by Jennifer Harrison
Author’s note: sex doesn’t stop at forty, or after kids, and neither should bondage. But, always, beware what you wish for.
I knew I shouldn’t have done it, of course I did – you don’t fuck your daughter’s boyfriend, it’s Parenting 101. I have no excuses. But there were extenuating circumstances.
I had just had my fortieth birthday, a watershed in any woman’s life. I was five years divorced, two years since I’d had a serious relationship, and over a year since I’d had sex with anything other than my vibrator. My attempts to get a man were hampered by the fact that my 18 year old daughter, Ella, still lived at home.
My daughter and I had a love-hate relationship – I loved her unconditionally, because she was my daughter, and she hated me implacably, because I was her mother. I was also the one to blame, in her eyes, for driving her beloved father into the arms of the Italian slut he now lived with in Rome. She hardly saw him, mainly because he didn’t want a stroppy teenager invading his love nest and ‘cramping his style’, but apparently that was my fault as well.
Since puberty, she had always punished me by parading her wildly inappropriate relationships in front of me. She had delighted in telling me she had lost her virginity at fourteen, with a 17 year old boy, in the toilets at a disco she got into illegally. I ground my teeth and told her it was fine as long as she was using protection. This just made her mad.
There followed a string of boyfriends on my sofa – punks, layabouts, borderline criminals – ‘sucking face’, heavy petting and, on at least one occasion, having sex. They were always older than her, and it was clear that Ella had developed a reputation as an ‘easy lay’, a slut who always ‘put out’ on a first date. It was killing me to watch her destroy her life to punish me, but I knew if I said anything it would only make it worse.
When she got a weekend job at 16, she saw it as an opportunity to buy her own clothes, and she took to exclusively wearing miniskirts and hot pants, low-cut tops and ridiculously slutty high heels. Her body had developed pretty spectacularly too. I had always had big boobs and, since breast-feeding, wore a 36DD bra. I knew, as I still did her washing and was expected to buy her ‘normal’ clothes, that she wore a 32D bra, and she loved to flaunt her body, both to annoy me and to attract the boys.
And, for a brief period, the girls. That had been a weird fortnight, when she came home with Alex, a crop-haired bull-dyke, I think is the phrase, and, as well as kissing openly in front of me, had made sure I saw them on the sofa with her hand in my daughter’s pants. I soon put a stop to that, however, by telling Ella how much I liked Alex and how I was glad she had found someone she could really relate to – Alex was history by the end of the week. Reverse psychology is a wonderful thing.
But then there was Adrian. It was a Friday night about 7 o’clock, when I heard the door open and guessed Ella had finally made it back from school. I had my head under the kitchen sink trying to fix a small leak, and didn’t bother to look to see – she would probably have just blanked me anyway.
“Hi, mum, lovely view!”
I extricated myself and looked around. There was my daughter, still in her school uniform, skirt hitched up to well above mid-thigh, white blouse unbuttoned to show her bra and tied in front to show her midriff, heavy eye make-up and plum lipstick – the archetypal slutty schoolgirl. But next to her stood the most gorgeous hunk of a guy I had seen in a long time. Elegantly dressed in chinos, smart shirt and, I immediately noticed, good, clean shoes, he looked cool and sophisticated as he smiled confidently down at me.
That’s when I realised I was kneeling on the kitchen floor, wearing dirty slacks, a crumpled T-shirt and yellow rubber gloves, no make-up, my hair tied loosely up and sweat on my brow. I probably smelled odd too. Then I remembered what Ella had just said, and realised his first view of me had been of my fat arse, covered in stretched lycra, with visible panty lines on display. I was mortified.
I scrambled to my feet, Ella disappeared upstairs to change, and suddenly I was alone with him. I was totally flustered, offered him a glass of wine, which he accepted gracefully and politely, and apologised for my ‘disgusting’ appearance.
“You look wonderful, Mrs Henderson,” he lied gallantly.
“Oh please,” I twittered, “I look a mess, and call me Julia.” Good grief, I thought, what am I, 13?
“Ella hasn’t mentioned you before.”
“I’m sorry, Julia, let me introduce myself,” he said smoothly, holding out his hand, “I’m Adrian, your daughter and I have only been out a couple of times, she was probably waiting to see how it went before introducing me.” Well, I thought, I suppose there’s a first time for everything. His hand was smooth, his handshake firm and confident, without being bone-crushing.
