One
That son-of-a-bitch! That rotten bastard! When this is over, I swear I’m gonna choke him in his sleep! These wonderful sentiments, directed straight to my husband, went through my head, while I lay in a dimly lit room on a giant, shitty guest bed. Jeez, I can’t believe I let my folks and my friends try to sleep on this monstrosity. This was another intrusive thought that jumped in while I was trying to focus ALL my hate onto my husband of 14 years.
It was a Friday evening sometime in the summer. I liked Friday evenings in the summer, but I hated this particular one. This one was gonna go down as the Summer Friday She Went Crazy On Everyone in the House. You’ll see the full, bloody documentary on streaming channels soon.
The guest room was in the basement, and it was, until tonight, one of my favorite rooms. Our basement was fully finished recently, thanks to asshole-hubby, and he did a wonderful job on this room. He actually seemed to pay a little more attention to this room than he did to the rest of the basement, or the rest of the house, or the garden, or the lawn or anywhere else in recent days. My parents visited as soon as the basement was done, and they said the room was quiet and comfortable. Friends on their way to the coast stayed a night soon after and said the same.
There was nothing really special about the room. It had a small antique dresser, a comfy easy chair in the corner and a big, queen, four-poster bed from god-knows-where. Hubby found it, the prick. It was actually pretty nice, and god-damn, was it sturdy! Must have weighed a ton. I remember when he brought it home, he would NOT let me help. It was in pieces, and he was a sweaty, cranky mess when he finally set it and put it together. I remember nuts, bolts, brackets and other hardware on the hallway floor while he grunted and cursed through a closed door. I noticed a lot of wire and cable, too, but I thought it just needed a lot of reinforcement or something.
So, there I laid, on a bed that could support an elephant, with a dim lamp throwing soft light and shadows across a small, elegant room. It could have been charming and restful, except for the GIANT, RED BALL GAG stuck in my mouth, strapped there with tight leather thongs buckled both on my face and harshly at the back of my neck and also under my chin. My wrists and elbows were smashed together and tied tightly with white cotton rope. My ankles and legs, above and below the knees, were also snugly tied with more rope and cinched to keep tender spots from rubbing. More fucking rope was looped neatly around me, above and below my tits, and over my shoulders, pinning my arms and pulling my shoulders back so my rack stuck out. The last piece of rope was pulling my legs bent behind me with my ankles connected to my wrists, looped several times for strength. Hogtied, I was, ladies and gentlemen, by the man I married, and who will soon be either in a hospital or a cemetery. If I get free, that is.
I was taking a break from struggling to think my murder-husband-thoughts and admire the “outfit” my husband chose for me. I also thought back to how the evening began. I had started the evening earlier in a flimsy bath robe, getting ready to shower, when I was playfully wrestled to the ground and tickled by my man-child husband. This play happened only occasionally, and when it did, I fought and laughed and squealed and immediately lost all my strength, which wasn’t much. I was an attractive, petite brunette with a toned body and great, fake tits, but the running and Pilates had never made me strong, just tight. He had me by half a foot and a hundred pounds. He worked out. His job demanded fitness and strength. He conquered me easily. I was toast. I was also very turned on.
He had me on my stomach. He was on his knees and he held me down with one hand and jerked the bath robe belt off first and then the bath robe. Whoop! Gone. He then took the belt and both my wrists, put them all together, behind my back, and easily tied me up in a flash. Then he grabbed one ankle, brought it behind me and thwip! tied that up to my wrists. I laid there, panting and giggling with hands and foot tied and one leg bouncing around. We’d played these games before. I usually got annoyed, sometimes angered by his incredible strength, but also seriously aroused. I was very sensitive everywhere and not slow to orgasm.
He rolled me over onto my back, kissed me, and stroked my face and neck, moving down my chest to play with a nipple and squeeze a breast. Then, he asked if we could play dress up. I was uncomfortable, but getting in the mood quickly, so I said sure, big guy, knock yourself out.
