My boyfriend and I were pretty serious at this point. We’ve been seeing each other, fairly exclusively, for a couple years and things were going quite well. We’d had a couple temporary break-ups and separations, but we always found a way to come back together. I never wondered or asked what he did while we were apart, and, thankfully, he never asked me either.
I said all that, because it’s important to the story. My boyfriend, John, was certainly a catch, but a risky one. He had above-average looks and a nice physique after years as a construction worker. No, he wasn’t a paunchy, hairy guy from the road crews, he built houses and always had steady work and did okay for himself. The risk was his intellect and his sex drive. John was not the sharpest crayon in the box. He was just a simple guy with not a lot of common sense and even less book smarts. Add to that a pretty insatiable desire to chase women and get them into bed, or the floor, or a bathroom stall. In short, John was cute, dumb and horny. That didn’t sound too risky, but it was.
I certainly wasn’t the bachelorette of the century, myself. Looks-wise, I was the same caliber as John, fairly attractive with a solid body and good sense of style. I was a barista and a soccer coach, so I also had a sense of independence and a positive energy. As for my libido, it was a notch or two (or five) hotter than that of the average 27-year-old. Okay, I was horny, too, and I also loved to dive into various kinks to scratch my itches.
The trouble started when John’s ex-girlfriend saw us at the neighborhood pub and came over to say hello. He saw her first and blushed, so I knew they had something between them. She was a piece of work, and that was an understatement. She had thick dark hair past her shoulders, well-coiffed and shiny. She was very attractive in a sinister, dark sort of way, with a muscular build, but not chiseled. She wore biker-style clothes with leather touches everywhere, and high heeled black boots up to her knees.
As she spoke to us, John seemed to shrink into the booth, which I thought was weird. She was pleasant to me, and I liked her on first impression. I did notice a tattoo of a pair of handcuffs on the back of her hand where it met her wrist, a painful spot for a very clear and well-done piece of ink.
She left after a couple minutes of small talk and John seemed relieved. The look I gave him then was pure “tell me everything now and don’t leave anything out!”
It was no big deal, he told me. They were together briefly a long time ago, and he broke it off. You, John, king of the pussy-snatchers, broke it off with a hottie like her? He then said something I heard but did not forget. “It was cool being with a dom chick like her, but, man, I didn’t know what she was thinking a lot of the time, ya know?” He had a way of blurting things out that he should have thought about first. So his ex-girlfriend was a dom, and a fox. I liked her much more.
John sure didn’t want to talk any more about her that night, or afterwards. She stayed on my mind, however, because of John’s tiny comment about her being a dom. That meant, to me, that this woman was a dominatrix. One who seizes control over a submissive partner for consensual sex scenes, or other lifestyle experiences. In John’s case, I could not help but imagine him in the hands of a dom. No doubt she had her way with him, and he surely played along until it got too weird for him. John had absolutely no dominant tendencies that I could see, so he may have been a great “sub”, or submissive partner for her. This was also a good reason for a guy like him to run away from a prime piece of tail.
His silence slowly turned into a kind of distance between us not long afterward. I didn’t bring her up, but I did try to figure out their story indirectly. I asked around a little and went online to see if she came up in any local fetish sites or activities. I couldn’t find anything.
The distance I mentioned was due to the fact that ol’ John had contacted this woman after we all met that day and was talking to her via text and social media.
John had a birthday, like everyone else on the planet, and was unusually proud of it, because it hit on a popular holiday that was often celebrated with backyard barbecues and fireworks shows. That four digit month-date was John’s password for every fucking piece of electronics he had. His phone was jam-packed with messages to and from the ex. She missed him! She wanted to forget the past and move forward! She knew she could please him again if he gave her a chance! His responses were witty and insightful grunts, like “huh”, “oh yeah”, and “I guess, maybe”.
Turns out she and John had been together much more recently than he led on. Therefore, I decided to follow him when he finally did decide to meet her. I was interested in confronting him, but more in seeing her again. Would she be in biker-black or a yellow sundress? She would look good in either.
I got the chance after a few days. John had no clue how to be sneaky. His excuse of poker with the guys on a Sunday afternoon was comical. I followed him to a single-level house in a nice neighborhood. He seemed a little reluctant to go up to the door but went. John, your pussy is waiting in there, why are you acting so fucking dodgy and scared?
I waited for a while, expecting them to leave together and go somewhere but they didn’t. I supposed that the re-fuckening just could not wait until after dinner. I was just about to leave when she came bursting out the front door, alone. She looked like she was in a hurry and also looked like everything was going her way. She looked great in a tight sleeveless blouse, dark miniskirt, and black pumps. Was she sweating? She was slightly flushed and steamed. She had been working, or fucking, or both. She got in her car and sped off.
