Chapter 1

A Dark House.

I drove myself home from the airport. It had been a long and exhausting weeklong trip and I looked forward to a gin and tonic and some quality time with Valerie, my wife. She was and is a gorgeous, perky natural redhead whose playful and adventurous nature attracted me since the first day we met.

I kept no secrets from her so she knew of my attraction for the kinkier side of sex but, since she had never expressed an interest herself, I did not push her. On her part she understood and did not complain about my collection of literature so long as I kept it, if not hidden, at least discreetly relegated to the higher shelves of the large bookcases that covered the walls of my study, where our friends’ prying eyes would not find them while casually perusing my collection.

I parked on the street, at the front of the house. In this neighborhood, the houses dated from the 1900 and 1910s. All of them had been renovated several times and the coach houses turned into garages; very quaint, and pricey, but inconvenient in that only one car fit in those garages. Like most of the men, we left the garage to our wives so they would not have to clear the snow from their vehicles in the morning.

I entered through the front door and found the house dark; dark and warm. I thought nothing of it at first; she’s gone to the store, I thought. The hardwood floor, polished to a rich dark bistre by generations of maids first, and now by our maintenance company’s electric waxers, absorbed the light from the reading lamp in the sitting room, allowing enough illumination to walk safely but not much more. I heard the crackle of logs in the fireplace; unlike many of my neighbors I had restored the wood burning fireplace removing the, more functional, but distinctly less charming gas one, relegating it to the basement den.

Strange for Val to go out leaving the fireplace on, I thought.

“Honey I’m home,” I said aloud.

There was no answer.

I dropped my briefcase and carry-on on the living room and returned to the entrance hall to leave my coat, scarf and gloves on the closet.

“Are you home?” I called out in a louder voice.

Again, there was no answer.

It was then I noticed that the door to the basement was ajar and a faint light peeked around it.

I wasn’t worried, of course; this was a very safe neighborhood, and nothing ever happened here, aside from kid’s Halloween pranks. I opened the door and called down the stairs,

“Honey, are you there?”

Again, silence was my only answer.

I was about to go down to the basement to turn the light off when my phone chirped with the incoming text tone. I did not recognize the number.

“Val left a surprise for your onomastique in the basement. Get comfortable before you go get it.

Maggie.”

Maggie was one of my wife’s friends; she often talked about her but I hadn’t met her. Wondering what Val had planned and hoping it was something a little kinky, I went up to the master bedroom and changed into a t-shirt and jeans. Before going down to the basement I fixed myself a Scotch and, taking the bottle with me, I finally made my way down the stairs.

I could have turned the lights on the stairway on but decided not to ruin whatever staging Valerie had planned.

Our basement was quite large and we had divided it into three areas, aside from the utility room where the furnace and air conditioning units were. In one of them I set one of those indoor golf rigs where you can hit balls into a net and watch them fly on a big screen monitor so you can play any of a series of famous courses in the air conditioned or heated comfort of your own home. The second room was a den where the aforementioned gas fireplace sat beside the home theater system. The third room, behind a plain door, was unfinished except for a small bathroom. Val and I hadn’t decided what to do with it yet, so we had the drywall up but nothing else.

The light came from a small lamp by the sofa. Again, no Valerie, not in the den, not in the golf room.

That left the unfinished room.

Chapter 2

A Present

With some trepidation I opened the door.

In the center of the formerly unfinished room, brightly lit by track lights on the ceiling was Valerie, my wife.

She hung, nude, by her wrists, dangling from a chain, from the ceiling. Her back was to me and her feet had been fastened by her ankles to a ring in the floor. Her hair hung in long curls down to the small of her back. A thin strip of black fabric, satin perhaps, tied behind her head showed that she’d been blindfolded. She did not react to my entrance and I feared the worst. I rushed to her aid but found, as I drew near, that her chest moved unevenly with her breathing. Reassured, I paused to take in the scene.

The wall to wall carpeting that had been installed on the floor was replaced, in the center, where Val hung, by hardwood where I could see rings recessed into flooring. Indeed, it was to two of these rings that her feet had been fastened.

I examined her naked body. I understood now why she hadn’t reacted to my arrival. Her blindfold stretched over her ears where I detected padding that rendered her deaf. She could not hear me or my footsteps which would have been absorbed by the thick carpeting anyway. Had she heard me, she could not have replied for a ball gag, fastened at the nape of her neck muffled her voice.

From behind she was a sight for sore eyes. Her arms stretched up towards the ceiling, hanging by the wrists. Her fingers shook slightly, perhaps from fear. Her nails had been manicured within the last 24 hours and were a deep, bright red. Her shoulders, with her whole weight hanging from them were a thing of beauty. I wondered for how long she’d been hanging here.

I considered her back, the color of Italian marble, smooth, unblemished, tapering to her waist, and flaring at the hips into her full buttocks.

Her feet were fastened a foot apart and were under a slight tension, the better to display her long legs and firm thighs. If I looked just right, under the twin white globes of her buttocks I could just discern her labia peeking from her pussy.

I felt my chest get tight, not only from the sight of my wife’s body so obscenely, and artistically displayed, but from the realization that she’d wanted it so and, at least for the evening, that she, it, was mine.

I stretched my hand to touch her buttocks but stopped short. Did she know I was there? There was no sign from her body other than the tremors that I now recognized as fear that, from time to time, shook her frame.