He jumped up and ran to the closet. Coming back, he had a pink sack and my black leather heels, the 5-inch stilettos with the platforms and thin ankle straps. Weird, but okay. I never thought he had interest in my footwear. He dumped out the bag next to me, got down and untied my ankle, thankfully. Untie my hands and let’s get it on! He didn’t. I saw a new pair of black fishnet stockings, a garter, and something else. A flimsy bra, maybe? My girls were D-cup (okay, C-cup) and needed some beefy support, but whatever.
He was excited as he fumbled with the lingerie. He was actually pretty good at putting the stockings on me and the feeling was sexy and erotic. They fit perfectly. He slipped on the garter and clipped the stockings on like a pro, nicely handling my upper thighs and ass way too much. This also got me hot, and a little wet. I wanted my hands free, dammit. They were under me, and I needed them to take hold of my guy’s cock, rock-hard now in his little gym shorts, and jam it inside me for a few hours.
He took the last thing, which was indeed a little black bra and pulled me up to sit. He got behind me and, again like an expert, wrapped it over my tits and under my bound arms and clipped it. The thin straps went over my shoulders and clipped home in the back. Whoa, wait a minute. This thing was different. The thin, mesh, see-though cups had nipple holes! This was new. My husband was a pervert! A pervert with great taste in lingerie and a skilled hand in putting it on. I became as suspicious as I was horny. The bra felt exquisite and fit perfectly as well. Open air on my hard nipples was new and pleasurable. He got up and looked at me with wide, hungry eyes. He said he had to watch a lot of online videos to learn how to do this. Okay, I wasn’t suspicious anymore, just extremely aroused. Good boy! Now untie me and let’s fuck and then let me shower. Jeez!
Things took a turn at this point. When I said my guy looked at me with hungry eyes, I was not kidding. He looked as if he had really, really great plans for me, and he did. He grabbed me by my upper arms and stood me up. He grabbed the shoes by the straps and then whoop! Lifted me over his shoulder and headed out of the bedroom like a thief. My head swam and all I could get out of my mouth was, “HEY, WHOA!” Down to the new basement we went, my hands were still tied.
I was shocked and startled and a little pissed as we headed down the stairs. I kicked and bucked a little bit, but the man had hold of me like a sack of marshmallows. The last thing I saw as we headed to the guest bedroom was a round, green table set in the middle of our awesome basement rec room – a poker table with poker chips and poker cards and all the shit. That particular Friday was motherfucking Poker Night. Into the bedroom we went, and the door slammed shut behind us.
Two
Hubby threw me (okay, he set me) down on the firm bed and I worked to get in position to speak some “stern” words to him. I didn’t want to talk (curse) on my stomach, or lying on my back, but my bound hands limited how I could move. As I squirmed to sit or maybe kneel and face the asshole, he was also working on something under the bed. A black duffle bag hit the bed next to me as I sat up and tried to get my hair out of my face. As I faced my husband, I noticed he had something in his hand, some sort of gear. The only words I got out were, “WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” He was on me in an instant.
It happened fucking fast. I suppose the dickhead was watching more than lingerie-selection and stockings-installation videos. Add bondage, rigging and ropework to his fucking playlist. He reached for me and got the back of my head and thrust a red rubber ball into my mouth. It pushed past my teeth and stuck there. Before I could even think about blowing it out or pushing it out with my tongue, he had the leather straps behind my head and buckled loosely. I fell over, shook my head, but he was over me and got the strap tightened against my neck. It pulled on my hair painfully, but he gently but firmly pulled my hair away and out of my face. Done yet, asshole? Nope. With the strap now against my neck and under my hair, he tightened the fucker one or two more notches. It was tight and big and slick. It pressed my tongue down and tasted like a balloon. I shouted for him to go fuck himself and all that came out was bubbly mush. I was silenced.
The gag had little buckles everywhere, so hubby got to work buckling a leather thong across my mouth down to my chin, buckled on each side. Then came the fucking strap that went under my chin, buckled again on the other side, and made me chomp down on the ball, silencing me further.
Wanna know how I felt about being gagged like that? Ooh, boy. I was a small woman with a big voice. I had brothers, so I had a loud potty mouth. I had sisters, so I was a snotty, petty bitch. When dear-heart slid that last gag buckle home, and moved away from me, I spat, I hissed, I growled, I spewed volumes of profanities in seconds. My head rolled and my hands writhed behind me. He only stared at me for a second, then got back to work.
