Day 1
His voice whispered low in my ear.
‘God I like fucking you when you’re helpless.’
I couldn’t reply. I had nothing to say. True, my right wrist was tied securely to the rungs of the headboard with one of the stockings I’d discarded earlier. But the knots that held my left wrist above my head were rapidly slipping, despite my efforts to remain still and not put any strain on the inadequate restraint. He’d blindfolded me at the start, but loosely, and now the silk had slipped from my eyes and he was kissing me with a gentle passion which made me love him, but frustrated me half out of my mind.
If only he hadn’t bothered. If only we were both rolling freely across the bed, doing what we do best. But for some reason that I couldn’t and didn’t want to analyse, when he made a play at tying me up, the only refrain that ran through my mind was why doesn’t he do it properly…
Giving in, I pulled my hands free and climbed on top, and rode him to a climax that made him groan. When he’d recovered, he grinned at me and slipped down between my legs. I came, as always, with his expert touch. But it didn’t help quench the fire.
Lying in his arms as he drifted off to sleep, I knew I was a bad, bad person. Selfish thoughts span round my mind, chased by guilt, muddied by confusion. What did I want from him? We’d been together ten years. I loved him to distraction. Why, every time he injected a little kinky play into our sex life, did I become so deeply dissatisfied?
Actually, I knew why. It had finally dawned on me – or I had finally admitted it to myself.
At first, when he tied me to the bed, it had driven me wild. He called me, only half jokingly, his little bondage princess. He’d taken me surfing on the net to find x-rated pictures of women strapped in leather, encircled with rope, swinging in mid-air. As for me, I kept quiet. What I felt was too strong, and I thought too embarrassing, to articulate.
But his actions had never matched the pictures he’d shown me.
Sleep finally came, but it was a restless night.
Day 2
I drifted round the house all day, aware of nothing but the little voice in my head that urged me on to disaster.
We’d woken together as the early morning summer sun warmed the bedroom. He kissed me, and ran his fingers down my spine, and instantly I wanted him again. Long, languid lovemaking had, I thought, exorcised the ghost of the night before. But no. As soon as he’d left, I plunged into a waking dream where nothing made sense.
I was desperate to push him further than he was pushing himself, only there was no way on earth I could put that request into words. Even my mind shied from being so explicit. And somewhere deep inside, I was scared he didn’t really want to.
Maybe… but that was a mad idea. I knew I needed to draw out the demon inside him. If it existed… no, it had to exist. It had to. I’d seen glimpses of it, but never the whole thing in its true colours.
By the time he came home, all six foot two dark haired and gorgeous, the mad idea made perfect sense.
He took me in his arms and bear-hugged the breath out of me.
‘You’re very nice to come home to,’ he said. ‘You should stay home more often.’
I smiled and led him in to the kitchen where I had, in fact, prepared a meal for him. It wasn’t often I was home before him, and it was fun to play up the occasions when I was.
Only I served it to him naked, and let him eat dessert from my body as I lay across the kitchen table. Pretty soon he chased me upstairs, and the little voice in my head took over. Instead of letting him lead, as usual, I sat astride him and began to gently tease his nipples. He looked at me questioningly, but didn’t complain.
‘I was just wondering,’ I began, speaking low to control the quake in my voice, ‘if maybe we could swap roles this evening.’ I reached behind me and began to stroke his cock.
He closed his eyes and gave a satisfied grunt. ‘What do you mean?’
Nerves almost stopped me, but I fought them down. I had to try. ‘Well, you know it’s always me who gets tied to the bed…’ I could go no further, and could hardly meet his eye.
He shrugged, seemingly pleased I was making suggestions but indifferent to the idea itself. ‘Anything you like,’ he replied. ‘I’d do anything for a beautiful woman sitting on top of me and doing things like that to my cock.’
