0 comments/ 8731 views/ 5 favorites One Glass of Wine By: sublocked David heard the TV faintly in the background of his breathing and his heartbeat. He sat awkwardly on the leather sofa, arms restrained in leather arm splints, frustrating devices of restraint that allowed the use of his hands for long distance manipulation, but allowed no close-in usage for scratching, eating or drinking. All his nutritional sustenance was controlled by Sandy, but even that was in doubt for tonight, as his mouth was plugged with a padded leather gag which pressed his tongue to the bottom of his mouth. She had locked it to the tight leather hood that had been laced and locked upon his head, removing his sight and most of his hearing. A thick leather posture collar held his head high and rigid. When he moved, tiny luggage locks jangled and kept him aware of his prison. Finally, the anal plug pushed against his panty girdle in futile attempts to extricate itself, at the same time pushing backward relentlessly against his prostate, generating confusing feelings of both shame and ecstasy. In short, he was in heaven. He had no choice except to internalize all emotions and thoughts. There were no external stimuli. He floated in sub-space, a chemical cocktail of restraint, submission, humiliation, some pain, and a lot of sexual lust. His was a box of nothing and yet had a fullness of total self-awareness, a box of everything. His skin tingled with the sparking of life itself in a primordial soup. It carried him away. He twisted himself on the anal plug and sucked his breath in quickly with want as it massaged him only enough to keep him in total arousal. It was an evil thing, but it was not the most evil. Although he was unable to touch himself because of the arm splints, they were actually superfluous, as he had been locked in a stainless steel male chastity device for 26 days since he had last been allowed to have an orgasm. His penis had filled the cage up, trying to spring upward and outward, but there was nowhere to go. First barrier, the cage itself; second the girdle. This was total domination and defeat of the male gender by his wife Sandy. He realized that his story, if told to others in a short story format, would not only be silly and unbelievable, but would actually require a novel. And yet he lived it. It was real. And he had lived it for a very long time. How long would she force him to remain this way? Would she require some sexual service tonight? Would she simply be happy for the peace and quiet and release him the next morning? Would she allow him an orgasm? If so, would she force him to masturbate or would she allow penetration? Unknown to David, Sandy sat not two metres away from him watching "The Bridges of Madison County. Periodically she glanced at David for safety reasons, smiled at her husband, and then resumed her attachment to the movie. His mind began to whirl with wild fantasies and almost hallucinogenic thoughts and memories both recent and long ago. Restrained as he was, his body twitched slightly like a dreaming dog. EARLIER... David drove home on Friday night in a continuous drizzle of rain. The windshield wipers rhythmically slapped the gore of dead insects back and forth, creating a dangerous layer of translucent haze. He gripped the wheel a little more tightly than usual, waiting for interaction with idiots. The week had been a good one, a raise and the promise of a year-end bonus, based on what he had accomplished over the past six months. A new oil find had bolstered the company's bottom line and broadened its opportunities going forward. Despite the rush hour oxymoron, he smiled as the cars inched forward. A nice glass of Cabernet awaited him at home, maybe two, probably three. David drank too much. He knew it. His wife Sandy knew it. But he was not an alcoholic, and considered himself a lover of wine. There was no taste like wine. It was an unfortunate byproduct of that nectar that it made him drunk. Non-alcoholic wines did not cut it. Sandy hated drinking. It caused her to lose control, and Sandy liked to be in control. The one thing she could not be in command of was his wine consumption, and long ago she had devised a scheme that actually served two purposes, full sexual service for her any time she wanted, and limited wine consumption for him. At least that's the way he saw it. The reality was that there was a third element which caused the hand to fit the glove very well: he in fact enjoyed and even craved for her to control him in every way. Each of them won. It was a perfect symbiotic relationship, well, not quite perfect; he missed his wine. But weekdays were now alcohol-free by her decree, and weekends were optional, depending upon her desires. David pulled into the darkness and familiarity of the garage, turned off the ignition, and opened his door. The garage smelled slightly of last week's garbage forgotten on garbage day. He gathered his briefcase and stepped inside the mudroom shouting the universal, "Honey, I'm home!" Sandy poked her head around from the foyer and smiled with love and happiness. "Hi sweetie," she said softly, and came around to kiss him quickly on the mouth before starting to unload the dryer. David responded by giving her a quick hug, more of a gentle squeeze actually, one of familiarity and love. "Wine tonight?" he