Wendy

Wendy was sprawled on her own somewhat frilly bed with a new lover.  She might have been perfectly happy but she found herself unable to come.  First Eric had licked her pussy quite prettily for about fifteen minutes, bringing her close, but not quite to her goal.  Then he had slipped on a condom and entered her, gently and missionary style, and had managed to maintain a fairly vigorous thrust for a half-hour before he could no longer contain his semen.  Still, Wendy had not climaxed, although the sheets were drenched from her pussy-juice and her face was ruddy with excitement.  For his part, as he got up to dispose of the condom, Eric felt satisfied but somewhat chagrined at the fact that Wendy was so frustrated.

They had met only the night before in downtown Albuquerque in the Cage at the Groove Lounge, and had wordlessly managed to communicate above the deafening house music before heading onto the downtown circuit of nightclubs.  Nonetheless, they had gone home separately and were now newly intimate.  Still awed by her beauty and somewhat inclined to worship her because of it, Eric paused in the non-sexual minutes after his climax to absorb just how attractive she was.  Wendy looked even more beautiful now, nude and breathless, than when he had first met her in white hot-pants, fishnet hose, and a half-opened lacy blouse.

For her part, however, Ms. Wendy Ardent was wrestling with more than just her desire – she liked Eric and had hopes of founding a relationship with him.  But she knew it would fail unless she could make the sexual part of it right, preferably from the start.  How many men had she fucked in the past year, only to leave them all at least in part because they had not been able to get her off?  Wendy looked at Eric and saw his infatuation with her beauty – how disappointing, she thought.  What she needed was rather different.

It was time to act on her true needs.  “Eric,” she asked, “have you ever tied anyone up?”  Unfortunately, all Eric could muster was a “Huh?”  “Well,” our horny heroine continued, I have some fantasies where I get tied up and used by a man, and I’d like to try them out.  Before he could answer, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a fifty-foot length of new white nylon rope, asking a rather nonplussed Eric, “Do you think you could help me experience them?”

Although he had no experience with such matters, Eric like most of his contemporaries was at least familiar with the idea of sexual bondage.  After all, some students at the university sported Betty Page t-shirts and many raves were advertised with fetish illustrations.  And really, who could look at this beautiful woman with a package of rope in her hands, head tilted down, eyes looking up, and lips parted in a delicious pout, and not feel confident enough to proceed?

“We’ll need some scissors and electrical tape to prepare lengths,” he responded, showing a fair amount of imagination for a novice.  “Otherwise the ends will fray.”  While she scurried off to procure these items he prepared a plan of attack.  “Why not start from scratch,” he thought.  “I reached a dead end with direct stimulation, so let’s return to foreplay, and prolonged foreplay at that!”

When Wendy returned, Eric was ready.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ordered her to place the items neatly on the sheets and then to kneel on the floor.  Ignoring her for just a moment, our intrepid neo-top snipped a two-foot length from the newly liberated rope and fixed its ends with the electrical tape.  “Arms outstretched in front, wrists together,” he said, not unconvincingly, and he was gratified to notice her quick and silent compliance. 

Grasping the midpoint of the rope in one hand and the two ends in the other, he wrapped the length around her wrists and threaded the two ends through the loop made by the rope’s center.  Taking one end, he wrapped it several times around her wrists, and then used the other end to circle the ropes between her wrists, making a nice square knot right over her pulse points.  “Now,” said Eric, “call me your Master and beg me to accept you as my sex slave!”

Wendy was overcome with emotion as she realized that for the first time she belonged to someone, as if she were an ordinary household object.  She felt reduced to a mere body and sensed both humiliation and exhilaration at once.  How easily she had been transformed from Wendy Ardent, college graduate and independent woman, into a package of female flesh, horny and bound before her improbably adept new owner.  What should she do now?  Oh, yes, it was time to beg, she realized with an almost insuppressible glee.

“Yes, Master, pretty, pretty please with sugar on it, may I please be your sex slave?” she began.  “I’ll be ever so obedient and I’ll try ever so hard to please you, Master!”  “Well, we’ll have to see,” replied Eric, “but first we’ll put you through some preparations and tests.”  “Oh, thank you, Master, for letting me audition for you,” said Wendy, and the session – as formal as a business contract, she thought, had begun.

