Archive-name: Bondage/bedtime4.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Wife Buys a Mistress, A



A Writer's Choice Bedtime Story





    I admit it. I'm selfish about my pleasure. There's nothing 

chauvinistic or Cro-Magnon about it. It's just that no amount of 

good intentions can make me go slow for long when I climb on top 

of Julie and she starts to squirm in that special way she has. Men 

aren't made to hold back. I don't care how many stories you've 

heard about ninety-minute erections -- if any are true, then those 

guys just aren't enjoying themselves. Evolution didn't wire us 

that way. 

    But that doesn't mean the fun can't go on longer under the 

right circumstances. For me, that means giving up control. There 

are a lot of ways to do that, all the way from rolling over and 

letting Julie ride the may pole to being trussed up with a hundred 

feet of new white clothesline. The more control I give up, the 

longer the session can last. The longer the session, the more 

pleasure along the way, and the more intense the sensations at the 

end. 

    So can you blame me if I encouraged Julie to take the upper 

hand more often? I did what I could to make it easy. I picked up 

a pair of steel "love cuffs" at a novelty store and stocked our 

bedside "goodie drawer" with convenient lengths of black braided 

sash cord. When Julie set her sights on a four-poster bed frame 

that cost $300 more than I thought we could afford, I went along 

-- with ulterior motives. I wanted to be bound spreadeagled 

to it and lavished with ravishment. 

    You see, in case you haven't pegged to it yet, the `slave' is 

really the center of attention. It's the slave's appetites that 

are to be whetted and frustrated. It's the slave who's to be kept 

on the edge of ecstasy. It's the slave that's teased and tormented 

past what he or she thought they were capable of feeling. This is 

sensual slavery, not sadistic, and I'm not ashamed to say I like 

it. I already told you how I feel about pleasure. 

    But damn my luck if taking charge didn't turn out to go 

against Julie's grain. Early in our relationship, in that 

try-everything-you've-ever-heard-of stage, we had three bondage 

sessions that I still remember in wistful detail. I didn't want a 

weekly diet of female domination, but I could have done with a 

taste every month or so. It didn't take me long to realize that 

Julie didn't feel the same way. I got frustrated and pushed. She 

got resentful and pushed back. 

    The rest of our relationship, in and out of bed, was solid. 

She was and continues to be the perfect woman for me, as pretty 

and sharp-witted now as the day we married and more tolerant of my 

quirks than I deserve. So I cleaned out the goodie drawer and 

backed off. When I brought a few books with bondage themes into 

the house, she seemed to get excited reading them with me in bed. 

But all she ever wanted afterward was to be pinned to the mattress 

with me deep inside her. 

    Only one other time did she consent to play the sensual 

slavery game. I had her in an "I owe you a favor" situation, and 

that's what I asked for. It was a mistake. Her heart wasn't in it, 

and it ended up no fun for either of us. Afterwards I tried to 

explain why I liked it. She told me it made her insecure about 

whether I liked "regular" sex with her. 

    I'm selfish, but I'm not a boor. I gave up my wishful 

thinking, held her close, and told her I'd never ask her to try it 

again. 

    So I couldn't have been more surprised when, on my next 

birthday, I opened my briefcase at work and found in it a small 

package I hadn't put there. I tore off the brown paper to find the 

love cuffs and a note. Shoving the cuffs into the pocket 

in the lid before anyone could see them, I read the note in a 

state of aroused amazement: 

         When you come home tonight, go to the bedroom and 

         strip to the waist. Stand with your back against a 

         bedpost and use these to bind your hands behind you. 

         Wait there and wonder. Happy birthday, love.

    Just reading the note gave me a powerful erection. Needless to 

say, I spent a very long day trying to avoid building up my 

expectations and mostly failing. I consoled myself that Julie had 

to know the effect her note would have and would be equal to my 

imaginings.

    Of course I got stuck in traffic on the way home that night, 

arriving fifteen minutes later than usual. Even so, Julie's car 

wasn't in the drive yet, and I hurried inside to comply with her 

instructions. 

    My cock was straining against the fabric of my shorts and 

slacks as I waited. Several minutes passed, and then I heard 

the click of heels on wood flooring somewhere in the house. 

    Presently Julie stepped shyly through the bedroom doorway and 

into view, her head lowered. She held a canvas shopping bag behind 

her back. I was surprised -- no, be honest, disappointed -- by her 

clothes: a pretty but not terribly sexy sweater and skirt outfit. 

    Then a second woman stepped through the doorway, and my knees 

about buckled. She was a dream-nightmare come to life: full round 

breasts spilling over the top of a black satin corset, long legs 

encased in sheer black nylon, black leather wristlets and collar. 