asked. Without looking up she answered, "Everything's described in the bedroom. One glass tonight and that's it. Go and follow your instructions. I have the keys." With both dread and anticipation, he smiled and said, "Yes Goddess. It's to be THAT type of evening is it?" She neither looked up, nor answered. As he walked to the bedroom, his heart started to race, and his knees trembled slightly. This never got old, as there were endless combinations and permutations of bondage, humiliation and discipline, some scenes of which were repeated without boredom numerous times. It always had newness and freshness to it, an intimacy born of trust. He literally trusted her with his life, as she could do anything to him that she wanted. And she did. Laid out on the bed were an anal plug, lubrication, panty girdle, leather hood, and the dreaded posture collar. A bag of small luggage locks and two new arm-length leather items festooned with buckles and straps lay off to the side. A riding crop lay on the bureau, silent with menace. She meant business tonight. There was a sequence to the instructions, and now nude, he followed them meticulously while sipping on his one precious glass of Cabernet. The most difficult and the last items were the hood and the collar. The hood laced up over the top and back of his head ending at the base of his neck where a leather hasp flap allowed the insertion of the lock. The click of the lock was like the clank of a jail cell door. There was a permanence to it that both shocked and excited him. He was thankful but at the same time a little disappointed that the facial openings were still open in the hood. Breathing was easy, and he could easily maneuver the dreaded posture collar into place. It simply was pulled as tight as possible and the hasp was locked with finality. He had no idea what the remaining items were for, and the instructions ended with the collar. He turned, feeling the anal plug shift inside him, finding its most tormenting place as it always did. He fired his anal muscles to try to launch it from within him, but the girdle held firm. The mirror showed some leather freak ready for the leather bar. David used to fear being gay, as he liked this so much, but a psychologist once asked him, "Do you like the smell of a man?" "No. God no!" "Do you like the feel of a man touching you...there?" "No!" "Do you like the feel of a man's stubble as he kisses you on the lips?" "Jesus Christ, no!" "And you fear you are gay?" "Well, I, umm..." "David, you like the FEEL of things, the girdles, the bras, the anal plugs. They simply feel good to you. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, but you definitely don't have to worry about that." That had been a revelation, but he conveniently never let it ruin the lovely sexual humiliation effect of wearing a girdle or the insertion of an anal plug, especially if it was lovingly demanded by a dominant woman, or in this case, his wife. As instructed, he yelled, "I'm ready!" He gulped the last of his wine regretfully, just in case. Sandy entered with a smile, ironically with a glass of white wine herself. She spoke loudly so he could hear her through the padding at his ears, "Well, you do look ready to serve don't you? Do a squat for me and make sure that plug is nestled next to your clitoris." She always called his prostate his clitoris in a most humiliating way. His face burned red, and his hands began to tremble slightly, as he squatted. He gasped as the plug found its final resting place. Sandy smiled. "Now for the best part," she yelled mischievously, "Hold your arm out." He did so and the leather splints were applied to his arm and the twenty or so buckles were pulled tight and secured. It was repeated for the other arm. He felt like the Tin Man, unable to bend his neck or arms and unable to move his head. "Jesus! What happens if I want to eat or drink?" he asked. "You don't. I'll take care of you when and if it is necessary." As he was marveling at the helplessness these devices afforded him, she applied the padded leather strap across his eyes and cinched it tight, also locking it in place. Sight and sound. Gone. He opened his mouth to say something when the gag fell into place with his whimper. Locked. He stood there in a void, stunned at his loss of dignity and power. "Mmf, mmf!" he said. Now Sandy lowered her voice as if a normal unrestrained person were in her presence. She was actually just talking to herself, but it was just loud enough that David could hear. Not with understanding however; they were just murmurs beyond his ability to decipher meaning.. She led him to the granite island bar in the kitchen and sat him down on a stool while she deliberately made loud knife, fork, and plate sounds as she ate her supper. There was music in the background as well, maybe ABBA, maybe something else. And so the night began. Sandy spoke softly to him so he could only hear a voice, "I'm going to read for awhile now, and then I'm going to watch a movie. I absolutely do NOT wish to be disturbed! Is that clear?" He sat there helplessly, straining to hear her voice, to make understanding of it. Time stood still until he felt two quick slaps of the riding crop on his girdled buttocks overhanging the stool. "Mmf! Phff!" he responded. Smiling gleefully, Sandy yelled so he could hear, "IS