I moved more swiftly than my pretence of casualness suggested. Jumping up, I half ran the few steps to the wardrobe and extracted four of his old ties. His gaze followed me, curious but not especially aroused. I climbed on top of him again, and, pushing his arms out to the corners of the bed, wrapped a tie round each wrist and knotted it securely – rather fiercely – to the bedpost. Pausing to give him a kiss, I saw him test his degree of movement and look rather surprised. I hadn’t given much thought to his comfort.
My pulse was racing, even though it all felt very wrong. It was if I had no control now. Spreading out his legs, I used the remaining two ties to secure his ankles to the bottom of the bed. Without ripping the strong silk or breaking apart the bed, he was trapped.
‘I feel a little undignified,’ he said, dryly, pulling at his bonds. Then he added in a voice thick with sarcasm, ‘Mistress. Are you going to make this worth my while?’ He grinned at me, and glanced down towards his erect cock.
I couldn’t handle his comments right now. It was hard enough to keep up the masquerade, to speak without words, to demonstrate what I wanted. Running downstairs, I sought an old roll of thick packing tape and ripped off two short lengths, which to his disgust I plastered over his mouth and stopped any further conversation.
The game was afoot now. Aroused because I could imagine myself in his place, yet sick with nerves and with the weirdness of it all, I set to work pleasuring him to the best of my abilities. I had to show him what I wanted. I slid him inside me and ever so slowly rocked my hips, watching the frenzy building up in his eyes. As I felt him tense for orgasm, I unceremoniously clambered off him and let him scream through his gag as I sucked on his nipples until the near climax had subsided. Twice more I brought him close, and saw the frustration in his expression and ever more jerky movements that signalled he was not happy. Desperate to come, but not happy.
Eventually I took him in my mouth and knew that this had to be the last time. Putting every ounce of effort into it, I licked and sucked him so hard he came like a steam train. I held his testicles locked in one hand, and with the other slipped my little finger a millimetre or two up his ass. I’d never done that before, and never wanted to do it again. His angry scream into his gag told me exactly what he thought of it. I’d pushed him too far.
He subsided, exhausted and angry. With trembling fingers I pulled at the knots at one of his wrists, then fled the room, leaving him to free himself. I ran straight across to the spare bedroom and slammed and locked the door behind me. Curled into a foetal position under the covers of the bed, I stayed put till unexpected sleep took me.
Day 3
Dressed demurely in jacket, shirt and skirt, I sat through the 9am presentation with a blandly interested expression on my face and a deep terror within.
That morning, nothing had happened. I’d crept downstairs at the latest possible moment to find him making my breakfast as usual. He gave me a loving kiss, and upended the frying pan onto my plate. I chewed my way through bacon and eggs and tried to hold a normal conversation.
He drove me to the station, again as usual, before driving off to his office. There was something in the air, very definitely, but he was making a good show of trying to hide it. We kissed goodbye, he gave me the customary tweak of a nipple through my shirt, and we wished each other well for the day ahead.
Just like an ordinary morning. Only this morning, the seatbelt that held me to the passenger seat felt extra heavy, especially when he helped me to fasten it. What was left of my mind told me I was going mad.
Oh god, what had I done?
I sat at my desk, squirming to get comfortable, and plodded through all the routine tasks I could find. Strategic papers and high level analysis would not get done today, not with only three ideas running round and round my mind.
One. He hated me. He was going to leave me. Two. He loved me. He wanted me to stay and dominate him every night, now that I’d made him realise his true calling. Please, no… Three. Three… he’d understood what I’d been trying to tell him.
I didn’t know which would be worse.
All day I craved hometime, but as it approached fear began to gnaw my insides. I had to know, but I couldn’t face it. When an urgent file was dropped on my desk at ten to five, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
When it finally came, the journey home was sheer torture. An hour and a half later than normal, I walked slowly up our driveway trying to swallow a sob. There was no way to tell if he was home. The car was there, but he rarely took it in the evenings. There were no lights on at the front of the house, but he could be at the back. Sick of confusion, I craved certainty. My key slid into the lock, and the door opened silently.
