Chapter 37

#1 is done in bed, #3 at the company Christmas party, but I crash and burn doing #2.

Home again, and I walked through the door at 7:01 PM. The house was too quiet, and I could see the bedroom door was closed. So now, what do I do? Liz said to be home at seven, and I was. Oh well, if a door is closed, I’ll open it.

When I opened the bedroom door, the vision in front of me differed from the sight that greeted me last night. Liz was naked on her side with a ball gag in her mouth, a blindfold covering her eyes, and her arms were behind her back with hands matched up. Each finger and thumb pair was tied together with a piece of string. Her wrists were also bound together with thicker twine.

One thing is for sure, Liz didn’t do this to herself.

From her wrists, continuing up her arms, thicker twine was wrapped tightly around both arms every six inches, even when they weren’t touching each other. Ending just below her shoulders, the ovals of cord pinching the skin on her arms were connected by a long piece of string tied to each binding on her arms. It appeared this was done to keep any bindings from sliding down her arms.

Her knees were bent, and thicker pieces of rope tied her calves and thighs tightly together. All excess string or rope was trimmed neatly at the knots. Taking this all in, I noticed her breasts were tied tightly at their base and were a deep red, and a twelve-inch binder for snack bags was pinching both nipples. There was a piece of paper on the bed next to her, and I picked it up to read,

“This is promised treat #1. You have until 7:35 to fill this worthless cunt with two loads of cum. At that time, an alarm will go off in the bathroom, and a woman dressed in black vinyl will come out and cut me loose. She’s the one who tied me up, and I’m not in danger, although I’m probably in a lot of pain. I don’t want to hear anything from you about involving someone else; there’s no video, and you’ll never meet this woman again. If you fail to come twice, I get to do the same thing to you, and I’ll use fake cock #5 that you never felt in your ass. Now move it, hubby, and make sure you knock me up!”

Good grief, this woman gets more bizarre every day. Should I run away or fuck her? Little Marty answered that question, and I quickly stripped before forcing him between her pussy lips, squished together and oozing her natural lubricant.

As I thrust in and out, the sensations overwhelming me were due to the sadistic tendencies I have responding to the visual in front of me. With my mind numbed by my wife’s submissive side, I masturbated using her pussy until I came violently while keeping my cock buried inside.

As I recovered, I kept staring at that clip on her nipples, and the shade of purple her tit was turning. I could never inflict such pain on any part of my wife’s body or mind, but she did it to herself, so it was okay if I enjoyed the view.

Is that normal thought for a husband, or was I a sociopath?

Determined not to face strap-on #5, I dipped my right index number into some of the cum escaping between my cock and her pussy walls, then buried that finger in her ass. I could feel movement around my cock, probably squeezing contractions, so I pulled my finger out and lubed up three fingers. Thrusting all three past her sphincter, Liz began to shake and cum, and I didn’t care. Instead, I focused on the sights my eyes sent to my brain, the darker colors her tits were changing into, and that binder painfully pinching her nipples.

Still erect, I fucked her tight pussy like a man possessed by demons and shot my cum inside her baby cave a second time. Thankful I wouldn’t have to face cock #5, I considered pulling out and freeing my wife.

Then I closed my eyes, and different visions and sounds flowed back to my conscious self; her behavior on Valentine’s day, her blowup at the mall during Christmas, and that horrible GNO fiasco, and I wanted her to suffer a little more.

Praying my heart wouldn’t give out, I continued fucking that warm, wet, slippery tunnel while wishing I was responsible for her purple tits and swollen nipples. No compassion or love was felt, no pity or thought about her discomfort; I brutally ravaged her cunt until ‘the’ feeling began in my scrotum, growing and expanding, and right before I came for the third time, the alarm clock went off in the bathroom. I heard the door opening as I threw my head back and roared, feeling a tremendous orgasm ripping through my groin.

I felt hands on my right arm pulling me back, and a voice told me, “You did well. Go take a shower, and she will join you.” Then I was gently but forcefully guided into the bathroom, and the door shut behind me. I stepped into the shower, turned the water on, and let it stream over my face and chest. After a minute, I turned and let it pound my back.

Then I started to cry because I felt ashamed.

