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Bad Day

By: c24go4win



He was waiting for her when she came through the door. She stood in the foyer dripping wet from the downpour she had just ran through to get into the house. 

"Where have you been," he barked. 

"You know very well I had to..."

"I didn't ask for a long drawn out story," he interrupted. "You are late...Where were you?"

She glanced in the dimly lit room and saw her collar. Now his tone finally made sense. 

"I was at work, Daddy."

"Why are you late?"

"The rain Daddy, it backed the traffic back up. It is also a holiday weekend," she answered, her eyes still on the collar...the silver spikes were gleaming in what little light was in the room. She felt herself grow warm, despite her cold, wet clothing, at the thought of pleasing him. 

"That may very well be, but I was still kept waiting without a phone call. Strip out of those disgusting clothing and come over here this instant," he said sternly. 

She immediately began to strip. She new he would be angrier if he had to wait any longer. She quickly presented herself before his chair. When she was in place he stood up and looked at her...inspected her. He ran his hands along her body, sending tingles through her skin. She was anticipating. She felt herself grow wet. 

"Very nice," he complimented her.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said as he placed her collar around her neck, making him in total control till it was removed.

"There is only one more thing to check," he stated, placing his hand between her legs and running it across her wet pussy. He hesitated at her wetness. She suppressed a moan.

"Wet, already?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"You are such a horny little slut! I was going to let you off with a warning for being disobedient. This will not be tolerated!" He put his wet fingers in her mouth and she instinctively licked her own juices from his fingers. 

He sat back down and motioned her towards him. He pulled her across his lap, positioning her for her punishment. She could already feel his cock growing hard beneath her as he spanked her. He slapped each ass cheek firmly till they were stinging and glowing red. She found it to be painful and pleasurable at the same time. 

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Very good. Now get up and fix me a drink. Bring it to me in the bedroom," he ordered.

She was off his lap and to the bar almost as fast as the words came out of his mouth. She fixed him his usual vodka and tonic. She very carefully carried it into their bedroom and presented it to him. He was sitting in a wing chair facing the bed. 

"Very nice, Baby." She was pleased with the use of her pet name and watching him take a huge gulp of his drink. "Now lay on the bed, facing me so I can see your pussy, do as I say and there will be no need for restraints."

"Yes, Daddy." She quickly obeyed, laying on her back with her knees bent, legs spread open. 

"I want you to play with your wet pussy now, dirty girl. You are under no circumstances aloud to come, but you can't stop until I give the word."

Instinctively her fingers were between her legs, fingers running up and down along her pussy. Her fingers continued stroking her pussy, teasing herself and driving herself crazy with desire. She alternated between massaging her clit and occasionally rubbing her fingers across her swollen labia. She would intermittently pause to barely brush her fingertips against her pussy before resuming the pressure. She pressed her fingers against her clit and moved her hand in a small, quick circle. She inched her hand downward and dipped two slender fingers just inside her pussy, pressing her clit between them and moving her hand up and down rapidly. 

She heard Daddy grunt with approval and watched him remove his own clothing, releasing his erection. In one swift movement he was over her.

"Would you like Daddy to lick your pussy baby," He asked, in a softer than usual tone. 

"Yes, Daddy, thank you. I would like that very much."

"You can not cum yet," he reminded her. 

He expertly crawled between her legs. She felt his hot breath on her thighs and pussy. She was quivering with excitement. No one had ever licked her cunt like Daddy did. Just the thought of it made her wet sometimes. She also knew Daddy loved licking her pussy as much as she did. 

He slowly licked the length of her pussy. He then slid his tongue into her wet slit, lapping at her pussy juices. He then darted his tongue back up and over her clit, drawing it into his mouth and gently sucking and nibbling on it. He knew this drove her wild. He stopped as he felt her wiggle. 

"You can cum now, or you can cum later. I'm only letting you cum once tonight. It is your choice when."

"I chose later, Daddy. Daddy, may I play with my nipples?"

He looked at her for a moment, his face gleaming wet from her pussy juice. "You may," he said, granting her permission.

He resumed slurping and eating her pussy, making her increasingly wet witch each lick. She pinched her nipples and rubbed them as he sucked on her clit some more. She was pinching them almost to the point of pain to control her orgasm. 

He suddenly stopped and before she could even blink he rammed his hard, cock into her pussy several times. She let out a tiny moan. He instinctively stopped and pulled out of her letting his head rest on her clit. 

"Did, I say you could moan," he asked, curtly. 

"No Daddy."

"This can be a fun evening or it can't just be fun for me. It is your choice," he stated, rubbing the head of his cock over her throbbing pussy. 

He entered her again, slamming all eight inches of his cock in her. She bit her tongue a little to keep from moaning. With each of his powerful thrusts, she found it harder to contain herself. 

"May I moan, Daddy," she whispered, trying not to loose control and anger him anymore. 

"You, may," he grunted between thrusts. 

She let a moan out that he found pleasing as he started to pump his cock harder into her pussy. She was still fighting to not cum. He suddenly stopped pounding her pussy and was moving away from her. 

"Did I do something wrong, Daddy," she asked, in a frightened tone. 

"No, Baby," he said in a calming voice. He sat back in his chair. "Come sit on Daddy's lap."

With relief she got up and talked over to his chair. She positioned herself over his cock and was about to impale herself on him when she felt a hard slap on her ass. 

"Face towards me," he demanded. 

She changed positions and startled herself over him, as he held his cock for her. She gently lowered herself onto his waiting cock. 

"Don't move yet!" 

He took one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked on it. She felt herself grow wetter on his cock. He ran his hands across her body and over her round ass, cupping each of her ass cheeks in his hands. He lifted her ass up a little giving the indication it was ok begin fucking him. He ran his fingers between her ass cheeks, rubbing her cunt cream on her tight little asshole. She shuddered to think that he would participate in one of her favorite activities. 

He rubbed more of her juices into her puckered asshole lubing it and inserting a finger. It took all her strength not to cum there. As she fucked his cock, he worked his finger in and out of her ass. She moaned louder than he had ever heard her moan before. 

"You like that, Baby?"

"Yes, Daddy."

She began to fuck his cock harder the more he played with her ass. She couldn't take it anymore. 

"May I cum, Daddy?"

"Not quite yet, fuck me just a little harder."

She was now bouncing her hips, bringing her pussy down as hard as she could on his cock. He smiled the secret smile that was for only her. 

"May I cum, Daddy?"

"Yes, Baby, you may cum. Cum all over Daddy's cock. Cover it with your cum."

Finally with his permission, she burst into one of the hardest orgasms to rock her body ever. She screamed and moaned. She moved her hips wildly up and down on his cock, not even realizing he was cumming as well. She stopped, resting with his cock deep inside her. Still feeling the waves of her orgasm, she didn't feel him take her collar off and drop it to the floor. He sat there with his cock still inside her, nuzzling her breasts with his head. 

"Bad day at work," she asked.

"The worst," he answered, kissing her neck. "Thank you, Baby."

"My pleasure, Daddy."

Bad day?



I hear your key in the door. Surprised since I haven't heard from you since this morning. But pleased, as I smile to myself. I get up to meet you in the living room. 

"Hi"

You brush past me, throwing your bag on the couch, on the way to the kitchen and pull out a corona from the fridge. You like them so I keep them. I stand in place trying to gauge your mood, probably all excited and stressed. Good.

"I just don't know why I bother." You throw out as you emerge, bottle in hand.

"I get this E-Mail today about the phone upgrade I've been, that the vendor can't meet the schedule we agreed to, because of manpower problems. what the fuck is that supposed to mean? I had to push my upgrade project back ANOTHER month! My boss is all over my ass about doing her work! AND the network went down again, and I had to spend half the day fixing it cause the network engineer in charge of it was off site in a class!!! uuunnnnghh!"

"Hi"

You look at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"I'm sorry, I'm just havin a bad day."

"I see that. No warning."

"I know I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd mind, ya know?"

"Oh, no I don't mind. Why I got this place so close to your job and gave you a key."

You smile a little embarrassingly, and look down at the floor. 

"Yeah, sometimes it feels good to have a 'MISTER'." You giggle a little thinking about it while studying the hardwood.

From tornado to schoolgirl in two minutes flat. Sometimes I struggle to keep up. 

"So, you've had an exciting pressure-cooker of a day, and you stopped off here for some stress-relief?"

"Uh-huh." Staring at me sheepishly from under your long brown hair. 

"I see. And you think you can just barge in here, without warning and disrupt my life completely. Expect me to drop everything just to help you with a little problem?"

"Uh-huh." Softer and hesitantly.

I move to you quickly, and grab you around the legs, throwing you over my shoulder. Spilling some beer in the process as you yelp in surprise, now helpless to resist. I carry you into the bedroom, careful not to slam your head into the doorway, Taking your corona in one hand and setting it down on the dresser. From the foot of the bed I throw you down, your body unfolding on your back. You bounce up once, the startled look on your face as you search mine for understanding. 

"Strip."

You look at me questioningly, as if you don't understand.

"Stand up and strip your clothes off, now."

"No, you do it."

"Fine."

I lunge at you and you lamely move your legs, but not fast enough. I grab one and yank you down the bed to me. One hand undoes your jeans while the other holds your leg. Your looking into my eyes, waiting, watching. I see the smoky haze of your desire lingering behind your sparkling hazel-ish pools. I yank your leg around to keep you from fighting my other hand off your jeans. Button open, zipper goes down easy. You curl yourself up to get your hands on me, but I yank hard, laying you out on your back again, then twisting you over onto your stomach. Getting your jeans halfway over your tight ass in the process, panties coming with them. You don't wear them tight so it makes it easier. You struggle and try to turn back over, you hair flying around you on the bed. With your jeans down by your knees I flip you again and cover you with my body. 

"Resistance is futile." I breath in to your open mouth, eyes locked momentarily. My body pinning yours, I grab an arm in each hand. Holding them up and above you as my mouth attacks your throat and cleavage in your two button collared shirt. You twist your head to and fro as I lick and tease your exposed flesh. I grab your wrists in one hand and use the other to and my leg to get your jeans and underwear all the way off. And get up off the bed.

You sit up fast and jump off the bed on the other side from me, looking at me like a caged animal trying to escape. Hunched over knees bent, your shirt covers your exposed lower half. I hear you breathing hard, as I remove my T-shirt. Our eyes locked once again, searching and finding. I undo my belt and pants and let them slide down to the floor. I am the hunter, you are the prey. I just signaled my intention to take you, and we both know I will. 

I smile, and you lunge for the door. I intercept you as you get to it catching a glimpse of naked flesh below your ruffling shirt. My arm goes around your waist, and I lift you off the floor. You try to elbow your way free as my other hand finds your naked ass and I lift you higher turning you and throwing you back on the bed. You tumble once stopping as you glance off the wall sideways on you hands and knees. Your naked ass profiled as you look at me through disheveled hair. My cock twitches and grows in my underwear. 

You turn to face me, hiding your nudity from. sitting on your legs, pulling your shirt down in front to cover your pussy with both hands. Which pulls your shirt tight over your breasts, enlarging your cleavage. Such a tease, knowing or unknowing. I smile again, you look back at me puzzled. You look down quickly and realize that you're posing for me, like a playmate in playboy. I know this both excites and revolts you, but I still can't see your nipples get hard, even through the stretched thin cloth covering them.

I remove my underwear, letting my semi-rigid cock bob free. I see your eyes move down to it and you shuffle yourself, ass on the bed now, legs sideway under you, as if to protect your pussy from seeing my cock. Pressing yourself back against the wall. 

"My lover, you have to learn. Once you're here there is no escape, no getting out without me getting what I want. What you came here for. What you put me in your life for. What you want so badly." 

Your looking back at me blankly, as if weighing my words. I move in quicker and grab your arms wrestling you down on your back. I wait for you to open your legs then put my lower body between them. Still struggling with your arms, I have you vulnerable. You know it and increase your struggles, which only seems to make your pussy rub against my body more. Legs thrashing on either side of me, my full weight on you, I shift a little bringing my cock up to your exposed pussy. My hands now pressing against your shoulders holding you down. I look into your eyes and we stop.

"I'm going to fuck you and cum in you and I'm gonna use you like you want me to."