I was stunned. 

    "Show him," she said, and Julie turned around. Her hands that 

held the bag were tightly bound at the wrists. 

    "Put it on the bed," said the stranger. "Then sit in the 

chair."

    Julie complied, sitting down awkwardly in the big armchair 

by the window. She had still not raised her eyes to look at me. 

    The other woman came and stood close enough to me that I could 

drink in her wicked perfume -- whether natural or chemical I 

couldn't say and didn't much care. I stared at her breasts and 

licked my lips unconsciously. 

    "You like this game, don't you?" she asked, reaching out and 

stroking the bulge in my pants.

    There's no arguing with a hard-on. I told her yes.

    "My name is Sasha. To you, I'm `Yes, Mistress.' If you feel 

silly saying it, I'll be happy to whip you into a more cooperative 

mood. Or will you be good?"

    "Yes, Mistress," I said. It didn't sound silly. For me, it was 

a phrase charged with sexual electricity.  

    She rummaged in her bag and returned with a sharp hook-shaped 

knife, like a miniature scythe. Pushing the point through the 

fabric of one pants leg, she jerked the knife upward. The cold, 

metal edge brushed my skin as it sliced through the fabric to the 

waistband. I gasped. 

    A few more cuts and my clothes were just a pile of scraps to 

kick under the bed. I felt naked in a deeper sense than just 

physically. Something more had been taken from me than would have 

been if I had undressed myself. She caressed the curve of my cock 

with the dull edge of the knife in a movement that should have 

shriveled me. It didn't. I wanted her, badly.

    Putting the knife away, Sasha tied one of my hands to the 

post, twisting it up painfully behind me till the wrist was at 

shoulder blade height, then freed the other. 

    "Jerk off," she said, settling on the edge of the chair where 

Julie sat.

    "What?"

    "The name is `Yes, Mistress.' Make yourself come. I'm timing 

you. The longer it takes you the worse you'll be punished." 

    "I wouldn't want to waste it," I said, trying to flirt with 

her. 

    She ignored my effort. "Oh--one little thing before you 

start," she said, wrapping an elastic strap tightly around the 

root of my cock, between my scrotum and my body. Almost 

immediately, my cock stiffened and swelled still more. 

    "Now," said Sasha. "Do it. I'm already counting." 

    She had freed my left hand, and I was a right-hander. It does 

make a difference. But the strap made a bigger difference. I 

wrapped my hand around my cock and pumped furiously, but anything 

I started, the strap choked off.

    While I labored, Sasha pulled up Julie's sweater, unhooked her 

bra, and began fondling her pert breasts. Julie had never 

expressed anything but distaste at the mention of lesbianism, but 

all she did now was to close her eyes and recline passively in the 

chair. 

    My arm ached and my cock was becoming chafed. But I looked at 

the strange woman fondling Julie and couldn't think of stopping. 

All I could think of was coming, spraying my load in a fountain 

across the floor. Sasha pulled up Julie's skirt to reveal her 

furry pussy, licked a long finger, then reached down and parted 

Julie's cunt lips with it. Julie's mouth worked noiselessly as 

Sasha stroked her. 

    Still I could not come, and Sasha grew impatient and angry. 

"Stupid cock," she hissed. "You can't obey the simplest 

instruction." Retying my free hand, she went to her bag and pulled 

out a red ball gag with a leather harness. 

    "We don't want the neighbors complaining," she said, pressing 

the ball to my lips. When I didn't open my mouth, she grabbed my 

balls with the other hand and twisted them. When I opened my mouth 

to cry out, she pushed the ball deep into it and pulled the straps 

tight. I could make only muffled moaning sounds around it. 

    Returning to the head of the bed, she laid out the contents of 

the bag: a studded paddle , two-inch long alligator clamps, coarse 

yellow rope, a black double-headed dildo with waist harness. She 

fitted one end of the dildo into her own wet pussy, her eyes 

half-lidded as she did. Then she buckled the straps on her hips 

and pulled them tight. The other end of the dildo curved upward 

from her crotch obscenely.  

    "I've got a new experience for you, little Kevin. It's called 

dildo rape. It's one of my favorite games." She curled her fingers 

around the dildo and stroked it suggestively. "Of course, since 

you don't have a cunt, I'll have to find somewhere else to fuck 

you." 

    I shivered. It was one of the things I had asked Julie to do 

the night of our bondage fiasco. 