Mr. shoe-salesman then brought up my shoes and, with the tenderness of a toilet-paper angel, had them nicely on each foot. He asked me if the straps were too tight. Aw, you sweet man! You sweet ballsack motherfucker bastard asshole! They weren’t too tight; they looked great with the fishnets.
The bastard only said one thing to me as miles and miles of rope were wrapped all over the fucking place. All of it on me. “I Love You. Stay With Me.” I was finally tied up and gagged, with no hope of getting free. My bondage was secure, tight but forgiving, comfortably-annoying. I was excited and pissed, and horny, and enraged, and wet, and hot and tingly. I bet I looked insanely good.
This is where you first found me. There I was. I hadn’t moved much. Couldn’t. Ass-hat had checked every knot and buckle for tightness and just left the room, mumbling “Just a sec, forgot something.”
The man was a rigging-wizard. I bucked and squirmed and squealed and then got quiet remembering the poker table. Were we gonna play fucking cards now? Dumb thought. He returned with a box in his hand. He removed the contents onto the bed near me and then made world-record time preparing, inserting and attaching things, onto me, and into me. I just laid there, stunned.
First, he squeezed a packet of lube onto a little egg thingy with a wire coming out one end. Bang! He grabbed my waist, pulled me close and SHOT that thing right into my wet pussy. I wailed. I was lucky. It landed in just the right spot. He took two small, blue, round things that looked like little flying saucers and dropped a bit of lube into each. He powered each one on with a tiny “click”, then pulled me up and stuck one on each nipple, right through pretty nipple-holes in the bra. They stuck to me like super-glued pasties. They covered my small, dark areolas, and each nipple popped right into the tiny, oiled cup. Perfect fit! The jackhole was 4-for-4 (hose, garter, bra, and gag ball), the shoes were mine.
I really started to struggle then. The ropes didn’t cut or bind, anywhere. They’d get tight only when I pushed or pulled. The cotton rope gave nicely but held. I craned my neck, arched my back, thrust my groin back and forth and wagged my feet, all while pleading and moaning into the gag. I rolled onto my belly, and the “nipple-bots” and the magic egg made themselves known. A wire tickled my thigh and doofus muttered “oh, yeah, forgot”. He picked up a small box at the other end of the wire and clicked it on. Hello!
The egg-vibe jumped and purred inside me. I jerked and squealed. My hands shot toward to pull this little monster out of me, but they went nowhere. I thrust my pelvis and clenched my (fine) butt cheeks. I sucked some air and just then each nipple-bot shot a tiny spark of electricity inside the nip-cap. I jerked and squealed again! Oh fuck, what was I in for?
Dingus whispered “we invented the nipple pods at work in the lab. They’ll send random pulses of stuff to your titties, there. I’ll be back soon. Enjoy. And he left me there. What a dick-munch.
Three
I was furious and I struggled as hard as I could howling and cursing through my gag. This didn’t last. I calmed down mostly because I had two burning questions rattling through my gagged, fevered head: Why is this making me so fucking horny? And is he gonna play poker with the buds all night while I’m in here tied up and gagged?
I checked all of my bondage to find a starting point to work on. I had to stop several times to let the eggy-vibe hum on one or two hot-buttons inside me. The fucking thing was half-annoying, half-heaven. It didn’t have enough rumble to make me come, though, goddammit. The tit-bots, however, were even more delicious. Each one shot a mild shock, randomly, to one of my rock-hard nips, or both at the same time, which was breath-taking. In between the shockers, a tiny vibe would buzz the whole disk sending lovely waves of pleasure through my whole body. My husband was great at doing all those wonderful things to my tits, too, with his sucking, plucking, gentle bites and strong tongue. This was almost better. I could have tried to scrape them off somehow, but I thought, nah, wait until later.