Your breath seems to freeze, then you start your struggling again. My cock now rubbing against your outer shaven pussy lips. Your wetness now starting to coat my cockhead quite pleasurably this way. I move my forearms to pin your upper arms, stifling your ability to struggle. I grab your wrists with one hand quickly and use the other to put my cockhead at your pussyhole, and plunge it in hard all the way. This gets your full attention, as your eyes go wide staring in to mine. Your body tenses all the way up as your tight pussy is filled with my cock up to the balls. 

The terror in your eyes gives way to something else. The smoke starts wafting through them, making it's lazy way through your body as it relaxes to my touch. I grind my hips to yours, allowing my cock in you to massage your inner cunt. Finding and stroking your G-Spot within and your clit against me pelvic bone. Around and around, I see your eyes continue to soften and glaze. The fire still there, but burning for a different reason now. Your head turns away as if your are embarrassed for me to see your pleasure. Like showing me would make you more vulnerable. That could not be, your innermost part is wide open to me, like you want it to be. 

I start fucking your wet pussy hard, grunting and grinding against you in an animal passion that causes you to curl your legs up and put them across my ass. I fuck hard and fast, turning up the heat with every thrust. My rock hard cock, in your wet, warm, soft, giving pussy folds. Piercing your tension with every stroke, opening your soul to me with greater and greater intensity. 

I feel your arms enveloping me as you pull me closer. We are now fucking each other with unbridled passion. Our bodies slapping together, grunts mixing together. The plowing of your cunt mashing in our ears. Sweat dripping off us in the non-air-conditioned apartment. Melding and mixing until there is no telling where I begin and you end, one. 

My hands push your shirt and bra up and off roughly over your head. Your large beautiful tits bouncing free, nipples rock hard. I push my face down into them, rubbing in between your cleavage, and biting and teasing them like bobbing for melons. The animal has been unleashed in both of us and we are along for the ride. I feel the tingle form my balls and know It won't be long. I slow and go deep and long, massaging your special spots heavily. My thumb finds your clit and I rub it fast.

Your hips start to arch. Opening yourself up to me even more, grinding my cock on your G-Spot. I know you're with me and continue to fuck my cock into your sopping pussy deep and hard. I feel you start to tense I go deep than all the way out over and over, until you start to buck, and you cunt tries to strangle my cock. I push through all the way in deeper than the rest and when my cockhead brushes against your cervix I start hosing my cum into your womb. I hold there while you grind against me, wracked with a shuddering spasming orgasm of your own, which only heightens mine. I feel the need to start fucking you again, the itch running whole length of my cock insatiable, and it needs to feel your cunt enveloping me again and again. My mind and body liquid melting together with yours, our heat, sweat and cum all become one.



Bad Day



Our affair started conventionally enough. Her husband Gordon was out of town at a sci-fi convention and dutiful housewife Ginger was left alone to tend the kids and dog. Well, not alone, I was visiting her to buy some drugs. Her husband was a middling level dealer of usually good stuff. 

I just blurted out during a banal conversation that I wanted to "do it" with her. (I was more circumspect with her in the beginning of our relationship.) Just like that. 

We did it then and there, while her family slept. And then we did it again and again, usually at my small apartment. Usually we did it on Saturdays, when she was supposedly working extra

hours at her payroll job. She said I was a perfect fit. I am not large, nor small, but my cock is well shaped, crowned well, very stimulating in her well-muscled vagina. She did those Kiegel exercises which kept her pussy tight and always gripped me wonderfully. Something to say for an organ that had pushed out three babies. 

But after many Saturdays, it started to get... unsatisfying. The sex was always good, and something about her, maybe her pheromones, would get me hard every time. But it was getting time to end it. Hell, we had been going at it for over a year. Every damn Saturday. And with my spotty employment, I almost always had Saturdays free. 

I found I was getting irritated with Ginger, though I tried not to show it. Slowly, I began to figure out why.

Emotional blackmail. She, in subtle ways, gave me to understand that I was the only bright spot in her overworked but dull suburban life. And there was a subtle threat, too. If we broke it off, she would have no reason to keep up the pretense of domestic bliss with Gordon. Their marriage would fail and I would be at least partly responsible for that. I was her fun time. And it made me feel just a bit like I was her toy. 

So I resolved to make her pay for her emotional blackmail of me, and that's what it was. Maybe even make her long for that safe suburban grind.

I decided to introduce a bit of bondage to our Saturday trysts.

One day I asked if I could tie her up. I didn't know if she was kinky or not, but I asked her, and she agreed readily. I tied her spread-eagled first, using furniture. She could have probably pulled the chairs and bedlegs to her if she tired hard enough, but she didn't, and we went at it, and we came simultaneously for once. Even so, it was better for me than it was for her, I suspect. It was the first time I had tied anyone, and I loved doing it. I suspect it has something to do with a sort of perverse empathy, relishing the idea of helplessness in this woman under me. After she was trussed, after all, she was mine to do with as I pleased. And sooner or later, I knew these bondage games would be too much for her, and she would stop coming over, and our sordid little affair would end. But she kept coming back, every Saturday.

To make it more objectionable to her, and spicier for me, I introduced some roleplay. She was a housewife, after all, so I would pretend I was an intruder. I would come up behind her and threaten her with my camping knife. "Hello, little housewife," I would say. "I'm going to have a little fun now." I would brandish the knife. "And you're about to have a really bad day." This I would say in her ear, watching her auburn hair stir with my breath. "Now take off all your clothes." She would comply, pretending fright and after she stripped, shame at being forced naked in front of a stranger. Then I would tie her in various ways. Usually with her hands behind her back, her ankles roped as well, until I was ready to do her. Only occasionally would I put her in a hogtie. It wasn't very conducive to making love. Yes, I still used that phrase in my head, maybe to relieve the not inconsiderable guilt I felt at having crossed this line with another person, forcing her, so to speak into my kinky games. 

Then I escalated into gagging her, generally with her own panties, and forcing her to say the following phrase: "I'm having a bad day." A housewife, intruded upon, forced to strip and to be tied. The idea of it excited me. A bad day for a housewife, after all, might normally be having the car break down during a shopping trip, or a plumbing problem assert itself. So this was several notches above that, to be sure. A modest suburban housewife tied and ravished and fucked by a "stranger." A bad day indeed. Then came another escalation: I bought a pair of handcuffs. Real handcuffs that needed a key. I used them on her. It was quicker than my rope tricks. And freed the ropes for other more interesting parts of her body.

One thing she wouldn't let me do was spank her. I started to once, I had her lay across my lap, but her posture (she was stiff as a board, and didn't let her weight fall across my legs, quite a feat for a woman whose hands were tied behind her back) made me realize that this was going too far for her. I decided to respect that, but I was disappointed. Our little games by now were getting a bit stale. The initial rush of including a real live human girl in my revenge fantasies (for that's what they had become) had dulled some. It was after all a scripted game. 

So yet another escalation: one day I borrowed my neighbor's Polaroid. I had introduced something new: a crotch rope. I had tied her hands behind her back, as usual, but then I put a rope around her midsection, and added another, tying it off in the small of her back, forcing it between her legs and then pulling it up tight into her sweet pussy, and looping it around the waist rope in front. Her ankles were tied as well, and this time also her knees, and I made her hop around like that, pulling on the crotch rope like a leash, relishing her humiliation at this new turn in her "bad day." Then I put her on her knees and attached her bound wrists to her cinched ankles. She was leaning back and I caught her unawares for the first photograph. When I tried to get another one, she turned her head, but, hey, she was tied, wasn't she. She wasn't going anywhere, and her movements were restricted. So I moved around her and with persistence, got several more juicy shots. She did not like my having done that, but she said nothing. She trusted me not to show them to anyone else. And she never mentioned it, probably forgot about it, for a while. 

But I didn't forget them. A plan was beginning to form.

Then, suddenly, Ginger and Gordon were getting divorced. 

Shit, I thought. Now she'll be over all the time. Probably even want me to marry her. And I'll be just another part of her dull suburban life. I had to do something.

And then I met Pamela. I was taking an art class, trying to upgrade my graphic skills, and she was in the class with me. A beautiful, petite, brown-haired single mother ( I never saw her son) who looked 20 years younger than her actual age, which had to be, like me, in the forties. We started dating and I immediately introduced some light bondage, tying her hands to either side of her four poster bed with the belt of her robe. She easily freed herself before we could even get started, and the sex was good, but I realized I would have to employ more stringent techniques, i.e., the handcuffs. But I never got around to the roleplaying I enjoyed with Ginger. The next time we got together I used the cuffs and she couldn't get free, and I enjoyed that a lot more. She was helpless and I was helpless, lost in lust. I fucked her brains out.

This little dalliance caused me to miss a couple of Saturdays with Ginger. It must have made her suspicious. 

I decided to break it off with her. The combination of guilt I felt and the thrill of my new conquest of Pamela made that feel like a necessity.

It was a Saturday. But this time I wasn't going to wait for her to come over, like some kind of housepet for her pussy. 

So I went over to Ginger's house, after making sure that Gordon wasn't present, of course. That was almost certain. He'd already moved out to a weekly motel room.

My plan was to enjoy one more session with her, and this time escalate things just a little bit further. This time, make it real. 

Finally, I thought, I would take it all the way. Cause Ginger real fright and shame and maybe even a little pain. I put everything I needed in my pockets. The cuffs, the coils of rope... and the Polaroids.

The house was virtually empty. Just an old coffee table in the living room. Neither of them were keeping the old place. He was going to move west and she was going to move into a house she was soon to inherit from her family. But there was money to split, and of course, custody of the children. There would be a fight. Everyone that knew the couple knew this. I certainly did. 

She came down the stairs after I let myself in, but it was obvious that she was angry about something. 

"You're dumping me for that slut Pamela, aren't you?" she asked, without preamble. 

She must have followed me. And more than once.

Well, I thought, this will make it easier. She was trying to make me feel guilty. And obviously she had been following me. What nerve! And wherever did she get the time? 

"You bastard," she said. 

I'd had enough. "Look. You have been keeping me in emotional blackmail all this time. Emotional bondage." I let the word sink in. "You knew I didn't want to hurt your feelings by bringing this to an end. But I told you again and again that we had to end it. And you have held over my head the implied threat of telling Gordon about our affair, and causing the end of your marriage. You come over every Saturday. You practically make me fuck you. That's why I started the bondage games. I figured that sooner or later you would have enough of the humiliation and stop coming over," I fingered the Polaroids in my front shirt pocket. "But now," I pulled out the pictures, "now I'm going to end this, and spectacularly." I stepped closer to her and fanned the pictures out, so she could see each one, her hogtied on her knees, trying vainly to hide her face from the intruding camera. Her shame at her bound nudity, her guilt for her adultery, made real by the pictures. 

I saw the shock of recognition in her eyes of that day weeks, months ago? I couldn't remember; the affair had gone on so long. 

"I wonder what kind of impact this will make in the divorce proceedings?" I asked rhetorically, because we both knew the photos would be devastating. "Now it's real, Ginger," I said and I approached her on the stairs. "It's finally real. I don't need to pretend to be an intruder. I don't need a knife. Just these pictures. Just the threat of showing them to Gordon's lawyers. Giving him the edge he needs."

She went pale. She was almost hyperventilating. I smiled cruelly at her. "I know you don't want that to happen, do you?" She shook her head. And realization came to her what was going to happen. She was going to get fucked, all right. Just like all the other Saturdays we had shared. And she was going to get some pleasure out of that, sure. But there would be pain, too, more than our games had ever cost her. Maybe mostly pain. And now there would be no limits. No play-acting. 

I went up to her on the stairs and then I grabbed her arms, and made her turn around so her back was to me. I started talking over her shoulder as I had in our intruder games. "Hello, little housewife," I said, "I'm going to have a little fun now. And you're about to have a really bad day." And this time I meant it. "Take off all your clothes. Right here, right now, little housewife."

"C-Can we please do this upstairs?" she asked breathily. 

I decided to give no quarter. So I fanned the photos in front of her again. "You have nothing to bargain with, my little housewife. I'm going to fuck you right here on these stairs. Strip," I told her again.

She stripped. Slowly at first. I think she realized it wasn't going to be like all the other times. She was trembling. I liked that. It told me she knew this time was for real. 

Out of habit she started to fold her clothes but I was having none of that. I tore them out of her hands and threw them onto the stairsteps. Then I thought of another little humiliation. "Take your rings and your necklace off too," I told her. It looked like she was about to cry. "Do it now!" I said.

