for my “insert” away from my body. I heard him screw the handle to the floor and I felt the pressure inside me shift towards the front of my inside. The thing inside me pressed against my G-point and it felt rather good. I found that I could wriggle by buttocks ever so slightly and make the thing caress my G-point. It felt like nothing I’d ever tried before. The almost immobility and the sensation caused by the tiny movement of my secret place was absolutely heaven. I knew that I must have started dripping “down there” and looked forward to the drive in the streets.

By the sounds of it, I guessed that Hubby was loading the van with the rest of our luggage before our trip to the Swedish midlands. He finished making noise and spoke gently into my ear; “I’m going to leave a Baby Alarm with you, just in case you need help. Should you decide to bother me needlessly, I’m going to turn off the Baby Alarm and I will not take any notice of you until we reach the cabin. Have fun. See you at the cabin.” He then slammed the door shut and I heard him enter the driver’s seat and start the engine.


Was I going to stay like this all the way up to our cabin? A drive of about 7 hours? AND going across the bridge to Sweden? There might be someone who for whatever reason or another decides to check our van for drugs. OH my giddy aunt. I was almost about to cry out when I remembered his warning. I’d better shut up and accept this punishment for my writing about his lack of ingenuity and understanding when it comes to my special wants and needs where it comes to bondage. Involuntary Humiliation is the name of my game, and should we be stopped by the authorities I’d certainly get my wishes all come true. Suddenly I kind of looked forward to the trip. Oh – I just remembered. We have no side windows in the van, but there are windows in the back. Any lorry driver behind us would be in a position to look into the van and he would see me pinned against the division wall. It is a good thing there is no company logo on our van and that it is fully licensed for private use. The probable lorry driver can’t trace our name and the police will have no reason to stop us to check for private use of a company van. And I was relatively comfortable sat against the wall like I was. And he didn’t put any clothes pins on my nipples. But I still needed a pee.

Once we were on the way I found out that the very minute movements of my lower body kept me on high alert. Every time the van turned a corner, stopped at a light, braked or accelerated my lower body moved and the G-point was stimulated.

It was a long journey and I had a few orgasms. Soon I just prayed for peace and quiet. And sleep. Normally when I have had an orgasm I always get drowsy and wanted to sleep. Unfortunately there was no rest for the wicked.

We got safely across the bridge and we didn’t get stopped by any Customs official. But I remembered that our van has windows in the back. Not that it did anything but enhance my heightened state of arousal. And eventually I had to call out to Hubby. I REALLY NEEDED A PEE.

He stopped the car rather abruptly and was at the open side door in seconds. He felt my hands and feet and felt across my stomach as well while I was trying my very best to tell him that I needed a pee; “I ‘eed a ‘ee. ‘ease ‘e’ease ‘e. I ‘eed a ‘ee”. Obviously he didn’t find anything wrong and he made fun of my feeble attempt at communicating my predicament. “What are you saying? You sound like a baby or a village idiot.”

I tried several times to let him know what I wanted and he laughed at me. “Because you made me think that you were in pain, I’ll turn off the Baby Alarm and leave you in peace for the rest of the journey.” That was all. He closed the side door, entered the front seat and drove off.

It only took me a short time before I had to give in. I felt the liquid spray my thighs and run around my buttocks. I was very concerned about the luggage and my pee now flowing around in the rear of the van. The Duct Tape Mask did allow me to smell the shameful liquid, but the stimulation of my G-point and my wet thighs and buttocks was a very effective way of making me not care. I came again and this time it was more violent than before.

If I hadn’t been fixed to the wall I’d be falling to the floor in a quivering heap. But I could not fall, and I could not turn of the orgasms.

When we arrived at the cabin I was absolutely drained of strength and the last kilometres down a rough road was more pain than pleasure, in fact I’d say that the pleasure had minimized hours before. The metal bands felt tighter and I had visions of my arms turning blue. I feared the rush of blood back into my extremities and the accompanying pain.

As it turned out Hubby had done a good job with the restraints. There was no rush of blood and no pain. But there was an awful stiffness that refused to allow me to stand up and walk into the cabin. Hubby left me on the floor of the van and carried the luggage into the cabin while I recovered. I was very aware of the smell of pee, and that I was lying in it, but quite frankly, I didn’t care. I wanted to be released from my Duct Tape Helmet and fist tape, have a shower and then go to bed.

But Hubby had a surprise in store. “You will wear the helmet and your hands will stay like they are for some time longer. You are being punished. I will keep the Baby Alarm turned on. I did in fact never turn it off. I’d not want you to come to any harm. Later I will ask you whether you want to continue the whole holiday in punishment – as a slave - or whether you want to have a normal holiday. Either way is fine with me, but should you wish to continue, I think you will have fun.” And then he led me to the barn and left me locked in there. The helmet and the fist tape stayed on and it took me some time to find the corner, where there were some straw and a tarpaulin I could use for a bed. After all, I had no idea how long I would stay there. It isn’t easy to unfold a tarpaulin when you can’t see it and have no way of grasping the edges. But I managed. The difficult part was mostly, that with a ring gag, ones mouth tends to become very dry, which is a direct violation of the laws of nature, if you consider how much one drools.

I had a long think about Hobby’s proposition and was almost ready to back out when I needed to empty my bowels (a fancy way of saying that I needed a crap). I found a corner where I did my business and it was while I balanced on my haunches that I decided to be punished for almost a month. Call me crazy, but I obviously make my best decisions while having a crap.

I slept like a log.

I woke up and felt hands turning my head. The lace in the helmet was untied and finally I was released from it. The first minutes I kept my eyes shut. I knew from experience that I had to get my eyes used to the light before I went out into the bright morning. My jaws ached like buggery and I had problems closing my mouth. I moaned in pain and Hubby gently massaged my jaw muscles. After some time I was again able to close my mouth. Hubby was very concerned and apologetic and he told me, that the only reason he allowed for the extensive time in the helmet, was because I had indicated in a story that I had slept in it, and that it was quite comfortable. But of course that was when I had fun during the evening and went to bed late and rose early to finish my games. 8 hours in the van and then the night was to prove too long. As simple as that. We won’t do that again.

I greedily gulped down the water that Hubby offered me and I just lay there in his lap and waited for him to speak. I was a stinking mess and I couldn’t believe that he still wanted to hold me as he did. I felt safe and loved and I’d do anything to keep it that way. In the end I couldn’t wait for him to ask. I simply had to show him that I wasn’t coerced into agreeing to anything. “I’d like for you to punish me in any way you see fit during our whole holiday. I trust you not to hurt me and I want you to know that I love you.”

I looked into his eyes and all I saw was love. Maybe also a glimmer of satisfaction.

“Thank you”, he said, “I’ll hold you to that. One of the first things we’ll do is to make you another Duct Tape Mask – this one without a gag. I don’t want you to risk not being able to close your mouth and I don’t want you to look like a perverted rubber doll all the time, even though I know you are a pervert. I have read your stories and I have found some very interesting stories on the Internet. Some of them we’ll incorporate into your punishment and I’ll add some twists of my own. There will be no safeword and if I perceive you are in distress I’ll back off and take another route, but I will not stop. What I have planned for you will be done, and I will give you one last chance to back out. By the time I come back I expect you to have made up your mind. I’ll leave you in here and lock the door. If you want out the Baby Alarm will hear you. There is fresh water in the bucket.” He attached the leather cuffs around my wrists and locked them together behind my back. Then he left.

He didn’t return for several hours. I made sure not to make enough noise for the Baby Alarm to go off.

When he did return I repeated my acceptance of punishment and of being a slave for a whole month.

Making tracks

He released me from my bondage and removed the tape confining my hands into fists. They looked almost like claws and it was rather painful to straighten the fingers and have my hands work normally again. But I didn’t mind. For once in my life I had been in some very strict bondage that wasn’t of my own doing and from which I had no escape. It felt great and I was certain that I could stand anything Hubby would like to put me through. In short – I felt content and was looking forward to the next four weeks.

Hubby ordered me to shower and be sure to get rid of that pungent smell of pee and love juices.