I heard the door open, then the shower curtain was pulled back, and Liz joined me. My eyes immediately focused on her tits and her swollen nipples. The purple coloring of her breasts had faded to dark red, but her nipples were swollen and throbbing. Her arms and legs had lines on them where the ropes were tied, and the bite mark from last night was starting to bruise.

As if nothing strange took place in the bedroom, Liz let me wash her body before returning the favor. While drying off, she informed me she had a craving for Italian before heading into the bedroom. Following her, I dressed, and she put on a long-sleeved pantsuit. Then I drove to our favorite restaurant where I had veal Parmesan, and Liz wolfed through two plates of spaghetti and meatballs.

Later, when we crawled into bed, I had to ask, “Who was she?”

“1-800-BDSM,” then she kissed me good night and said, “That’s two I owed you; you’ll get the other two tomorrow night, during and after the party.”

I overslept and was late again, and everyone I interacted with had to comment about that fact.

I let Carmen and Amara leave at twelve-thirty and followed them at two.

I was feeling pretty good the rest of the way home. Liz’s vehicle was gone, so I pulled to the end of the driveway because we were driving her SUV to the Hilton. I ate a bowl of cereal and then wandered into our bedroom. My tux was hanging on the back of the bedroom door, and I sat down to think about the last two nights.

I heard the front door open, so I went to greet her.

She was a vision of loveliness, and I had to ask, “Did you have a spa day, baby?”

“Yes, I did, plus hair and makeup. So what do you think, sweetie?”

She wore a dress with short sleeves, and her arms looked perfect. Her legs still had some redness, but I suspect she’d cover that with stockings.

We sat and talked about the last two nights.

“I have to confess, Marty. I researched online, and that’s where I came up with the ideas. The props, well, I didn’t throw away all the toys you bought.”

Once again, she changed the subject by asking about the conference call at work.

After telling her how great I was talking to scientists and engineers, I meekly asked her, “Are we okay, Liz? Is everything all right with you?”

I never got an answer.

Liz didn’t want to shower, so I gave her a sponge bath, and while drying her, something in my underwear got painfully stuck. When I slid my hand down my pants to adjust something, Liz laughed and increased my torment, “Now you have to dress me, Marty, lingerie first.”

I accomplished my mission with great difficulty and pleaded with her, “Let me call Dad and tell him I’m not feeling very well. Right now, that wouldn’t be a lie.”

That wasn’t happening, and we drove off to the party, me in my tux and Liz wearing a single-shoulder navy blue evening gown with a slit in the side, and well, it embarrasses me to think about it, but it went up, pretty high.

At the party, we mingled, with Liz drinking some white wine, and I nursed a glass of sparkling water. The tables were round, seating eight per table, and family and management couples sat at different tables with people they didn’t work with. Liz and I were at a corner table on the opposite side of the room from the entrance. I was facing the room, and the two seats to my left were empty, only because the number of employees and guests, divided by eight, had a remainder of six.

The dinner menu looked delightful, with four courses, including salad, soup, entrée, and dessert, served by the friendliest waitresses and waiters in Greenville. After a salad plate was placed in front of me, I felt a hand on my crotch, and I hoped a mystery guest wasn’t kneeling under our table. The hand fumbled with the button on my pants before pulling down the zipper.

I was wearing boxers, and the floating fingers of one hand fished my stiff prick through the hole before letting go. It was Liz. I scooted my chair forward until my stomach was tight against the table and then rested my head on my left hand, over my elbow on the table. I forced myself to look normal as the fingers stroked, rubbed, and pinched my cock; while their owner was chatting with the young wife of one of our new machine shop fabricators, Adam and Kelly, something, I think.

My untouched salad plate was removed, and the soup was served, cream of potato. I forced myself to smile as I looked around the room, trying to see if anyone was staring back at me. I was leaking pre-come, and a thumb was spreading it around the head of my cock. Making me cum in public was the third promise Liz made to me, and when I remembered the fourth promise awaiting us later tonight, a thought crept into my mind. I hoped Liz was looking forward to getting whipped erotically later tonight. I had no desire to hurt her.

My fake smile was getting harder to maintain, especially with all the thoughts I was letting run rampant from memories to spur my balls to a swift and satisfying conclusion. As I struggled to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, I could see my wife’s empty bowl as she continued talking to her neighbor. After nodding that I was finished, my soup bowl was removed, and the waiter inquired if something was wrong?

I mumbled something about an upset stomach and butterflies.