She complied, throwing the jewelry onto her mound of discarded clothes. So much more humbling for her to be stripped of all her everyday accoutrements. Including, I saw amongst her clothes, her wedding ring. Now she was well and truly naked. "Hands behind your back," I told her. I took out the cuffs and put them on her, rather roughly, I guess. I heard her grunt in pain. I almost said I was sorry. But my resolve returned. She was going to pay for making me her Saturday toy. I picked up her panties and brought them round to her mouth. She parted her lips automatically, like she'd learned to do for our games. Then closed them. It was then I saw the realization hit her again. This was no game. "Open your goddamn mouth," I told her. And slowly, as slowly as she'd taken off her clothes, she opened her mouth. I jammed the panties in. Then I took a short coil of twine and forced them into her mouth as well, tying them off behind her head. And then, quicker, so I wouldn't weaken, I took out the rest of the ropes. I put one around her waist, one around her mid thighs, her luscious, sleek thighs, one just below her knees, and one around her ankles. I used a length of twine for the crotch rope, part of a clothesline. Common housewife material. I must say I took a special pleasure in pulling the twine tight through her labia, hearing her sharp intake of breath at the invasion, mauling, just a little bit, the pussy that had enthralled me through so many Saturdays. I heard her gasp.

"Say it," I told her. 

She worked her mouth for a moment, and then forced out the words garbled by the panty gag. "I'm having a bad day," she said. 

"You sure are," I told her, and her punishment began. 

I took my belt off, and showed it to her. Her eyes grew wide. "You wouldn't let me spank you before, during our little games. Well, today, little housewife, you're going to beg me to spank you." I pushed her down on the steps in front of her, her pale body angled up the stairs. "You know why? Because of the alternative." I dangled the belt in front of her face, saw her staring at it, trying to understand what I meant. Up til now, she might have thought she was just in for a brutal fucking but now.... She was going to be hurt! To speed her comprehension, I let the end of the belt trail along her lower back and fine white ass. Then I let fly, once, twice, three times in quick succession. I didn't break her skin, but I hit her hard enough to make her jump and for some nice red welts immediately begin to appear. "Don't!" she said. Oh, I thought, she thinks she still has some kind of control of this situation. So I hit her again. And then once more. She automatically began to struggle against the bindings, but they held her fast. "That's not what I want to hear, dear little housewife." Another stripe across her ass. "You know what I want to hear."

I think now it occurred to her that she she'd made a bad bargain by submitting to me. I think she would have gladly risked calling my bluff on the blackmail threat rather than surrender to this whipping. But it was too late. I had her now, well and truly tied, a naked slave to my desires. Helpless to resist.

I could see her tongue working against the panty gag. Then she said it. "Shpank me."

I hit her again with the belt. Tears were forming in her blue-green eyes. "That's not the way I want to hear it, is it, little housewife?" And now two more, crisscrossing the welts already there. Her whole body was quivering. I reveled in it. The body that had held me distracted and spellbound for a year of Saturdays. 

"Please!" she blurted. "Pleashe shpank me!" 

I knelt next to her, showing her the belt again. "Are you sure? Sure you want me to spank you?" She nodded. So I hit her again. Now she was frankly crying. But she got the message. "Yesh! I'm sure!" she nodded through her tears. "Shpank me, pleashe shpank me!"

"Well since you asked me to I will," I told her. But first let's go upstairs." She was still crying when I made her stand. "Okay, little housewife?" I grabbed hold of the end of the crotch rope and pulled. She was forced to hop up the stairs, her breasts bouncing, her face a mask of anger and fear. She knew she was in trouble now but I think she thought she could still get out of it. I could read that in her expression. When we got to the top of the stairs I pulled her towards the bedroom, still using the crotch rope as a leash, and walked along beside her so I could both pull the crotch rope and smack her ass at the same time. 

I was surprised to see the bed was still there. The frame, the mattress, the bedposts, but it was old, the varnish on the posts peeling. I could see why they might leave it for the next family to deal with. Good, I thought, I could envision several different ways of making use of those worn bedposts. I hopped her over to the bed and pushed her down on it. She fell on her stomach, the air in her lungs rushing out of her. And now for another act she had never seen fit to do before. I stripped quickly and got on the bed in front of her face. I pulled on her hair so she was staring right at my cock. "You know what to do now," I told her. "Or do you want some more spanking?" She shook her head no. I made her squirm up to my cock. When she was close enough I warned her. "You and I both know you could hurt me there. But I'd make you regret it for the rest of your life." And now I brought out the camping knife I had used to mock threaten her with, and put it against her cheek. She understood I think that this was no mock threat. I pulled the panty gag and rope out of her mouth and said, "Get started, little housewife."

She inched herself nearer and then I felt her lips close around my cock. We had never done this before. I frankly am not a fan of fellatio. I don't like the idea of teeth near my cock. But what thrilled me now was knowing she didn't want to do it. I could see the humiliation on her face as she lay there, bound hands against her beaten butt, a crotch rope digging into her vagina. That reminded me to find the end of the rope and give a nice pull on it, which I did. She moaned helplessly around my cock. God I was loving this. I let her slurp some more and then I pulled it out, and grabbed her by her shoulders so I could flip her onto her back. She winced when her welted ass fell against the mattress. I was ready to fuck her now, ironically the only thing about this Saturday she might enjoy... and I didn't want her to enjoy it. I couldn't help it; I still needed her to suffer. So I flipped her back on to her stomach and then got off the bed so I could pull her ass towards the side of the bed. I let her knees drop to the floor. Then I found yet another length of rope and this I tied around her neck. I think she thought I was going to strangle her then though that was not my intention. But I didn't mind her fearing that. I went to the other side of the bed and tied the other end of the neck rope to a bed post. I could tell her breathing was restricted but not cut off. She turned her head to the side, trying to get more comfortable. She couldn't turn her head enough to see me, but she started to talk. "Pleashe," she began, and she started crying, really crying now in earnest. This had happened once before during our games, when I got a little rough, and then, of course, I felt guilty and released her immediately, cradling her in my arms and telling her I was sorry. 

But not this time. I decided to taunt her. "You want me to let you go, Ginger?" I asked. I think she found a little hope then that her punishment was over, just because I had used her name instead of calling her my "little housewife." She nodded. "Yes. Let me go." She said, still sobbing.




Bad Day



"Tell you what. I'll let you go if you beg me to spank you."

I could see her trying to calculate her way through this new turn. Was I lying to her just to torture her some more? Or would I really let her go? But she had no choice. She had to play our game. Our game that had become real. 

She had stopped crying for the most part. It wasn't working anyway. "S-Shpank me," she said.

"Okay!" I said cheerfully. And began swatting her poor welted but still beautiful ass again. Her face contorted in anguish and pain and humiliation at being tricked like this. I loved it.

I was through torturing her, for now at least. I had a rock hard erection and needed to be relieved. So I stopped spanking her and without any warning, plunged my dick into her pussy. All the way in. She grunted in outrage. But this was for my pleasure, not hers, so I pulled on the neck noose as if it were a bridle, forcing her head up. And just pounded away. I presumed she felt this was better than a spanking, anyway. So now she was being pushed into the side of the bed while I was forcing her head back and riding her like she was a pony. Whipsawing her. 

This went on for a couple of minutes, and then I came. I couldn't tell if she did or not. Frankly I didn't care. 

Her breathing was becoming a little ragged, so I went around to the other side of the bed and released the neck rope. She just lay there, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. My god her body was beautiful. She was not a dainty girl. She was almost husky, with well-defined muscles, a relatively slim waist that bloomed into a pleasingly round, meaty ass that helped to accentuate her strong legs. 

I found the panty again and stuffed it into her mouth, and retied it behind her head. "I've got to get something from my car," I told her, and patted her nice round white ass. "I'll be right back, my dear little housewife."

When I came back in the house with my next surprise for her, I found she had gotten herself off the bed and she was standing at the top of the stairs. I don't know what she thought that would get her. She was still tied hand and foot. But it made for a nice picture, which I took with my borrowed Polaroid, my next surprise. Her expression was priceless. 

I started climbing the stairs to take more shots, and she tried to get away, hopping pathetically. I got some nice pics of this pitiful escape attempt. Then I stopped her by yanking on the crotch rope. I forced her to hop over to the bed again. I made her kneel on the floor at the foot of the bed. I tied her cuffed wrists to her ankles again and then, just because I could, I pulled the crotch rope up tight again into her luscious pussy and tied it to a bedpost. Then I sat in front of her with my legs on either side of her head. "Time for a few more pictures, Ginger, then I'll let you go. Okay?"

She looked at me. She had to say yes, whether she believed I would let her go or not. She nodded. I took the panty gag out again, letting it rest on her upper chest. I brought the camera up to my eyes. "You know what to do now, don't you?" She nodded again, and then she resignedly began sucking my cock while I took some more pictures. The Polaroids floated to the floor near us, gradually developing into some more humiliating memories for her. When I was ready to come I pulled on her hair so her neck would be extended and the semen would flow down her throat. Ah, it was lovely. And really, wasn't it the logical conclusion of those bondage games we had played on all those Saturdays? There was still a bolus of cum in her mouth. I saw her start to spit it out but I stopped her by re-inserting the panty gag and cinching it tight. 

"You can keep some of those," I told her, pointing to the photos as I bent down to pick up a choice one: her staring straight ahead at my cock, right before she started to suck on it, an admixture of shame and fear on her face. 

I was done with her, done with all those Saturdays of being a prisoner to her pussy. Done with her emotional blackmail. I got dressed and walked over to her, still held fast to the bedpost by the crotch rope. I took the handcuff keys out of my pocket and dropped them down next to her. She would have to squirm around a while to get to them, and that crotch rope that held her to the bed would give her some trouble, maybe even a little pleasure but I was confident that she would be able to get to the keys and eventually free herself. She could keep the cuffs.

I heard her groan in anger and frustration through the panty gag as I walked away.

I didn't hear from Ginger for almost two weeks. I was in the beginning stages of an affair with Pamela. Sex with her was sweet, when it happened. Certainly nothing as kinky as what I'd had with Ginger. I bought another set of cuffs, leather this time, but I rarely got to use them. But I didn't miss that... too much. 

"I need those pictures," Ginger said as soon as I picked up the phone. I was in my apartment. I had put them away, but not too far away. I wasn't seeing Pam as much as I'd like. She was dating others - something we agreed to but I wasn't too happy about. I couldn't buy a date. I had actually begun to worry that stories about my... predilections had gotten out. Maybe even Ginger had started the rumors. And with dates with Pamela getting fewer and far between, those photos were becoming increasingly important to my solitary love life. "Please," she said. She sounded so pitiful and needy. "Please," she said again. "I can't stand the thought of them being out there. I need to have them. I need them destroyed." I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

"You know, it took me quite a while to get out of those cuffs. And those ropes really...hurt." This both inflamed and shamed me at the same time. I didn't need to look at the pictures now. I was reliving the whole day in my mind. I could feel my heart beating faster and I was having a little trouble controlling my breath. 

"You're using them, aren't you?" she said, the innuendo in her voice plain. Just the right mixture of accusation and sensuality. Mostly accusation. Even so, this conversation was stirring me. All those Saturdays I was truly beginning to miss them. "I'll use them if I have to," I told her. "If - if you're not a good little housewife." 

She didn't reply for a moment. I felt like such a pervert suddenly. My growing lust now began to turn to shame and guilt for the humiliation and pain I had put her through on our final Saturday only what, three weeks ago?

"I'd be good... if you gave them to me," she said quietly. "Please," she said, like she had on our final Saturday, when I had made her beg to have me do so many things to her. I was getting quite aroused just thinking about it. And feeling as equally guilty. What a roller coaster. I didn't know how it was going to work out, if I was just going to give her the photos like a gentleman, a chastened gentleman - an abjectly apologetic gentleman - or if maybe she wanted to have a replay of our last meeting. Just... not so brutal.

"When?" I asked her.

We settled on the very next Saturday. And where? At her old house, which was still empty. 

Well, I got ready for it, came the day, as if it were a real date. I hadn't meant to. I had purposely busied myself with other tasks. The uncertainty was too much. When I pulled up to the house I saw that her car was there. My heart was pumping fast again as I went up to the door and knocked, like a gentleman. 

She was at the door, she'd seen me pull up. "Come on in," she said. I had the photos, all of them, in my front pocket. "You just missed Gordon."

Well, that was a surprise. 