When I had finished with the shower I wrapped a towel around my body and went looking for my suitcase. I wanted to look really pretty for my husband. The suitcase wasn’t in the bedroom and I didn’t find it in the main room either. Just as I went towards the door to go to the van to get it, Hubby called out and asked me where I was going. “I’m going to get my suitcase and put a dress on”, I said. “It’s not in the van.” he said, “In fact your suitcase is back in the house in Denmark. You won’t need any clothes while we are here.”


Somehow all the strength seemed to leave my legs and I sat down in the nearest chair. Had he planned this from the very start? Had he been so sure of my saying yes to be his toy for a whole month? What if some of our friends in the village come by for a visit? What if I had wanted out?

“No please”, I said, “you can’t do this. What if people come along?”

“I suggest you be polite and neighbourly if they do”, he answered. “You have agreed to my terms and this is the way I want it.”

“That is unfair. How can I stay naked for a month?”

“Easy. Don’t put clothes on.”

I saw that any more arguing would be futile and ended the discussion by adding; “Well. I can always borrow a pair of your shorts and a t-shirt if anybody comes along.”

Hubby looked straight at me and his eyes were almost narrow slits as he said; “I see that you still have to learn a lesson. Go to bed. You have a fun day ahead. If there is any more lip from you I’ll lock you in the shed. There is a wasp nest in the shed you know.”

I hate wasps. I’m scared stiff of them and there is no way I’ll go into that shed. What should I then do? What could I do? There were no doubts that I had agreed to his terms. In fact I had almost stumbled over the words, when I told him that I would gladly be punished for a whole month. It’s just that I didn’t think it would be quite like this.

The bed felt lonely until he joined me. We lay there together. I was lying on my back waiting for him to say something, or at least hold me tight. Perhaps he would reconsider if he knew I was unhappy. Maybe we could buy something to wear in the village? He was also on his back and shortly I heard his breathing change and he had fallen asleep. I felt most unhappy and miserable. I promised myself that I wouldn’t question his decisions again. I was just lying there and couldn’t sleep. Perhaps I should apologize tomorrow, I thought. Wonder what he had in mind? Wonder what he meant by “learn a lesson.”

I woke up early and Hubby had left the bed. I remembered about not wearing clothes and went straight for my morning routine in the bathroom. After that I went to the small kitchen naked as when I was born.

Hubby wasn’t there and I decided to start on the breakfast. Everything was ready when he eventually stepped in the kitchen. He smiled and went to me. He gave me a big hug and lots of kisses. I could feel his happiness as he got bigger. I can’t say that I was all dry “down there”, and I got somewhat hotter as he kept kissing me, but even so I was most surprised when he suddenly bent me over the table. While he was holding me down, he opened his shorts and within seconds I was impaled on him. Oh my Gods he was huge. And it felt almost like an iron rod pumping away inside me. It didn’t take long for him to finish his shenanigans. I think this was the first time in our marriage that we had spontaneous sex out of the bedroom – and in the kitchen of all places. When he withdrew I slowly straightened my back. Toast and jam was sticking to or falling from my breasts. Luckily I didn’t push over the coffee cups. I’m sure he wouldn’t have noticed, but likewise I’m sure I would. While I didn’t have an orgasm, I came close. And in some weird way that was just as good as the real thing. We had sex on the kitchen table for crying out loud. He took me as if I was a slave in ancient Rome. He didn’t even ask me. But I was happy. If this was a sign of things to come in the future, I’d gladly have turned over the coffee cups. Or perhaps only one cup.

“Let’s have some breakfast”, he said, “Never mind cleaning up. Just sit down and eat and drink. After you have done the dishes we are going out for a small trip.”

I looked down on my breasts and there were still jam sticking to them. My inner thighs were getting wet from his sperm. It was running down my thighs and I remember thinking that it was a good thing that we have wooden seats on the chairs. Orders are orders, so I sat down.

Why is it that I get so horny from being so dirty and disgusting?

It was really strange to sit there and have a normal morning conversation while my thighs were sticky with sperm, and my breasts were sticky with jam. Not to mention that my brain was going at a thousand miles an hour trying to keep my excitement in check, so that I could sip my coffee and pretend it was normal for me to be naked and waiting for another drive – where I would still be naked.

The breakfast came to an end and so did my washing the dishes. I freely admit that I hastened through the chores in expectation of a fun day in the back of the van. Hubby told me to stand by the table and await his return. I could feel my secret place – all sticky and the dried sperm on my thighs seemed to make the skin slightly tight.

He returned with some “Plumber’s Tape” (you know that’s metal strip with holes at regular short intervals) and proceeded to wrap some of it around my waist. Quite tight I might add. He then put a small padlock through holes in the band and secured it around my waist. He broke the remaining band off by bending it back and forth until it snapped. He put the padlock through a hole in the end of the remaining strip, through a hole at the back and shut the padlock. With quick movements he then bend it between my legs and up the front, making sure that both my rather large inner labia was sticking out on either side. He pulled it tight and broke it off a bit above the waist band. The end was tucked under the waistband and bent forward over the waist band in such a way that he could put yet another small padlock through holes in both the waistband and the crotch band. There was no way anything was going to enter my secret place now. Come to think of it, it would be rather difficult to have anything exit my rear opening as well. And without the keys, there was no way to get the strips off.

Leather wrist cuffs locking my hands together behind my back with a third padlock that also locked onto the back waistband padlock ended my bondage outfit. Hubby inspected the whole set-up and then put some duct tape on the sharp ends of the plumber’s tape. As he said; “The ends would be sharp enough to do serious damage and that would not do.”

I fully expected him to make me that Duct Tape Helmet he promised me, but he didn’t make any moves towards doing that. I asked him what we were going to do today and he said that we were going for a ride and that it would be fun. I’m sure it would be fun. I could already feel my inners getting very moist.

But of course – he had another surprise we had to take care of first.

He made be kneel on the kitchen floor and then he stuck his erect member towards my mouth. “Suck it”, he said, “Make it good.”

I am not sure if you know this, but I have a problem with my gag reflexes. I can’t stand having anything filling my mouth, if I do I start retching and sometimes I actually throw up. Many times I have tried to introduce a ball gag in my self bondage adventures, but to no avail. When it comes to blow jobs, you might as well forget it. It won’t happen. I told him that, knowing very well that he knew already.

“Suck it”, he repeated, “If you can eat a banana without retching, you can have a dick in there as well.”

So I sucked his member. I only took it a little way into my mouth, but I admit that it wasn’t too bad. The thought of being ordered to do it and at the same time knowing that he loved me doing it, made it all bearable. I was ready to be fucked and I felt the metal band dig into my sensitive flesh making it impossible to fulfil my desires. It would have to wait. For the time being I was his slave and had to do this. I only hoped he wouldn’t come in my mouth. That would be gross. Wouldn’t it? But then again, he was and has always been a one-shot-man. Once he had emptied his quota, we usually settled down and went to sleep. I doubted that he could deliver a second time in one day, especially only an hour since first load.

As it happens, he didn’t come in my mouth. He pulled out of my mouth and sprayed me handsomely with his sperm. All over my breasts he came, and there it mingled with the jam and I could feel it running down my stomach and into my pubic hairs. Twice in one morning? There is no doubt that this slave business turned him on just as much as it turned me on.

He took hold of my hair and with his help I managed to struggle to my feet. My elastic band in my ponytail was pulled off and my hair hung loose and disorderly. He didn’t care. Still holding my hair he guided me into the back of the van and we drove of.

I sat in the back and savoured the feeling of the sperm drying on my breasts. I wondered how it tasted, but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get my tongue to make contact with any of his sperm. Ah well. Perhaps it’s for the best.

We didn’t drive for long. Where were we? Hopefully not in the village. Did he intend me to walk around in public like this? Surely that was illegal in any country?

But no, there was only the familiar parking space near the lake. We have been there on numerous occasions. It is the perfect place to park, when you want a walk along the lake. Our cabin was down towards the right, about 4 miles away. The path was only a narrow depression winding gingerly around boulders and in and out of dense pine forest as it made its way along the lake. Often there were fallen trees or other difficult places to pass. But it is a beautiful walk in the evening although there are always lots of mosquitoes hunting for blood.