THAT CLEAR?" Unable to nod or speak, he did the best he could, "Mmm, Mmm." Sandy gave him a hug then and patted his caged penis inside the girdle, saying clearly, "Don't go away my dear. Enjoy your evening." She smiled and shook her head as she walked to her favorite chair in the living room where she could read and watch him at the same time. Before she began to read, she wondered what caused a person to love being dominated like that. It was crazy. It had taken 20 years of marriage before she finally realized her potential and how he folded into her designs for marital bliss. It was so simple, and yet she had resisted all these years because, well, it just seemed weird, not right, perverted. Surely he could be normal, like other men. But that ship had sailed long ago. David was a cross dresser and even now she hated that and wanted nothing to do with it. The girdle he wore was only a tool to hold the anal plug in place. He liked to dress up and masturbate in front of a mirror. How fucking gross is that? The chastity device had solved that. He had stepped into that himself, thinking it was a fun little sexual game, even ordering his own "prison". Once locked on, the game changed however. She only unlocked him when she wanted, and with his oral talents, that was not often. That had been the start, and now, whenever he was unlocked for any type of orgasm, he was in some form of bondage from which there was no escape...unless he locked the chastity device back on first. He had stopped going to the gym because of the device, and instead worked out at home. It was a game at first, but with increasing alarm he noted that there was no way out of her bondage cycle. He thought he had a way out when he arranged for his first medical with the family doctor. But she did not blink. She accompanied him into the doctor's office and explained that the device was permanent unless a medical procedure was necessary such as an MRI. The reason was not any of his business. The doctor was shocked, but when he asked David if he was in agreement with being locked into the device, even she had been surprised when he said yes. The doctor had looked at her suspiciously but had said nothing more, and that was that. Sandy smiled and started reading. It was so peaceful, and the book was powerful, good enough that she read for two hours, finishing it up with rapidly turned final pages. The book slammed shut in her hands and she glanced at David, now slouched on the stool, utterly subdued and helpless. Time for a movie, a chick flick tonight, nothing blowing up, no stupid Monty Python stuff, just a nice reflective story of love. She went to him and pulled him gently to his feet, holding him by both shoulders and smiling. There was momentary sympathy for his predicament, but she recovered her reason, as in her research, she had learned that the more he was subjected to such restraint, the more enjoyment he gained from it. She was tired of asking why, and to be quite frank, so was he. It was what it was. And they got what they both wanted, bizarre as it seemed. And nobody had to know. Nobody but the doctor, and he really had not an inkling of the extent of this lifestyle. Placing him near her on the leather couch, she looked at her watch. Two and a half hours now. Time to feed him and provide some fluids. She yelled into his ear, "Time for supper dear, and if you do not utter a word, I will give you some wine to wash it down. The gag will come off only for a short time. Do you agree?" That had seemed like an eternity ago to David. He twitched and seemed to wake up. Had he been asleep? The sensory deprivation was taking its toll. He didn't know what was real any more. How long had it been, he wondered? Was he lying down? He moved and felt the anal plug shift again. No, he was sitting up still. He strained to hear something other than his heartbeat and breathing, anything. But there was nothing. He wondered where he was. There was no sound as far as he could tell. He rotated his body on top of the anal plug in a desperate futility. There had to be a reason to be trussed like this for so long, but she had not offered anything. He decided to take a risk. Sometimes if he laid on his stomach and gyrated in a certain way, the pressure on his penis and the working of the plug played their magic and allowed him a type of orgasm. It wasn't much, but it was something. He assumed Sandy had left him alone and so he laid himself on the floor and started to work. His breathing was restricted by the hood, and he began to grunt and sweat. It was working! Then it passed in utter frustration, then welled up again. After several rollercoaster rides of hope and denial, he began to think this was it. That's when the riding crop hit the first time on his tightly girdled behind. Then again and again on various places as he writhed on the floor, blindly trying to anticipate the next sting. It didn't really hurt much, but it was death by a thousand stings. Eventually he just laid there still, while the sting of the riding crop caused a full mental submission. Jesus, he thought. She had never acted like this before. When would this stop? Finally, he felt her helping him up and he was pulled backward, stumbling, until his back rested against what was probably a door. She fumbled at the top of the hood where there was