He stood in the hallway, still as night, watching me as I closed the door behind me and let my bag slip to the floor. Dressed entirely in black, he seemed to tower more than the usual six inches over me. There was a glint in his eye, and something in his hand that had never graced our house before.
Black leather and red rubber. A ballgag.
I wanted to run, but couldn’t move, and knew I shouldn’t speak.
What felt like minutes passed, before he spoke in a low, strong voice.
‘Strip. And kneel.’
How the clothes fell from me, I couldn’t tell, but they were in a pile on the floor and I stepped towards him completely naked. Bending my knees to the hardwood floor, I knelt before him, hands crossed before me, feeling penitent beyond belief. I bent my head, and was glad when my hair fell down and obscured my face from his gaze.
‘Look at me.’ I would have given anything not to see his face, or let him see mine, but something told me I shouldn’t make him repeat himself. I raised my head and focused in the mid distance, his face a blur. Had I really pushed our wonderful relationship to this, after ten years?
He extended a hand, and with stiff fingers brushed stray hairs back from my face. I had to stifle a sob at the sensation of his touch.
‘What was last night about?’ His voice was almost calm, yet managed to demand rather than ask. ‘Tell me.’
Words flooded my mind but none rose to my lips. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you something. Please tell me you understand. Please explain it to me…
‘Tell me,’ he repeated, a more dangerous note inflecting his words. I blockaded myself with silence, and dropped my head once again. No words could explain my behaviour. I remained kneeling, statue-still apart from the microscopic quaking sensation that afflicted every inch of my flesh. He’d never seemed so dangerous, so dominant before, and I’d never acted so pitiful. Something had changed.
I heard him stir from the motionless position he had been holding. His voice was just perceptibly lighter, but somehow even more intimidating.
‘If you’re not going to speak, then you won’t mind if I use this.’ He lifted my head, pulled my unresisting mouth open, and pushed the rubber ball uncompromisingly between my teeth, stretching my jaws wider than they had ever been stretched before. He buckled the strap too tight for comfort underneath my hair, and left me sagging on the floor as he watched the experience of being gagged well and truly for the first time attack every one of my senses.
Now that I had no choice, I was desperate to speak, to apologise, to plead… to tell him when to stop. Every time in the past when he’d tied or blindfolded me, he’d left me free to speak, to tell him what I liked and what I didn’t, to laugh and joke. But now, words sprang unbidden and were turned to muffled grunts.
Action. He pulled me to my feet, leaving me dizzy and short of breath as I dragged in air through my nose. With one movement, he swung me over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and headed for the stairs, with me writhing and kicking and screaming through the gag. In the bedroom, he dropped me unceremoniously on the bed and before I’d stopped bouncing he had pulled me once again into a kneeling position. He turned me around so that I knelt on the edge of the bed, facing inwards with my back towards him.
I knew enough not to move from the position he’d placed me in, with my hands now behind my back. It was payback time of some description and I owed it to him to behave.
He moved to the chest at the bottom of the bed and withdrew a long coil of soft, black rope. He had prepared well, evidently, for my punishment. I closed my eyes and waiting, heart racing, for him to return behind me. I felt the heat of his flesh as he placed my hands together, palm to palm behind my back. And then the rope began to wind slowly, carefully, round and round and round till a good few inches of my wrists and arms were covered with black coils. He pulled the rope between my arms, and cinched the loops tightly, knotting carefully.
I felt him cut the long end of the rope away, and step back to admire his handiwork. Trembling, I tested what movement I had. None. My wrists were locked together as if with iron with the soft coils. He’d never done anything like this before.
I could hardly feel him running more rope round my upper arms, just above my elbows. I was breathing hard, my mind slipping away. It wasn’t until he began to pull the coils tighter and tighter, pulling my elbows ever closer, that he regained my attention. In dread I felt him loop and loop again, drawing my arms together. It wasn’t possible… but when my elbows touched and he swiftly tied off with a knot, I knew it was, and my head began to swim.