"He's in town for a few days. He's gone straight, I guess. He's doing it for the kids, he said." She started to tear up. "He's making it rough on me, the divorce, you know. The bastard." Her face twisted in anguish. "I can't let him have the kids. I know he'll start dealing again. I don't have a job right now; that's a strike against me. And - and he knows about all our Saturdays, and he's holding that over my head." Then she collapsed into my arms. God, did I feel guilty. Blackmail. Real blackmail. Like what I'd used on her. I felt like a weasel hearing that. The photos were burning a hole in my shirt pocket, those nasty disturbing photos that I couldn't help masturbating over. And here I had planned, I had hoped to put her through some of that same torture again. My little game. I put my arms around her but she put her hands on my chest and pushed herself away. She turned towards the stairs and put her hand out. I took it, and she led me to the stairs, and up them. Despite my remorse, the thought came to me that we might actually do it. But it would be real lovemaking this time. I would show her I could be a gentleman. I would try to make it up to her. 

When we got upstairs she led me into the bedroom. There was the bed, still there. I rejected the visions in my mind of what I'd put her through on that bed. 

She let me go of my hand and went over to the bed and sat down on it. The bed creaked a little. "He fucked me so many times on this bed," Ginger said. "Even today, no more than a few hours ago. A sort of a parting fuck. I was trying to get him to change his mind about the kids." She looked down. "I still have his cum in me," she said, her lips curling in disgust. She looked at me. "I know why you're here," she said. Then she stood abruptly, and began to take off her clothes. I watched her, fascinated. She looked at me again as she removed her necklace and ring. 

I got very hard very fast. But I had learned my lesson. I wasn't going to rape her again. I couldn't bear the load of guilt I'd felt just a few minutes ago at her door. "You don't have to do this," I said huskily. "I'll make up to you. I'll give you the pictures."

She smiled then, a wicked smile. "You were very bad to me," she said, and pouted prettily. "All those Saturdays, particularly the last one." She reflexively rubbed her backside. "If you really want to make it up to me then maybe... this time... you should be the one who gets tied up." She reached under the mattress of the bed and pulled something out.

Now, what do you do when faced with a gun? Not a big gun. Like a .38. But a gun, a revolver. And it was loaded. I could see the bullets in the chamber looking back at me. 

Naturally I thought about disarming her. But she stood up as my mind worked. "I guess you know I don't want to kill you," she said. "But I could certainly wound you. Have you ever been shot?" 

She answered for me. "Of course you haven't. Now, think about it. Here you are in my house. An intruder...never mind an ex-lover, although that can be even more incriminating for you. You know. 'He was stalking me. He wouldn't leave me alone. Then he invaded my household and threatened me. So I had to shoot him'," and then she pointed the gun at my groin. "I regretted it," she smiled as she rehearsed her speech for the cops, "but I did what I had to do." 

I think she could tell, by the expression on her face, that I believed she actually would shoot me. 

She smiled wickedly again. "Reach your hands to the head of the bed," she told me. There's a paper bag between the mattress and the wall. Pull it out and empty it on the bed beside you," she said. I did so. I guess I was holding it numbly, not really believing this was happening. "Recognize anything?" she asked, inclining her head toward the spilled contents. Of course I recognized the items from the bag: handcuffs, no doubt the same ones I had used on her, and coils of rope and twine. There was even a hunting knife among the articles. She had duplicated the bondage gear I had used on her on so many Saturdays. "Well?" She said, and her face was grim. 

I nodded yes, I knew the stuff from the bag. 

She was capable of violence, that I knew. I had seen her spank, no, whip one of her kids once, with a belt. I knew she had even been in real fights with Gordon. 

She brandished the gun again, and pointed it once more at my groin. "Okay, my little housewife," she said, giggling a little. "You're about to have a really bad day. Stand up."

I did as she ordered, my eyes never leaving the gun. "Take off your clothes," she told me. "All of them."

I didn't do anything at first. Then she cocked the trigger back. And I thought for a moment.

This was a delicate negotiation here. If I didn't believe she'd shoot, then I should rush her, take the gun away from her and then really put her through it for trying such a stunt. Or...

If I was uncertain whether she'd shoot or not, the prudent course would be to obey her, at least for now, until I could be sure I was able to overpower her without risking a gunshot wound

I decided on the prudent course. 

As I started to undress I was reminded of so many other situations, movies, books, etc, titillating to me, in which a woman was forced to strip. I had rarely imagined myself in that situation. And of course I remembered making poor Ginger strip oh so many times, relishing her humiliation. From the look on Ginger's face, she was indeed delighting in turning the tables on me. 

I undressed as she watched from a safe distance, and soon I was standing naked before her. I'd never felt so naked. I could feel blood pulsing into my cock. "Hey, take the watch off, too, " she said. A reminder of how I'd made her strip off even her jewelry. Now, I too was to be totally denuded. I tossed the watch on the growing pile of my clothes on the bed. 

"Turn around," she said, and I did. I felt her put the cuffs into my hands. 

"Put them on behind your back." 

Now, once again, a critical moment. If I obeyed her and cuffed myself, I would be helpless. If I tried to do something now, with my back turned to her, I was at a definite disadvantage. She seemed to sense my cogitations. "Do it now," she said, "or I'll shoot you in the ass." I felt her press the cold barrel of the gun against my ass. "Think about how that'll feel," she said, pushing the gun barrel farther into the flesh of my ass. 

Again, I took the prudent course.

I fiddled around with the cuffs, trying to do as she said. I felt her helping to click them home. The critical moment had come and gone and my chance to get out of this had passed. When the cuffs were closed around my wrists I felt a thrill of fear at knowing I was now completely at her mercy. But, I thought, she isn't going to kill me, this is the right way to end it. Let her have her way with me for once, instead of the other way around. Even let her get a little rough with me. Then I would truly be guilt free. And I knew she would probably be amateurish and even gentle. 

I couldn't have been more wrong. 

When she was certain my hands were securely fastened she came around in front of me, still holding the gun. Her expression had changed again, had become grim again. 

In swift determined motions she lifted up my swelling cock and, picking up the knife, she put the blade under it, its serrated edge gently prickling the underside. She looked up at me, still grim. "You're in a lot of trouble," she said. "I'm not playing around here. What's that you told me on that last Saturday? 'Now it's for real'?" She pulled on my cock, the knife remaining where it was, close to the root of my member and I gasped at this menacing turn. She smiled widely now, clearly proud of herself for having pulled her little plan off. All I could do was stand there, frozen in fear that she was about to castrate me. She stroked my dick a couple of times, making it grow larger in spite of the danger, then pulled on it again, hard, forcing me closer to her. I felt the serrated points of the knife dig in just a little deeper. I started to sweat, even tremble a little. "There's a potential for a horrible "accident" here," she said. You know, kinky foreplay ends in genital mutilation? That sort of thing." She squeezed my cock then, in a sort of fond, possessive way. "And what could you say about it? You let me tie you up, didn't you?" She asked. I had to agree that I had. I nodded slowly. 

Suddenly she put the knife aside, and I found that I had been holding my breath. "But that doesn't have to happen, not if you cooperate. Just know that I'm willing to do that if you get uppity, as a payback for all those torments you put me through. And even if you did go to the cops with your tale of woe, dick in hand, what might they do to me? I would tell them it was an accident. I might serve jail time but I doubt it. My word is as good as yours as to my intent. It would all be a dreadful incident and there would be trouble for me but you, my friend, would definitely be the worse for it." She squeezed and then pulled on my cock again, making me grunt involuntarily. "Do we understand each other?"

I nodded yes. 

"Good," she said, and let go of my genitals. She picked up the coils of rope. I saw no point in resisting while she tied my ankles, then my knees, then my hips, and oh yes, another rope around my waist. Now the twine, which of course she tied to the handcuffs and then threaded through the waist rope. Like I had done to her, she pushed the twine through my legs. It tickled a bit. I imagined how I must look then, bound as I had bound her. I didn't like the feeling at all. I felt degraded and foolish standing there. 

I didn't watch her encircle my cock and balls with the twine, I watched her as she did it. The she pulled the twine, hard. The pain went right through my genitals to somewhere deep in my torso, an awful deep internal gut punch. She smiled cruelly as I gasped in pain. 

Then she stepped away and continued to undress. I saw, after she removed her panties, that she had shaved her pussy, the dark labia clearly visible. She didn't discard the panties with the rest of her clothes, rather she wadded them up and smiled at me. "Open up," she said, and I did. Then she stuffed them in my mouth, securing them with a length of twine dug deep into my jaws. Now grabbing again the length of twine that had become a cock leash, she looked up at me and said, "Now who's the little housewife?" That humbling little phrase certainly emphasized the reversal of our positions. Now I was a part of her fantasy. 

"I'm going to have some fun, and you're going to have a really bad day," she said, repeating word for word the phrase I had used with such relish on her so many times before. She pulled on the leash to lead me nearer to the head of the bed, where I had discarded my clothes. She picked up my pants and unthreaded the belt. Yes, the same belt I had used on her. She let the buckle end trail down my torso and then rest coldly against my outstretched cock. "I'll bet you can't remember the last time you were spanked, can you?" I didn't answer, gagged as I was, and I don't think she wanted me to say anything yet anyway. "Spankings are awful, aren't they?" she smiled as she rubbed her ass suggestively, her fine round white ass. At least, from what I had seen of it, the welts and bruising were gone. I wondered briefly how fast my skin was going to heal. Just get it over with, I thought. 

"But a spanking is nothing next to a whipping, with a belt. I know that," she said, and her smile disappeared. Now she touched my bound cock, and started stroking it. The resultant erection was surprisingly painful. I stole a glance down to see the flesh of my penis bulging between the coils of twine. "Oooh, you'd love to fuck me again, wouldn't you, my little housewife? You want to fuck me? You want to fuck?" she asked, almost sweetly, nodding her head as a prompt. I nodded tentatively, having no idea where this was going. Then she asked it like a serious question. "No, really. Would you rather we fucked instead of me giving you a beating?" On the last word she pulled rather hard on the cock leash, pulling my pelvis out toward her. "A beating like you gave me?" And she commenced to stroking it again, tenderly. I was getting light headed with the awful alternation between stimulation and pain. "Because we could, you know. I could forgive you and untie your cock and we could fuck like we used to," she said, gently brushing her other hand across my chest and breathing hotly into my face, all the while continuing to stroke me, "before you started your little game." And with that word she pulled hard on my cock again, pulling me against her so she had to step aside a bit or I would have fallen on her. I felt that same deep internal punch again, a dull deep pain, profound and cavernous, the kind of pain a man feels, if he is lucky, only once or twice in his whole life. The pain was so intense that my cock, even though tightly bound, began to wilt again. Ginger was aware of it. "Oh did I hurt you?" she asked, addressing my cock as if it were a third partner in this macabre game of hers. She cooed as she petted it and stroked it till it swelled again. "We mustn't hurt you too much," she told it. "It wouldn't be pleasurable for our little housewife if you got hurt too much." She made like she was going to pull on it again and I braced myself but she didn't. She looked at me and smiled so cruelly... maybe it was a mirror image of how I'd smiled at her that last (and I thought) final Saturday. She was having what I'm sure she thought of as evil, righteous fun. I felt eerily like I was no longer a real person to her. There was no sympathy in her face for me - none. My body, my pain, had become a tool for her revenge against a creep, a pervert, is how I guess she thought of me now, who had harmed her grievously. Her expression said I deserved everything that was going to happen to me. She was almost gleeful. "I'll tell you what," she said, her eyes glinting. "I'll untie your cock and we'll lie down on the bed and we'll fuck, if you," again with the cruel smile, "beg me to spank you." Before I could say anything she went on. "But if you don't beg me to spank you then I'll have to whip you." She swished the belt around carelessly and the cold metal buckle bumped against my cock. It felt like a bee sting. She saw me wince, and began stroking me again, looking up at me and smiling. "See? That's a better deal than you gave me, isn't it? Isn't it?" she said, and pulled, not as hard as the last time, on the cock leash. Well, I knew where this was headed, my own "deal" turned against me, but I also knew I had no choice in the matter. I was 90% sure I was going to take a beating no matter what I said. Yet there was the slim chance that she wasn't lying; that she would really fuck me if I said what she wanted me to say, and end, at least for a while, this torment. This uncertainty was as maddening for me as it must have been for her. 




Bad Day



"Well? Make a decision, my little housewife." 

I mumbled through the gag, "Shpank me." 

