I guess even as a kid I had an inventive streak, an inquiring mind, and access to my father’s workshop with hand tools. I could also be a malicious little sod on occasion. So whilst I might spend time in my dad’s workshop building model boats or trying to make a crossbow, I also set up booby traps for my elder brother. I often think that I should set some booby traps on my workshop now, you never know when some arsehole is going to try and break in. But there is a good reason why I don’t.

As a kid we lived in an old thatched cottage, and my brother and I had the attic bedrooms, accessed by a very steep flight of stairs. I decided one day to set a trap for him; some heavy books suspended from a hook in a beam over the stairs with a thread, the other end of which was stretched across the stairs at foot level. Later in the day I rushed up to my room completely forgetting about the trap ... until my foot broke the thread. I learned two things from this: first, that if you set this kind of trap the trip must be in front of the trap, because the target is moving (the books missed me), and second, that I have an awful memory when I am engrossed in something else.

I was reminded of this not long ago when the maker of my favourite cider, a local farmer, told me that he had once set up a rook scarer on a particular door, so that when the door opened, the rook scarer went off. For those of you who are less fortunate and live in cities, a rook scarer ignites a mixture of gas and air in a container and causes one hell of a bang. It should be obvious what happened, and he tells me that to this day he hesitates when he opens that door.

So having survived school, and then university where I obtained a degree in engineering, I set out on life with no great ambition except to enjoy myself. I married a pretty girl, we had a couple of kids, a boy and a girl, and, having worked for a large conglomerate in the aerospace industry where I had done pretty well, I was eventually made redundant. Now for a lot of guys this seems to be a traumatic experience, feeling unwanted and useless, that kind of thing. Not me, I had my workshop at home, having always been practical, and I had my, as I thought, loving wife, now more cuddly, looking after us all. With our son about to go to university and our daughter not far behind I was looking forward to taking things a bit easier. Home was fairly isolated, about a mile from the nearest neighbour, with several of acres of ground including some woodland, and outbuildings which housed my workshop and office, garaging, and stables for a couple of ponies. I took on some consultancy work, and did a bit of inventing, nothing like wind up radios or anything you would have heard of, but some sound stuff that brought in good royalties.

A little time went by, and the youngest went off to university, and we were left on our own. I have to say that although things were very comfortable, our sex life had dwindled to non-existence. We had had a fairly active if, in retrospect, rather vanilla sex life for many years, but as things went on, it had naturally slowed. There were few women where I worked, and although I had, as I am sure any bloke would, looked at other women, I’d never done anything about it. I really didn’t think much about it, and never considered that anything was amiss.

My wife now decided, with no children on her hands, that she should go to the gym in the county town because she felt that she wanted to get fitter, and lose some of her excess weight. This seemed like a good idea, so off she went. After a few weeks she was looking much trimmer, and the idea of sex sort of insinuated itself into my mind. I wasn’t working too hard, a couple of days consultancy in different places, and fiddling about with one or two ideas of my own. Well, it just never seemed to be convenient, there were a lot of headaches and tiredness, not to mention too little time. Hmm ... Then she announced that there was a job going at the gym as a receptionist. It would, she said, give her an interest in life and some money of her own. Well, no harm in that.

Things settled down, and a few weeks later I came home to find my wife sitting at the kitchen table with another woman. She was introduced as Ruth, one of the instructors at the gym. We shook hands, and she had a crushing grip. She was a rather muscular woman, fairly tall and seemed very solid, with hair cut very short. She was nevertheless a very attractive woman, having an excellent facial bone structure. She made it fairly plain that she didn’t think much of me, but why should I worry? She was there when I got back from my consultancy visits on several occasions, and on each one she became more offensive, trying to belittle me, and telling me what I should be doing. I got the impression that she would like to have me doing her bidding, pussy whipped is I think the right term.

I guess I should say a bit about me. I am just an ordinary, average guy; average height, brown hair, brown eyes, passably good looking, I guess, slim, but with good muscles from keeping the land and woods up together, and ... well, just the sort of bloke who can disappear into a crowd without being noticed. Apart that is from my reputation and ability as an engineer, my not inconsiderable charm – wasted on Ruth, and skills as a negotiator and salesman. So although I can ‘disappear’, I can also exercise considerable presence.

But this woman was getting too much, and I took my wife to task over this. In fact I told her that I didn’t want the woman in our house again. Needless to say she wasn’t very happy. In fact she had a godalmighty conniption and we didn’t speak for several days.

