He liked to set up tests -- little trials, if you will -- to explore her limits of persistence and endurance. At the moment, with her breath coming in labored gasps, she teetered on the ragged edge of those limits.
The voice-mail message he left on her cell phone had been pleasant. “Hi, love. I know you’re in that big management meeting right now, but you won’t be in it all day. I just wanted to say ‘Happy anniversary,’ and to let you know I have something special dreamed up for you after our dinner date this evening.”
Dinner had indeed been fabulous, with candlelight and music and a meal fit for a king and his queen. They walked back to the car, her arm in his, her head resting on his shoulder. Gentleman that he was, he opened the door for her, held her hand as she stepped inside, and closed it gently as she settled into her seat. The drive home was warm and pleasant, filled with laughter and tender conversation.
What’s my surprise?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he replied, with a smile that told her she’d better be ready for anything.
In her wildest imaginings of “anything,” she would never have envisioned this.
“He’s going to owe me for this,” she thought, fighting to ignore the repeated tugs at her hair, the persistent ache in her shoulders, the burning of her nipples and the intense longing in her loins. Somewhere along the edge of their king-sized bed, her “prize” awaited her. All she had to do was find it.
She couldn’t see. Strips of microfoam tape held her eyelids closed, and a thick silk blindfold knotted tightly at the back of her head eliminated any chance she might rub away the tape.
Truth be told, the blindfold constituted the least of her worries. The rest of her “ensemble” proved far more troublesome.
After he’d blindfolded her, he’d left her standing -- nude, wrists and elbows bound tightly behind her back, a not-quite-posture collar snug around her throat -- while he attended to what he called “a little housekeeping.”
She heard him tug at the bedclothes, and felt a faint breeze as he swept them off the bed and onto the floor. He bustled back and forth, arranging what she assumed were the black satin linens they reserved for special occasions.
“OK, love, time to get you prepped,” he said. “Stand still.”
His fingers tweaked her left nipple. Her breath caught in her throat, but she maintained her poise. Something stretchy and tight slid around the nipple’s base. A rubber band? An O-ring? She stood, trembling with anticipation, as he repeated the process on her right nip.
“How do those feel?” he asked, rubbing callused thumbs across her suddenly sensitized buds.
She gasped.
“That good, huh?”
He circled behind her, placed his hands on her waist and guided her gently forward. “Sit on the bed,” he ordered as her thighs bumped the mattress.
She turned and sat down. “The sheets feel weird,” she said.
“Shush,” he replied. “All will be explained in good time. Now sit still.”
She felt his hands pull the first turn of rope around her feet. She sat patiently while he wrapped the doubled cord tightly up her ankles, securing it with a pair of tight cinches. Her eyes twinkled behind the blindfold as he placed similar lashings above and below her knees.
“The man does like his rope,” she mused.
“OK, darlin’,” he said. “On your stomach.” She twisted around and felt his big, rough hands cradle her torso as he lowered her onto the sheets.
She squeaked.
“That’s right, hon,” he said, “Tonight you discover the wonders burlap sheets can work on a woman’s nipples.”
She opened her mouth to protest -- and instantly felt a ring gag being slipped behind her teeth. “Nnnggghh!” she groaned, as he pulled the strap tight.
“Shhhh. A few more tweaks, and tonight’s fun and games can begin in earnest.”'
He figure-eighted a rope around her shoulders, knotted it between her shoulder blades and let the free end fall across her hips. Grasping her bound ankles, he tugged the free end through her ankle bindings, threaded it back through the shoulder harness and pulled her into a tightly arched hogtie.
“Comfy?” he asked, as he knotted the cord.
“Nngggh-nnggh!” she grunted.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he chuckled. “You’re doing fine so far. Now let’s make you even more comfortable.”
She felt him gather her hair into a ponytail, knot a short length of rope to her bundled mane, draw her head bolt upright and secure the hair rope to her ankle bonds.
“Almost ready, babe. Soon the fun will begin.”
He sat next to her and, sliding his hands under her thighs and upper chest, lifted and swung her tightly packaged body to the center of the bed.
“OK, sweetheart,” he chirped. “Here are the rules. I will position myself somewhere along the edge of this bed. Your assignment is to find the part of me that most interests you and give it pleasure as best you can. Count slowly to twenty so I have time to find my spot, and then begin.”
That had been at least an eternity ago.
And now -- muscles aching, body glistening with sweat -- she inched forward again, sending yet another bolt of lightning through her burlap-abraded nipples.
Scooting like an inchworm hadn’t been her first choice. In fact, it had been her third. She first tried to roll onto her back and use her feet to push her along, but her doubled-up legs allowed her to roll only as far as her side. She tried wriggling along on her side, but succeeded only in flopping like a fish. Ultimately, she resigned herself to the inevitable. She rolled onto her belly and, inch by cruel fraction of an inch, she began worming her way across the burlap.
So far she’d explored one whole side and nearly the entire width of the bed, cursing all the while her husband’s perverse choice of bed linens. Each scoot forward or sideways dragged her bare breasts across the rough burlap. Her nipples began to burn after the first few scoots. Now even the slightest wiggle sent flows of hot lava across them.
“Where is that crazy SOB?” she thought, straining with every aching muscle to find him in her enforced darkness.
Her nose bumped up against something hard.
“Oh, thank goodness. A knee!”
Grunting and straining with every aching muscle, she pushed forward again. And again. And again, each time feeling the right side of her head slide up the inside of his thigh.
Push. Grunt. Push. Grunt. Push. Grunt.
“How…grunt
much…grunt
farther?" grunt
Something firm but soft touched her nose. Expectantly, she tilted her head back a little and, tongue extended through the ring-gag, began to probe.
There. Her tongue found the tip of his manhood. Inching forward yet again, she felt it slide a little farther up her tongue. Another scoot. Another slide. More searing heat across her nipples. Another inch…
Straining like a sprinter leaning toward the tape, she pushed her head forward and felt the throbbing head of his masculinity pop through the ring and into her mouth.
“Good girl,” he sighed contentedly. “Now get to work.”