Her smile grew wider. "Okay. You want me to spank you, right? 'Cause if you do, you have to ask me again. Beg me to spank you." Then suddenly, she hit me with the belt, it landed against my left butt cheek and the hip below it. The pain was incredible. I realized how much it had hurt her, then. 

She smiled. "That's so you know what the alternative feels like."

This was perhaps the most humiliating; her reciting my own words back to me, words I had used to torment her. She hit me again, in the same place, and then again. My natural unthinking reaction was to try to get away from the awful pain. She still had the cock leash in her other hand which stopped me of course. "Oh, you want to get away?" She let go of the leash. Then she knelt over the bed and picked up the handcuff keys. She dangled them in front of me. "Here's your freedom right here," she said, and threw the keys toward the bedroom door. "Go get them so you can get away from awful Ginger." I didn't move at first. I knew it was just another part of her game. She looked up into my eyes. "Well, you've got to try," she said. And then showed me the belt. "Because the alternative is so painful!" And she hit me again. And again, not sparing anything. "Go on! It's your only chance!" she cried, punctuating her words with blows from the belt. I began to move as much to get away from the belt as to get hold of the keys. Maybe I could get the keys and free myself, a part of me thought. And when I was free I would grab her and make her pay, all over again, for this newest humiliation. Of course, my ankles were still tied. So I had to hop, like I had made her hop. As I started for the keys she hit me again on the small of my back and then the back of my thighs. The pain was blinding. I had just made it to where the keys lay and was awkwardly bending down, facing away from them so I could grab them with my hands bound behind my back when I felt her naked foot cover them. "Awww, you didn't make it in time, did you, my naked little housewife? Well," she shrugged, "you had your chance." She took hold of the cock leash and made me hop back toward the bed, all the while continuing to whip me. She tied the leash around a bedpost and recommenced the whipping. "Beg me to spank you!" she said. "Like you made me beg, or I'll just keep whipping you. Beg me!" 

She was hitting me everywhere, on the back, on the chest. Of course I begged. "Spank me!" I said, my words still muffled by the panty gag. "Pleashe shpank me!" She looked very satisfied. Then she untied the cock leash from the bed post and sat down on the bed, patting her thighs. "Lay across mommy's lap for your spanking," she told me. I awkwardly complied, realizing how hard it was to move, tied up as I was. As hard, no doubt, as it had been for her. Of course my dick thumped against her as I lay across her lap. She reached between us and pulled my cock down between her naked thighs, trapping it there. I have to say, even imprisoned as it was, the sensation was amazing. "Say it again," she said.

I said it again, my face red with shame. "Pleashe shpank me!"

And then my spanking began. It wasn't as painful as the belt whipping I had endured, but it seemed infinitely more humiliating to be chastised like this, helpless and naked and totally at her mercy. It seemed to go on forever, but when she tired of that she told me to stand up and I did, as awkwardly as I had lain across her lap. 

She smiled at me as she stroked my dick again, just to make sure, apparently, that my arousal never eased. Little chance of that, I thought, entwined as it was.

She pushed me and I fell back on the bed, the lower half of my body off the mattress. "Get all the way up on the bed," she told me. She went over to her clothes as I squirmed to do so, writhing until I was lying athwart the bed. The fresh welts on my back and my ass and my thighs stung. She kept smiling as she crawled onto the bed and straddled my chest, setting her rather voluminous purse next to us. The weight of both of us drove my cuffed hands into the small of my back and I thought how strange it felt to have my own body causing me pain and me helpless to stop it. 

And then I saw she had the same borrowed Polaroid camera I had used to document her humiliation. I recognized the nicks and scratches on it. Of course. The loaner of the device, Marvin, was a mutual friend of both of us. "Marvin was fascinated when I told him what I was going to use this for," she said. "I had to promise to give him some of the pictures. I didn't tell him where we were going to be. But he might figure it out. You know how he likes to watch porno. He may even want to participate!" She saw my look of shock and consternation. I had at least kept our "games" and the records of them to ourselves. Lord knew what Marvin would do with pictures of the indignities now being inflicted on me. "Oh, my little housewife doesn't like that idea, eh?" She patted my cheek. "Wouldn't it be awful for you if some other friends of ours came around to be a part of this? But for now-" she held the camera up to her face. "You know what to do," and she scooted up to my chin while she pulled the panty gag out of my mouth. She planted her pussy on my mouth while she used her free hand to reach behind herself and pick up the cock leash and pull on it to encourage my efforts. "Hey, know what?" I looked up at her (not having much choice) her cruel smile framed by her thighs, "Remember I said Gordon and I had fucked not too long before you came over? Well, guess what, little housewife. You've got some cleaning to do. Suck out Gordon's cum for me." Another tug on the cock leash for emphasis. "Now." Then she took a picture, the flash of the Polaroid blinding me. Hoping to evade more punishment, I did as she told me and put my lips on her pussy lips. Then I licked her and probed into her vagina with my tongue. She wasn't lying. I did taste what must have been Gordon's semen, salty and slick, like congealed clam chowder. I started to draw my tongue back instinctually but she must have sensed that and pulled hard on the cock leash, making it clear I had no choice. As I did this disgusting task, cleaning out the pussy I knew so well, she continued to record it on polaroids. There was enough of it that I had to swallow it or risk choking as she relentlessly rode my face. She didn't allow me to practice my not inconsiderable cunnilingus skills on her. She seemed quite satisfied to use my entire lower face for her pleasure. I felt her shudder through an orgasm. 

She slid off my face and looked and laughed at my miserable, disgusted expression. "Oh, you didn't like that, did you, little housewife? That's too bad." She slapped my face. "I didn't like sucking you off either." Her expression was grim again. I wasn't sure which look I cared less to see: the grim face of retribution or the wicked smile of righteous vengeance. It didn't matter really. 

She slapped my face again. Then again. Really this seemed to hurt the most. Not only because the insults were close to my brain; they seemed more personal than the sexual torture. I felt hate and retaliation and scorned love in those slaps. I actually started to tear up. Now her expression was enigmatic. But the moment passed.

She reseated herself on my chest, squirming a little to get more comfortable. "Okay, what's next?" she asked herself. The leering face of cruel Ginger returned. "You want to fuck?" 

I didn't answer, frankly afraid of her reaction to whatever response I would make. She laughed and lightly slapped my chest. "It's not a trick question! If you don't want to fuck there are plenty of other things we can do. I brought a lot of toys with me." She thought for a moment. "I'll get one we both know well. You used it on me once when you found it in my purse. Remember?" She reached into her purse. "My vibrator!" She showed it to me, all seven or eight inches of it. She turned it on and rubbed it against my cheek; the humming made my nose itch. "You remember! You made me lick it to get it wet then you put it in my rectum and pulled my panties over it, remember?" I did, and nodded slightly. "And then you tied a crotch rope around me and tied that to a crosspole in your closet, remember?" She slapped me again. Grim Ginger returned. "And you wanted to spank me but I wouldn't let you so you left me there for a while; you even left the room for a while, and when you came back you tugged on the crotch rope and made me beg for you to fuck me, remember?" I remembered. But it was part of our sex games. This was no game. Or was there any difference? 

She held the vibrator to my lips. "Now I want you to get this good and wet, isn't that what you said to me? Because that's the only lubrication you're going to get. Open up." I did so, and knowing where she intended to put it, I tried to apply as much lubrication as I could. She removed the vibrator from my mouth, and cruel Ginger brought the vibrator down my torso towards my butt, lightly brushing my entwined cock on the way. "Raise your knees and ass a little," she said. I did, and then she started probing, while keeping her eyes on my face, apparently relishing my expression. She found the opening, and then, rather gently I should say, worked it in. I felt the buzzing throughout my pelvis, especially in my prostate. It was unusual but not entirely unpleasant. But the fact that it wasn't my choice to have it buzzing inside of me was mortifying. Cruel Ginger smiled at my mixed expression. "Now," she said, "we'll fuck." She scooted down off my chest and lifted herself on her strong thighs while holding my still bound cock. "I'll see how it feels with the twine on it," she said, almost musing. She closed her eyes as she settled on me. "Ooooh," she said, "that's nice." She smiled at me, almost tenderly. "Isn't that nice?"

I had to admit it was, even with the twine still encircling my genitalia. She began riding me, moving back and forth with more and more abandon and that began to get increasingly painful. The twine was pulling my pubic hairs and causing other discomforts. What with the binding and the pain, there was no way I was ever going to cum. I groaned and she noticed but her reaction was a surprise to me, or getting to know cruel Ginger as I was, not all that surprising. Without breaking her rhythm, or even opening her eyes, she found the panty gag under my chin and brought it up to my mouth. "Open," she said breathily. 

"Ginger, it-"my protests were ended with a slap. She stopped riding me. "It hurts?" Grim Ginger asked me. "It hurts?" She reached up to my nipples and twisted them. The pain was intense. That is not supposed to happen. Maybe women can endure getting nibbled by babies but men's nipples are not supposed to get that treatment. "Did that hurt?" She slapped me again. "Did that?" I think she would have continued with the painful lecture had she not wanted to get back into her pre-orgasmic rhythm. "Open!" she barked and when I did she shoved the panty gag back in my mouth and tightened the cinch around it. Without another word she began riding me again. My muffled moans were ignored as she came to a series of climaxes. I guess it took about ten minutes. I, of course, was unable to cum.

She huffed for a while, then started up again. The next orgasms came quicker, thank the gods. Then she sighed deeply and laid her torso on top of me, mingling our perspiration as her breasts flattened out on my belly. "Oh, that was good!" she said. "Just like old times." She raised her head and looked at me. She seemed to be coming to a decision. "You know, I was going to let you go after this. Really I was. But that was so good! God I missed that!" She took my chin in her hand. "I can't let you go, not yet," she said, cocking her head in mock sorrow. "I may try it later without the ropes on your penis but if I'm right about the time-" she slid off me, her eyes rolling back in her head as my cock popped out of her very wet vagina, swaying in its twine prison. "-I've got to go back to work. Didn't know that, did you? All those Saturdays you thought I was taking the whole day off but after I left your apartment I'd usually go back into work and finish up." She patted my cock affectionately as she stood up. "You," she was actually speaking to it, "always had priority on my Saturdays." So now I had been reduced to an appendage of my cock. As she dressed, she looked over at me. "I guess you can keep my panties for now." 

"But I let you go!" I managed to say through the panty gag.

She narrowed her eyes. "Oh that's right. You left the handcuff keys near me." Grim Ginger faced me. "I had to chew through that crotch rope to get enough slack to reach those keys." She made a face. "I can still taste that rope." She worked her feet into her shoes. "But you're right. You did make it possible for me to free myself. So here's the deal." She reached out and took hold of the cock leash, once more using it to pull me to my feet. I stood as quickly as I could while groaning at the third instance of that incredible gut wrenching pain. "I want you to make your way downstairs, all the way down to the basement while I freshen up. And I'll hide the keys somewhere in the house." Grim Ginger saw my consternation. Trying to find handcuff keys in a three story house (not counting the basement) would be next to impossible. "It's a better deal than I got," she said. She pointed at the bedroom door. "You'd better get going. It's not going to take me long to finish getting ready and if you're not down in the basement by the time I'm ready to go, you'll be very sorry." She picked up my belt to provide impetus then, as an afterthought, the rest of my clothes. "I'll take care of these," she said, and Cruel Ginger winked at me and took a swipe at my ass to start my progress. I thought about trying to argue again but she began to hit me in earnest so I hopped as fast as I could towards the bedroom door. She didn't stop whipping me until I was at the top of the stairs. "Be careful going down the stairs," she said. I had to grip the banister with my hands behind my back to steady myself as I hopped down the steps. Somewhere along the way the vibrator fell out. I heard it buzzing on the wooden steps. I couldn't tell if she was watching me or not; I concentrated on getting down the stairs and getting to the basement. I was convinced of her threat. She had tortured me plenty but her inventive mind was evident in those tortures and I didn't want to test that inventiveness. 

I heard her talking on her cellphone as I hopped towards the basement landing. By the time I was halfway down to the basement she had evidently finished getting ready. She came to the basement door and raised her voice so I'd be sure to hear her. "I called somebody to come play with you." I froze as she said this. Who could she mean? God, please not Marvin. "If you're lucky, you'll find the keys before Darla gets here."