Despite my struggles, the bondage held. Screams and profanity out of my gag were replaced with soft, ache-full moaning and an occasional “please” , “c’mon dude” and “oh, fuck”. The pussy vibes were nice, but NOT NEAR INTENSE ENOUGH to get me there, even though I usually come easily. “dip-shit didn’t turn it up enough” was both a frequent thought and statement through the gag. I’d squirm, shake and thrust in my bondage, to see if the vibe could land somewhere good and get me off, but no.
I got angry. Why was I so horny and desperate to come, while I writhed around bound and gagged? Hubbo and I were still fairly passionate lovers, for the most part, when we had the time, and the energy. On vacation, sometimes, we would play with sex toys. The last bondage scene we had was vanilla compared to this. He tied me simply with a hotel bathrobe belt, tossed me up on the counter, and ate me out while tickling me with a small vibrator we bought at a gas station. The man could eat pussy. I came easily, and we stripped and jumped in the shower. It was fun. He said he loved it.
I was fucking tied up sooo much more now, but I admit, I had the same feelings now, that I had then, feeling my body get rocked with my hands tied. Now, I was bound tightly, with my most sensitive areas completely vulnerable to any stimulation. Ropes and leather entwined my body, which was covered in the sexiest things I had ever worn. I was gagged so tightly that no amount of arguing, pleading, crying or vitriol could save me. My senses and nerves were turned way, way up.
I was embarrassed at myself, and I started struggling again while the vibes had their fun. The eggy was doing okay but WAS NOT STRONG ENOUGH. The control box was tucked into one of my stockings. Yes, I tried to reach it a hundred times. I would have sucked my fuckwad husband’s beautiful, little cock so hard right now, if he would just turn the fucking thing up to 11!
Speak of the devil. He stepped in quietly and stood at the bed. “Goddamn you look good, Babe.” That’s it. I struggled to move toward him instead of away. I filled my lungs with enough air to blast him into the back yard. My whole body rippled with tension. I flexed my bound limbs in their ropes. He said quietly, “I have something to tell you.” And, Ka-BOOM!
His voice. As soon as I heard him speak, I CAME like a wild animal in a trap. A sharp wave of euphoria shot out from my crotch to my chest and out my mouth, making me shouted OH SHIIIIT into the ball gag and it came out like a long, desperate moan. Just then, the nipple-bots got both nips with a jolt and Ka-BAM! another come-wave traveled backward, through my tits, down to my ass and I farted. I didn’t fucking care. I’d had a LOT worse orgasms in my day. My pussy convulsed and I peed a tiny bit. Whoa. That was pretty fucking good. It was a multi-gasm, the result of everything that had happened to me to that point! His voice, his sexy underwear and shoes for me, his ropes and his bondage, his hungry excitement and his desire to please me. His strong hands treating me roughly. Delicious tremors ran from my head to my toes. Nice one.
I was spent, despite the pussy egg buzzing away. “Wow, cool,” the dipwad said. I panted and sagged. He reached down and took the egg box from my stocking and turned it off, then pulled the mischievous little fucker out of me with a squish. He popped the bots off my nips with a flick. Then he gave me his story.
Honeybunch told me flatly that the boys were on their way over to play some cards. He was “kinda” in debt to them from his latest losing streak, so he proposed that the winner tonight gets ME, and his debt gets erased. He said they all think I’m a smokin’ hottie, so they’ll be playing for real tonight. He asked if I particularly liked any of them, and I went fucking A-Bomb ballistic on his ass.
I bounced on the bed in my bondage and howled objections through my gag. I was sure I had the mad-woman strength to snap rope and rip leather. Tendons in my neck stood out as I pulled and yanked on my bonds. Nothing. I was 100% his, or, I guess, 100% theirs. Now you know why there was so much name-calling.
He reached over and turned on the bedroom overhead lamp. My cute-ass room was awash in bright light. I squinted and tried to get small. Buttwipe said “Holy shit you really look good tied up like that. The dudes are gonna loooooove you. WTF?! What fucking dudes? I moaned again, dropped to my side, then stopped short. He had his motherfucking cellphone out. Clish! Clish! I was going to literally die.
