The cake's gone. The presents opened. Company has left to go wherever company goes when they walk out of our door. The kids are in bed and the thumping noises have finally stopped so I'm pretty sure they're asleep.

Cleanup is relatively easy. The bag of trash needs to go out, but it can wait until morning. Once again I wonder if I should write a thank-you note to whoever thought up the idea of paper plates? I rinse a handful of silverware and load it into the machine.

Matt watches as I finish. He's still sitting in the chair of honor at the table—wrapping paper and ribbons drifting around his legs. I can't see his face, but I hear his sighing. I know the feeling; birthdays aren't nearly as much fun anymore. Still, I think I have something that might make him remember this one as something special.

I throw the dishrag down and turn to him. "So how we doin' over here?"

He shrugs. My big blond bear of a husband looks closer to four than forty. "It's finally happened."

"What?" I play the game and look sympathetic. I don't want him to get any hints about what's next on the agenda.

"I've turned into my father." He gestures at the pile of gifts. "Three ties, a tool box and a sweater."

"Well the kids picked the ties."

"I figured," he sighs again. "I like the Daffy Duck."

I think it's time. I want to tease, not torment the poor lug. I sashay over and sit, straddling his legs.

"You haven't gotten my gift yet."

"Really? I thought the sweater..." His oversized hands reach around to stroke my rear and I skootch down harder on his cock and smile when I feel it start to wake up.

I shake my head, "That was for show. To fool your parents and the munchkins."

"Mmmm," he grins and the boredom suddenly disappears from his voice. "Don't keep me in suspense."

I rock against him again and his cock twitches in a Pavlovian response. You have to love science. "Be right back."

I walk over to the utensil drawer and open it and pull something out. "I've always wanted one of these, but never knew what I'd use it for." I show him the marble dowel with the bright red bow.

Matt's eyes widen, "What the fuck?"

I ignore him as I look around for something else and curse myself for not thinking of this earlier. I finally find the cord for the beaters and decide that it'll do nicely. I like that it follows the impromptu kitchen theme I've got going.

I saunter back over to my bemused husband. I can tell his brain's been busy and he's started to figure this out. I also know that right about now he's thinking how much he wishes I didn't have such a good memory.

"Hands behind your back, birthday boy." I don't want to give him too much time to dwell on a way to get out of this.

"Uh, Lorrie, I don't..." Ah, but he does. He told me so.

I remember the conversation perfectly. We'd seen that movie, I can't recall the name now, but it was one of 'those' movies and after it was over we were talking about some of the er, high points when Matt mentioned the moment when the woman used the strap-on on her tied up lover. I was making fun of the whole thing when I noticed Matt wasn't laughing.

"Oh my god," I'd said out loud as I read his expression. "That turned you on?"

He looked like I'd caught him stealing cookies. "Yeah, I mean no," he grinned his bad boy smile. "Well sort of."

I was surprised. Ass play wasn't in our usual repertoire. I'd made it clear my own backdoor was strictly an 'exit only' long ago. It hadn't seem like much of big deal though, since Matt had never seemed interested one way or the other.

"Course," he added, surprising me again. "I'd rather do it to you."

I snorted, "No, you started this, you first."

"And if I agree?"

I laughed, "Then we'll renegotiate."

He'd grabbed me after that and started a tickling war that soon developed into a different sort of stimulation. The anal angle was forgotten in the moment, but I thought about it before I fell asleep and the next day too. The more I pondered this new little wrinkle, the more I realized that Matt had been serious under all the smiles and banter.

I'd stuffed that knowledge into the back of my brain along with all the other junk I store in my own personal attic, but apparently I hadn't buried it too deep. When I went to the gourmet cooking store to pick up a new garlic grater (I don't know why I keep breaking the damn things)and I noticed the handy dandy little tool I now held. Of course I took that as a sign and immediately started to make plans.

Matt still hasn't moved and I wave the cord in front of his face for effect. He sits and looks at me like he's sure that any minute I'll laugh and tell him I'm only joking.

He's wrong.

I point at his hands. "Do it," then soften the order with a quick lick to his ear.

He shakes his head like he still can't believe what's happening, but slowly he obeys me and twists his arms around the back of the wooden chair. I reach around too, deliberately rubbing my breasts over his face as I struggle to bind him. That it's a struggle is partially because he's trying to distract me by lightly biting my nipples through my dress. It doesn't work—much—and I stand back up after I've finished.

The knot isn't all that secure. He can get away if he really wants. I know that and so does he, but it's the idea that's supposed to be the turn on. The bulge in his pants tells me my darling husband agrees and I watch as he spreads his legs further trying to give it more room.

Now I stand over him and do my best impression of a dominatrix. Of course most tops don't wear yellow sundresses, but again it's illusion not fact I'm going for. Matt breathes deeply and gulps as he watches me raise one bare foot slowly and press it over the hard mound at his crotch.

I lick my lips and say with as much severity as I can manage. "You will obey me."

He stifles the smile that flits over his face and nods at me seriously, "Yes, Mistress."

Mistress? Now it's my turn to almost laugh. I frown instead and curl my toes around his already tightening balls. Matt closes his eyes and hisses, but when he opens them again, it isn't pain I see. I tuck the look away for future analysis, but now I 'm too caught up in what I'm doing.

Slowly, I remove my foot. He'd look relieved if he weren't so obviously disappointed. I'm just starting though and I sink to my knees and lean over and take his shorts zipper in my mouth.

What the hell, if he can't use his hands, why should I? At least, not yet.

My lips undo the snap and then I grab the tab and pull it down with my teeth. His cock springs free, something I wasn't expecting and back off quickly before I end up with a sticky face.

I look up and arch an eyebrow. "Forty years old and no underwear. What would your mother say?"

"Ugh," Matt groans, already too far gone to smartass me back. "Just suck the damn thing!"

I nip lightly at the skin on his shaft. Not enough to hurt, but the warning is clear. Matt's eyes widen as he remembers the game we're supposed to be playing.

"Please, um, Mistress." he belatedly adds.

"Okay," I'd torment him longer, but I'm not sure who would suffer more. I want this now as much as he does, another surprise for the evening. "But only because you ask so nicely."

I lean over and my long hair falls loosely down, surrounding me with a dark curtain that cuts me off from everything, but the cock in front of me. I purse my lips and blow hot puffs of air over the shaft. It's my plan to make him forget where I'm heading. Not exactly a stretch since Matt has always been pretty easy to distract.

"Ngh! God that's so good."

Like I said, easy.

I get my tongue nice and wet and then using just the tip, lightly lick his glands. He almost tips the chair over. I grab the front legs and push it, and him, firmly back down on the ground. I'd just as soon not have to end this night with a trip to the hospital to have my biggest baby checked for concussion.

"Don't stop," he pleads, apparently willing to risk injury.

I however am not. I rise and walk over to the junk drawer and start rumaging.

"Now what?"

I ignore his whining and dig through the mess. So this is where my best lipstick disappeared to.

"Lorrie!" He's begging now.

It's nice.

I finally find what I'm looking for under a pile of napkins left over from last year's Halloween party. The housewife's most reliable tool, duct tape. I grab it and spin around waving the silver roll in front of Matt's face.

"Shit," his eyes widen, but it doesn't look like fear, "what's that for?"

"Safety issues," I say briefly. "Lift your legs a little." He looks like he's about to protest again so I give him my best steely glance. "That's an order."