It was about a week later that I arrived home early because my client had been called away. As I drove up I could see Ruth’s car outside the house, but rather than have a confrontation I decided that I would put the car in the shed and go into my office. This is in one of the outbuildings and looks at the side of the house, where there is a window in the sitting room to give additional light. Looking up from what I was doing, I saw a naked woman cross in front of this window. I did a double take, as you would, but saw nothing else. Had I seen something, or was it my fevered imagination? I didn’t think so. I had been fairly sure that my arrival home would be unnoticed, and confirmation of this came when I stealthily approached the window in question, and peered in. There, sat on the edge of the couch, her arms spread along the back, and her legs spread out, was Ruth, and on her knees in front of her was my wife apparently doing her best to devour Ruth’s crotch. I was gobsmacked. I was also bloody annoyed. I went hot and cold, and for a moment I though I might pass out. But I didn’t. I took in the scene before me, reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of pictures. Not the best angle, but I reckoned a few minutes with Photoshop would make them OK. I returned to my office and downloaded the pictures to my computer. As I had reckoned, a few minutes and, spread before me in glowing colour was a picture of the pair of them. Ruth did have nice tits, not big, but high and obviously firm. She also had a nice pair of tall black boots on, and a riding crop in her hand. And there, on my wife’s bum, were the results of its use; several bright red wheals. Small wonder she always wore a full length opaque nightie. I sat there, wondering what to do. And then I decided. Nothing. Well nothing precipitate. Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold.

Some time later I heard Ruth’s car drive off, and an hour or so after that, somewhat after the time I would have been expected to get home, I went indoors. My wife was a little surprised to see me, not having heard my car, but I told her that I had not been in long and had spent a few minutes in the office.

The next day, whilst she was at work, I got down to ordering some surveillance equipment. Miniature cameras, microphones and transmitters, and a big hard drive to record it all. This arrived the next day and I set to work. It took me a week, since I could only work whilst she was at her work, and I had my own work to attend to too. All set up and tested, I waited for the right day.

The next time that I should be away, and my wife have a day off, I curtailed my meeting, and returned home in readiness. I drove along the rough track that gave access through the woods at the rear of the property, parked and walked through into my office. The time was just after lunch. I sat back in my office, and switched on the cameras and recording equipment and waited. It was not long before I was rewarded. The sound of the doorbell followed by a flash of my wife passing the sitting room door on her way to the front door. She didn’t have a stitch on. I sat there amazed as she backed into the sitting room, with Ruth pushing her, crop in hand. I have to say that my wife looked very good naked, something that I hadn’t seen for some time. Slim waist and a gorgeous heart shaped bum; I just hadn’t realised that the pretty girl I married had matured into a beautiful woman. There followed two hours of what I later learned to be not particularly inventive sex, with Ruth dominating, and my manhood being called into question on a number of occasions, both from a sexual aspect and as a provider, which I thought was rather over the top all things considered. On each occasion my wife was quick to agree with her. Bitch. Eventually Ruth left and I sat there for a while. Thoroughly pissed off. Something had to be done, my wife was an adulteress, unfaithful, and with a woman too. I had been betrayed. It was a deeply felt insult. And I determined to have my revenge. Then I walked back to the car and drove home, though it took considerable resolve to enter the house as though nothing had happened.

My wife was her usual, anything but loving self, practically throwing supper on the dining table as had become her fashion, and barely speaking. It was as I sat there eating, and drinking a second glass of a rather pleasant Cotes du Rhone that the germ of an idea entered my mind.

Let me tell you a little about the house. It’s a large country house, I suppose the best way to describe it is that Agatha Christie might have set one of her murder mysteries in it. It was built in the nineteenth century by one of my ancestors and eventually left to me by an Uncle. It’s a very pleasant house but there is nothing remarkable about it except that it has extensive cellars extending under the entire house. This is very unusual for a country house. Since a fair amount of money came with the inheritance there were no particular problems with the upkeep. We had moved in when the children were very small, and the only use the cellars had been put to was for Halloween parties, but there hadn’t been one of those since our daughter left school. I had done a fair amount of remodelling by way of heating and bathrooms, and upgrading the kitchen to modern standards. From the kitchen we had cut an archway through into a large room which we used as a family room and there was an archway through into a large conservatory. The family room is where we take most meals when it is just the two of us, and where I was sitting, looking at the archway, when inspiration struck. And this is where that streak of malice kicked in again.