As I stood there before him all naked and covered in disgusting fluids and solids, he put a rope around my knees so that I couldn't run off.

“Do you know where you are?” he said. I nodded affirmative and he pushed down on my shoulders and helped me on my knees before him. Surely not! I flatly refused to believe that he could manage three times in one day.

“I forgot the mosquito repellent, but I have an alternative. Luckily I didn’t have my usual morning pee.”

That said he began to pee on me. HE PISSED ON ME!!! My initial reflex was to pull away, but hands cuffed behind ones back and on ones tied together knees on a stony gravel parking area, doesn’t help you with the pulling away one bit. It was so out of character for my husband that at first I couldn’t take it in. What on earth made him decide to do that? He is as normal as they get. Not at all a kinky pervert. Why then?

Of course I know the answer now, and I might as well tell you. He is a very decent man, and he was doing this out-of-character-stuff because he was giving me an opportunity to live my dreams. There is simply so much to love about this man.

Working his way round me, he soaked my entire body and there was plenty of pee left to soak my hair and the last tiny sprays were aimed at my face.

This might be a bit weird and definitely a cliché, but I got so frigging hot from him doing that. I have often included accidental wetting of myself in my self bondage sessions and I have masturbated to numerous “wetting” videos in the adult theatres I have frequented (even some poo-videos as well, I am ashamed to add). Some of my bondage day dreams have indeed included being peed on.

The smell was very strong and I could have come right then and there had it not been for what happened next. He didn’t say anything but simply got into the van and drove off. Just like that. He left, leaving me alone in the middle of a public car park soaked in piss. Some strands of hair was stuck to my face and even shaking my head could not dislodge it. My hands were no help where they were, locked to the back of my steel belt.

The view across the lake was beautiful. Never mind the view, what if people would turn up to enjoy it. I scrambled to my feet as best I could and believe me, getting on your feet from a kneeling position whilst having your knees tied together is nowhere near easy. I went for cover as best as I could hobble in a waddle, shuffle type of gait. The path towards our cabin seemed the best choice of escape route. After all, this is the route I am familiar with.

While I was making my way along the winding path, I moved as silently as I could, and my progress was further slowed down by me having to avoid the branches of the fir trees. They all seem to have little bristles on them that seek to scratch your skin. The occasional patch of stinging nettles was also a cause for concern. Luckily the rope around my knees weren't very tight and before long it slipped down and I could kick it off, which helped tremendously with getting home.

I’ll let you into some bit of knowledge that will perhaps surprise some of you. When pee dries on your skin it starts to itch. Soon my whole body was itching and my hair was still sticking to my face. I managed to get the errant strands of hair away from my eyes by rubbing my forehead lightly against a tree. The itching and the strong smell of morning pee made me feel very aroused and I tried on several occasions to make my secret place feel really good. A piece of advice: Do not try to rub your genitals on a low branch of a fir tree. It will hurt more than it pleases and especially if you have large labia like me.

There’s another piece of information you might want to know. Pee does not work as a mosquito repellent. Soon they were all over me and I could do nothing to stop them from attacking me. My nipples were soon scouted out and they too became targets. My labia were luckily protected by my constant moving my thighs while walking – and rubbing together to elicit pleasure. The metal band pulled tight up between my labia didn’t give me any problems for some reason or another. I had expected to get some sort of chafe problems, but no, I didn’t.

My ears were strangely enough another prominent target for the mosquitoes.

You might say that I got used to walking down the path stark naked as I was. Even my feet became very apt at finding good places to find support so that I didn’t get hurt so much. I became very blasé about my trip. I started to enjoy the feeling of the cooling wind coming of the lake against my skin. The itching. The mosquitoes. Not least the feel of the metal between my legs. I almost wished for somebody to come along the path in the opposite direction. I tried to remember how often we had seen tourists pass or cabin when they took the lake path. I couldn’t even remember one time it had happened. Bummer.

Since I couldn’t make myself come, I pondered about the experiences since the morning. My husband actually made me give him a blowjob. And he came twice within two hours. That was a first. Never in our marriage had that happened. For 24 years we have had sex and we have on occasions enjoyed bondage together, but still this was the first time he came twice in two hours. He must have been really horny. When we have had sex he has always made me happy. I know I have written that he wasn’t quite up to scratch when it came to bondage. That he didn’t understand my need for humiliation and degradation. Come to think of it, had I ever tried to make him understand? Well not really, I have always been afraid I’d make him be disgusted with me. Maybe even to the point of wanting a divorce.

It struck me like a bolt of lightning. I KNEW. I UNDERSTOOD. My knees almost gave in and I had to sit down on a boulder.

All these years he had always made me happy in bed. He had made sure that we never had sex without me having at least one orgasm. And I had enjoyed it every time. I had enjoyed it, but I had not given much back to him. I had always refused to suck his member. I never played with it. I didn’t even give him a hand job once in a while. I even spent time in my fantasy world of self bondage where I dreamed of being taken and forced to give hand jobs, blowjobs and even being humiliated and taken by strangers. But I didn’t give him anything back for all his attention to my needs. And this walk down the path with pee all over and my hands locked behind my back, it was something he was doing to please me. Admittedly it seemed that he enjoyed at least part of it. But I didn’t give him anything.

I was a bad wife. Why on earth did he stay with me?

My feelings of misery doubled as I sat there on the hard rock thinking about how unfair and self absorbed I had been and how unselfish he had been in all those years – and still was. I started crying and soon my weeping got out of control and I just sat there bawling my eyes out. People could have heard me hundreds of metres away, but I didn’t think of it. I was so unhappy that I just wanted to tell him that I loved him and that I’d be a better wife in the future. That he could get all the blowjobs he wanted and that if he wished I’d even…


I knew what I had to do. I had to show him, that I loved him. I’ll have to give him some of what he wants.

The rest of the way back to the cabin I walked at a steady pace, my back straight and I never once tried to avoid a branch or the nettles trying to take over the path. I arrived at the cabin and stood in the centre of the lawn waiting for him to notice that I was back. I hurt from all the small scratches and the nettles in Sweden seems to be of a very vicious sort. I cared nothing for the fact that neighbours might come by and I endured the mosquitoes without even a glance in their direction. When the wasps came to investigate the jam on my breasts I almost lost it, but deep breaths and determination helped me stay standing, - waiting for him.

When he came out of the cabin and saw me I finally lost it. I ran to him and started crying loudly, while I tried to explain to him, what I had found out and my subsequent resolve. Nothing came out of my mouth in any coherent way and my bawling and sobbing only served to get him unhappy. He thought that I had been given too hard a task and he could hardly hold the keys in his haste to free me. He carried me indoors and put me in the shower while he kept switching between kissing me and hugging me.

In the shower I decided to uphold my end of the unspoken bargain. I fell to my knees and took out his member from his wet shorts. It wasn’t stiff or even beginning to get happy, but I went to the job with a vigour and happiness that soon had him see the light. He became stiff as a broom stick and I kept working him with lips and tongue just the way I has seen in the many porno films I’d watched throughout the years. He tried to pull away, but I held on to him and continued until he came in my mouth. It felt like a triumph, a great feeling of content came over me. His sperm didn’t taste all that bad, but I decided not to swallow it. While I rested my forehead against his stomach I let it drip onto the shower tiles and I swilled some shower water around my mouth to clean it out.

Three times in one day. And it was I who made him do it. And I didn’t retch or gag once. Maybe there is a Freudian lesson in there somewhere?

Being friendly and neighbourly

We cried in each others arms as we discussed matters throughout the night. I made promises and he made promises, but the most important thing to get of my chest was to tell him that I knew that I had been a bad wife when it came to sex. He in his turn told me some of the things he would like for me to do, when we were having sex. Not every time, but when I felt like it. I also told him everything about my special needs. I cannot begin to understand why I have those needs, but I have them and I’ll probably continue to have them. I’m sure he understands now and before daylight we made it four times in 24 hours.

When we woke up I was ready to go home and enjoy our new found love. I even suggested that we cut our holiday short and go home.

“Why do you want to go home?”, he said.