Darla! Another of our circle of friends whom I'd had a brief dalliance with. Someone who liked to play the "games" that Ginger and I had, maybe even more than I did. It was bad enough that Ginger was introducing another actor into our situation but Darla seemed in some way innately unkind, sort of lacking empathy. After she had somehow heard about the kind of sex Ginger and I indulged in, she had pretty plainly invited me to come over and find out what she liked to do but I'd known Ginger would find out and there would be trouble. And now Ginger was passing me off to her, at least for a while, as if I were mere property. 

Standing there, trussed up and naked, on the cold concrete floor of the basement, I heard the front door open and close. At least, I thought, as I started the laborious task of making my way up the basement stairs, Darla wouldn't be carrying the vindictiveness that cruel, grim Ginger was but I was determined not to find out what Darla's idea of play was. As I hopped up the stairs, once falling to my knees on a step in front of me, I heard Ginger's old Ford crank and roar into life and then pull away. 

I was exhausted by the time I reached the basement landing but impelled by the mortifications I'd already suffered, I started searching for the keys in the living room. It helped that there was hardly any furniture left in the house, save the bed upstairs and the coffee table on which I had, in a rare tryst in Ginger and Gordon's house, tied Ginger down and had my way with her. The thought of that, of poor Ginger trussed and helpless on the coffee table, made my cock begin to swell in its bindings. It jutted and bobbed obscenely in front of me as I hopped past the coffee table into the kitchen. 

There was no way to open the head high cabinets in the kitchen. I had to hope that Ginger had not hid the keys in one of those. The kitchen drawers I opened by standing with my back to them and pulling open (a painful task because the cuffs that held my wrists were connected to the crotch rope/cock leash). They all came up empty. A brief glance out the back door told me that the handcuff keys weren't anywhere I could see them but there was no way I was going out there to look for them, not naked and tied as I was. 

Darla will be here soon, I thought as I hurried out of the kitchen and hopped over to the dining room. There were high cabinets in that room as well but they had glass doors. I craned my neck to look in them and as best as I could tell, the keys didn't appear to be in any of them. 

I went back to the staircase and started hopping up the steps, each movement causing the crotch rope/cock leash to dig into the increasingly raw flesh between my legs and pull on my imprisoned cock. I was exhausted and sore when I reached the top of the stairs. There were two other bedrooms on this floor besides the master bedroom. After panting for a few moments I began the task of looking in each of them. The door was shut on one of them and it was quite difficult and excruciating to put my ass against the door so I could reach the doorknob with my cuffed hands and turn it. Opening the closet doors in each of them was just as tricky and painful. No, no keys in either room. So I hopped my way back into the master bedroom. I was sweating from my exertions as I opened the closets and checked them. No keys. Now the bed, Ginger and Gordon's worn marital bed, where I had tied Ginger only three weeks ago. I noticed then that Ginger had indeed taken my clothes with her. But I couldn't worry about that now; Darla was coming.

The keys certainly weren't lying on the bed, that was evident. I dropped to my knees, inadvertently pulling the crotch rope even deeper into my crotch so I could look under the bed. It hurt even more to put my head down on the floor so I could check there, the crotch rope pulling my bound cock hard against my legs. Goddamn it. No keys. Had Ginger even left them? But there was the attic to check, one flight up, a narrow stairway with high steps. Bound as tightly as I was, the height of each step made it impossible to hop up onto each one. I was required to slowly come to my knees on the first step and then chin my way up onto the next step and then the next, over and over, rather like an inch worm. Each one of these caused me excruciating pain and seemed to take forever. There were thirteen steps in all. Finally I reached the top and I was in the attic where Gordon had kept a great part of his immense fossil collection. He had installed two levels of makeshift shelves along the entire length of each wall, the lower ones being about as high as my chin. I hopped along each of the walls and when I finally came round to the wall nearest the doorway, I found them. The keys! I thought for a moment freedom was at hand but then I realized that Ginger had pushed the keys all the way up against the wall. There was no way to reach them with my hands cuffed as they were against my back and try as I might, I couldn't get my chin high enough to be able to crane my neck and reach the keys with my mouth. Desperate now, I started to hit my chin against the shelf, hoping to bounce the keys toward me but the shelf was nailed pretty solidly against the wall; the keys hardly budged. I decided to get my head under the shelf and try to dislodge the entire shelf from the wall. I rammed the top of my head against the shelf again and again until I saw stars but the shelf remained firmly attached to the wall. I stopped for a moment to try to clear my head and then I was startled to hear someone behind me laughing. A woman's laugh. 




Bad Day



It was Darla. She was holding a video camera up to her eyes, smiling broadly.

"You're going to knock yourself out if you keep that up," she said. 

I decided to try to play on her sympathy, letting a catch rise in my voice. "I'm really hurting," I managed to say through the panty gag. "Please get the keys for me." To my surprise she did just that. She held the keys between the video camera lens and my face. "You want me to give you the keys?" she asked. Of course I did but I could tell from her smile that she intended to play her own little game. I nodded apprehensively. She kept the camera lens on the keys as she brought them down and then deftly worked them under the twine that encircled my cock. "There you go," she said. 

If I could have gotten free right then I think I would have strangled her. But I wasn't free. I was still bound hand and foot and now I had been delivered into the not so tender mercies of Darla. Actually, I was to find out, she was quite merciless. "I've been here almost ten minutes," she said. "I taped you going up these steps. What a show." She turned the camcorder off then and set it on the shelf where the keys had lain. Then she began to alternately stroke and pull on my cock, making me gasp and groan with each movement of her small skillful hands. "Okay," she said. "We can't do much up here. Let's get you downstairs." She picked up the camcorder and then proceeded to help me down the steps. I had to sit down on each one and work my buttocks down onto the next step. She stayed in front of me to make sure I didn't fall but also to encourage my efforts by pulling on the cock leash. Once down on the second floor she made me hop into the bedroom, back to that damned bed which I was beginning to wish I had never seen. 

"Ginger wanted me to keep you occupied until she got back from work." She cupped me under my chin. "She's got big plans for you," she said. "And so do I. I brought your clothes with me," she gestured towards the bed. There were a variety of what appeared to be women's clothes on them. Underwear, bras, a whole bunch of frilly stuff and God help me, a pile of bondage gear. "Clothes for our little housewife," she said, and used the cock leash to pull me over to the bed. 

"Darla, pleashe," I mumbled through the panty gag. She merely put her finger up to my mouth. "Now, now. You'll have plenty of time to beg, and lots more reasons to, soon enough. Let's get you dressed. You're as naked as a jaybird." She led me to one of the bedposts and turned me around. I could feel her tying the back end of the cock leash/crotch rope to the bedpost, pulling it even tighter into my crotch and my cock against my bound legs. "That's so you'll cooperate and not get frisky when I untie your legs," she said. She untied the ropes that held my legs and ankles and then tugged on the crotch rope behind me to remind me to behave. She took pink panties from the clothes on the bed and knelt near my left foot, expecting me to raise it. When I didn't, she said "tsk, tsk," and went to the pile of gear on the bed. I watched her pick up what must have been a riding crop. "Wo," I said through the gag, "I'll cooperate." It sounded like "corfarate" through the gag but I think she got my meaning. 

"Yes," she said, grinning widely, "you will." Then she began slashing me with the crop. Everywhere, never in the same place twice. My chest, my side, my stomach, the front of my legs, down past my shins, my arms. "Ow, stop! Shtop! I'll corfarate!" I said. She hit me a few more times. I didn't think she'd ever stop. Then she brought the crop up to my lips. Her eyes were burning, her lips were tight and grim. She was incensed by my small act of rebellion. Really angry. "Don't fuck with me," she said. "I'll make you so sorry." I was already sorry. She tapped the crop against my gagged lips. "Apologize," she said. "Beg my forgiveness." 

"I'm shorry," I told her. She hit me again. On my ear. I was blind with pain and rage. "Goddamn you!" I said, and tried to free myself. I knew it was useless, but I tried. She hit me again, same place, then my neck, then my left nipple, then my left side, then across the front of my thighs. I was breathless with pain. I started to curse her again and she hit me on my mouth. That, I am not too ashamed to say, shut me up. I was astonished. She was way beyond mere sex games. This was true domination, totally genderless and asexual. It was obvious with her it was all about who was in charge. 

I was by no means broken. I don't even know what that means, but I knew now she was ready to inflict more pain than I was ready to bear. "I'm shorry," I said with as much conviction as I could muster, trying not to let the abiding anger I felt toward her color my apology. Vague plans were already forming to make her pay for this assault. Make her pay.

She hit me again, this time on my right nipple. I writhed. What could she want? "That's not what I told you to do!" She said, and hit me with each word. She was running out of fresh places. I racked my brain to figure out what she wanted me to say. Oh yeah, beg for her frgiveness. "I... Pleashe forgive me," I said. My face was flushing with shame, a good part of which was being forced to try to make myself understood through the panties. "I... beg your forgivenesh." God I would make her pay. 

"Don't think about the future," she said, as if she could read my mind. "You're problems are right here, right now," and she tapped my imprisoned cock, none too lightly, for emphasis. I had to agree. Without another word, she picked up the panties again and knelt so I could put my foot through the leg hole. Then the other. She drew them up around my hips and when she got to my cock, she stopped. She reached behind me to loosen the cock leash enough for her to be able to lift my cock and push it up against my stomach while removing the handcuff keys from beneath the twine. She tossed them aside on the bed and then she pulled the panties all the way up and, after forcing my cock against my underbelly, she popped the elastic waistband against the head of my cock. She gave it a little pat and smiled at me. Then she wagged a finger in my face. "No more trouble from you now, little housewife," she said. She reached down and stroked my cock. Oh, God. "I can be nice, too," she said. "You want me to be nice, don't you?" She kept stroking me. "Well, do you?" She gave it a fairly hard squeeze, causing me to grunt in pain. "Goddamn it, answer me when I ask you a question!" She squeezed harder. "Yesh!" I said. "I want you to be nishe." She released her grip and began stroking me again. Jesus. From pain to pleasure to pain to pleasure, on and on with no say in the matter. She kept stroking, causing me a very agonizing erection, and then she stopped. She giggled. "Now, let's get the rest of your outfit on, okay, little housewife?" Man, did I wish I had never called poor Ginger that. 

Darla picked up a lacy black bra and stretched it out, then shrugged. "It doesn't really go with your pink panties, my sexy little housewife, but it's the only one that's strapless, and I don't think I want to risk uncuffing you just yet. You were so mad at me a few moments ago, weren't you?" She said, making a mock pout. "But not any more, right?" And she reached down and stroked my cock through the panties again. I shuddered, then she squeezed it again, hard. "Right?" 

"Yesh!" I said, then remembered her last question, "I mean no! I'm not mad at you anymore." She laughed merrily at my desperation, then stopped squeezing and started stroking again. My bound cock had reached a sort of painful tumescent stasis now which I wasn't sure would change no matter what torture or pleasure she inflicted on it. Then she stopped and put the bra around me, letting her pert little breasts rest against my stomach (she's quite short) while she clasped it in the back. It was too small but she made it fit. I thought it might have been Ginger's but then I realized that if Darla liked these games, she probably had a whole stock of outsized women's underwear she could use to humiliate those men who were unfortunate enough to come under her ministrations. Like me. She stepped back to assess her work. "God, you look like the bearded lady," she said. "I wish I'd thought to bring clippers and a razor." She looked me up and down. "You're really quite hairy. If we get the time, I'll take care of that for you." The realization came to me then that Ginger and Darla could make this last quite a long time if they wanted to. After all, I think Ginger wanted to get back at me for a whole year of Saturdays. 

For Ginger it was vengeance, for Darla it was just... fun. I think she was having a helluva time. She found a black garter belt and put that on me, then dark stockings, which she clipped to the garter belt. "You look precious!" She told me, "but we're not done yet." Next came garish clip on earrings, a ridiculous strand of pearls around my neck and finally, "to complete the ensemble," she said, "lipstick."

"Really have to get you shaved," she said absently as she applied some powdery makeup and then lipstick to my mouth. She mimed for me to purse my lips into a ridiculous pout and when I didn't immediately mirror her action, she pulled extra hard on the cock leash. 

