Conference Call

by Cynthia Trusscot

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© Copyright 2019 - Cynthia Trusscot - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM; tease; game; F/m; domme; cd; fem; lingerie; bond; rope; hogtie; ballgag; bdsm; spank; reversal; revenge; true; cons; X

My S.O. had a Very Important Conference Call coming up. All I had heard about most of the day was, “I have that call this evening…” until I was pretty tired of it.

“If you don’t stop talking about that dang conference call,” I finally threatened, “I will bug you the whole time you are on the phone, until you are totally distracted.”

“Oh, please don’t do that,” she said, exasperated.

“How are you going to stop me?” She gave me a blank look. Cute. “Look, let’s have some fun with this,” I told her. When I said what I had in mind, she actually got excited.

Half an hour before the call was supposed to start, we adjourned to our bedroom suite to change. She put on a Domme-ish outfit consisting of a white satin blouse, shiny leggings and high heeled boots. I donned my Cynthia role: Bra with silicone inserts, panties, garters and stockings, and high heeled pumps. Add a blonde wig, ear clips, gloves and makeup, and I was a lingerie clad sex slut. It was very girlish and giggly – two women running in and out of closets and bathrooms, making themselves pretty.

“Are you going to interfere with my phone call, you bitch?” my S.O. asked with a smile.

“I just might,” I replied, striking a sexy pose. With that, she grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back.

“Hey! What are you doing?” but she had already tied my hands behind my back. Then I was forced face-down, my ankles were tied, and I was bent into a hogtie.

“Let me go!”

“Nope. Not until I finish my call. I don’t trust you” She popped my red ball gag into my mouth, and sat down. She was just in time to dial into her Very Important call. Sitting there elegantly, her high-heeled leg swing casually, she listened and made occasional comments. I lay at her feet, bound and gagged in my sexy lingerie, squirming and grunting, albeit quietly. Occasionally, she would glance down, smile, and run the toe of her leather boot along my thigh, or reach around and squeeze my breast through my bra.

After 40 minutes or so of business conversation on her part and futile struggling on mine, she terminated the call: “Excuse me, dears, but C is tied up with something, and I have to see if anything has come up with him.”  She made sure the call had ended, then slowly, elegantly put the phone down. She undid my hogtie, and shifted me around until I was face down, with my ass sticking up at convent spanking height.

“So, you were going to mess with my call, were you? We fixed that pretty well, didn’t we?” So saying, she struck my ass very firmly with a leather strop. Ow! Four more strokes, four more cries muffled by my gag.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson, dear. Now get out of here before I change my mind.” She untied my legs and wrists. As my hands came free, she ‘accidentally’ dropped the strop. “Oh, dear! I appear to have made a mistake!”

I grabbed the strop with my newly-freed hand. “Now you’re in for it! Hand me that rope!” I quickly tied her hands, then slipped a satin cleave gag into her mouth. “Move!” I told her, pushing her gentle/roughly towards the bedroom. I sat her on the bed and tied her booted ankles, then unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her pretty tits. She squirmed in fake protest.

“Know what’s going to happen to you, cunt? You’re going to wait right there, bound and gagged, helpless, until your man comes back. Then you’re going to get it, but good! What do you say to that?” 

She shook her head and made desperate noises through her gag, but the twinkle in her eye belied her terror at her plight. With an insolent wiggle of my own feminine, reddened ass, I sauntered out of the bedroom to change back into her man.

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