“Because I’m so happy and I want to make you happy and … and …”

“You can be happy here and you have agreed to a full holiday of being my … object”

Ah yes. I did agree, didn’t I? I reached for him and he stopped me. “No, no, little lady. I cannot even conceive trying again any time soon. But while you have been telling me of your special needs I have come up with a couple of ideas that I’d like to try out. I am going to secure you in the barn and then I’ll go and finish something I have to get done for the business. But first we have to make you a new helmet.”

YEAHH. That was nice. I’d like that. I was all smiles and I felt great. My love for him was even deeper than it had ever been. I’d do anything he said.

My new helmet was made without covering the mouth. The nose was covered though and the helmet fit snugly to my head. It covered everything from the top of my head to the top of my shoulders. Except my mouth and lower jaw. In other words I could still give him a blow job if he wanted it. But he didn’t. And when I say it covered everything I meant everything, even my eyes. I was blind and partly deaf as well.

He made me a pair of fist gloves out of duct tape (looser this time) and then he locked the wrist cuffs together in front of me. I was led to the barn and one ankle cuff was locked to my left ankle and to a chain that was fastened somewhere on the floor. He made me kneel and suck him for a while. He didn’t really get stiff and then he pulled out and said that he’d be back soon, but it might take some time. I heard the door slam and then the van drove off. Then there were silence.

But I hadn’t even had time to go to the bathroom. Everything happened so quickly. I soon found that the chain was short enough to stop me from reaching the walls. This meant that I couldn’t find a corner in which to do my business, and I couldn’t reach my tarpaulin bed. I also discovered that the spike that Hubby obviously had hammered into the ground was very substantial. The only thing I did find was a bucket of water. How he proposed me to drink if I couldn’t use my hands as a cup, I don’t know. Well – I do actually, but it would be as if I was a chained dog or something.

Have you ever thought about how life sometimes seems controlled by some invisible force? Some people call it Karma and others call it Fate. We even have people who call it the will of some deity. Whatever was at work that day was doing quite a neat job of it.

I must have been in the barn for some hours – or maybe shorter – while I contemplated how I should solve the problem of going while at the same time not doing it in a way so I would end up sitting in it if I moved for some reason. And how would I find the same spot again?

Perhaps if I scraped a groove in the floor pointing from the centre pole to where I’d do my business? I could then find the groove again and …

Bugger. My hands were useless as they were taped up into fists.

Still trying to solve the problem I heard a car pull up in front of our cabin. A door slammed and a female voice called out. “Hallo. Is anybody there? Hallo”. Then footsteps working their way towards the barn door. No, no, no, no. Please stop. I don’t want you here. Go away.

I didn’t call out. I didn’t move in fear of the chain making enough noise to attract attention.

The locking mechanism on the barn door rattled and the door creaked open. “Gomorron Kissagumman” (God Morning Pee Woman). I tried to crawl under the floor and I could feel my face get hot and blushing. There was no way she could see this of course, due to the Duct Tape Helmet. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” I said while desperately trying to figure out why she called me Pee Woman. My hands and arms did their best to cover my breasts while I crunched up trying to cover the rest of my nude body with my legs.

She was of course speaking in Swedish and me in my best Danish/Swedish.

“Dear me. How demanding one can be while blind and chained. Tut. Tut. Let me start by telling you that I have met your husband and that I have his permission to be here. Stay quiet for a while, and I’ll explain everything to you. Will you grant me permission to tell you?”

There wasn’t much else to do, and I agreed to listen to her. While she was telling her story I thought about her finding me like this. Should I enjoy the feeling? I’m glad I wasn’t in the middle of doing my business when she opened the door. That would have been so embarrassing.

My embarrassment was about to grow. She told me that she lived across the lake from where the car park is. (You know which car park I am talking about.) She told me that she lived alone and that she spent most of her time doing not much and looking through her telescope. She observed the birds and people in canoes on the lake and of course people visiting the car park. (Oh no, she hadn’t – had she? I could guess what she had seen, but maybe her telescope wasn’t that powerful.) And she told me that she had been watching when this particular van pulled up and a man helped a woman out of the back. She told me all the details until the point where I hobbled in between the trees. My whole body must have reddened but she didn’t mention it. My stomach was knotting up and I could feel the small hairs on my back stand to attention. But I could also feel my secret place warm up quite considerable.

She had seen the same van today in the village just out side the shop and she peeked through the back window in the hope of seeing me. But I wasn’t there of course. She entered the shop and saw my husband and the shopkeeper in conversation. My husband asked about building materials and somewhere with a public Internet connection for some work he had to do. The shopkeeper knew nothing about the Internet and could give no advice. My husband talked about having to go back to Denmark to get the job done.

“Of course I offered my services. I had a suspicion that you were his slave and I offered to take care of you until his return. After I told him my story, your husband agreed that I could play with you until he came back. He did however expressly say that you are not a slave and that you have the final say. If you agree to play then he will allow it and if you disagree, I’ll release you, because he ended up deciding to go back to Denmark to take care of this important business. You can then wait in the cabin for his return. He estimated that he would be away today and come back late tomorrow.”

What was there to say? I didn’t know this lady and I surely had no idea about what she considered to be playing.

“Don’t worry my little Pee Woman. I’ll tell you about me and then you can decide. Will that be OK with you?”

After some thought I nodded.

“When I was about 10 years old I had an accident, and my face was damaged beyond repair, or at least to the point where it looked odd after the operations. The other kids in school teased me and some bullied me and called me the village freak. My parents decided to teach me at home and I kept myself indoors and never saw other kids. When I was 23 my parents died in a car crash and I inherited their house and quite a lot of money. I now stay in my house and although I have now had plastic surgery, I still keep to myself. You see, my parents failed to educate me in the ways of having a sex life as well as a social life. I cared nothing for men, if anything I was afraid of the concept of sex, and I never married. Two years ago, however, I had an Internet connection installed in my house and the world opened up for me. My curiosity led me eventually to certain sex sites and I became aware of something missing in my life. I had played with myself before, but I had always felt ashamed of doing it. My parents had made my private parts taboo and a no-no area. The sex on the Internet educated me in the world of passion, sex, arousal and masturbation. I also found out why I don’t much care for men. It turns out that I like women. Living in a small community like this it is out of the question to find a woman to have sex with. I’m sure there are other lesbians in the area, but they do as I do – they don’t let on that they like women. If the wrong people found out it would be impossible to live here any more, and I don't want to move away.”

“During my travels on the Internet I found bondage and the obvious answer of self bondage. I have had many self bondage sessions and although it has been fun. It is, however, not for me. I learned that I like to do the tying. It was as a dominatrix that I saw myself in my dreams and it was I who tied the ropes in the videos I watched in the Internet while I masturbated. Then I saw you tied and I saw your husband pee on you and I’m told that you like it. Even to the point where you crave it. Your husband has permitted you to accept me as a temporary dominatrix and I’d really love to feel the skin of a woman, kiss her and touch her. I am curious about the taste of your pussy and I’d really love to have you lick my pussy.”

I felt her fingers on my shoulder. Her fingers trembled and I could feel the heat coming from her body, through her fingers and onto my shoulder. The thought of her as my mistress was churning around my head. I could not see her and I had no idea what she really had in mind. I needed to see her eyes to tell me of her true intentions. I could smell her soap and her shampoo. I could smell her perfume and it was very nice. Not imposing and I couldn’t believe a person with an unobtrusive perfume could be a bad person. Is that weird? Somehow I connect nasty people with bad hygiene and crude language.

“Will you hurt me,” I finally asked, and she profusely protested. “Some of the ties I’ll try on you will probably be tight enough to be uncomfortable, but all you have to do is to indicate this and I’ll quickly release you from that particular tie. Your husband has told me about your likes and dislikes, and I’ll not do anything to hurt you.”

My husband had allowed this to happen? He even gave her the key to the barn and presumably she also had the keys to the padlocks holding me in place. Would I like licking a woman? I had of course often tasted my own juices in my sexual experiments and I’m sure my resolutions towards a new sex life for my husband and myself will give me ample opportunity to taste both my juices as well as his. By now I knew that I had to play with myself very soon or else I’d explode from unreleased sexual tension. But another woman? I won’t pretend I haven’t fantasized about it, but in real life? This was perhaps my only chance to find out.