Oh, John. What has happened to you? I had several guesses. John could have been in her bed, spent out and wanting a cigarette and a bowl of ice cream, and she had neither, so she lit out for the grocery store. She could have lured John to the basement and chopped him up with a hatchet and had to run to the hardware store for bleach and trash bags. Hmmm.
I got out and headed up to the house, against my better judgement. I knocked on the front door like a girl scout with cookies in case the neighbors were watching, then quickly tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I turned it.
I pushed the door open just enough to squeeze in and loudly say “hello, there”, for any neighbor listening. I was in!
The house was sparsely but elegantly furnished. I could see right away that this woman did well for herself but wasn’t made of money. I looked around some, in the front room and kitchen, and I kept hearing an occasional dull thump at the other end of the house. John? Who else could it be?
Despite my nerves, I slowly moved to the hallway and listened some more. Thump. Coming from the room at the end of the hallway. Thump. The door was closed. It sounded like something heavy hitting the back wall. Thump.
The bedroom door was also closed but unlocked. Jeez, lady, were you afraid of keys or something? I cracked the door open and could immediately tell that this was a large room like the primary bedroom. It was dimly lit and I could smell leather and a hint of sweat, man sweat.
I had to see, and I was not disappointed. I stepped into the room and my eyes adjusted quickly to see a man, spread-eagle on a big bed with black cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Black nylon straps stretched him to the four corner posts of the bed. He was naked but had some bondage gear at his crotch. I had no idea what it was, yet, but stared until he noticed it was me looking at him. His whole body jerked in the bondage. Thump, went a bedpost against the wall. Okay, so now I knew. I couldn’t breathe for a second.
I went to the bed, continuing to stare at what the ex-dom had done to my boyfriend. The mix of emotions was indescribable, but they all made my heart race. The first thing I did was to take a small pillow nearby and pack it between the wall and the thumping bedpost. How’s that for a good girlfriend?
John was tightly and securely bound to the stout bed and gagged with something in his mouth which was covered with leather. It was a ball or a mini-dildo, I knew. I’d held rubber balls and veiny, silicone dicks in my mouth before, also strapped tightly around my head and under my chin. I remember how they stifled even the loudest noise I could make, and how humiliating it was to suck a fake cock for an hour. This made me warm.
John struggled and whined while looking at me and away from me. He was coated with sweat even though the room was very cool. This meant he had been working hard against the bondage for a little while now. This much struggle told me something was happening with the man’s junk.
Based on my experiences, a man in bondage is different than a woman. A man will occasionally yank at his bonds and try to break free if nothing is happening to him. A man will go quiet and freeze in his bondage if he’s being fucked, stroked or blown, with just a pelvic thrust or two to try to come. But a man will struggle in bondage if he is being tickled, tormented or teased and can’t get free or make it stop. This will also make a gagged man grunt and growl like an animal, and John was doing both I went to inspect.
John was fairly well endowed. He had a nicely formed 8-inch cock with very acceptable girth. He was quick to get hard, probably because he had no mental barriers. Apparently, after the bitch-ex had John secure, she had placed a rubber cock sleeve around the base of his penis and balls, then slipped his balls through a slot. This caused his ballsack to stick out a bit and his shaft to stand more straight up from his prone body. It didn’t look too tight but I’m sure it was snug. A small egg-shaped vibrator, the size of a grape, was attached to Johnny-boy just below and on the underside of his penis head with an elastic band. His shiny purple head glistened with pre-cum. This looked uncomfortable. Lastly, a kind of cage or grid-thing had been wrapped onto his shaft that looked flexible but not rigid. This, and the sleeve, would keep him semi-hard, I imaged, so that he would enjoy his torment for hours to come. Poor guy. She had done some great work. I got even warmer, and, yes, a little wet.
Right on cue, the little egg turned on, and a soft buzz filled the quiet room. John jumped and grunted though his gag. I jumped, too, and so did the bed, but without a thump. Yay me! Earlier, I didn’t notice the tiny wire coming out the end of the egg, but I did now and followed it to a little control box at the end of the bed. It was set on the highest setting, and the timer said 2 minutes on and 1 minute off. John was set to be tormented by that little buzzing bastard relentlessly, with time enough to get him rock hard, but not enough time to come. That was probably why he was pretty damn hard when I showed up. Ooh, that bitch had a mean streak. I still liked her. How long was she planning to be away, anyway?