a metal D-ring. He heard a lock snap shut while at the same time he was lurched upright, so that he almost felt like he was in traction. Then nothing. He tried to move but he was now forced to stand. "No, please, no!" was what he wanted to say. He had been so close to orgasm, and now that was taken away, with virtually no chance to regain that feeling of release. His anal muscles clenched and released the plug rhythmically in continuous attempts to find relief, but it was not to be. "Rho, phse Rho!" he screamed. Sandy patted his chastity device and girdle and laughed into his ear, saying, "Well you sure blew your chances tonight, didn't you? Don't worry, I'll tuck you in when we're done watching the movie." As one parting shot, she landed a particularly nasty rider's crop snap on his exposed belly. A red welt rose up quickly. She stared at it in amazement and near adulation, not at the marvel of its quick growth, but at how it aroused her. She touched it lovingly and then pulled away quickly. She had never done this before. She had never felt this way before, and the fear of it lasted only a nanosecond. And that terrified her in a very pleasing way. One Glass of Wine, Revisited Note to reader: My last entry, "One Glass of Wine?" was not very good. That was partly because it was hastily prepared in fantasy mode. This version, "One Glass of Wine, Revisited" (without a question mark) is, I think, better and here is why. The first was fiction, with things added that I would like to see done to me. But that is not up to me, so in this second version I have told the truth. It is non-fiction. I am David. Sandy is my wife. David heard the TV faintly in the background of his breathing and his heartbeat. He sat awkwardly on the leather sofa, arms restrained. All his nutritional sustenance was controlled by Sandy, but even that was in doubt for tonight, as his mouth was plugged with a padded leather gag which pressed his tongue to the bottom of his mouth. She had locked it to the tight leather hood that had been laced and locked upon his head, removing most of his hearing. He knew that any whining or complaining through his gag would result in loss of his sight as well, so he remained silent. A thick leather posture collar held his head high and rigid and a padded blindfold, locked on one side only, hung with menace beside his cheek. When he moved, tiny luggage locks jangled and kept him aware of his prison. Finally, the anal plug pushed against his panty girdle in futile attempts to extricate itself, at the same time pushing backward relentlessly against his prostate, generating confusing feelings of both shame and ecstasy. In short, he was in heaven. He floated in sub-space, a chemical cocktail of restraint, submission, humiliation, some pain, and the incessant ache of sexual denial. His was a box of nothing and yet had a fullness of total self-awareness, a box of everything. His skin tingled with the sparking of life itself in a primordial soup. It carried him away. He twisted himself on the anal plug and sucked his breath in quickly with want as it massaged him only enough to keep him in total arousal. It was an evil thing, but it was not the most evil. Although he was unable to touch himself because of the nature of his bondage, his hands were actually superfluous anyway, as he had been locked in a stainless steel male chastity device for 26 days since he had last been allowed to have an orgasm. It was a Lori 2b device and the pre-measurement had been perfect prior to ordering the custom device. Even when not aroused his penis filled the cage up, so when there were sexual stimuli, it tried to grow, spring upward and outward, but there was nowhere to go. First barrier, the cage itself; second the girdle. This was total domination and defeat of the male gender by his wife Sandy. He realized that his story, if told to others in a short story format, would not only be silly and unbelievable, but would actually require a novel. And yet he lived it. It was real. And he had lived it for a very long time. And he had consented to it. The progression tonight had been relentless. How long would she force him to remain this way? Would she require some sexual service tonight? Or would she simply be happy for the peace and quiet and release him the next morning? Would she allow him an orgasm? If so, would she force him to masturbate or would she allow penetration? Sandy sat not two metres away from him watching "The Bridges of Madison County". Periodically she glanced at David for safety reasons, smiled at her husband, and then resumed her attachment to the movie. Sometimes he caught her gaze and met it and his eyes both smiled and pleaded for release, but without speech, there was nothing he could do to change his circumstance. He hated this movie. Yes, it was well done, but he was a "Transformers" type of movie watcher. He wanted space travel, things blowing up, kinky sex. This was not like that, and he only watched because he was being obliged to do so. EARLIER... David drove home on Friday night in a continuous drizzle of rain. The windshield wipers rhythmically slapped the gore of dead insects back and forth, creating a dangerous layer of translucent haze. He gripped the wheel a little more tightly than usual, waiting for interaction with idiots. The week had been long and