He brought the phone up to my face. I shut my eyes. I swore then that I would never, ever, ever look at myself tied up and gagged this way, then I opened my eyes and looked at the photo hard. I saw a woman in black lingerie and white rope everywhere. I saw lovely tight legs in gorgeous high heels, the ropes making great curves even better. I saw big, frightened eyes, flushed cheeks, and a face half-covered in leather and buckles. Hair everywhere. Round tits held by soft mesh, nipples out, hard, and yearning. Sweat and shine in all the right places. Shitbrains was right, I looked sexy and firm. Any man would want me. Oh yeah! The picture made me forget for a second that I was soon gonna get majorly doinked by one, or more, of my husband’s FUCKING POKER BUDDIES!
Anger and fear rushed back into me like I was set on fire. I was getting ready to start the big fuss, when he grabbed me and pushed me onto my belly. I decided to stab him with one of my high heels, but I was hogtied, so I just waggled my feet in the air, heels to the sky. I caught a glimpse of my feet and they looked spectacular. White rope on the ankles, black fishnets, and high, black leather pumps is one sexy sight.
Doofus took a pair of curved stout scissors from his pocket and SNICK! Cut the hogtie rope. My feet fell to the bed. I was flat again. My leg-ropes loosened a bit and that also felt good. He rolled me roughly onto my back and shoved me around until I was in the center of the bed. Weird again. My arms were pinned under me, and the other ropes made my tits stick out and up. The air on my nipples was great. I was starting to feel better when Buttkiss looked at me and said, “don’t fight me. I gotta get you set up.” Just what in holy hell did that mean?
His scissors went SNICK! And the ropes on my ankles were severed. The duffel bag appeared some time ago, and he reached in and brought out two leather cuffs. Oh, fuck no! He had them buckled firmly on each ankle in no time. My knee ropes wouldn’t let me get away. He grabbed one ankle and moved to the bed post. Reaching down the post, he fiddled and brought forth a snap hook on a cable! As he pulled, the cable click-click-clicked. He pulled just enough to SNAP the hook onto the ring on my ankle strap. He reached down again and I heard a louder CLICK.
He cut away my knee ropes, which felt good. He moved to the other bedpost. My other foot tried to commit murder as my leg kicked out at the bastard. He caught my ankle easily. I was pathetic. Again, a magic cable and hook appeared out of thin air and got right the fuck onto my cuff. He admired his handiwork. My ankles were secure but not tightly stretched out. That would come later. My legs were wide open. I’m small, the bed was big. Bad things could now be done easily to my poor little cunt, and there was nothing I could do about it. Even through the shock of being spread-eagled on a giant bed with leather cuffs and a cable system that had been installed inside a FUCKING BED, I looked at my cuffed feet in heels and thought they were even sexier than with the white rope. I was fucking hopeless.
After grabbing two more cuffs from the bag, dirtball sat me up, cut the rope from my wrists and buckled on the cuffs after some weak fighting from me. My elbows were still tied tight. He messed with the left bedpost and yep, a cable and snap and a loud CLICK and I was hooked. Right side bedpost, exactly the same. I sat there partially cuffed and partially tied and he walked to the end of the bed, took out a remote from the bag and dropped the bag on the floor. With the remote in one hand and his scissors in the other. He looked at me and said “Don’t struggle, you could get hurt.” Then he went around to my back and cut elbow rope and chest ropes. I was now rope-free but cuffed, and my favorite face-eater leather and rubber fucking gag stayed on. Yay! He clicked the remote and I almost lost my mind.
An electric motor kicked on under the bed and the cables jerked and began to retract. I was being stretched. My weird guest bed was an automated, kinky, winch-powered, bondage torture platform! The cables and cuffs moved slowly toward the corners of the bed, and I knew immediately that any resistance from me would be futile. I laid on my back and brought my feet and arms as close to me as possible. Fuck. There was not enough slack for me to try and unbuckle anything. I was surprised how heavy and black and ugly and leather-smelly the cuffs were. They were snug on my limbs but not constricting. I could tell that they would not give to any strength I had, nor would they allow me to slip or slither out of them. They kept moving to the bedposts, spreading me out, and I pleaded through the gag. Doctor Evil watched, amazed, and held the remote pointed right at me.