He pushed me forwards so that I fell face down across the bed, my legs half off the edge. I rested my flushed cheek against the cool sheets and waited, feeling only the strain in my muscles and the pressure of the rope against my arms and wrists. Very soon he had picked up the rest of the rope, and was running it around my waist and through my crotch, tying it off cruelly tight so that I groaned into the gag. He attached my wrists to the rope round my waist, so that any struggling only yanked the rope deeper between my legs. Extracting another, identical coil from the chest, he set to work on my legs and ankles, looping, cinching and knotting yards of black rope round my ankles, calves and thighs. Welded together, my legs moved as one.
‘Open your eyes,’ he commanded, but I turned my face away and kept them shut. Then, I could hardly believe it, but his hand had landed on the right cheek of my bottom, spanking me hard. I froze, tears brewing more at the shock than the pain, a burning sensation spreading from the strike zone. He’d never, ever hit me before, not even in play. I expected him to break then, and comfort me and apologise, but no. What had I unleashed…?
‘Open your eyes,’ he said again, and this time I did and looked straight into a large mirror he was holding up to the bed. I saw myself expertly bound, strictly gagged, and with a red, hand-shaped mark developing on my bottom. I could hear myself moaning, but couldn’t stop. When I finally dragged my eyes away from my image to his face, his inscrutable look made me turn away and bury my face in the bed.
He put down the mirror and with strong hands rolled me over onto my back, crushing my arms underneath me. Working quickly, he wound rope round and about my breasts, squeezing their bases, criss-crossing the swelling mounds with black trails. They began to throb, with a low insistency, and then were crushed as he rolled me back onto my front and bent my legs so that my ankles reached my wrists. I realised he was going to hogtie me, and he did, with the last of the rope and thus cut off the very last of my freedom.
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ he said darkly. ‘Because it might come true.’
Unable to move anything expect my fingers and my head, I raised my eyes to his and tried to read his mind. He gave nothing away. With one appraising glance up and down my bound body, he left the room and closed the door behind him.
For several, entirely futile minutes I screamed into the gag and struggled violently against the soft yet non-negotiable bonds that held me more securely than I had ever dreamed possible. He didn’t come back, and soon I was exhausted, the sum total of my efforts having been to merely tighten the knots and wear myself out. The crotch rope rubbed against the embarrassingly wet area between my legs and reminded me that I had asked for this. Resting my head on the sheets, I let my already aching muscles reluctantly relax into the tight embrace of the rope, and felt tears begin to slide down my face.
I cried so long, and so hard, I had no concept of time passing. When I finally roused myself, the sheets were soaked under my face and my limbs were cramping with the strain. To ease the pain, I tried to move, and felt the rope between my legs chaff against now unaroused flesh. My breasts, thrust forward into their bindings by the position of my arms, throbbed insistently underneath me.
I had asked for this. In my tortuous, roundabout way I had asked to be treated like this. I was ashamed of myself, though I loved him for understanding, for responding, and for not hating me. But where would we go from here? Hours had passed since he left me alone. I could tell, when I put what was left of my mind to it, by the cooling of the evening sun that glinted through the window.
I had my face turned away from the door when he finally came back, quietly turning the handle and slipping silently into the room. At first, I didn’t believe he had really come back. I’d imagined his hand on the door handle many times over the past hours, only to be dragged back to reality when it stayed resolutely shut. I only realised when I felt him sit on the bed beside me.
With a gentle touch, he tried to make me turn my head but I buried my face in the sheets. Using both hands he lifted me till I lay on my side, so I couldn’t avoid his gaze. As the blood flowed back into my numb breasts, I moaned, and opened my eyes.
He wore an expression I’d never seen before – somewhere between his normal kind look, and the stony dominance of earlier that evening. It seemed natural, comfortable. It suited him.