stressful. Despite that and the rush hour oxymoron, he smiled at the thought of his wife and home as the cars inched forward. A nice glass of Cabernet awaited him, maybe two, probably three. David drank too much. He knew it. His wife Sandy knew it. But he was not an alcoholic, and considered himself simply a lover of wine. There was no taste like wine. It was an unfortunate byproduct of that nectar that it made him drunk. Non-alcoholic wines did not cut it. Sandy never had more than one glass of wine. It caused her to lose control, and Sandy did not like to lose control. The one thing she had been unable to manage in their marriage was his wine consumption, and some weeks ago she had devised a scheme that actually served multiple purposes, the curbing of his drinking, the satisfying of his bizarre sexual fantasies, and the biggest surprise of all, the awakening of mysterious desires and satisfaction within her. The reality was that the hand fitted the glove very well. Each of them won, a perfect symbiotic relationship. But weekdays were now alcohol-free by her decree, and weekends were optional, depending upon her needs. David pulled into the darkness and familiarity of the garage, turned off the ignition, and opened his door. The garage smelled slightly of last week's garbage forgotten on garbage day. He gathered his briefcase and stepped inside the mudroom shouting the universal, "Honey, I'm home!" In this relationship, there would be no slippers at the door to greet him, nor did he want that. His life was chameleon-like now, dictated by Sandy's whims and desires, unpredictable and delicious like a prairie breeze. Sandy poked her head around from the foyer and smiled at him with love and happiness. Her blond hair, cut unevenly, swished across her face which was fair and dotted with freckles. Her blue eyes gleamed, and the early beginnings of wrinkles arched gracefully with character away from her mouth and eyes. "Hi sweetie," she said softly, and came around to kiss him quickly on the mouth before starting to unload the dryer. David responded by giving her a quick hug, more of a gentle squeeze actually, one of familiarity and love. He loved to touch her. She, in turn, was less the touchy type. In typical comfort of love and familiarity, they parted without another word while he went to the bedroom to change. As he got into shorts and a T-shirt, he stared out at the park behind the house and listened to the bubbling and gurgling of the stream he had constructed between two ponds near the giant willow tree. Dragon flies darted about. Home; he was home. Making his way back to the kitchen, he uncorked a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and poured himself a glass. Sandy returned from her chores in the laundry room, came to him, and patted his chastity cage in an impish way, stating her control. He couldn't help it; he always blushed slightly when she did this, both from embarrassment and arousal. She could have him any time she wanted. He could demand nothing of her. She winked at him and grasped the wine bottle. "One glass only," she said, and the bottle was placed out of sight, out of mind. This surprised him tonight. He hadn't really been thinking about their terms of agreement regarding this. "Umm, what?" he asked. Sandy was now unloading the dishwasher. Without looking up she answered, "Everything's described in the closet. One glass tonight and that's it. Go get your instructions. I have the keys." The "keys" comment meant that he was to be in bondage tonight, severe sexual bondage, with about a 50/50 chance of having an orgasm himself. With both dread and anticipation, he smiled and said, "Whoa! Okay then, umm, yes Goddess. It's to be THAT type of evening is it?" As part of this relationship agreement, once a bondage session had been established, he had to address her as Goddess, no more Sandy or honey. She neither looked up, nor answered. As he walked to the bedroom, his heart started to race, and his knees trembled slightly. This never got old, as there were endless combinations and permutations of bondage, humiliation and discipline, some scenes of which were repeated without boredom numerous times. It always had newness and freshness to it, an intimacy born of trust. He literally trusted her with his life. She could do anything to him that she wanted. And she did. Laid out on the floor in the closet was a short note describing what to do, as if it wasn't obvious. Beside the note were an anal plug, lubrication and a log-leg panty girdle. A riding crop lay on the shelf, silent with menace. Now nude, he picked up the N-Joy stainless steel anal plug. It was very heavy, and the business end was somewhat large, but it tapered abruptly when fully inserted so that the anal muscles could grasp and hold it. The outward end flared outward to avoid body absorption and it had a type of handle with which to grip it. He was glad she had chosen this one tonight, as the other silicone one had a larger diameter at the sphincter, and caused him to be perpetually aware that he was being violated in this way. Insertion was always the most difficult part, but it was getting easier over the last few weeks as his sphincter lost its ability to resist. Using copious amounts of lubricant he got on all fours on the floor and started the insertion, slowly, trying