I had two problems to deal with then. What to do with John, and what to do with the time I had until the bitch returned. I could get him untied and maybe dressed quickly, and we could escape to my car and freedom. What would that get me? An embarrassed boyfriend (ex-boyfriend) in my car. I could leave and let them have their fun when she got back, hoping John survived this very hot bondage scene. But he was MY man. What to do?
As John endured the egg vibe, moaning and squirming and trying to talk to me through the gag, I had to look away and figure this out. That was when I saw two things that made up my mind instantly. One was a small black box sitting on a shelf with a camera lens. A blinking green light on the back of the box was reflected against the shelf, so I knew it was on and recording. Next, on the dresser underneath was a woman’s taser, a bottle of lube, and some other items of mass-destruction including a riding crop, a feather, and a wired butt-plug. I was wet, tingly, pissed-off and horny as I made my decision. Um, yeah, most of my decisions are questionable at best.
I grabbed the lube. I faced the camera and threw up two middle fingers on each side of my head. She’d recognize me. She may even have been watching on her cell phone. I went to the bed and pulled the egg-vibe, mesh and rubber cock-holder off of my boyfriend and not in a delicate manner. He wailed through his gag at this. I squirted some lube on his skin-flute and got to work with both hands. I worked his shaft vigorously with one hand, while shielding (and squeezing) his balls with the other. John went fucking crazy. Head swinging, fingers waggling, feet flapping. I got him rock hard, wiped off some lube with the bedspread and took him in my mouth.
I could hear “fuck” and “shit” and “oh, god” from the gag. John was now frozen in ecstasy despite the bondage. Men getting aggressively fucked or sucked in bondage just do not struggle so much; I guess all their focus is on having an orgasm. As I furiously sucked and blew and stroked, I looked right at the fucking vid-cam every couple seconds. I knew I didn’t have much time.
Didn’t need it. John came hard, screaming into his gag with all the muscles in his body clenched. I worked him slowly after, making sure every ounce of cum had left his balls forever. Good luck playing with him now, bitch. All he would want is a nap. John needed a lot of time to recover.
I left! I fucking took off and left John-John on the bed, bound and gagged and covered in cum, lube, spit, tears and sweat. He was too worn out to protest. He’d be fine. As I left the house I wondered if I’d ever get to see the video of me ravishing the guy. I waited in my car until I saw another car coming down the street. I hoped it was her, but I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
Speeding home, my mind raced around a bunch of thoughts. I didn’t like the idea of her using a taser on John, but I figured John would relent to her with only the threat of being tased. Other than having that one bad thought, I relished the memory of that very hot and very dangerous scene. Yes, I fingered myself and came before I even got home.
John didn’t come home that night or the next couple days. I worried at first, then got angry. Was John being “kept” by his ex, or was he happily back together with her? Was he so embarrassed and humiliated by what had happened to him that he couldn’t face me? I needed to speak to him to either get closure and move on or forgive him and carry on.
I didn’t have to stew in my solitude for very long. I arrived home one afternoon and found an envelope taped to my front door. It was an elegant invitation to the Ex’s home for a meet-up. Yeah, right. Visions of her basement, now fully stocked with bleach and trash bags, came to me instantly. Would it be her or John with the raincoat, latex gloves and the chainsaw? Yes, I watch too many inappropriate movies.
I had two thoughts as I read and re-read the invite. One, she could have confronted me a bunch of times over the last two days. I’m frequently alone, and I was never one to watch my back. Two, the invitation had exposed her. I now had her address and her name in writing. I also had been inside her lovely home and was on tape doing unsavory things. We were both exposed, I guess. I couldn’t resist meeting this horrible, beautiful bitch.
Again with the poor decisions. I did my best to look irresistible the evening of the meet. My hair, make-up and outfit were impeccable. I wore my hair up to be professional, make-up heavy (slutty) to be sensual, tight dress with a waistcoat to show my curves, stockings and high heels to make me feminine yet formidable. This was the way John always wanted me to dress for occasions. He would drool when he saw me, if he was going to be there at all.
I showed up five minutes late, nervous as hell. The house was lit up, and I was greeted by the woman I had been thinking about and dreaming about for days. She led me in and told me her name, which wasn’t important. What was important was how she looked. We must have been on the same wavelength because she was wearing a darker, tighter, sexier version of my outfit; a tiny, lacy dress with a tailored waistcoat, delicate black fishnets above spectacular high heeled pumps. Her dark hair was up as well, drawn back severely in a high ponytail, which meant two things: you could easily strap a gag into her mouth without messing up the do, or she was going to dominate you with her mouth, again, without getting mussed. She was delectable. I was impressed. I would have told her so right then, but I blacked out and hit the carpet just after a woman’s taser touched the back of my neck. John, you sneaky bastard. I didn’t even get to have a drink first.