I put on my best slave girl voice and switched to English. I don’t know why, but somehow I felt that a shift in personae was appropriate;

“I would love to be at your disposal Mistress for as long as my Master will want me to.”

There was a release of air and I realized that she had held her breath while she waited for me to answer her plea. “Thank you. You won’t regret it,” she said, “I’m sure I won’t. I’ll be right back. By the way; I love your Jewell Marceau impersonation.”

She ran out to her car and within seconds I heard the car disappear down the gravel track. “You forgot to close the door,” I shouted, but there was, of course, no reply, but she had recognized my slave girl voice. That was promising in a funny sort of way. The seconds ticked away and turned into minutes, which turned into many minutes. My feelings were in tumult, and I kept shifting between anxiety and eagerness. My secret place demanded attention and I was soon far away in orgasm-land. The dirt floor welcomed me as I rolled around with my taped fists almost buried in my secret place.


I never even heard the car come back, but I heard the command to stop what I was doing. I was now a slave girl belonging to an anonymous old (?) dyke. “I’m sorry Mistress, I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I won’t do it again.”

“Perhaps it would be best if I made sure you can’t do it at all, you dirty pee girl.” This sentence made an instant connection to my clitoris and at the same time it signalled a fast and furious change of bondage. Although I still wore my helmet and my gloves, I was now tied in a tight ball with my hands behind my back and enough rope around me to hold an ocean liner. That must have been why she left, to get some rope and other paraphernalia. She tied me very tight and it was also very sexy. Her next command was scary; “Open wide.”

Those two words meant that something was about to be showed into my mouth. The problem with Jewell Marceau was that she loved BIG ball gags and I couldn’t even hold a small one. I started protesting, wanting to explain about my gag reflexes, but she didn’t seem to hear. Maybe she thought it was part of my personae to protest. As it happens she only inserted a ring gag (where did she get that?) and those I have no problem with, so I stopped protesting and allowed her to continue.

My new Mistress rolled me onto my back and this way my secret place stopped being secret. I knew it was staring her right in her face and I felt it contract in anticipation. I knew she was going to touch it, but I had no idea that the feeling would be so intense. My husband usually puts his hands on it and starts working my inside or my clitoris. This woman's touch felt like butterfly wings touching my large inner labia and I could feel them fluttering at the entrance to my sex as well as where my clitoris was peeking out under its cover. Oh my. Is this how lesbians have sex? The feeling got more insistent and suddenly I felt something new. This was definitely her tongue working now. Around and around and in and out. She moaned and soon she had a hand on each buttock while her mouth was trying to swallow my whole sex. She was almost manic in her assault on my secret place. But I came. A great big thunderous orgasm. And because she kept up the assault on my clitoris I had another. It was almost too much and at the point where I had to beg her to stop. Not that it is easy to say with a ring gag hindering your efforts.

She stopped eventually and luckily it was before I fainted from all the orgasms. Guess what came next. Should you have guessed on her having me return the favour, you would be right. She soon found that my position in a ball tie with a ring gag in my mouth didn’t quite work. She couldn’t quite get the angle. A new tie was put into being. I’ll tell you this for nothing; she had watched some interesting videos and paid special notice to some difficult ties.

A hogtie with crossed ankles and elbows as close together as she could get them. I was then on my stomach with my head tilted back and she scooted her pussy right up to my mouth and ordered me to start licking – AND to make it good. She started moaning and groaning even before I touched her pussy with my tongue. Trust me, it isn’t that easy with a ring gag firmly fixed in your mouth. It was a bit weird to stick my tongue out and feel another woman’s private parts against the tip. The taste wasn’t all that bad, but she was absolutely dripping wet and the thought of licking a wet pussy was almost repulsive. Her smell was intense but certainly not repulsive. In the interest of truth I should tell you that it didn’t take that long before I was lapping up her juices in much the same way she had done to me. My tongue was thrust in her sex opening as far as I could possible get it in, and it was interchanged with tickling her clitoris with the tip of my tongue. She came violently and I actually think she eventually fainted. She got all silent and I lay there with my face in her crotch and her legs locked around my head. I couldn’t hold my head up and my nose was buried in her pussy while I had to breathe through my mouth alone. I knew I was drooling on the floor, a mixture of my saliva and her love juice.

She came back to the land of the living. She released my ropes and pulled me close to her as we lay there on the dirt floor. She kept on stroking my breasts, my stomach and my secret place with gentle motions of her hands while she said “Thank you” again and again. My secret place wasn't that secret any more and it was extremely sensitive to her touch. It was almost like electricity but she was my Mistress and I had to endure anything she wanted me to endure. My mouth was sticky with her juices and I could still taste her when I licked my lips. We lay there for a long time, but eventually she stirred and told me that she would have to go home and feed her dogs. But first she would tie me up again and give me a present. She chained me as she had found me and then she told me to sit on my knees and beg like a dog for my present. I did as she asked and she stepped close with her pussy against my mouth. I licked her dutifully and suddenly I felt her pee in my mouth. It ran down my chin and down my body and she ordered me to drink it, but I couldn’t. I retched and gagged and then I threw up. It hit her pussy and bounced back and ran down my breasts. I could feel my lap fill up with the stuff and my pubic hairs got soaked in it as well. She didn’t like that. Oh no. She punished me by tying my ankles to my thighs and my knees together, thus preventing me from moving away from the yucky stuff. She left me there and I could hear her washing by our water pump in the garden.

The full impact of what had taken place this day started to soak in. My head was still enclosed in a Duct Tape Helmet. My hands were taped into fists. My lower face was full of pee and puke and the front of my body was absolutely covered in it. My new Mistress had made me come many times as she licked my special place and I had made her come many times as well. Her pussy felt good to my tongue and her juices were very tasty. I think that I could learn to be a lesbian simply for the joy of lapping up pussy juice and making my Mistress happy.

But she was not happy with me. I had refused to drink her pee. Now she had left and I had no idea of when she would return and what her mood would be like. And I still needed to do my business and have a pee. I had needed it since my husband left, but never had the chance. Now I was desperate, but I could not move from where I was sitting because of the way my legs were tied. There was nothing left to do but to do my business then and there. As I sat there I was very conscious of the fact that only centimetres from my dangling labia there was a pile of poo.

When she came back into the barn she noticed the smell straight away. “Perhaps we should find another place to play,” she said, “Let us get you cleaned up first“. She removed all my bonds and led me to the water pump and washed me thoroughly with the cold water and her roaming hands. When I was sufficiently clean she loaded me into the luggage compartment of her car and told me to keep quiet and enjoy the ride. There were other stuff in the compartment and it was very difficult to enjoy anything because of the sharp edges poking me everywhere. I was being kidnapped. My Mistress was after all only part of a vast network of evil slave traders, and now I was transported to their training camp, where I would be trained as a slave and eventually sold to the highest bidder, who probably would be some nasty rich bitch somewhere in France.

The car stopped and I was unloaded. I cried and begged; “Please don’t sell me. I’ll be good and do everything you ask, but please don’t sell me Mistress.”

She was quick of the mark and fell into her role without difficulty; “Very well girl, but you only get one more chance. You blow this one and it will be a night flight to the cat houses in Toulon within the week.”

She dragged me inside a building. It smelled funny and I couldn’t guess what the room was meant for, but it didn’t matter much anyway, because I was dragged up some stairs and through a doorway and made to sit on a bed. It creaked underneath me and I recognized the sound of good old metal springs. I was willing to bet a million kroner on the possibility of four metal posts ending in gilded balls. Whatever the design, the mattress was hard and unyielding.

“This room,” she said, “is my playroom. I have a dolly about the size of you that I made especially for playing with my ropes and other things I have bought or made. This time though, I’m not playing with my dolly, but with you. I have installed many eyelets and hooks to make any type of bondage possible. The rest of the day and tonight you will, however, find yourself in a standard spread-eagle position. Are you hungry?”

The sudden change of topic confused me, and it took a few second before I could answer yes. I was very hungry.

“First I’ll tie you up,” she said, “Then you can have something to eat.”