to relax. It hurt, and just when he thought he was going to split apart, a last push caused it to enter him with a force that made him gasp. The relief washed over him like a flash flood, and he took a moment to catch his breath and normalize his breathing. He stood up, feeling the plug shift in search of its perfect resting place, and when he pulled the girdle up his legs and over his hips, he tried to expel it. The girdle pushed back and held firm. He turned, feeling the anal plug shift inside him once more, finding its most tormenting place as it always did. The instructions said, "Once this is done, return to the kitchen for inspection just as you are." The message thrilled him as it always did. As he cleaned up, putting the lubricant away and washing his hands, he stared at himself in the mirror and examined his mind. David, having been raised in a small redneck town, used to fear being gay, as he liked this so much, but a psychologist once asked him, "Do you like the smell of a man?" "No. God no!" "Do you like the feel of a man touching you...there?" "No!" "Do you like the feel of a man's stubble as he kisses you on the lips?" "Jesus Christ, no!" "And you fear you are gay? Why?" "Well, I, umm..." "David, you like the FEEL of things, the girdles, the bras, the anal plugs. They simply feel good to you. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, but you definitely don't have to worry about that." That had been a revelation, but he chuckled to himself, as he conveniently never let that release of guilt ruin the lovely sexual humiliation effect of wearing a girdle or the insertion of an anal plug, especially if it was lovingly demanded by a dominant woman, or in this case, his wife. Sandy had prepared a salad with barbecued chicken cut up and mixed with it for supper, and she sat at the granite island in the kitchen. He entered, slightly shy and embarrassed, dressed (or undressed) as he was, walked over to the bar, and smiled sheepishly. He knew what was next. She spoke jokingly, "Well, you do look ready to serve don't you? Your cheeks are flushed. You love this don't you? Did you put the plug in?" This was the game they always played out. She knew he had inserted it, but she had to force him to prove it. "Yes, Goddess, I put the plug in," he sighed. He could not bring himself to state that he loved this treatment. "Well I can't be sure, can I? Pull your girdle down and bend over." He rolled his eyes and sighed once again, but he did as instructed. She squatted down and saw the shiny stainless steel handle protruding. Like the tip of an iceberg, much more beneath. She smiled and signaled for him to pull the girdle up again. Abruptly, she said, "You have a choice as always. Do you want the one glass of wine or do you want the bottle? Remember, there are consequences for either choice. Pick one." David laughed and said, "You know I don't really have a choice. I'll make it formal though. One glass." If he had chosen the bottle, the instructions would have been to remove the girdle and the anal plug and he would have ended up falling asleep in front of the TV. With his answer, consent was given. She would control his evening. They sat then at the bar and ate, asking questions about each other's day, what so-and-so said, or what the traffic was like. It was normal banter, but for the underlying sexual tension. He felt that comforting sensation of being controlled; she felt that powerful sensation of being in control. He nursed his wine and ate the salad. The sun, low in the western sky, cast dust-filled beams across the kitchen and living room. Their two miniature dachshunds sat hopefully below them, brown eyes pleading. Surprisingly, it was a comfortable scene, and Sandy stared at him in silence with her head held up in a slightly dominant tilt. He blushed slightly. "I want to have a nice relaxing evening," she said thoughtfully, "and I don't want you watching football or baseball, or choosing a movie I don't want to watch. And don't misinterpret the girdle. It's to keep the butt plug in, that's all. But I'm sure you love it don't you?" He didn't dare answer that. He did love it. "Anyway," she continued, "I've decided you're going to start light tonight, and periodically get more bound up and helpless as the night proceeds, progressive bondage, you could call it. I'm thinking you might not be able to move a muscle by the end of the night." "What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked. He knew; he just wanted to hear more. She glowed with mischief as she said, "Touch me now. Touch me where you want." They both stood up and embraced. His hands roamed over her lower back and buttocks, so firm and fit. They kissed and tongues met with tenderness. Breathing seemed to dominate the sound of them as he gently cupped her breasts. He thrust against her, and then remembered he was locked in the chastity cage. "Mmm," she purred, "You are horny aren't you? Too bad you're all locked up, isn't it? Now, that was your touching for the night. Put these on." She gave him a set of leather cuffs which went on his wrists and were locked in place at the hasps. "Turn around," she ordered. When he heard the lock clink shut behind him, and vainly tried to pull his hands apart, he knew it had begun. No amount of struggle could save him now. "Oh Jesus! Oh my