Nope. Never. I had never in my life been tied and spread onto a bed with bondage gear. I had no previous experience in the complete and utter vulnerability of this experience. I was dressed seductively from head to toe, displayed for any man or woman to have complete access to my entire body. Even my (fine) ass could be violated in this position, if a person wanted to badly enough. My excellent gag made sure that whatever pain or torment befell me, my objections would be stifled to nothing more than breathy moans and grunts. Oh, man, the emotions I had made me dizzy.
The remote in my husband’ hand apparently could control each cable. My arms were spreading out faster than my legs and I was just about fully spread. Then, the mad scientist worked each cable separately with the fucking remote, pulling me here and there until, at long last, I was firmly spread-eagle in the center of the bed. There was very little play in my limbs. I jerked and pulled and wriggled, huffing and growling. I glared at the man, slicing him open with my eyes. Was I pissed off? Most definitely. Was I scared? Yes, mostly thinking about his comment about other men having me. Was I in pain? Not even a little bit. Was I aroused, horny, and turned on? Yes! I won’t lie, yes, all of those, so fuck you and fuck him.
Speaking of fuck him, the sumbitch had his phone out again and Clish! Clish! Well, don’t just stand there asshole, lemme look at the fucking pics! Again, I saw an exceptionally sexy woman spread out on a bed in fuck-me clothes and shoes. My tits looked awesome in the bra, not sagged to the sides like if I was braless. The angry look in my eyes was hot, and I wished I could see my whole face. The gag did push my cheeks in and up a bit and I suppose it looked pretty sexy. Yes, I made him show me both pics for comparison. I’m not stupid.
I wanted to be set free from the bondage as much as I wanted to be hard fucked and groped without mercy. My first orgasm earlier was physical and emotional, which was great. It was like a really tasty cocktail, and those usually made me want another, stronger one. I squirmed in my bonds. I was still a little wet and tingly down there, which surprised me. I looked at hubby with pleading eyes and thought “c’mon dude, fuck me, eat me, do something”. He was going for something else under the bed. He said “the boys’ll be here soon. These might be fun while you wait.” Fat chance, asshole.
I flailed and kicked as he dropped more gizmos on the bed. Two more fresh nipple-bots, a bit thicker this time, some nylon straps and a shiny black thing. It was vibrator size, but oddly shaped. Like a thin, tall, wide-brimmed little top-hat! The brim was about a quarter inch thick. “We invented it in the lab at work.” What do you fucks do all day, jack off and vibe each other?
It was wiggly, like silicone. It wasn’t rigid like a rabbit. It seemed floppy and pliable. The cylindrical (hat) plug stuck out from the middle of the oval shaped (brim) flat piece at the base. I had no earthly idea how it would feel inside me, but I knew it was going in. This is gonna blow!
Madman got to work. Lube here and there, clippy’s on the nippy’s and the black top-hat thing right the fuck straight into my hole. A nylon strap went around my waist. Another velcro’d at the back, then down between my legs and up and velcro’d there. Black Thingy was now plastered to my crotch, with the black base nestled firmly on my pussy lips and the squishy plug pretty far up in there. I was disappointed. At least a rabbit could reach to my clit. Your invention sucks, genius. I growled and fought the whole time, but the bondage didn’t give one inch. Bip! Boop! The shocks and quick-vibes to my hard (again) and tender nipples were stronger than before, and even more enjoyable. Then the black bastard fired on, when hubby dubby clicked his remote. I had no idea.
I do love a good vibrator. I have two. I keep a little one in my purse, for when I’m out. A quick buzz on the clitoris, in the car or in my office, helps make a bad day better. I have a bigger one in my bathroom that I use while sitting on the toilet. I work that thing hard with both hands, in and out and all around. I come, I do my business, and I move on. I think of my husband’s hard body and, well, his smaller-sized but very capable cock, most of the time.
My body froze when the black-bomb quickly warmed up. It jumped into action with what I guessed were a billion moving parts. I screamed into my gag and hubby said “Awright, I guess it’s working. See you in a few.”