Getting tased is dangerous and certainly not fun. I did go down but I was not out for very long, only a few seconds. I was woozy as hell and I’d lost any strength I’d had, so John and the Ex had no difficulty setting me up exactly the way they wanted me.
My dress, coat and bra were tossed. I was left in garter, stockings and heels. My arms and elbows were tied with the most exquisite rope. It was thick and slightly scratchy, with a tiny bit of stretch. This woman was a master dom. My legs and ankles were tightly bound and cinched, with ropes under the soles of my shoes, binding them to my feet. The scratchy rope on my ankles and tops of my feet made me a little crazy and a lot horny. A big, squishy ball gag was jammed in my mouth and strapped around my head. There is absolutely no way to make a sound with one of those bad-boys strapped in tight. I was helpless. They had not yet run the goddamned rope from my ankles to my wrists for a hog-tie, but the night was still young!
A whiff of smelling salts from the bitch (she had everything) brought me to full senses and I started to struggle. I rolled and squirmed in my bondage and spat curses from my gag. As I said earlier, I had a kinky side. I liked anything non-vanilla when it came to sex, and most of my experience was in role-playing and costumes. I had done a few small scenes with furry handcuffs, gags, blindfolds and toys, and had a blast. I’d had wonderful experiences with both men and women.
I had never, up until now, been tightly bound and gagged and made available to an experienced dominatrix and a horned-out dude. As I strained against the ropes, I thought about how I was most likely going to suck a big cock, eat pussy, get railed in both holes, and a combination of all those things, in the very near future. That thought made me angry and a little scared, and yes, hot and very wet.
The Ex looked down at me with hungry eyes and Johnny actually looked like he was going to start drooling. I imagined that I did look sexy as hell, based on how they stared at me. As soon as I wished to be brought up from the fucking carpet, they both got to work. I was whisked into the master bedroom and tossed onto the big bed. Welcome back!
This is where the dynamic duo really got to work. I got more rope than I’d ever seen wrapped around my body and stretched tight into places I never imagined rope to go. My upper body and tits were wound with miles of rope that grabbed and slid across my most tender areas. The Ex-Dom goddess knew exactly what to do with every inch of that fucking rope. Overall, the mild pain of the snug, scratchy rope all over my body, compared to the deliciously rough tickling where the “special” ropes were pulled tight were just about even. Tears of embarrassment came as I struggled and mewed. Screams of terror bubbled through my gag when I got the nipple clamps with the fucking tight chain in between.
I was frog-tied. My upper body was secured with my arms firmly behind my back. Each of my legs was tied in a bent position, with my heeled-shoe almost touching the back of my thigh. Yes, she tied my foot and its 4-inch stiletto pump somehow onto my bent leg. She really liked high heels. I’d wear them for her forever. The metal clamps pinched nipples that had been hard as pebbles since I walked in the door. Now I was immobile with no arms and bent legs. Worse (or better), my bent legs could be easily pushed apart and my entire package completely exposed for whatever reason under the sun. This was way more dangerous than a hog-tie, so I got a little nervous.
I had two thoughts when the ropework was done. One, what is gonna happen to my now completely exposed garden of Eden? Two, how crazy or angry or turned-on is this woman going to be, and is she gonna take all of that out on me?
She got busy immediately. A belt was fastened around my waist with another strap that went between my useless legs and snapped to the waist belt. Lubed pods went right into my asshole and my pussy, and the strap was tightened. Zing! Both came alive inside me and I jumped and shrieked. These were also probably set on the highest settings and would torture my tender spots for eternity, or until I came and passed out. I could already feel a serious orgasm building from all the fucking rope, gag, clamps, heels and this magnificent bitch who put it all together.
She stepped back to examine her handiwork; her eyes were roaming all over me. I screamed and moaned and struggled, all the while staring into her eyes. She bent over and took my tits into her hands and worked my hard, clamped nipples with shiny red fingernails. The dildos took me easily and I came frantically, jerking and crying and panting. Waves of pleasure boiled through me and just when I thought I might come again, I heard a strange noise, and something hit me. I mean, someone hit me. I mean, someone fell on top of me.
Oh, John, what have you done? And where have you been? I lost John way back when he threw me onto the bed, actually. The man had taken the taser and zapped his mistress (my mistress) when she was fondling me to a blinding orgasm. It was a good zap from the taser, she was out.