Next she picked up the camcorder to record it all. She studied my expression. "I know you wish I'd just go away and leave you alone but you're lucky to have me around," she told me. "Imprisonment gets old after a while. It's just boring. Nothing sexy about it or thrilling if there is no one there to mock your suffering." She replaced the ropes around my thighs and shins and ankles and then unfastened the back of the crotch rope from around the bedpost. She cinched it back up after I was free of the post. Then, taking care to pull the crotch rope tight between my legs, she pushed me onto the bed. "Ginger said you were a good pussy licker," she said as she unfastened her skirt and took her thong panties off. She climbed atop my chest. "Don't disappoint me, now," she said, pulling the panty gag out, and slid onto my mouth, cock leash in hand. I watched her rock back and forth on my face, her eyes closed in bliss. "You can do better than that," she said, and pulled on the cock leash. I increased my efforts and then noticed that she was using the leash to direct where my tongue went, right and left, up and down. How humbling to be used in such a way. Finally she bent forward, pulling up hard on the leash, her lean, almost emaciated belly brushing my forehead, her whole body shaking. "That was fine, that was good," she said, sighing. "Now let's do it again." And that went on for quite a while, until my tongue and jaw were practically cramping. If I stopped to rest, she would pull on the leash or slap my balls. She stopped moving again and looked down at me. I didn't know if she was through with my mouth or not; another humbling experience. "Ginger was right," she said, "you're a pretty good pussy licker." She toyed with my hair. "Now I think we'll fuck, okay?"

I knew I had no choice in the matter, "asking" me was just a tease. I could only hope it was not just that; I wanted to fuck her so bad it felt as if I had become a mere extension of my cock. She slid down my torso, our combined juices (my saliva, her pussy liquor) making a clear trail right down to my bound and tortured cock. She freed it from the panties waistband, and then smiling at me and nodding, as if she wanted me to thank her, she oh so slowly slid me into her quite tight but quite wet vagina. The extensive lubrication must have helped as she humped me, riding up and down the length of my entwined member, because the pain wasn't as intense as it had been when Ginger had ridden me. I thought I just might get one off, even past the damned clothesline coiled around my cock. She seemed to notice how close I was getting and I thought, Now she'll stop to tease me more but she didn't, she increased her speed, riding ever harder and higher and then I guess we both came simultaneously. She stifled her moans with her mouth closed, so it sounded like high pitched humming. It might have been funny or charming if I hadn't been in this humiliating predicament. When she was finished she draped her small breasted body over me and said, "Oh, that was fun, I think, for both of us." Then she abruptly pulled herself off of me and grabbed my swaying cock so she could tuck it once again under the panties waistband. "But now, back to work," she said, and slid again over my slick torso, reversing direction and ending up, once again, poised above my mouth. "You've got some cleaning up to do," she said. "I'm all messy down there." And she settled herself on me, rocking to and fro until she felt comfortable, I guess. 

Realizing again I had no say in the matter, I licked and sucked until I tasted my own semen, no less substantial and gross than Gordon's. And then she kept riding me, goading me and guiding me with the cock leash as she had before until, finally, minutes later, she came again. Humming again. 

She pushed herself off of me and stood next to the bed and took off the rest of her clothes. My slim, bare tormentress. "Okay," she said, "I think I want to see you dance." So she pulled on the cock leash to "help" me up until I was standing. She pulled it again, upwards, this time, until I was on tiptoes. I watched with trepidation as she tied the free end over the higher of the two railings at the end of the bed, leaving me only a minimum of slack. She picked up a long riding crop, one she must have brought with her, and swished it in front of me. "I know I don't have to remind you how much this thing hurts," she said and smiled and swung it quite hard against my already welted ass. "But I notice you're not dancing yet, my little housewife."

Not wanting further encouragement I began to hop up and down, all I could do with my ankles and legs bound as they were, but this lack of variation was unsatisfactory for her. "Put some different moves into your little dance," she said and swatted my ass, so I tried hopping from side to side and then, as her swipes at my ass had not ceased, I tried turning around as far as I could, with my dick leashed to the bedrail and then I tried hopping higher (I tried, anyway, anything to keep that crop off my ass). 

"Now wiggle your cute pantied little ass," she said, and I did. This mortifying performance went on for ten minutes or so until I was nearly breathless and my poor cock felt rubbed raw by the clothesline. I could feel the waist rope digging into my belly and a friction burn was forming on my "taint" where the crotch rope had sawed back and forth as I danced for my captress. She smiled and laughed cruelly the entire time, doing her best to degrade me into some sort of sexual clown. 

And it was degrading; I guess I could have just stoically taken whatever torture she wanted to inflict on me but it was a sexual torture. That is why, I think, people like Darla instinctively know to alternate punishment with overwhelming sexual stimulation, and forcing the one receiving the punishment to cooperate and maybe the punishment would turn to pleasure.

After she undid the cock leash from the bed railing Darla led me by it back to the bed. She pushed me and I fell athwart the mattress. "Ginger will be home soon," she said. "I guess it would be wrong of me to wear you out before she can play with you again." With that she crawled up onto the bed, carelessly brushing my cock with her hard belly. Midway up my torso she turned and then waved her little behind in the air above my face. "Let's see who can make who come first," she said, and lowered her pussy onto my mouth. I saw no point in a token and probably painful resistance so I began licking her right away. A not unenjoyable moment, compared to what I'd just been through. About the same time I felt her lips ever so gently caress the head of my bound cock. It was wonderful and excruciating. But when I let out an involuntary moan she stopped and I felt her fist go around it. She pulled it up at first, making my hips rise off the bed and then she bent it back towards my belly. I groaned in pain so then she slapped my balls. "Make one more sound! One more while you're supposed to be licking me! I dare you! You think you're suffering now? Just wait until Ginger gets tired of you! Then you'll know suffering!" I immediately returned to my servicing of her. 

I dutifully licked and sucked while the thought of Darla without any brakes joined an equally disturbing thought I had had before: it was beginning to look like these two had plans for me that went beyond a mere afternoon of torture. Would this never end?

Now she began toying again with my cock, occasionally fisting it to near ejaculation and then stopping. She would pull on the clothesline cock leash and strum it like a guitar string causing my abused penis to thrum and throb. And all along I did what I would have been glad to do under different circumstances but now was being forced to do; lick and suck her to orgasm. 

Which she had, finally, after I don't know how long. She kept humming as she crawled over me to get off the bed, again casually brushing my feverishly tumescent cock. About that time I heard the front door open. Ginger, cause of my current suffering, Ginger the vengeful victim, had returned. Now, I knew, the both of them were going to torture me.

It turned out she had brought clippers; in fact a whole shaving kit, pleasing Darla no end. Together they led me to the bathroom and after removing the feminine garments Darla had got me into (eliciting snickers from Ginger) they proceeded to denude me of not only my beard and moustache but the rest of my body hair as well. They were none too careful, either. I ended up with quite a few nicks and scratches. It was a painful and humiliating procedure. When they had washed me down they led me back into the bedroom. 

I was put on my knees facing the bed. Ginger stripped and sat in front of me. She brought herself to the edge of the bed and then she showed me a dog collar. She secured it around my neck with a padlock and after attaching a standard dog leash to it; she smiled and pulled my face into her pussy. A diminishing but still extant reservoir of defiance caused me not to do what she clearly expected me to. I let my chin rest on the mattress while my lips rested against her cunt. 

But it only took a moment for me to suddenly feel the smack of a belt against my back and butt. It hurt like hell, of course, joining the welts already formed there from my afternoon of torment. When she hit me again I gave up my defiance and began licking and sucking on her cunt lips. My hearing muffled by Ginger's meaty thighs, I listened to her and Darla casually discuss their plans for me. 

"Let's make him suck cock!" Darla said. "Ronald," (her husband) "loves a blowjob and it doesn't matter who's giving it to him."

"He can get fucked in the ass, too," Ginger said. She pulled the leash. "Would you like that, my little housewife?" She asked as she tapped my ass with what felt like a riding crop. I couldn't know if their plans were real but I was in no position to stop them. 

I became very familiar with both my tormentors bodies in the next few hours. A forced, humiliating familiarity as they languorously used me like a meat puppet. It was either do as they said or they would beat my ass and back and legs with the riding crop, or pull cruelly on the cock leash. Then they would alternate the beatings with a tease of my cock, stroking it to an excruciating hardness in its twine prison only to return once again to abusing me with the belt and the crop. They put lipstick on my mouth and made me suck a dildo while photographing me and giggling. Oh, you bitches, I thought. When I get free I will make the both of you suffer.




Bad Day



But I wasn't free. They still had me, naked and helpless and in pain, a mute participant in their cruel games for however long they wanted it to last. 

As it turned out, it was going to last quite a long time. 

Hours later, they seemed tired or bored of tormenting me. They silently confided in each other, as if acknowledging long held plans. "I hope he's got a long tongue," Darla said, fully aware that referring to me in the third person only served to demean me more. At that, Ginger giggled, rose and was replaced in front of me by wicked Darla. She reached behind her to pick something up off the bed and dangled it in front of me. The handcuff keys. I hoped for better, but could tell by her smile that she wasn't just going to give them to me. 

She tucked them into her vagina. 

"Well, I'm heading home," I heard Ginger say as she dressed. 

"There's your way out of this," Darla said, pointing to her tight, juicy snatch. 

I don't have a long tongue, and it is not very flexible, like some folks who can roll it into a sleeve. It's just an average tongue. It took me quite a while to even find the small silver keys, (she had put them in pretty deep with her thin dexterous fingers) and then another agonizing time pulling them out, millimeter by millimeter, with my tongue. I say agonizing because, every now and then, for no reason I could discern beyond cruelty, Darla would hit my ass or thighs with the riding crop. More than once it made me lose the keys. On reflection maybe she sensed when I was close to pulling them out and that was the reason for the occasional smack of the crop. Near the end of this newest ordeal, she bent low and inflicted me (pleasured me? I was in sensory overload) with another excruciating caress of my now quite bloated and sore cock. I had time to reflect as I worked that that was the member that had brought me into this humiliating predicament, starting all those Saturdays ago. 

I kept the keys firmly in my mouth after I got them. I had no illusions that Darla could force me to give them up if she wanted to, bound as I was, but so close to freedom made me feel desperate. I watched her dress, not willing to expose the keys until she was gone. She packed up the frilly garments she had made me wear, and that brought my own clothes to mind. "Where are my clothes?" I asked her, the words slightly distorted by the handcuff keys still in my mouth. There was another distortion as well; I found that I had unconsciously pitched my tone as meek and non-threatening as I could. I didn't want to spend more time with Darla, especially in a wrathful mood, should I say something to piss her off. 

"Ginger left them in the kitchen," Darla said as she left the room. 

After I heard go down the stairs I set to work to free myself. It is more difficult than you think to, without being able to look, find the small handcuff keyhole and insert the key the proper way. I freed my left hand first as I am right handed and then set about untying the intricate knots the girls had put on me. First, of course, was the twine encasing my cock. 

I couldn't help it; after all the stimulation I had received, I found masturbating irresistible. That in itself was rather agonizing too, what with the abuse my cock had suffered. Another legacy of this humiliating, bad, bad day. 

I felt sore and exposed as I went down the stairs. The emptiness of the house seemed to enhance my nakedness. On the way down, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Hardly recognizable. There were still traces of lipstick and makeup on my face and hand marks where I had been slapped but worst of all was noticing that I wasn't completely naked. I still had that damn dog collar padlocked around my neck. A wave of shame overcame me, of degradation. The only clothing I had on was the dog collar they had used to help enslave me. And as yet I had no way of removing it.

They had really worked me over. I could tell that on some places on my butt the skin had split. My ass and my cock had taken the worst of it, but there wasn't a square inch of my body Ginger and Darla hadn't abused. 

Well, this ends it, I thought, and I couldn't help remembering that weeks ago I had used that phrase when I had decided to make our sex games real with my "spectacular ending" of our affair. It had been a brutal, humiliating, spectacular day, but I hoped that a rough equality of suffering had been effected between us. 

But if I ever got hold of Darla...

When I got to the kitchen I didn't immediately see my clothes. But there was a note attached to the refrigerator. I noticed also the washer/dryer had remained. No doubt rented with the house originally. The note said:

Your clothes are in the washing machine. You can dry them later. 

Jesus, I thought; she put me through all that and then does- well, what a competent housewife would do, I guess- throw her "guests" clothes in the washing machine for them. 

I sure never wanted to be her guest again. I was glad to be shut of the whole affair. I went over to the washing machine; it had completed its cycle, and Ginger and I had completed ours. I suffered, I thought, but that served to put a full stop on the affair. The scorned woman had exacted her vengeance. I knew the type. She, now free as she was, pretty and sexy as she was, would simply go on to a new affair, a new lover. 

I opened the old-fashioned top loading washing machine. 