‘Uncomfortable?’ he asked, quietly, and I nodded. He reached behind me and without releasing it, loosened the cord that held my ankles to my wrists and allowed me an inch or two of relief. The gesture was so strangely kind that I felt tears begin to form once again.
His fingers brushing the damp hair from my face, he held my gaze for several minutes before speaking again.
‘Why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted?’
Why didn’t I just tell him? Because it was as hard to find the words then as it was to speak now with several inches of rubber stretching my jaws open. How could I have told him when I couldn’t even articulate it to myself?
I lowered my gaze, defeated by his question.
‘You’re a very clever and manipulative woman,’ he said, steadily. ‘It worked. You managed to strip away all my self control and unleash the monster I’ve been trying to hide from you all these years.’
Oh god, how I wanted to tell him how much I needed that monster. Instead, I’m sure he could see the smile in my eyes.
Suddenly, he smoothed all trace of kindness from his face and fixed me with a gaze that made me feel sick with fear all over again. I’d temporarily blocked out the sensation of the ropes, but now they intruded upon my mind once again and reminded me how they held me prisoner to his whim.
With one or two hard pinches, he awakened my nipples with rough fingers till they were so hard they ached. My breath coming in ever quicker gasps through my nose, I tried to pull away but was defeated by his expert knots. With an evil grin, he began flicking them whilst tugging ever so slightly on the rope that ran across my already soaked clitoris. I writhed under his ministrations, desperate for his fingers inside me, but for the first time found I had absolutely no say in what he did. The strength of the realisation shook me to the core, and fired every nerve ending.
It wasn’t long before he pushed me over onto my front and pulled me to the edge of the bed where he stood before me, one hand unbuckling the gag while the other unzipped his flies. His erect cock sprung out, and with barely a moment for me to recover from the effects of the gag, he’d pushed his cock so far down my throat that my nose was buried in his warm, hard abdomen.
Panic began to overtake me as he began to slide it in and out. Struggling to breathe, I fought down nausea and slowly came to accept there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do about it. I was his plaything, his fucktoy, to do with as he pleased. And I wanted to please him. As he lifted my hair so he could watch his cock disappear inside my mouth, I began to work my tongue and lips to pleasure him properly. And, as my body began to burn with the sensation of being used, of having my mouth filled more than it had ever been before, tiny little explosions lit my mind and drove me to the brink of orgasm.
‘Naughty little girl,’ he murmured, mostly to himself. ‘Getting off on sucking cock.’ And with one final thrust that blocked off all oxygen to my starved lungs, he came down my throat with a shudder.
When he withdrew, I felt desolate and hotter than ever. I wanted him inside me, but knew that if he didn’t choose to give, I would just have to suffer. I opened my mouth to plead, but before a sound could come out he’d pushed in what looked like my balled-up knickers that I’d left downstairs when I’d stripped. He secured them by cleave gagging me with a stocking, and left me voiceless once again.
For the next half hour, he entertained himself by running his hands over my bound body, teasing me, taunting me, and driving me to the edge of sanity. I writhed in my ropes, begging him with my eyes, all pain lost in a desperate need to come. He seemed oblivious. I felt his cock quickly stiffen again against me, but he ignored it.
Moments before I thought I would lose it altogether, I felt him untying the crotch rope and slipping it out from between my legs. He rolled me onto my front, and released the hogtie, ignoring my groans as stiff muscles unbent for the first time in hours. Next, he released the uppermost of the ropes binding my legs together, and lifted my hips with a pillow placed beneath them. I was still tightly bound, and as helpless as ever, when I felt his cock slip between thighs slick with my juices and finally, finally enter me.
He wrapped his arms around me, and in a dangerous whisper said, ‘If you come before I do, you’ll be punished.’
An orgasm – my first, at least – crashed through me thirty seconds later
and through the haze in my mind I’m sure I heard him laugh in satisfaction.
01.02.04
01.06.06
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