A few what, hours? days? You idiot. My last coherent thought was that I would have a heart attack if anyone besides hubby-kins came through that door.
There was no more thinking for me. Blacky and the botsy’s were in full stimulation mode. I was pinned and spread and gagged for the rest of my short life. I pulled and squirmed and moaned. My nipples and areolas were stiff. The bra held my tits up in front of me, and I watched them jiggle with each bite of electricity. The sensation was blinding. I wished for a pillow so I could watch more.
Blacky was also quite a ride. The thing moved inside me like it was trapped and wanted out. Knobs and pokers and vibrations and pulses rippled throughout my dripping wet pussy making me sigh and cry and grunt. I was being fucked by a tiny man in a black rubber bag. It was beyond intense. But it was not all blacky had in store for me. Remember, the oval base? The hat brim? Covered my lips? Stuck to me like glue? It was fucking possessed as well.
Zing! While the plug inside me did somersaults, the base came alive and massaged my outer spots like twenty little fingers, kneading me. They were searching, going around and back and forth trying to find the right spot and goddammit, they found it. Once there, it went into overdrive. Oh, shit. Oh my gawd, it’s there, just there, right there, oh SHIT OH FUCK MY CLIT IT’S GOT MY CLIT IT’S THERE OH JESUS! Thumping, buzzing, probing, vibing, sprays of pleasure hit me like a freight train. I threw my legs wide, thrust my ass in the air and sang into my gag.
I have a rather hooded little button. It’s not the easiest thing to find; it doesn’t stick out when it’s engorged. I don’t know how the blacky-base found it, but I really didn’t give a shit at the moment as
Blast after blast of mechanical pleasure ripped through my loins. I usually have a quick orgasm. Penetration gets me off just fine, when I’m in the mood and have some control over who’s doing the penetrating. Clitoris-play is a little better for me. The right touch or rub there can get my motor running no matter what mood I’m in. The right attention there with a finger, then two, then a tongue, can get me off multiple times. Yes, my husband always worked clitoral magic on me. He was the best, the gold-medal, clit-master. Shut up. He was still on my black list.
The black pussy-rocker now had my full attention. I squealed and squirmed in a sweaty fervor and, no matter what, the little black clit-destroyer never left my sweet spot and did not let up. I dug my heels into the bed to get leverage, but I was too stretched to get anywhere. I wanted my hands free so badly, not to escape, but to squeeze my tits and feel the goosebumps all over my body. Minutes flew like hours. A nuclear orgasm was building inside of me, I could feel it, but my bondage was holding it back, despite the fire-hose shower of stimulation smacking my tits and my cunt.
At that point, all of my husband’s poker buds could have busted into the guest bedroom, jumped on me and had their fucking way. Freddy, please rip this gag off and I’ll suck you dry. Gilbert, stick that thick, uncircumcised cock your girlfriend raves about, right in my ass and do not stop ramming. Christopher, you can have my tits for dinner. Get those rough, dirty, car-mechanic’s hands on me NOW. I was oblivious to everything, and was gonna come hard enough to bring the kitchen upstairs down on my head. The neighbors on both sides and across the street were gonna see this house crumple in on itself. I was close.
I was drenched with sweat from the struggle and the vibes and the nasty, sexy thoughts that invaded my mind. I relaxed, caught my breath, closed my eyes and decided to let the machines bring me home. I was in pre-cum delirium, when I heard cuff-master hubby at the bedroom door say loudly “She’s in here, dude! C’mon, she’s all set up for ya!”
The fuck!? Are you fucking serious? Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You’re really going through with this shit? I’m not ready for this! You’re messing with me, right?
I struggled to get my arms free with all my meager strength.
I didn’t want this!
I kicked and pulled my legs as hard as I possibly could.
Did I want this?
I stared at the door dreading (waiting) for it to open. Fearing (wanting) to see who won poker night, who was going to have me.
Will I know him? Shut the fuck up. Will he be hotter than my husband? I said shut up!
I bawled into my gag like I just lost a dog or my best friend.