I found I was staring down into the washing machine, trying to comprehend. These were not my clothes. These were women's clothes; panties and bras and so forth. All very feminine, very frilly. As I lifted the clothes out, hoping that my clothes were underneath the lady garments, a piece of paper (not at all wet—she must have washed the clothes sometime during my day of torture and inserted the note when she left) fluttered apart.

My clothes were not anywhere to be seen. I stood there dumbly holding this collection of lingerie and frilly underthings until I thought to put them aside and read the note Ginger had left. This note said:

I guess you thought it was over between us. I'll tell you when it's over. I hope you didn't have plans with your lady friend Pamela the rest of this weekend. I have some chores for you to do before you go.

Chores? Fuck that, I thought. I read the rest of the note:

The next note is in the dryer.

I thought, maybe my clothes are in there... but they weren't. Just, as expected, another piece of paper, but no mere Post-it note. I unfolded it, dread settling into my chest. 

By now you must have realized that you can't leave this house. I have taken your clothes and left you with things you wouldn't be caught dead in (except today, right, little housewife?). Maybe you'll decide to risk trying to get back to your snug little apartment stark naked. Good luck with that. It's several blocks away and the neighborhoods, like this one, are a bit dangerous. Probably pretty dangerous for sure for a naked man with no I.D., or keys, or anything. You'll be lucky if the cops pick you up, and won't that be a lot of fun?

It'll be interesting to see what your choice is. 

If you decide on the wiser course, here is a list of things I want done by the time I get back. 

Take the clothes out of the dryer and put them on, or not, I don't care. But there'll be a penalty if you're not wearing something. I'll decide what else you'll be wearing later. 

Scrub the kitchen floor. You'll find detergent, a bucket and scrub brushes under the sink. Sorry, no mop. You'll have to clean the floor on your hands and knees. 

Check the refrigerator to see if it is defrosted yet.

Straighten up the bedroom upstairs. We had quite a day, didn't we?

Sweep up generally all over the house. I think there's a broom in the closet next to the dryer.

Do some dusting. I think there's a feather duster upstairs. If not, use one of the more worn items I left you. Aren't they pretty?

Put the handcuffs back on and be waiting for me, all chores done, like a good little housewife. I'm sure we both know what happens to bad little housewives. We will discuss where you are going to sleep tonight. 

Love, Ginger. 

P.S. I took your keys and moved your car far far away.

What an innocuous sign off for such a startling letter, so full of demands, I thought. Evidently she thought we were now going to enter into some long term even more kinky relationship but I had no desire to be feminized or in any way suffer any more abuse from Ginger. She was too inventive, and too charged by revenge. 

But my thoughts were broken by the sound of a key turning in the front door lock. Ginger? Back so soon? And I was right. When I re-entered the living room there she was. And I immediately knew what to do. Simply grab her and force her to tell me where my clothes were. When I advanced on her she stepped quickly back to the doorway and held up, like a totem, her cell phone. "If you try anything this phone will dial 911 with one touch. And you know what I'll say? I'll say there's a naked ex-lover here trying some very inappropriate things and that he has a menacing attitude. The cops will be here before you know it, and I'll be safely outside, sitting in my car, waiting for them to arrive and take the bad man away. If you can maintain a calm demeanor you may actually manage to make them believe at least some of the facts but my, what an embarrassing time that will be." She smiled wickedly. "So I suggest you get busy with your housekeeping, my sweet little housewife. I'll give you an hour. And when I get back you'd better be wearing those handcuffs, and I mean behind your back, or I'll carry through with my threat."

And then she smiled again and left. I guess she felt pretty sure of my decision. My only two options were both humiliating. But staying here another night under Ginger's thumb, with whatever she had planned for me beyond chores, would at least be a private affair, with no cops or any other public exposure. It would just be between me and her. Or at worst, Ginger and Darla. I shuddered at that thought. 

Or... maybe I would have a chance to trick her into thinking the handcuffs were locked when they weren't. I wasn't back in them yet. I was still free and unfettered. My plan was to somehow jump her before she dialed the authorities, which I had no doubt she would if pushed far enough. I resolved then that on no account would I allow her to capture me again.

But was I to do for an hour? Actually do the chores? I remembered part of the letter had something ominous about the things that happened to "bad housewives." Well, if I had my way when she got back, she'd be filling that unappealing role, not me.

I decided to fill the time with experimenting with the handcuffs, try to make it look like they were locked. I was sure she would inspect them from a safe distance.

It took many tries, and sometimes I would click them too far and they would lock. (Naturally I took care not to put both hands in the cuffs) but soon I was satisfied that I would be able to fool her. 

I was waiting for her when she arrived, standing in the living room, still naked, (I couldn't bring myself to put on the frilly underthings and besides, I felt pretty sure of regaining my own clothes very soon), my hands behind my back. She stayed in the doorway and held the cellphone out menacingly, telling me to turn around. I did so. She was apparently trying to inspect the cuffs from a distance. "Okay," she said. "I am giving you 5 seconds to back up toward me, then get on your knees." I did as she told me, and then stood there, getting ready to fully release my cuffs and turn and overpower her. 

"If you don't get on your knees right now," she said, "I'm calling the cops. Go ahead, try me." I heard her back up. Too far to release myself while turning and try to catch her before she called the cops. So I went to my knees. I knew my options were narrowing but thought I might still be able to knock her off her feet and keep her busy long enough to free myself before she hit the 911 button. Just as soon as she got close enough... "Now lay on your stomach," she said. I could tell she hadn't moved from the doorway. Realizing my chances of escape were still diminishing, I nevertheless did as she told me. "Now spread your legs as far apart as you can." When I did I heard her approach very fast. Then she had her hands on my cuffed wrists, I heard them click home, and then...just like that my escape plans had been foiled. I was her captive again.

Now, smiling that merciless smile, Ginger told me to get up, which I did, awkwardly, resigning myself to some more punishment. She stood in front of me and then produced a leash, which she attached to the dog collar around my neck. Then she calmly turned, the end of the leash held over her shoulder and pulled, forcing me to climb the stairs after her. 

So she had me again. And my torment began anew. Now more than one bad day was in the offing. We entered the room of my apparently continuing agony.

First, of course, the "bad housewife" had to be punished for not doing her chores. "Did you enjoy your few moments of freedom?" she asked me. "Too bad you didn't use the time to do what I told you to do. Now you'll suffer and you'll end up doing those chores anyway. So what did we gain, huh?" she asked me, making a mock pout. Now I noticed she had a shopping bag with her. She led me to the bed and dumped its contents out. There were leather cuffs, gags, paddles, dildoes, whips, and other things I couldn't immediately identify. I would get to know them all intimately.

And now, my punishment. The first thing she did, of course, was torture my cock. I watched as she entwined it like she had before and then stroke it, several times, to get it hard. Then she tied a pink ribbon around the cock head. "Down on your knees," she ordered. I did as she said. She took a wide belt and fastened it around my waist. When I looked down at it I saw it was festooned with several D rings. I felt a leather cuff go around my left wrist, and a padlock securing it. She did the same thing with my ankles. Then around my right wrist, again a leather binder. Then leather around both my legs, above my knees. Again, padlocks, again D rings. She ran a chain through the rings on the belt, then through a ring through the leather on my left knee. She attached the chain between the cuffs to a D ring on the waist belt. I felt her unfasten the handcuff on my left wrist. I thought I met have a chance to get free, make her pay for all the humiliation. But it was not to be. I felt her pull, really hard, on the padlocked leather around my wrist. I couldn't stop her. My wrist soon joined the leather cuff around my left knee. She did the same thing with the right wrist. I heard her chuckle with satisfaction. Now my wrists were connected to my knees, with about 4 inches of play between them. I was trapped on my hands and knees. She took another chain and connected a D ring on my neck collar to the twine around my dick. Then she used more twine to connect the wrists cuffs to my dick. I couldn't reach it. "Okay," she sighed, "time for you to do your chores. I told you that you were still going to do them. You could have done them voluntarily, my little housewife. Now you'll do them," and I saw her pick up a horse crop, "or else, you get this." She brought the crop down on the small of my back. The pain was sharp, like a thousand needles penetrating my skin. It actually left me breathless. "Downstairs with you," she said, and kicked me in the butt. "You'll scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees and then we'll decide what you do next." I saw out of the corner of my left eye her raise the crop again. "Get going," she said. Do I need to reiterate how surreal, how degrading it is to find yourself enslaved, with no options, forced to obey another person, and even more, to be used sexually by them? 

At any rate, I did as she ordered, crawling like an animal out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Every time I moved I pulled my own dick. Wincing with every motion, I made a difficult, vertiginous crawl down the stairs. She followed me, occasionally prodding my ass with the crop. When I finally made it to the kitchen she walked ahead of me and, opening a lower cupboard, she pulled a bucket and a sponge out of it and threw the sponge down in front of me. Then she filled the bucket full of water and detergent and set it down alongside the sponge. "Get to work," she said. Again she brought the crop down on my back, this time, twice. I gritted my teeth in anger and pain. I wanted to tell Ginger to go to hell. I wanted to, somehow, defy her. But I couldn't stand the pain. Again I blushed with shame. I had to resign myself to the fact that, at least for now, I was her slave, her "little housewife." I took up the sponge and dipped it into the suds filled water. I heard her giggle as she walked confidently away. 

Having no choice, I began to do the chore that she had demanded I do. There I was, trapped on my hands and knees, naked, tied and chained, shaved hairless except for my head, my dick tumescent and entwined, and forced to do this useless task in a mostly abandoned household. I had no way of telling time, but it seemed like an hour or so before Ginger returned. And, with her, to my chagrin, and even fear, stood Darla. Worse, there were other women behind her. Some fat, some thin, some ugly, some marginally attractive, and all smiling wickedly at my predicament. Darla had a paddle in her hand. "It's party time, little housewife," she said. "Time to go upstairs."

"Yeah," Ginger said, smiling. "You can do the rest of your chores later." There was a general buzz behind me among the women as I slowly, painfully climbed upstairs. I didn't need to be whipped again. I dutifully crawled into the room of pain, and knelt there by the bed, waiting for whatever was going to happen again. I felt Ginger kneel beside me, and to my surprise, begin to unlock the intricate bonds she had put on me a couple of hours before. Here's my chance, I thought. But I hadn't considered the notion that I was outnumbered by half a dozen women, including Ginger and Darla, and I was to find out soon enough, one of them had a taser. She handed it to Darla, who gleefully held it up in front of my face, triggering it so I could see the arc of electricity between the nodes. "On your feet," Darla said. I did so. Ginger, then, produced a red garment. Unfolded, I could see that it was a camisole. "Put it on," she said. Wearing the camisole was not necessary for what they planned to do to me; it was merely to cause more humiliation. And I found myself acquiescing to it. I began to wonder if my docility was strategic or becoming ingrained. Anyway, to avoid more pain, I did as ordered. I put the camisole on. And found, after it fit snugly, that my cock protruded through an opening in the crotch. The girls all had a laugh at this. I didn't think it was all that funny. Even less so after a leash was secured to the mortifying twine that still encircled my cock. There were several camera flashes. Now here came the cuffs again. I didn't even try to resist. I knew my chances of escape were virtually nil, considering how many hands there were to force my "cooperation," let alone the threat of the taser. And of course, were I to escape, I was miles away from my apartment and without clothes. More flashes of cameras. 

So, once again, my hands were restrained behind my back. My knees and ankles were then roped tightly. I was forced to hop onto the bed, belly down. Another rope was used to connect my handcuffed wrists to my ankles, a rather ruthless hogtie. And, soon enough, I had a pussy in front of my face. I couldn't even raise my face enough to see whose it was. Everyone was laughing and hooting but me. "He's not doing anything," I heard the owner of the faceless pussy say. And right after that, I felt Darla's paddle come down on my ass. It didn't hurt as much as Ginger's crop, but it was enough impetus for me to know what was expected of me. "Come on, little housewife," I heard someone say as the faceless pussy's thighs encased my head. "Time to go to work." And then the paddle again. And, if I'm right, Ginger's crop on the small of my back. It hurt every bit as it had before. So I did what was expected, what was necessary, to prevent more pain. I wriggled toward the faceless pussy, my hands cuffed behind my back, my ankles practically connected to my wrists, and went to work with my enslaved lips, my enslaved tongue.




Bad Day?



Hello Everybody ~

I've missed you all so much!  I always feel like something is missing in my life when I'm not posting here.  I hope you are all well.  *hugs*

Enjoy!

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