Soon I was spread-eagle on the bed. The ropes holding my wrists and ankles were snug but not too tight and they had enough slack in them to allow me to adjust my arms and legs just enough so that I wouldn’t get cramps.

After she finished tying me, she undressed completely. I could hear zippers and catches open as well as the rustle of her clothing as it fell to the floor. The bed creaked and dipped in one side as she climbed onto it. She cupped my secret place and gently kissed my nipples. Her mouth moved further up and she kissed me on the mouth. This was a new feeling as well. Her tongue played with my lips and tried to separate my teeth. She was my new Mistress and I didn’t want to get sold, so I opened my lips and teeth enough for her to enter my mouth. Her tongue played with my tongue and I felt the wetness of her mouth mix with my own. It was great. My secret place tingled and I’m sure she could feel it in her hand. She drew back and asked me to tell her what made me tick and what made me go off the boil.

I did the best I could to give her a true account of my quirks and told her about my self bondage adventures and of my experiments with nettles, clothespins, needles, stuffing, dildoes, rope, chains, cuffs and not least – humiliation and degradation.

She listened intently only pausing once in a while to get something clarified and when I was finished she whispered to me, that she would try to make me happy while I made her happy.

The evening, night and next day was spent tied up in the “hobby room” she had built for herself only interrupted by bathroom visits and the occasional shower (but always chained or in handcuffs). She insisted on washing me herself and I can tell you that every inch of me was squeaky clean. I was her first live woman and it showed. She kissed me constantly and all over my body paying special care to taste my secret place. I got to kiss her and kiss her breasts – larger than mine, but that isn’t too difficult as mine only are A-cups. And I got to lick her pussy again and again. She was tireless and my tongue was not. In the end I had to ask her to forgive me, but I simply couldn’t go on. I was exhausted by all my orgasms, my tongue could hardly move and I needed sleep.

She understood and released me from my bondage. “I’ll bring you back. I’m sure your husband will return in a couple of hours.”

She left me tied spread-eagle on the front lawn of our cabin. She assured me that I’d be safe and when I asked for some sun tan lotion, she said, that she had it ready. She said that I had actually made it my self. Perhaps I was slow or just plain stupid, but I didn’t understand what she meant until I felt her rubbing her hands all over my body, arms and legs, but paying special attention to my secret place. I could smell it even if my helmet did cover my nose. She ended by smearing it around my mouth and on my lips. “This, my little Pee Woman, is your punishment for puking on me. Stick your tongue out,” she said, but I didn’t. I simply couldn’t. I already felt like I would die and tasting it wouldn’t help.

“Bye bye,” she said, “And thanks for everything you have done for me. I will treasure the memory.”

And then she was gone. And maybe I did eventually stick my tongue out to taste my lips.

The Party of the first party and the Party of the second party…

I must have been lying there in my garden for a couple of hours, totally covered in poo. Funny thing. When it dries it almost does it in small patches and pulls at your skin and the small hairs on your arms, legs and body. I was very aware of the feeling in my secret place. The drying process made my labia feel funny. But the exposed postion on the lawn was worse. There were no mosquitoes, but I attracted millions of flies. They were a bit of a pain. When they crawled on my lips I could imagine them laying their eggs all over me. I didn’t much like that thought at all. And furthermore, what if somebody came by? The postman might turn up with a parcel to my husband. Some tourists could call in asking for directions. Perhaps a friendly neighbour would call in wanting some gossip and a cup of coffee. Should any of them come by now, they would be sure to get a sight that would probably fill their dreams for some time to come. Perhaps they would even bring cameras? Didn’t most mobile phones now-a-days have build in cameras? Ah the possibilities were endless and my mind visited most of them.

The sound of our van approaching was a relief at the same time as I was dreading it. What would he say when he saw me out of the shed and on the grass waiting for him covered in poo? Did Mistress actually have his permission to ask me to be her plaything? Had I done wrong in giving in to her story? Would he hate me because I had licked another woman’s pussy – well actually lapped up her juices with gusto?

Would he accept the fact that I loved every minute of it?

“You are still wearing your helmet and gloves,” he said. “We had better get them off you. It is probably not good to have your hands balled up like that for too long.” He started cutting of the tape on my hands with a pair of scissors. It was a great relief to be free again but my fingers didn’t quite work yet. The helmet came of as well and I kept my eyes closed. I could feel the breeze across my face while it blew across a presumably sweaty face and wet hair.

I tried to use my fingers to feel my face, but it was not possible. I was still tied spread-eagle on the grass. Why didn’t he release me? Why didn’t he mention the poo?

I opened my eyes a tiny crack and saw light for the first time in two days. It hurt a bit, and it took a few minutes to get adjusted to the bright sunny day.

When I was ready I looked at hubby, who looked at me with an amused smile on his face. “I spoke with Greta,” he said, “She was blocking the end of the drive with her car to make sure nobody would disturb you. Isn’t that nice of her?”

Greta is of course not her real name, but one we chose to protect her anonymity. Her real name is of course Mistress.

“I have missed you so much,” I finally said, “Are you angry with me for being her slave girl while you were gone?

“Don’t be silly you weird woman. I gave her permission to ask you to be her plaything and the only condition I made was that you agreed to be one. By the looks of things – and the smell – I deduce that you did agree and that you have had a good time.”

“Oh yes. Thank you. Could you please untie me now? I think I need to exercise my limbs and fingers.”

“Why don’t you go down to the lake and get yourself cleaned up. By the time you have finished I will have made some coffee, and you can have a shower while I make you some dinner. Greta mentioned that she had promised you something to eat and that it turned out to be her, that she meant. You must be absolutely starving.”

And I was. My stomach made a loud noise in agreement and we both laughed. “You know, before I can clean up, I need you to untie me,” I said.

He did and when I had gotten the stiffness out of my legs I went to the lake to clean up. I only went in as far as my knees. The water in the Swedish lakes (at least in this area) is very cold only about two feet below the surface.

When I joined him in the kitchen he explained why he had to go back to Denmark. He also said that perhaps I’d consider having a shower and use plenty of soap and shampoo. The poo might have gone but the smell hadn’t. I blushed and hung my head a bit, and hurried to the bathroom. When I returned the conversation soon was back on track. I had to tell him all about Mistress and what we had done. He laughed when I told him about my shame when my secret place had been put on display for Mistress to play with and he was very interested in how I liked to lick a pussy. “Perhaps you like pussy better than dick,” he said, “Crawl to me and suck my cock, and you had better make it good. I have spent two days away from you and I want to try your new found enthusiasm for sex.” He opened his trousers and took out his penis. I somehow like it when he called it cock, but it is not a word I’d use myself.

I crawled to him and if it looked huge from the other side of the table it simply looked enormous when I got close. How could that be? Surely he hadn’t done anything special to it, to make it big like that? And it was also very hard, much harder than usual. I don’t understand these things and it doesn’t make sense, why would it have grown in the time he was in Denmark?

Whatever the reason, it certainly made it more of a challenge to give him a blow job. I took in more of him than usual and I fought the gag reflex. It was important to me, that I did a good job of it, and presumably I did. Within two minutes he came in my mouth. After the first squirt I swallowed. Perhaps it was a guilty conscience, perhaps I was horny, perhaps he deserved it, but whatever the cause, I swallowed every drop of his load. It wasn’t too bad. A bit salty and sticky. The feeling in me when I did swallow it was beyond compare. It was almost pride.

The next few days went on without too much sex. We did what we normally did, when on holiday except that I was naked all the time and he wasn’t. Then I had my period. I had envisioned myself relegated to the barn all tied up while I was having my period and having to suffer the indignity of it running down my legs, but truth is that Hubby was kind enough to allow me to use tampons. I was still naked at all times, and it became the norm to be naked. It didn’t at all feel weird or unnatural and when finally someone did knock on the door at the start of the last week I opened it without thinking. Outside there was a lady. I’d seen her before in the village when we went shopping (That was last year as Hubby has done the shopping this year due to my lack of clothing), and she always had a smile and a “good morning” when we met.

“Oh,” she said, “You look pretty. Even without rope.”