It doesn’t matter how few clothes my daughter wears, she still takes forever to get ready. I spent a rather intoxicating hour finding out all about Adrian. I learned he was 30, a City trader, unmarried (although he’d been in a long relationship with a French woman), owned his own house and car, had been privately educated, gone to Cambridge University, and enjoyed riding and playing sports, tennis and squash particularly. What the hell are you doing with my slutty daughter, I thought. She must be good in bed!
Finally Ella reappeared, and I was surprised to see her wearing a quite tasteful summer dress. Too low cut, ridiculously short, and teamed with ludicrous clear plastic shoes with two-inch platforms and six-inch heels, but still better than what she usually wore.
“That’s a nice dress,” I said, trying not to sound suspicious.
“Adrian bought it for me,” she said, trying to sound as smug as possible, “he likes to see me in it, almost as much as he likes to see me out of it.”
I was impressed – not that he was seeing my daughter naked on the second date, but that she had found someone who would buy her nice, expensive presents on a second date! Definitely a keeper.
Off they went, and I realised I had had a little too much to drink while Adrian was there. I remembered rather too much giggling for a grown woman, possibly some inappropriate touching of his arm… I took myself off for a shower and an early night.
I woke up in the night when there was a noise downstairs. It was after midnight, and I wasn’t expecting Ella back tonight. I got out of bed and put on my silk dressing gown – there was a heatwave, almost unheard of in England, and I was sleeping naked – before sneaking downstairs to investigate. I had just reached the hallway, when Adrian suddenly stepped out of the lounge in front of me, giving both of us a fright.
“I’m sorry, Julia, did we wake you?” he asked with what sounded like genuine concern. I realised I was once again at a disadvantage in my own home, this time nearly naked!
“No, I just wasn’t sure…” I trailed off as I saw him glance down momentarily at my chest, and I looked down. My nipples were standing out through the thin material like little bullets, and I immediately went bright red as I put my arm across the offending area.
“Oh! No problem! I’ll leave you two to it!” I blustered, before scurrying back up the stairs and into the safety of my room, where I could properly experience my mortifying embarrassment. After calming my heart rate, I took off the dressing gown and got back into bed, but I couldn’t get back to sleep, I just lay there imagining what he must be thinking of me now – flirty, then drunk, then half naked and aroused… it didn’t look, or feel, very good.
I was hot, in more ways than one, too hot to sleep. I lay there for about half an hour, the covers thrown back, sweltering and obsessing. Suddenly, I started to hear noises. It sounded like they were getting amorous, but the noise was coming from downstairs rather than Ella’s bedroom – were they actually having sex in my kitchen, with me right above them?! For some unknown reason, I had to find out. I crept out of bed and listened by the door. The sounds were definitely coming from downstairs and, even though they were indistinct, I could tell the sound of someone – my own daughter – in the throes of passion.
In another inexplicable move, I put my dressing gown back on and sneaked out onto the landing. The noise was unmistakable, but still strangely indistinct – I could hear Ella saying something, but couldn’t make out a single word. After a few minutes, it became clear her excitement was building, and from the rhythmic nature of her muffled cries, it was obvious she was being fucked pretty hard. Again, I know I should have gone back to my room and try to ignore it, but for some reason I just sat there on the carpet at the top of the stairs, listening to my daughter getting what I desperately wanted. My hands strayed to the belt of my dressing gown, and it was open, and my fingers were in my pubic hair…
I’m not sure how I stopped myself fingering my pussy as I heard Ella cumming, loudly, passionately, and for a long time. As she finally fell silent, I waited, holding my breath, wondering what would happen next. Suddenly, I saw Adrian walk into the hall, and I was just about to crawl back to my room, when I saw Ella follow him, and she was stark naked!
The sight seemed to freeze me to the spot, and all I could do was watch as they went to the front door, then turned and kissed. It was clear that Adrian was going to leave, but I just kept looking down at them. As they broke the kiss, Adrian flashed a look directly at me. I fell back in panic. Oh crap! Did he see me? I scuttled across the landing and back into my room, trying to close my door silently but quickly. I sat there on the floor, eyes closed, wondering what the hell was happening to me. I was acting like a child, spying on the grown-ups, then I touching myself up, masturbating in the dark. I dragged my fingers out of my desperate little pussy and dragged myself to my bed. Eventually, I managed to fall into a troubled and unsatisfying sleep.
- o O o –
“So, what do you think of Adrian?” Ella asked as she wandered into the bathroom, ignoring the fact that I was already in there – no sense of personal space or privacy, that girl. She started wiping off her make-up as I dried myself after my shower.
I had slept badly, unable to get images of Ella and Adrian fucking out of my mind. Soon, the mental image had changed to Adrian and me fucking, and I felt deeply ashamed of such thoughts.