God!" he exclaimed, consumed by fantasy converting to reality. He stood there in a void of fantasy, stunned at his loss of power. It was 6:35. The night was young. Sandy pinched his nipples and slapped at his chastity cage. Reflex pulled him away, while at the same time, he grunted in despair at his sexual denial. She had him. And he was totally helpless. She teased him verbally now by saying, "I don't really know what I'm going to do with you tonight, but I'm sure it will come to me as the evening goes. Suffice to say that in the end the result will be the same. I get what I want, and maybe you do, maybe you don't." David groaned. And so the night began. "I'm going to read for awhile now," she said casually, "and then I'm going to watch a movie. I absolutely do NOT wish to be disturbed! Is that clear?" It was a playful challenge, and they both knew it. "Yeah, sure," he said, laughing. Sandy gave him a hug then and patted his caged penis inside the girdle, saying clearly, "Don't play with yourself now, okay? Enjoy your evening." She smiled and shook her head as she walked to her favorite chair in the living room where she could read and watch him at the same time. He was at a loss as to her intentions for him, so he sat in a chair opposite her. As he lowered himself down, the anal plug caused him to gasp with both pain and pleasure. He struggled to find comfort with his hands restrained as they were behind his back. Sandy pretended to read, as she secretly watched David. Sandy never ceased wondering what caused a person to love being dominated like that. It was crazy. It had taken 20 years of marriage before she finally realized her potential and how he folded into her designs for marital bliss. It was so simple, and yet she had resisted all these years because, well, it just seemed weird, not right, perverted. Surely he could be normal, like other men. That's the belief she held to for so long. But that ship had sailed long ago. David was a cross dresser and even now she hated that and wanted nothing to do with it. The girdle he wore was only a tool to hold the anal plug in place. He had liked to dress up and masturbate in front of a mirror. How fucking gross is that? The chastity device had solved that. He had stepped into that himself, thinking it was a fun little sexual game, even ordering his own chastity device. Once locked on, the game changed however. She only unlocked him when she wanted, and with his oral talents, that was not often. That had been the start, and now, whenever he was unlocked for any type of orgasm, he was in some form of bondage from which there was no escape...unless he locked the chastity device back on first. She marveled at the effect this had on him over the years. He had been "locked" for 10 years and now it was a lifestyle, absolutely permanent. He had stopped going to the gym because of the device, and instead worked out at home or ran in the park. It was a game at first, but with increasing realization he concluded too late that there was no way out of her bondage cycle. He had thought he had a way out when he arranged for his first medical with the family doctor. But she had not blinked. She accompanied him into the doctor's office and explained that the device was permanent unless a medical procedure was necessary such as an MRI. The reason was not any of his business. The doctor was taken aback, but when he asked David if he was in agreement with being locked into the device, even she had been surprised when he said yes. He also asked if he was being mistreated by her. He said no. The doctor had looked at her suspiciously but had said nothing more, and that was that. Sandy smiled and started reading. It was so peaceful, and the book was powerful. David was bored naturally, so he often tried to engage her in conversation, usually of a sexual nature. It was annoying, so she finally snapped and said, "Look, I wanted some peace and quiet without a drunk husband tonight, and what do I get? A whining helpless idiot. I should have thought of this before." She abruptly left the room and came back quickly with a sensory deprivation hood, a leather affair that had some very disturbing qualities. She put it over his head now, arranging it just so, so that his mouth and eyes lined up with the openings, and the nostril holes were precisely in the right place. Then she meticulously laced it tightly at the back of his head and neck like a head corset. Once laced and tied off, the hasp was secured with another luggage lock. It was impossible to remove without tools. David shook his head, and noted the severe hearing loss due to the padding at his ears. It was like living in a pillow. "Jesus, this is...," he started to say, but the padded leather gag was inserted with authority, and she pulled at it roughly, forcing his tongue to the base of his mouth. The straps were quickly locked to buckles on each side of his face. One Glass of Wine, Revisited "There, that should keep you quiet," she said with triumph. She smiled and whacked his chastity device again. He looked at her pleadingly and said, "Mmm, mmf, rmf!" The book was good enough that she read for two hours, finishing it up with rapidly turned final pages. The book slammed shut in her hands and she glanced toward David, but he was gone. She made herself a cup of tea and went searching for