There was the initial shock of realizing that I was indeed naked and then another shock from what she said. There was no doubt in my mind. Although I had never seen Mistress, I was sure that it was her at the door. Her perfume was well known to me. I had been very close to it for many hours. So it must be Mistress standing outside the door. I mean – with an opening sentence like that who else might it have been? What should I do? I couldn’t very well leave her standing there, so I assumed my slave girl personae, dropped to my knees and asked her in English in my tiny voice to come in and that I’d fetch Master immediately. She entered the living room and I only managed to get on my feet again when Hubby, who had obviously heard my invitation, came out from the kitchen while demanding me to “Go to your place and wait there.”

I didn’t really have “a place”, but I thought that the corner of the living room would be a good place to be, so I went to the corner and stood there with my back towards the room and my hands clasping my arms behind my back. I don’t know why I did that, but it seemed right.

Hubby and Mistress had some coffee (the coffee I was supposed to have) and chatted for quite a while about nothing special. Where she lived, where we lived in Denmark, how it came to be that I was a slave girl. They talked about my two days of slavery to Mistress. Apparently Mistress was very pleased and she said that she had had two fantastic days with me and that she was totally satisfied with my services. And then she asked if she could borrow me again sometime soon. All my muscles stiffened and I held my breath. What would Hubby say?

But Hubby just carried on with his questions about what had happened and how Mistress had come onto the scene of bondage – and being a dominatrix. Mistress explained all about her Internet videos and bondage sites. All about buying bondage gear over the Internet and how she had played extensively with self bondage and how she became a very sexual person. How she came to realize that she likes women and especially being the one to tie them up in weird ways. She told about her human sized dolly and how it might help her in her masturbation fantasies, but that the two days with me had been the best two days in her sexual life.

The two of them chatted like they were best friends in the world and not as if they only met e few days ago. There were no secrets between them, and they were joking and laughing and talked seemingly endless about what a slave girl could be used for. It was very strange to be talked about like that and not being allowed to join in. It was also kind of sexy.

Hubby eventually answered her question by saying, “My wife and I spend prolonged weekends in the cabin throughout the year. Apart from that we have four weeks every year as our main summer holiday. For those four weeks my wife will be a slave girl. The rest of the year we will live as a normal couple although I will allow her to continue her self bondage sessions.

During those four weeks ONLY, I shall be Master, and I will NOT accept my slave girl to say ‘no’ to anything I tell her to do or ask her to endure. I will lend you my slave girl for one of those weeks. The deal will be that I will have her for one week, you can have her exclusively for one week, she will be indisposed for one week and for the last week I want both of you to be my slaves. You will still be her superior, but you will also be my slave to do with as I please. I shall not do anything that might pose a risk to your reputation in the community.”

I almost lost it there. Four weeks as a slave every year. One whole week with Mistress. I simply couldn’t believe my luck. But Mistress couldn’t be a slave could she? What if she says no?

“But,” my husband said, “this will happen only if you agree to my terms and ONLY if my wife agrees to this. Should you decide against it she will be MY slave girl for the whole four weeks and you will not have her again. I have come to understand, at least in part, what it is she craves, and I certainly intend to expand on my repertoire when it comes to pleasing her. But whatever I do, and whatever you would do, must be something we all would like to do, or have done.”

Nothing was said for some time. The only sound was the beating of my heart and the clink, clink of the cups accompanied by the sound of biscuits being chewed.

Come on now. Say something. I simply could not stand this any more. In a rush of impatience, I turned towards the table, and looked at them. They were both looking at me. Mistress looked me straight in the eyes and smiled. I realized that she had already given her consent and that they were waiting for me to make a move.

“Yes please,” was all I could get out before I started choking up. I could say no more and I felt my eyes water and my stomach made small somersaults of joy. After all, I had agreed to be used and humiliated not by my husband alone but also by my husband’s second slave who happened to be my Mistress. My husband looked pleased and quietly said to Mistress; “I believe this is our fourth week here.”

Mistress looked at Hubby for several very long seconds. She then rose from the chair and reached into her handbag and drew out a pair of handcuffs and a ball gag. She smiled at me and said, “These were for you if Master would have let me borrow you again. I guess we shall use them next year.”

She then started removing her clothes until she was as naked as I. She wasn’t bad looking and her breasts were surprisingly nice for a lady in her late forties (I guess – I’m not entirely sure). Her areola were very dark almost brown and her whole body was pale. Not a sign of tan-lines. Didn’t she ever get out in the sun? She put the ball gag on, locked it in place with a small padlock and gave the key to my husband. Or maybe I should start calling him Master as well, at least when we are on summer holiday in Sweden. She gave Master the key to the handcuffs, and put them on with her hands behind her back. She then knelt on the floor and looked straight out in front of her. As she was kneeling there I noticed a small drip on the floor underneath her.

Master left the room and I spent a few moments looking at the woman who had given me so much pleasure without letting me see her, or even touch her with anything but my mouth and tongue. She did have nice breasts, large B-cups if I wasn’t mistaken. Her pussy was a mess of hair and the hair on her head was very dark brown and set in a beautiful style that reminded me of the late Bettie Page. Perhaps her bum was a fraction too big and I noticed that she didn’t shave her legs. Me neither. Her eyes were large and dark. I distinctly remember looking for her facial disfigurement, but saw none. The plastic surgery was done well. She did not look at me – she kept looking straight ahead as if she was a statue. Only her breasts moving with her every deep breath and the puckering of the nipples revealed that she was alive. I couldn’t help myself; I knelt in front of her and cupped her pussy in my hand. It was dripping wet and she groaned and shook her head slightly. When I removed my hand I made a point of licking all the juice of my fingers. I smiled at her and put my hands behind my back and waited for Master to come back, staring into Mistress’s eyes while we each had our thoughts on the future.

Master came back and tossed my leather cuffs, some padlocks, some large elastic bands and a bundle of rope on the floor. “It is time for making your present,” he said, “but first I want you to tie yourself up in your favourite position.”

A Box of Tricks

My favourite position. I had talked about it often enough, but this was the first time anybody would see it in at least 25 years. I haven’t seen it anywhere else and perhaps it is my own invention? Normally I would have the keys to the padlocks, but Master kept them to himself.

Well I had better get on with it. First I made Mistress turn slightly so that she faced into the room. I wanted her to see the whole show, in particular the last bit. Then I fetched a foam mattress that we keep for visitors. I put it on the floor and sat on my heels in front of her. On each leg I worked an elastic band all the way up to the top of my thigh and positioned it so that I could stretch one of my large labia out and tuck it under the elastic band. When that was done I bent forward slightly so that my knees were pressed against my shoulders. Then I started wrapping the rope around me. Behind my back, round the leg and back between my leg and body, round my back, between my body and the other leg and round the leg and back around my back for another trip in the same way. As I used more rope I managed to make the tie spread from my thighs and up to my knees. This way the load is distributed on a larger surface and the pain in my legs and back would be minimal. The trick is to not tighten the ropes so much that your legs shift position from the original. This will ensure that you can stay tied like this for a long time without too much distress. I call this tie The Tortoise. My leather cuffs were locked to my ankles and my wrist cuffs and the last two padlocks locked my wrists to my ankles. There it was. I was now totally immobilized. The best part was yet to come. I rocked slightly on my feet and I toppled backwards onto the mattress and could do absolutely nothing but lie there waiting for Master to release me. And my breasts were available and my secret place was out in the open for all to see. I could do nothing to hide myself, and I didn’t want to. I looked at Mistress and her eyes were transfixed onto my secret place with its large labia spread out so that the flower was in full bloom. I’m sure that she could see my wetness and I’m equally sure that she longed to taste it.

Master was all business and started taking measurements from all angles. He told me that he was going to build me a transport box. WOW! The very thought of being transported in a box was part of my fantasies. Suddenly I realized that most of what had happened this holiday was in line with my dreams and fantasies. How did he know? Then it dawned on me. He did show me my story on my laptop. What would have kept him from checking out my bookmarks and browser list? Never mind. This would be good. Very good.

Mistress looked as if she was dying of thirst. She was drooling and her drool fell on her breasts. It looked fantastic. I wanted to lick it off. I’m sure I looked ready to eat. So to speak. Mistress made small sounds, almost whiny kitten noises. I liked that a lot.