What did I think of Adrian? I thought he was handsome, rich, intelligent, calm, controlled. I really thought she should keep seeing him, he might actually save her from her self-destructive streak. It had nothing to do with me wanting to see him again, oh no…
“He’s way too old for you,” I said with as much disapproval as I could muster, “I can’t believe you had sex with him while I was right here! It was disgusting, and tells me he is a terrible influence!” Ella turned to me with a cruel smile.
“I knew you’d hate him, you’re so predictable!”
“I hope you won’t be seeing him again?” I asked, feeling a little nervous.
“Hah! I’m spending the weekend at his place, and let me tell you, we are going to fuck every way we can think of – remember that when you’re next playing with yourself!”
Reverse psychology, it’s a wonderful thing.
- o O o –
I managed to get Adrian out of my head for the next couple of weeks, and act like a proper, grown-up mother. Then Ella was away for the weekend, and I decided to take the opportunity to give her tip of a room a ‘deep clean’. Two bin bags of rubbish and a washing basket full of dirty knickers and wet towels later, I could actually see the floor to vacuum it.
I steeled myself, and went to clean under her bed. Among the half-empty pizza boxes and rotting food, I saw her ‘naughty box’. Everyone has one – a supposedly secret place where they keep their sex-related stuff. I was a traditionalist, and kept my stuff – only a very plain vibrator, a pair of thong panties and a half-cup bra – in the bottom of my knicker drawer. Ella kept hers in a box under the bed, and I had monitored its contents for many years, trying to get a handle on what my wild daughter was into.
The last time I looked, a couple of months ago, she had added what I eventually worked out (by ‘researching’ the internet) was a butt plug, something I found weird – how would you get any pleasure sticking something up your bum? I pulled the box out and took it to my own room, feeling once again that I was the naughty teenager spying on my parents, rather than the other way around.
When I opened the box, I saw Ella’s vibrator – a much bigger and more hi-tech thing than mine – the butt plug, and a couple of magazines she’d had for years. But my jaw dropped as I moved these aside and saw, nestled at the bottom, the shiny metal handcuffs and the bright red ballgag!
I took them out and stared at them. Ella was into bondage all of a sudden?! My mind suddenly went back to that night I had heard her having sex, and the reason for her muffled cries suddenly became clear – she’d been wearing this gag! Then I had another insight – it was Adrian who was into bondage and Ella, being the slut she was, had agreed to it! In my own house! He had cuffed and gagged my own daughter right under my nose! My heart was pounding, and while I hoped it was with righteous indignation, I really wasn’t sure.
And then the thoughts started to come, unbidden. What would it feel like to be gagged? To be cuffed, and taken roughly from behind, by a hunk like Adrian? Without consciously thinking about it, I got off the bed and stood in front of my full-length mirror. Slowly, reluctantly, I raised the gag until it was in front of my face.
‘Open your mouth and put it in,’ the voice in my head ordered gruffly, and I imagined the feel of a gun barrel pressing into the small of my back. Slowly my lips parted, first a little, then wider, and I pushed the ball into my mouth. I had worried I would mark it by biting down on the rubber, but it slipped in easily behind my teeth. It tasted funny, a little unpleasant, but not awful. It looked incredible.
‘Buckle it! Tighter!’ I obeyed, feeling the ball pulled deeper into my mouth.
“Please, let me go!” I tried to say, and felt a rush of excitement and arousal at the garbled, muffled sound that came out of my mouth.
‘Take off your clothes, slut!’ I looked pleadingly at my reflection, but I was to receive no mercy, and I ‘reluctantly’ pulled my T-shirt over my head, kicked off my flat shoes, and slid my track pants down my legs. Standing there in just my underwear, I begged with my eyes and made another incoherent plea for mercy, but it was useless, I had to unbuckle my bra and step out of my panties. I stood there, trying to cover my modesty with my hands. But then my anonymous tormentor indicated the bed, and I stepped over to it.
I looked down at the butt plug, and felt a surge of nervousness, almost fear, and almost overwhelming excitement. How would it feel? Surely, I couldn’t! I picked it up and felt its length, its girth – it couldn’t fit up there… could it?
There was a tube of KY Jelly in Ella’s box, but it was unopened – didn’t she need to use lube? – and she would know if I used it, so instead, I got a blob of moisturiser and rubbed that around my tight little hole – quite a weird feeling – then smothered the plug in it. I spread my legs, crouched down and, taking a deep breath, started to work it into my arse. It was weird, uncomfortable, and briefly painful, but I managed to get it all in, to the point where my little sphincter gripped the narrow neck before the flanged end. I could feel it inside me, like I was constipated. It didn’t physically excite me, but it fed this strange desire to be stripped and humiliated which had taken a tight grip on me.