Oh please! I do not want one of those men to come in here and FUUUUUUUUCK! A tsunami tidal wave of orgasm picked me up, crushed me into a ball, and tossed me against the side of a mountain! I went blind and deaf. I saw stars and angels. I bucked and thrust and bounced, gasping for air. The next wave sent me floating from the moon back to earth on a cloud of euphoria. After that, sweet spasms and a dull post-cum throb. I was a puddle. A wet lump in bondage and great lingerie. I was going to faint.
I fainted. Passed right the fuck out. My dear husband heard the come-ruckus begin and quietly slipped into the room while I visited heaven and had an orgasm in front of everyone up there. When I was spent, he turned the vibes off, and the sudden quiet allowed me to go nighty night.
I woke up just as my gag was being unbuckled. The ball slid out and I worked my jaw and took in air. The cables were slack and I let hubby undo the cuffs. I was free. He even unbuckled my heels and slid them off. I curled up on my side, amazed at how sexually satisfied I was. I was chilled and clammy from sweat, slobber, tears and cum. Hubs threw a blanket over me and said “Hot bubble bath waitin’ upstairs for ya, Babe.
The journey upstairs to my bathtub was weird as fuck. I was dizzy and wobbly. I kept thinking I would see men watching me, but the basement, and the house, was quiet and empty. After stripping and stepping into my tub, my senses and emotions slowly came back to me.
My pussy ached enough to distract my thoughts, though. Only a severe period or thumping orgasm gave me that sensation. My wrists and ankles were a bit raw, but nothing too painful or ugly. The bath water on my nipples and areolas told me that they would be sore for a while. Did I care? I was plenty upset about the humiliation, the lack of respect and the rough treatment. However, the thoughts about how my body responded to all that confused the hell out of me. I wanted to talk to someone about this. Spill my guts. Let it all out to anyone other than my husband.
So, into the bathroom walked my husband. His story actually cleared up a LOT of stuff inside me. He said his crew at work in the lab invented some “toys” based on some robotic shit they were doing. Technical blah, blah, mechanical blah. He got turned on big-time by the thought of using some inventions on me. A close colleague of his (a seriously handsome and sexy guy) told him of the bondage exploits he and his third wife (major hottie) got into with the toys, so hubby wanted that kind of scene, too.
Well, why the fuck didn’t you tell me you wanted a bondage scene? Why sneak up on me like a criminally-insane maniac? Do you know how that made me feel, you pig? He said, “yeah, but he told me several times that the shock, surprise and fear factor would get you really tuned, so the gear would work better. The toys sense heartbeat and pulse and temperature and shit. They get more active the more your body gets active. Plus, jeez, Babe, you looked good enough to eat. You came, right? You got your rocks off?
“Maybe.” I lied. My pussy spasmed in the bath water. Yeah, maybe five or six times hard enough to scramble my guts and shake my “rocks” into dust. I immediately had two thoughts. One, poker night was a complete stage-show to get me “tuned” to think I was gonna get gang-banged by a bunch of dudes after being nabbed, dressed, bound and gagged. Two, I suppose there are other wives (and girlfriends and mistresses) out there being tied up, shocked, scared, gagged and wonderfully assaulted by little sex-bots from my husband’s fucking work lab. Okay, I could accept all that.
I washed and jammied-up while he made me an omelet and a big, cold glass of white wine. I was quiet and pouty with him while we sat at the kitchen table and looked at each other like we had just met and found each other extremely attractive.
I slept hard that night, with dreams of suffocating, masturbating, and grocery shopping in the nude. I quickly got over being mad at the hubby, probably because, for the next few days, I wore that slutty, slinky, excellent, awful bra with the nipple holes, under my work clothes. Every time my nipples were brushed or tweaked under my blouse, I thought about poker night, and got steamy. I loved my husband and I hoped we could really build on that experience.
Until, that is, I found out the bastard had video-taped the entire FUCKING SCENE, using SEVERAL CAMERAS, showing me AT ALL ANGLES and all stages of being a BOUND, GAGGED ORGASM QUEEN! Oh yeah, and he jerked off to it any and every chance he got. Still does, the prick. I want to kill him.
Or, I could get some revenge…
(to be continued)
END