My wife, her name is Diana by the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned that, has always loved flowers, and at some time in the past had asked me to put a couple of hooks in the arch so that she could hang some plants there. In the event they proved to be a nuisance with everyone hitting their heads on either the pots, if you were tall enough, or getting tangled in the foliage if you weren’t. So they had to go, but the hooks, heavy duty eyes in fact, had remained.

As was usual after supper she had nodded off to sleep in front of the box. I had become so used to this over the last few years that I gave it no thought and disappeared to my office; I had work to do.

Over the next few weeks I spent time researching on the internet. I became quite the connoisseur of sexual um ... perversions? deviations? variations? Who knows, but I learnt a hell of a lot; some of it very interesting, and some I thought I might like to try. I also learned that the equipment I wanted simply wasn’t available. You may have guessed that my idea was to string my wife up from the eyes in the arch. Sounds simple doesn’t it? But I very soon discovered that all the gear I could find for restraint required either co-operation from the victim, or for her to be totally out of it. Now I could rely on her being asleep, perhaps I could get an extra glass of wine into her, but more than that, no. I could administer some sort of sleeping pill, but that would mean waiting ‘til morning and that I didn’t want. Because I had decided that I was going to disappear, and to do that I needed most of the night. So the timetable looked like this: 8.00pm nods off, 9.00pm ready to string up and the fun, well my fun, to begin, and then by midnight I do a moonlight flit leaving her with a heavily mortgaged house and bugger all in the bank, dear Ruthie could support her from now on. After she got in and released her.

There was in fact only one thing for it, I had to design and make the gear myself. The first and most important was a cuff that would be soft, I didn’t want to damage her in case the law got involved, but fixed in a second. I achieved this by designing and making a simple mechanism that could be clicked shut in an instant, but needed two hands to undo. I made these in wrist and ankle sizes. They were complete with a ring to take a shackle to which I secured a length of sixteen plait polyester rope. This may seem over detailed, but this particular rope is nice and soft, and I didn’t want to hurt my hands did I?

I was finally ready, holes had been drilled and disguised ready for the equipment to be installed, but better, all spare cash, savings and the cash from the remortgage had been squirrelled away. My ‘escape’ route was all planned. Time to go.

I decided on a bottle of champagne, a celebration of a business success that I cooked up. One thing that Diana could not resist was champagne, so it was easy to get the additional glass into her. She celebrated whatever the success was with typical bad grace, but did I care? Not a jot, she had swallowed the bait, or in this case the additional glass of alcohol that would keep her asleep just that bit longer.

Once she had, as always, nodded off I went into action. Two extra eyes were screwed into the floor at either side of the arch and cleats fixed to the skirting board. To all four eyes pulley blocks were shackled with ropes run through ready, and finally I laid the wrist cuffs near her chair with ropes run to the top eyes, and the end of the rope laid on the floor ready for me to pick up. A deep breath. Quickly I wrapped a cuff around each of her wrists, and went to the arch. The ropes now led from her wrists, across the carpet, up through the pulleys and down to my hands. All was ready. I took up the slack, and then pulled steadily. Her arms came up, pointed towards me and then her upper body started to rise. She woke up. She started to struggle. She started to scream as she had to rise, she was struggling to her feet, but the ropes kept pulling her forward. She tripped, but kept coming towards the arch, the angle of her body effectively making her steps push her in my direction. By this time the shrieks of abuse and the threats of vengeance were becoming almost ear splitting, the standard of language fit only for a barrack room. She was now looking straight at me as I finally pulled her wrists high so that her feet almost left the floor

Grinning, I said “We’re going to have a little chat in a minute.”

But first I cleated the two ropes.

As I passed her to go behind she tried to kick me, but you can’t get much purchase when your feet are almost off the ground. I picked up an ankle cuff, seized an ankle and secured it, my catches were that good. I tightened the rope. The other leg was swinging around, but it didn’t take much catching and was quickly secured. I then adjusted all the ropes so that her feet were spread well apart, but on the floor, and her arms were tight above her head. Spreadeagled, caught, crucified. I stepped around the front and looked at her. She had fallen silent for a moment.

She was still red faced, but when I said, “You’ve been having fun haven’t you?” she went white.

“What do you mean, I’m not enjoying this, you’re sick. Let me go immediately or...”

“Or what?” I cut her off. “You’ll call Ruth? You’ll do that soon enough, but not until I’ve finished with you.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “You don’t know anything. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She added hastily.

“Well,” I said,” I know all about your little sessions with Ruthie. And I’ve got them all recorded.”

If anything she went whiter.