To that end, I quickly picked up the handcuffs and, after checking the key worked, tightened them around my wrists. I moved back in front of the mirror, and loved the way my arms framed and squeezed my breasts together, making them look rather better than when they just sagged there. I let out a theatrical moan, and felt the saliva building up in my mouth. On an impulse, I forced it out past the ball, watching in fascination as it dribbled down my chin, then formed a long strand of drool down onto my chest, where it slid slowly down to my stomach, before finally disappearing into my pubic bush. It felt disgusting, and I was dismayed at how much this degrading behaviour was turning me on.
I went back into Ella’s room and continued my cleaning, still wearing the gag and cuffs, and nothing else. I worked hard and fast, imagining I was being forced to do it under threat of punishment. When I had finally got her room shiny clean, I moved on to all those horrible, messy jobs which I’d been putting off – cleaning the bath, shower and toilet, scrubbing the kitchen floor, dusting behind all those things which I never moved. It was like I was punishing myself for behaving in this way, and I was soon sticky with sweat and feeling as grubby as I was acting. I was always aware of the butt plug, feeling it inside me every time I moved, reminding me of my imagined position as some kind of slave. The idea that someone – anyone – would want me enough to keep me naked and restrained was a very appealing fantasy, and a huge turn-on.
After a couple of hours, my level of arousal had reached fever pitch, and I needed to do something about it. I went into my bedroom and picked up Ella’s vibrator and the handcuff keys, then went to the bathroom. The vibrator had a sucker cup on the bottom, and I stuck it on top of the porcelain side of the bath. I unlocked one of the cuffs so I could switch my hands to behind my back. At the last minute, I had a ‘bright idea’, one to make my bondage a little more interesting. I put the handcuff key on the floor of the shower cubicle, turned on the water, and closed the door – now I would have to get wet to get free!
I locked my wrists behind my back and went back to the bath. The vibrator looked enormous, a great silicone cock, complete with a moulded head and fake veins. I realised I had forgotten to put any sort of lube on it, but I was too excited to care. I turned my back and fumbled to find the ‘on’ switch, then swung one leg into the bath, so I could straddle the buzzing monster. I gently lowered myself onto it, letting out a loud moan as I felt the head pressing against my lips and transferring its vibrations into my body. Gradually I let it slide inside me, feeling it fill me up, and my moans got louder and more urgent. At last I felt my thighs touch the cold porcelain, and suddenly the presence of the butt plug became significant, as the two intruders seemed to meet inside me and multiply the vibrations’ effect by a factor of ten! Now I was crying out as I was forced to a climax before I was prepared for it, great waves of shudders ripping through my body so violently that I lost my balance, falling onto the floor, the vibrator coming free from the side of the bath and staying deep inside me.
I was writhing as if I was being electrocuted, the huge cock tormenting me as I continued to feel this never-ending orgasm coursing through me. I had quickly had enough of this, and wanted the vibrator out of me, but of course I had a big problem – my wrists were cuffed behind me, and I couldn’t reach to either switch it off or pull it out. I lay on my back, arching myself to try and reach between my legs, but it was no use. Having finally come down off that incredible high and feeling a huge wave of fatigue follow it, my arousal began to build again.
With a growing sense of desperation, I struggled to my feet and staggered into my bedroom, frantically searching for some way to switch the thing off. I tried to rub myself against the bed, to flick the switch, but then I remembered it was a push on / push off button, and I would need something hard to press it against. I was sweating now, and becoming tired, but I pushed myself to keep trying – I didn’t want to have to wait for the batteries to die!
I decided my best chance of working the switch would be to straddle the short post at the bottom of the bed and push myself down onto it to press the button. Of course, each time I did that, I was pushing the vibrator deeper into my pussy, increasing the impact of its stimulation, to the point where it was becoming painfully uncomfortable. I had to break off as I was forced to a second climax, before getting back to it, even more drained than before. This had stopped being fun some time ago, and now I was getting a bit panicky.
Eventually, and to my great relief, I got it right and the infernal buzzing stopped. I slumped down, lying across the bed, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. I felt deeply embarrassed by my ridiculous behaviour, but I couldn’t deny that I had enjoyed two tremendous orgasms.