him. He sure would not have gone far, she chuckled. She found him watching the Playboy Channel on the TV in his "man cave". "Well, you're a brute for punishment aren't you?" she laughed. "Come over here." His hood had shifted slightly so that he had to tilt his head forward a bit to see where he was going, but he padded over to her on the carpet, wondering what was next. "Time for a movie," she said, "a chick flick tonight, nothing blowing up, no stupid Monty Python stuff, just a nice reflective story of love. Sounds sweet doesn't it?" She got on her knees in front of him and started to massage his testicles while she pressed her mouth against the chastity cage. Her tongue flicked between the bars of the cage at the end of his penis. He started to thrust and even whimper, as he was helpless in aiding his own orgasm. That idea was premature however. She added leather cuffs to his ankles and locked them on, connecting them with a short chain which allowed geisha-length steps. He bowed his head in submission. That gave her another delightful idea. She wanted none of that bowed head stuff! The posture collar was made of very thick, rigid leather and was flared to fit the base of the head to the top of the shoulders. She snugged it up tightly and inserted the lock, clicking it shut. He whined like a puppy and made some unintelligible requests, probably for either orgasm or release, but she had other plans, plans that did not include him. So she plunked him on the leather sofa and dialed in "The Bridges of Madison County". He sat beside her, whimpering at first, and then he appeared to resign himself to the fact that this was her arrangement, not his, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't move; he couldn't leave. He simply had to watch the movie and wait for her next move. David wallowed in sub-space, a valley of darkness and the unknown, hallucinations behind every rock, every tree as he closed his eyes and wondered what she would do to him later. It might be everything; it might be nothing. The lack of control excited him beyond sanity, and he desired only what she would give him, nothing or all. Sandy watched him occasionally. There was occasional sympathy for his predicament, but she recovered her reason, as in her research on his fetishes, she had learned that the more he was subjected to such restraint, the more enjoyment he gained from it. She was tired of asking why, and to be quite frank, so was he. It was what it was. And they got what they both wanted, bizarre as it seemed. And nobody had to know. Nobody but the doctor, and he really had not an inkling of the extent of this lifestyle. The click of that last lock, the one for his collar, had seemed like an eternity ago to David. He twitched and seemed to wake up. Had he been watching he movie or had he been asleep? How long had it been, he wondered? He moved and felt the anal plug shift again. The TV was off. He strained to hear something other than his heartbeat and breathing, anything. But there was nothing. He wondered where Sandy was. There was no sound as far as he could tell. He rotated his body on top of the anal plug in a desperate futility. There had to be a reason to be trussed like this for so long, but she had not offered anything. Sandy watched him with amusement from behind the pool table where she had let the dogs go out for their bathroom break. The movie was over and all she could think about now was sleep. It had been a long week, and she needed to recharge. Sandy had a final plan which would make each of them happy. She had no desire for sex tonight, so a perfect solution had been engineered in her mind. In the bedroom, she cinched up and locked a leather belt about 8 inches broad around his body squeezing his upper arms to his side. Then she unlocked his wrist restraints so that he could use his forearms and hands. He immediately tried to manipulate himself within the chastity device, in utter futility. Sandy watched, enthralled. It was both disgusting and amazing. How did a person get such fetishes? She smiled and hugged his still restrained body and said, "I'm tired honey. I'm going to lock the blindfold on now and remove your gag. Can't have you suffocating in the night, can I?" After he was sightless and the gag was removed he asked, "Goddess, please, can't I have an orgasm and get out of this stuff?" "No, maybe next week, maybe next month," was all she said. "Oh Jesus!" he exclaimed, "Please!" She slapped his cage and said sharply, "Don't whine, or it will be next year!" "Oh, Jesus, Oh Jesus!" was all that he could say as she led him to the bed and laid him down trussed from toe to head, hands at his genitals, but useless in their ability to masturbate. The cage was impenetrable. Sandy yawned and donned her favorite night dress, opened the bedroom window for fresh air and laid herself down as well. She hugged him briefly but fondled his testicles and caged penis for quite some time before she turned over to sleep. As she knew would happen, he was asleep before she was, and she smiled in realization that each of them had been satisfied in very odd ways this evening. The relationship was bizarre and wonderful, and she thought they should go for a bike ride tomorrow morning once she removed his restraints. Then she herself drifted off in a shameless, dreamless sleep..