Lightning fast, John rolled her onto her back and stretched her out on the other side of the bed. He turned off my vibes, thank God, probably so I could watch. He tied and cinched her hands above her head and fastened the ropes to the bed frame. Then, he took a pocket knife and sliced off her tiny dress. Snip, off came her bra. Snick, off came her panties. He left her stockings and heels on, though. Good man.
Mistress woke up about the time John had tied one ankle to a bedpost, so he grabbed a cruel looking ball gag and strapped it behind her head and under her chin. The next rope bound her other ankle to her thigh, just like both of my ankles. John, you slick fuck. You’ve got her bound, gagged and set up as good as me.
I had one thought. A bound and gagged dominatrix may not be a good thing. She is gonna be pissed off beyond belief, if she does not like being a sub. Johnny may have forfeited his life away, poor guy.
Turned out, she did get pissed but John’s bondage held fast. He had actually done a great job because she looked hotter than hell as she struggled and howled through her gag. I was impressed. Until the bastard strapped blindfolds on me and the Ex.
It had seemed like an eternity since I knocked on her door that night. Truth was, it had been less than an hour. The last thing I saw was the clock on the wall. Darkness took us both. We were John’s property now.
For the next two hours, John was the luckiest, happiest man on earth. He had two hotties tightly tied, squirming in slutty clothes and wide open for anything. I felt kinda good that he started with me.
He set me on my knees on the bed next to her. He knelt in front of me and pulled out my gag. He guided me to his hard cock, and I got down and sucked it like a whore, hoping he would be merciful. He groaned with pleasure while he reached over and worked three fingers deep into her pussy, massaging her clit vigorously. Our mistress squealed and writhed in her bondage.
He pulled away suddenly. Asshole. He rolled me around roughly and stuck my face into her crotch. I ravished her with my mouth while dick-boy came around the bed and pulled out her gag. She sucked on John the same way I had, hoping the same. He grunted and panted when he heard her orgasm start to bubble to the surface. When she did come, he couldn’t take the heat and also came hard, spewing cum over both of us. Gross.
Despite her fierce struggling, he popped her gag back into her mouth and went for me again. He shoved me off of her and stuffed my mouth with my own gag as well. Then he turned on my vibes to max and ate her pussy until both of us came hard, screaming through our gags and fighting against our bondage.
We were all spent. Ex and I laid on the bed catching our breath and John just left the room. I imagined he would go watch television for a while and eat a sandwich, and then start all over on us. Round two, as it were. My thoughts started to go VERY haywire, as my vibes were still going nuts inside me. The scene in my head went as follows:
John would recover and come for me first, again. He would yank out all the machines inside me and get me on my back with my bound, bent legs in the air. He would fuck the living shit out of me and I could do nothing to stop him. My arms and hands would go numb in the ropes under me and I would plead for mercy only to hear bubbly whines and moans from my fucking gag. The Ex would be squirming and whining as she watched me get pummeled. No doubt my body, and my damn kinky mind, would betray me and I would come multiple times.
John wouldn’t finish in me, oh no. Not with sexy super-dom right next door. He would throw me aside to struggle and fume while he mounted her with his big cock still wet with my juice. She would be expecting this and try to fight him off, but no way, sister. John would bear down on her arms or even place a strong hand on her throat while he pumped away as hard as he could. He would say some very nasty things to her, things he could never say while she had him tied and gagged. She might come, if the scene turned her on, but maybe not. Didn’t matter. John would likely pull out of her as well, then jack himself off, blasting right into her face and chest, one of his favorite moves, and then…
BAM! Back to reality! BOOM! I came! The vibes and the nipple clamps got me. I closed my eyes and said fuck, fuck, fuck, as an orgasm ripped me apart. I came to my senses quickly, though and I shivered as I thought about what was really going to happen to us, and I literally screamed into my gag when I considered the fact that there might be a round three and round four! OH SHIT I THINK I’M IN TROUBLE.
But no. John didn’t come to put the fucks to us. He didn’t do any of that. He quietly stepped into the bedroom holding my clothes and bag. He gently untied me, snipping rope with his knife like a surgeon. Mistress squirmed and spit in her still-tight bondage. He pulled me off the bed, undressed me and helped me into the shower. While I steamed the rope marks off of me, John took care of his mistress in another part of the house, I suppose. He came back, helped me dress and walked me to the door. We didn’t speak. I went home, ate dinner, drank a beer, went to bed and slept.
I never saw John again. I missed him for a while, then didn’t. I thought about her a lot, though. I couldn’t really miss her based on the amount of time I spent with her, but she was on my mind way more than ol’ John.
I arrived home one afternoon and found an envelope taped to my front door!
END