Her mind was swimming with new versions of reality and her own lowly place in them as Eric proceeded to her next instructions.  She was to crawl on all fours to the bathroom and draw a hot, almost scalding bath!  As she poured in some bubblebath lotion, Wendy thought that the bath would be for her Master, but when the tub filled she was ordered to carefully get in.  Eric had arrived with a four-foot length of rope to supplement her bondage.  As she eased herself into the suds, he looped it over the shower-curtain rod and attached it to her wrist-ropes.  Lifting her arms over her head, he tied the business off and ordered her to spread her legs as wide as the tub would permit.  Enjoying her “Yes, Master” as much as her predicament, Eric grabbed her bath-sponge.  Soaping it, he began to wash her, starting with her pretty, size six-and-a-half feet.

“Oh, thank you, Master,” she cried, “for tying me up and giving me a bath!”  Indeed, the hot water, soap bubbles, and nylon ropes were combining to make her feel even more excited than she had been when he first tied her wrists.  His ministrations, delivered almost as if he were the slave, only added to her mixture of frustration and happiness.

Eric was in no hurry as he soaped the insides of her thighs with the blue bath-sponge, although his motions grew vigorous as he reached her anxious pussy.  He soaped under and over her labia, and made little circles over her clitoris before pushing the sponge partway into her vagina.  Wet even before the bath, and now filled with hot water and soap bubbles, her pussy accepted his probing wildly.  Perhaps it was predictable that she moaned, somewhat ridiculously, “Oh, thank you, Master, for rubbing my pussy” as if it were a Hindu Mantra or the vows to a wedding ceremony, a wedding not between equals but between a man and his fuck-toy.

Already aroused by the whole situation, Eric nonetheless ignored his rigid cock for the moment and continued to address himself to Wendy the wonder-woose.  At her belly-button her inserted his finger and probed her as if he had found an auxiliary vagina to enter her by.  He soon moved up to her breasts, protruding due to her forcibly uplifted arms, with nipples now harder than he had seen them before.  Here he asked her, “Will you suffer some pain for my amusement, slavegirl?”  Both his question and his new term for her suffused Wendy with pleasure.  She was more than delighted to say “Yes, Master” yet one more time.  At that, our intrepid hero bent down to bite her right breast and pinch her left nipple.  The bath-sponge, abandoned for the moment, floated as if with a will of its own to her Venus Mons where it twirled a bit as though some drain had opened beneath it in the middle of the tub.  “Yes, Master, that feels good,” Wendy enthused, as if Eric were unaware of her responses.

Now that he was no longer explicitly trying to make her come, but was rather teasing her with apparent indifference to her pleasure, she could feel her orgasmic blockage dissolving.  Eric lifted his face to Wendy’s and ordered her to kiss him.  This time she obeyed without responding verbally, since his order had concerned her mouth itself.  Retrieving the bath-sponge, he pushed it into her again – after all, it had settled like a floating fronds under her muff.  Returning her almost too-passionate kiss, Eric used his thumb to play with her clit while his middle and ring fingers followed the sponge inside.  Wendy’s climax was still slow in arriving, but she could feel it coming like a train on a track.  It was inevitable that, in just a few more seconds, it would crash into the end of the tracks and explode!  “Oh, Master,” was as much as she could muster, while Eric said more elaborate phrases like “aren’t we the sluttress now, slavegirl” and “yes, Wendy, come for your Master, come hard!”

Despite her bondage, Wendy started to thrash as her train pulled around its last curve.  She was too out of breath to speak as it arrived, and she lifted her hips up and pushed them against his hand and the sponge as hard as she could. Water was all over her bathroom floor and Master Eric himself was half-soaked.  Had either of them been watching a clock, they would have seen two minutes pass between the start of her climax and the time when, suddenly transformed into a woman made of warm Jell-O, she offered a breathy and heartfelt “Thank you, Master, for making me come!”

His own climax would wait.  Eric hugged her, this woman who could not hug him back, this bottom who had made him a top in one day, this mouth on a stick as it were, and yet also this naked desire, which had formed and reformed him, as if he were the slave. 

story continues in Wendy

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