    "You think I'm going to grease this up for you? No way. You 

want some lubrication, I'll bring a man in here and have him fuck 

your ass. You want any lubrication, you squirm nice and make him 

come in your ass. Then I'll fuck you, with his cum running out 

your asshole and down your thighs."

    That was when I really flashed to the fact that I wasn't in 

control, and my eyes must have shown it.

    "Is Kevin scared?" she taunted. "Kevin should be. Unless 

little Kevin knows another way I can get this wet for you?" 

    Out of an instant impulse, I nodded frantically at Julie. 

    Sasha smiled. "You're naughty," she said to me, and pushed 

Julie down on the floor. "Pull up that skirt. Your husband wants 

me to fuck you. I'll bet I can do it better than he can." 

    Laying back on the carpet, Julie wriggled until her skirt was 

up around her waist. Sasha tied Julie's ankles to her thighs, 

then pushed her with a booted foot until I had a clear view 

between her raised knees. 

    Sasha came over to me. "Look how wet she is already," she 

said, and she was right. "Does she scream for you? I'm going to 

make her scream. But I don't want you to enjoy the show too much." 

She reached out and snapped the jaws of an alligator clip on each 

of my nipples, making me writhe in pain. But at the same time a 

new surge of blood rushed to my already engorged cock, and it 

jerked slightly with each heartbeat. 

    Kneeling between Julie's legs, Sasha thrust the dildo deep 

inside her with one quick movement of her hips. She leaned on her 

hands, dangling her breasts over Julie's face and brushing her 

lips with a nipple. To the accompaniment of obscenely wet sounds, 

she began to piston the dildo in and out with a steady rocking 

motion.

    Before long Julie was moaning and raising her hips to meet 

each thrust. When she came she cried out, arching her back and 

whipping her head from side to side until she went limp.

    Then it was my turn. With Julie's help and my own acquiescence, 

Sasha bent me over the footboard of the bed, ankles tied to the posts, 

arms tied forearm to forearm behind me, ass high and exposed. Sasha 

ordered Julie to lay at the head of the bed, legs straddling my face.

    Then she slapped my buttock sharply. ""Eat her, stupid. Lick 

that pussy good. Don't stop." 

    I felt the tip of the dildo press against my puckered 

sphincter. 

    "Suck those juices out of her. You don't come until she does," 

she said, and leaned forward into me. The fat head of the 

dildo pushed past the fleshy barrier, and my body jerked of its 

own volition. 

    "I knew you'd like that," she whispered loudly. "A big black 

cock up your ass. You're just a closet queer, aren't you? No 

wonder you can't take care of your woman proper. All the time 

you're fucking her, you're thinking about being held down while a 

big black stud reams you." 

    She drove the dildo in to the hilt and began to buck it in and 

out of me. My cock throbbed like never before, and I felt the 

wetness dribbling from the tip. I lapped furiously at Julie's 

slit, my face drenched with her juices and my nostrils full of her 

scent. Sasha dragged her nails along my back and grabbed my 

buttocks as though with animal claws. 

    Finally Julie arched her back and locked her legs around my 

head. At that instant, Sasha buried the dildo deep in my rectum 

and reached beneath me to release the strap around my cock. My 

orgasm was explosive, showering my own belly with a spray of 

come as Sasha milked me. The sensation of my muscles contracting 

around the dildo was exquisite. As the spasms ended, I collapsed, 

limp and drained. 

    I don't remember being untied or crawling up onto the bed 

beside Julie. I do remember the tender closeness I felt cuddling 

with her there. I was vaguely aware of the splash of water in the 

bath as Sasha changed. When I looked up, she was standing in the 

doorway wearing a peasant blouse and jeans, looking for all the 

world like a well-scrubbed girl-next-door. 

    "Everything all right?"

    "Oh, yes," said Julie warmly. "Thank you."

    "Then I'll be going," she said, and left.

    Julie turned back toward me and propped her head on one elbow.

    "She cost two hundred dollars," she said shyly. "Was it 

worth it?" 

    For an answer, I kissed her forehead. "And for you?" 

    She smiled wickedly. "Very. You understand now?"

    "I do. You wanted the same thing I did."

    "We could take turns."

    I kissed her again. "Now that we know."

    "And we could have her back again sometime?"

    "I'd like that."

    She wriggled closer. "And now I'd like something 

else, if you'll let me have it." She reached for my cock, which 

stirred to her touch. 

    I let her. After all, I'm not a selfish guy. 



==================================================================

A version of this story was published by VARIATIONS in April, 1985

as THE DREAM DOMME, by Kevin Anderson. This is the original

unedited text, as the author meant it to be read.

==================================================================