I moved to see her from the front. I admired her full breasts, white and crowned with areolas the color of tea roses, with small, hard, pea sized nipples. A little spray of freckles, wound its way at the center of her cleavage. Her breasts quivered with each breath she took, yet there was no sign that she had detected my presence. Her flat belly, rendered concave by her stretched position, led my eyes down to where her bush had been trimmed into a tiny red triangle. Her skin shone with a faint sheen of sweat.

I smelled her odor; she wasn’t wearing any perfume today, her own musky odor and a faint, acrid smell of fear.

I continued to walk around her and almost bumped into a small table. Only her body, in the center of the room was lit by the quartz lights; the remainder of the room was very dark. On the table I saw a yellow sheet of paper.

Picking it up, I brought it under the lights:

Chapter 3

Canes

The canes were long, thin and, when brought under the light, an ominous dark red in color. They were made of lacquered rattan; when swung they cut the air with a threatening hiss. There were ten of them.

I could not resist. The tightness in my chest made it hard to breathe. I shook my head thinking: This is madness. But there was something hard, rigid, between my legs that thought otherwise. I picked up a cane and moved behind my wife.

I wondered if she knew I was there. I thought of striking her, without warning. With her ears covered, she would not even have the swish of the cane cutting through the air to prepare her. I bent over at the waist and kissed her buttock with my lips. Perhaps I imagined it but after I stood up, after kissing her derriere, I sensed that her body relaxed a little; of course that was impossible, hanging under tension as she was.

The cane whizzed through the air. I saw it smash on the white skin of her bum; I saw her bootie reverberate with the impact and an ugly wheal, rapidly turning red, appear where the cruel cane struck her yielding flesh. Her whole body shook in a silent scream.

I hit her defenseless bottom once more.

“Mmmmm,” her gag allowed only the faintest sound to come out.

I struck once again. And again.

Ten red welts crossed her round globes. My cock was about to explode. I ditched my pants and shorts, and on second thought, stripped off my tee shirt. The sight of her striped rump tempted me. I had only to release her ankles and I could fuck her, anywhere I wanted, right then and there. Private Johnson throbbed in anticipation but I managed to restrain him.

If I fucked my lovely wife I knew, deep inside, I could not bear to strike her body again.

I also knew I had to do it; I had to strike her again.

So I did. Twice, five times, ten, twenty times more.

Her beautiful buttocks were covered in red, weeping stripes. Her body shook with silent sobs.

I tossed the cane aside, knelt in front of her and released her ankles. I wrapped her thighs around my waist and my rod pounded at her dry entrance. Some spit and I entered her tight tunnel. Her thighs wrapped themselves around my body as she sought to accommodate my hard pole inside her. I seized her hot ass with my hands, oblivious to the pain I must be causing her and began to fuck her. I did not try to prolong it. It would have been futile for me and cruel for her.

I spurted my come inside her. It seemed to last forever. Every little movement, every throb, every shudder of her body, managed to elicit just one more spasm deep inside me. I held her hard; I stayed inside her, inside her body until I could not endure it any longer, until the least tremor of her pelvis brought sweet pain on my overexcited glans.

I pulled out of her.

I held my wife’s body in my arms while I released her wrists from the chain that suspended her.

My hand sought the knot that fastened her blindfold.

She shook her head.

I remembered her request.

Against the wall I saw a narrow cot. On it, a folded sheet.

I lay her body down on the canvas field bed. I saw her squirm as her lacerated tooshie touched the rough fabric. I covered her with the sheet and reached for her gag. She did not object.

She lay down on the cot and said three words:

“I love you.”

I kissed her lips.

“I love you too,” I said.

“Sleep well my dearest,” she replied.

Before I turned off the light, I saw her turn over to lie on her belly.

Chapter 4

Shock and Awe.

Valerie’s ass took a while to recover and I had to keep my hands off its smooth, soft and firm globes until the last traces of my assault had vanished. I was not surprised that she did not want to talk about it afterwards. Valerie knew my interests and had decided to make me a gift, for one night, of herself. To her surprise, I was sure, she found it too intense, too painful, and not to be repeated. Rather than blaming me, she decided to pretend it never happened. I let her pretend while secretly hoping it would be repeated, some day.

All too soon I had to fly out of town again. As usual I asked Val if she wanted to come but, North Dakota in February was not her idea of fun, so she stayed behind.

It was not a long trip, only four days.

As soon as I opened the door I recognized the setting, the single dim light in the living room. As I hung my coat in the closet I marveled at the speed at which Private Johnson rose to his very alert and firm state. I took off my boots and walked barefoot towards the basement door from where, surely enough, a square of light beckoned.

Before I reached the door I stumbled on something, unseen in the semi-darkness that had been left in the middle of the corridor.

As soon as I picked it up a shiver ran through my spine.

It was a cane.

Carrying it in my hand, I walked to the basement entrance and opened the door. The light from the stairs was on and, in it, I saw that the end of the cane had shattered; its tip splayed out into several splinters. It took me a moment to understand. I began to descend the stairs only to find a second red lacquered rattan cane and, once again, the last third of its length had broken into thin slivers. I walked faster down the stairs and found a third, and a fourth cane, all destroyed.

Three more canes lay, broken, on the floor of the brightly lit den, between the stairs and the closed door to the carpeted room. I did not need to guess how the canes came to shatter in this way. I reached the door, too terrified to open it and, at the same time, strangely excited.

A large yellow note on the door announced:

Cock throbbing, I thrust open the door.

She hung in the center, brightly lit, her head dropping on her chest, her flanks heaving with her tortured breathing. She was not blindfolded, nor was she gagged. As I approached her, ignoring the next three canes tossed on the floor, she looked up at me, her face streaked with tears. In her lips a wan smile.