“And now I’m going to begin my revenge.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked again.

“You will find out as we go,” I replied

She went into further pleading, but I ignored her.

Going around behind her I picked up a pair of scissors, and bent down to her ankle. I started to cut up the leg of her jeans.

She started shrieking and trying to twist.

“These scissors are pretty sharp,” I said. “If you don’t keep still I might take a chunk out of you. Come to think of it I might anyway.”

She was immediately still, but kept crying and entreating me to be reasonable and to let her go.

“If you don’t keep quiet,” I said. “I am going to gag you, do you understand? I am tired of listening to you, and I am going to do what I want anyway. Now shut up.”

She fell silent, apart from snivels and sniffles.

I continued cutting, all the way up to and through the waistband.

“Do you know how much these jeans cost?”

I looked at the logo.

“If you are daft enough to spend a lot of money on a name that’s your look out. Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

I really enjoyed that line.

I started to cut up the other leg.

“If you let me go, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Too late, and I told you to be quiet, Any more noise and you’ll really regret it.”

She was going to regret it anyway, but she didn’t know that yet.

Silence.

I finished the cut and went round to the front. I grasped hold of the waist band and yanked.

“Ta – Daaa.”

“That’s a hundred and twenty pounds you’ve just ruined,” she screamed.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Wait until you try and use your credit card to replace them.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out.”

She didn’t look happy. No surprise there, she was going to look even less happy shortly.

I exercised the scissors on her shirt, one of my old ones, by the look of it, scruffy cow. This time I went from the collar and up the sleeve, and then I did the other. I just ripped the front open. I then went round the back and pulled on the collar.

“Ta – Daaa.”

“You really are sick, you’re enjoying this.”

“Oh yes, immensely. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

I snipped through the bra straps, and undid the clasp. There was a groan as I whipped it off. Going around to the front I saw why. Thick gold rings through her nipples. As I looked she went red again.

“Well, well. What do we have here? When did you have that done?”

“None of your damned business.”

I reach forward and took hold of a ring.

“I’m making it my business.” And I gave it a twist, which immediately gave rise to a loud shriek.

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

“Go to hell.”

I raised an eyebrow, and reach forward again.

“No, no, please, I had them done last week.”

“For your lover, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Rather hesitantly.

Hmm...

I walked round behind her again. Just a little more theatre and she would be naked. I snipped the sides of her knickers. The back flopped down exposing an almost perfect bum, and the remains fell to the floor. I stepped around the front to discover that her exposed mons had not a hair on it; smooth as ... well as it was when she was a baby. Not that I ever saw it then of course, it’s just that they don’t usually come with hair on them do they? When they’re babies. By which prattling you can probably judge that I was somewhat shocked.

“I expect that’s for Ruthie too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

I walked round the back of her again and, unbeknownst to her, picked up my cat o’ nine tails. Well, this was another item I had had to make, because it wasn’t like the traditional cat. This had nine tails, but no knots. The tails were soft, because I didn’t want to damage her skin, just cause a lot of pain. And it did that all right, I had tried it on myself and I can vouch for its effect. I gazed again at that perfect bum, a lovely creamy colour. I swung the cat and landed it across one cheek and slightly around her hip. It made a sort of thwackly-crackly sound. Not so Diana. A moment later she let out a high pitched screech. I should, I thought, have brought in some ear defenders from the workshop. She gasped for breath just as the second thwackly-crackly sound came on the other cheek, but this time there was just gasping and sobbing.

I laid the cat across her back in each direction, and she seemed to have difficulty in drawing breath. I cured this with a slightly upward swing to the inside of each thigh by which time she was shrieking away quite merrily again. OK, wrong word, but I was enjoying it; you can really get into this sadism thing.

Around to the front, and with tears running down her face.

“Please, no more,” she pleaded

“Didn’t Ruthie do this to you?”

“Not like that.”

“You know I almost feel sorry for you.”

As I glanced down, I saw a drip from her crotch.

“Oh dear, you’ve pissed yourself, how disgusting.”

But ... I reach out a hand. The fluid was sticky and slimy. She hadn’t pissed herself, she was turned on.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“No, no. I hate it.”

“No you don’t, you’re all juicy, you are turned on. Ruth must have recognised that you were submissive, and worked it from there. She must have thought she was on to a good thing. I’d no idea you swung the other way either, no wonder she thought I was a prat that she could dominate. When did you discover you liked girls?

Silence. I waved the whip

“D’you really want striped tits?”

“I played around a bit in college, only a few times.” She said hastily.