We must have waited like this for a long time. My moisture had dried and Mistress’s drooling was getting worse. At one point I was almost certain that I heard her dripping on the floor. I wonder if it was from her pussy or from drooling. Oh how I longed to touch her breasts and kiss her drooling mouth. I imagined that I was forced to lie on the floor with my head under her pussy while it dripped into my ring gagged mouth. Maybe she would even need a pee? Perhaps I should hint at it to Master? Make him think that I would feel so ashamed at being dripped at, that he would make it a punishment. It isn’t really lying. I would hate it for its disgustedness, but I would love it because I’m a filthy pervert.

Master came into the room and removed Mistress’s gag. He told her to clean me up as I was to be put in my box. He had hardly spoken the last word before she had her mouth firmly pressed against my pussy. She moaned and groaned just as much as I did, but I was the one who came in a huge orgasm. Let me tell you a secret. When one has an orgasm, all the muscles seem to contract and the body tries its damn best to stretch out. Being tied in The Tortoise my body could not stretch and all the effort went straight to my stomach muscles and they in turn tried to push my uterus out through my pussy. Suddenly I felt wetness beyond what I normally would feel when I come and I was afraid I’d peed myself. Mistress didn’t stop licking and I must have made a wrong guess.

Master pulled Mistress to an upright position and felt her pussy and said that she was absolutely soaking wet. “Sit on her face while you give me a blow job, and make sure that you make her whole face wet with your juices.”

Maybe this was the first time I really comprehended the situation I had willingly put myself into. My husband was in fact getting a blow job from another woman. Her pussy pressed onto my face and I could feel the slippery juices on my nose and mouth. The very same lady who was going to suck my husband’s penis had just given me an enormous orgasm. Should I deny him the same pleasure? My tongue tasted her slick labia and I loved every twist and movement of her pussy against my face as she spread her juices all over it. I used my tongue as best I could and suddenly she moved away very quickly. Nooo. Please stay. But what happened next was almost as good. Master squirted all his juices all over my face. I was now covered in cum and pussy juice. Master looked down on me and told me to wait for him to come back. What the hell did he expect me to do? Levitate? He took Mistress with him after he had unlocked her handcuffs and had her put on her dress. Only the dress though. No underwear. It was one of those frumpy looking things that had hundreds of buttons down the front. The pattern was quite old fashioned. Before they left, they lifted me off the mattress and onto the hard floor. They took the mattress with them.

I must have nodded off because the next thing I remember is the two of them entering the room with a wooden box between them. It was unpainted and there were some fittings that looked like snap locks fitted in several places. It didn’t look big enough to hold me in it, but after they opened it they lifted me into it and onto a soft foam lining. They had cut the foam mattress so that I could lie inside the box in comfort. Only a few corrective cuts of the foam, and I fitted neatly into the box and the padded lid would close properly without pressing too hard. Mistress patted my flower before they closed the lid. I had to lie with my head turned and I could feel the drying juices on my face as I made myself comfortable in the box. The foam under my head as well as over my head made it impossible to hear anything from outside the box. I was aware of the lid being fastened somehow, but I couldn’t tell you if they screwed the lid on or if they made use of the snap locks. I didn’t mind much. I had my dreams and this was one of them.

I felt them lift the box and carry me somewhere. It must have been outside as they had to tilt the box to get it through the door. The foam lining kept me in place. I was placed on some surface and I could hear the distant sound of the box being pushed along the floor. I guessed that I was in the van. We were maybe going to Mistress’s house.

It took a long time before we actually started to move. Perhaps Mistress and Master were having sex with Masters new found stamina? It made me excited to think of Mistress with Masters cock inside her. Even if she did like women better. We took off and drove for a longer time than I would have thought would bring us to Mistress’s house. I was pretty sure that we had passed Mistress’s house and were on our way to some distant place. I became concerned about having enough air in the box, but the construction seemed to be such that air had unhindered access although I didn’t see any light shine through any holes.

Finally we stopped and I felt the box being pulled (or pushed) along the floor of the van. I wasn’t picked up and I began to wonder what was going on. Then I felt movement at the feet end of the box. The pressure from the foam disappeared from my feet and my buttocks. I felt cool air on my secret place – no – on my pussy and I knew what his game was. He was exposing my most private place to the world. We were probably in some car park far from anywhere and he was having fun with me. After a while I felt hands on my buttocks and they were all over the place down there. I felt a hard object in the middle of my flower and then I was penetrated by Masters penis. No this was definitely a cock. Big and hard. It sawed into me with gusto and eventually I felt it being pressed way into me and then pulled out. I was almost on the verge of coming myself. But all was not right. I felt the penis enter me again. It was the same sawing gusto, but I felt it go deeper. Again I felt the last bit where it was pressed really deep and this was so deep that it definitely couldn’t be Master’s cock.

Only a couple of minutes later I was again assaulted by a cock in me. My Gods. Master was actually having strange men fuck me somewhere on a parking place in Sweden. How many more would he put to me? I was nothing but a fuck hole to them. I might as well have been a rubber doll. There was a longer and longer pause between the cocks and it all ended with the bottom part of the box being attached to the rest. We drove of and soon we stopped again. The box was again opened and I mentally prepared myself to receive yet another bunch of men. But this time it was a tongue inside me. And it was a tongue I recognized. Mistress was cleaning out all my juices. She sucked eagerly and cleaned as far in as her tongue would reach. And I came with the same violence I had experienced earlier. I didn’t notice the box being closed again and I didn’t notice the drive back to the cabin.

I was let out of the cabin and untied. It took almost half an hour before I could stretch out on the floor. A hot shower took care of the last of the knots in my muscles. As I left the shower stall, Mistress was there and she held me close and kissed me deeply. Then she said that she had watched all those men fuck me and that when they were done, Master had driven the van to a new location out of the way and had her clean me out. She also told me not to worry. Master had made them all use condoms. We kissed some more and I was allowed to fondle her breasts. They felt lovely and soft as well as firm. Her nipples reacted well to my tongue, not at all like mine reacts. They don’t seem to be able to become large and erect. They always tightened up unto small buds.

Mistress told me that even if she too was a slave this week, she was still my Mistress and now she wanted me to give her an orgasm, but first I had to drink her pee without spilling a drop. If I threw up this time she would get Master to make me drink the content from all the condoms. She dangled the condoms in front of my face and I choose to kneel before Mistress. I did manage to drink the lot.

I’m sure that next year when she has me for a week I will be much more than a slave she will use to practise her bondage tying skills on.

I Still Love You

The rest of the week was spent with the three of us enjoying ourselves. It wasn’t all sex and most of the time we were just a bunch of friends having a great time. Maybe the fact that Hubby was dressed and Mistress and I were naked the whole time would have told a visitor, that not all was that normal.

The weekend arrived and we had to say goodbye. Mistress was crying, but she assured us that it was happy tears. After so many years without any partner she had finally found someone who could accept what she was and give her what she craved. I cried because she cried and I promised her that I’d be a good slave when we came back for our next summer holiday. She smiled through her tears and told me that if not, I’d soon learn.

She hugged me and whispered in my ear; “I love your taste.” “And me yours,” I whispered back.

Hubby fetched my suitcase from the shed, the shed with all the wasps, and I got to wear a dress on the way home. Nothing else but the dress, but it was fine with me.

The last sight when we drove away from the cabin was that of a naked Mistress who waved goodbye with both hands raised high. Her breasts moved freely and I very much wanted to run back and kiss them. But Hubby kept driving and she disappeared as we drove round a bend.

We had found a new friend and I had finally realized that it wasn’t Hubby who was inadequate in bed or with bondage. It was I who hadn’t given much back when he gave so much. I had promised myself that I would give back in the future, and I’m sure that he will find the new me to his liking.

Hubby refused a blow job while we were on our way home. “It will not be safe,” he said, “but I still love you.”

When we arrived home we had a cup of coffee and Hubby explained to me that the summer holiday was the only time of the year that we would play Master and Slave. He explained that if it were to become everyday business it would loose its impact and we would need to explore more and more extreme paths in our quest for sexual fulfilment.

But he appreciated my lips around his cock when we went to bed.