I was really regretting my ‘bright idea’, because I’d had enough excitement for one day, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. It wasn’t until I got the shower cubicle door open that I realised I had also run off all the hot water, so I had to get into the freezing cold shower and scrabble around trying to pick up the key off the floor. It wasn’t as sexy as I’d hoped, but I was certainly getting that ‘humiliated and degraded’ feeling which had so appealed to me earlier. I crept out, dripping like a drowned rat and shivering, then spent a frustrating ten minutes trying to unlock the cuffs behind my back, which was much more difficult than I’d expected. At last, exhausted, I wrapped myself in a towel, slumped down on the bed, and took the ballgag out of my mouth, moaning in pain as I exercised my jaw.
I was still lying there a few minutes later when I was startled by the ringing of the telephone.
“Oh, hello there, Julia, it’s Adrian here.”
“Oh! Adrian!” Once again, I felt exposed, even though he couldn’t see me sitting naked on the bed, with a plug still in my butt.
“I’m sorry, Ella isn’t here, she gone away for the weekend.”
“I know,” he said, “I was calling to see if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight.”
“What?! No! I couldn’t… Ella… it’s not really appropriate.”
“I’m not asking you out on a date, Julia,” he said, and I could hear the amusement in his voice, “I just thought you might enjoy a little company. Unless you’ve got other plans?”
I looked at the yawning loneliness of my pathetic life, and made an instant, fateful decision.
“No. I mean yes, I’d love to.”
“Excellent! I’ll pick you up at eight.”
I looked at the clock and saw it was already 3PM – only five hours to get ready!
- o O o –
“You look ravishing, Julia!”
“Thank you, Adrian,” I said, enjoying the compliment. It had taken three hours of make-up and five changes of outfit before I had settled on the classic Little Black Dress. “But I’m afraid I can’t go.”
“Oh?” He didn’t sound surprised, or concerned, just slightly amused. “What’s the problem?”
“I can’t go out with you in public,” I replied, rehearsing the argument I had been having with myself since I’d said I would go, “if anyone I knew, or any of Ella’s friends, saw us, it would get back to her eventually, and then there would be hell to pay. I can’t do that to her.”
“Hmm.” As he seemed to be considering this, I took the opportunity to check him out. He was wearing a very well cut suit, expensive shirt, and stylish tie. Definitely shaggable, I thought – but then immediately reprimanded myself for thinking like that. Remember he’s your daughter’s boyfriend, I kept telling myself, and he’s strictly off limits, however much you might want him…
“Okay, if we can’t be seen in public,” he said with a smile, “I’ll take you back to my place and we can eat there. Come on.”
“What?!” I exclaimed, astonished at this outrageous suggestion, “going to restaurant might be misinterpreted, but going to your house is totally above suspicion?”
“Don’t worry, Julia, no-one will see us out together if we’re not out together.” The logic was unassailable. “Look, we’re just friends having a bite to eat and a couple of drinks. Nothing will happen… unless you want it to happen?”
“Nothing can happen!” I said, realising I was weakening. Five minutes later, I was in his 7-series BMW speeding towards his place, feeling terribly guilty but more excited than I had been in twenty years.
His house, like his car, was large, elegant and expensive. It was in the middle of nowhere, so certainly no-one saw us going there, that was for sure. I stood in a lounge bigger than all the rooms downstairs at my house, and admired the art on the walls while he fixed us a drink. We sat on the sofa and chatted, smooth music played, and there was a distinct lack of cooking. After about twenty minutes the doorbell rang and he went to answer it.
“I hope you like Chinese,” he said when he returned with the takeaway he had ordered. I laughed, we went into his dining room and we ate a pretty good meal, washed down with more wine.
“You’re a very attractive woman, Julia,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said coquettishly, “I’m way too old for you, you’re dating my 18-year old daughter for God’s sake!”
“Don’t get me wrong, I like your daughter, Julia, but I prefer the more… mature woman. Shall we go through to the lounge?”
We went back to the sofa, the lights were soft and low, and I started to think that maybe I’d had a little too much wine.
“I find older women are far more experienced,” he went on, “they know what they want and know how to get it.”
“Really?” I said, thinking that my daughter had experienced more in her short life than I had in all my years.
“For example, young women think sex is all ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ and get very earnest about the physical act, whereas an older woman knows it’s all a game, and they’re more likely to play with it.” I wish you’d play with me, I was thinking.
It’s like he’s read my mind. He leans over towards me and, as I sit there like a deer in the headlights, puts his hand behind my neck, pulls me forward, and kisses me. It’s heavenly, his tongue entwined with mine, his other hand caressing my waist, then my breast. I become a little light-headed, and it isn’t all down to the wine, or even a lack of oxygen. I feel his hand move from my neck to the top of my dress, then slowly the zip is pulled down. This is so wrong, but it feels so good! I ought to stop him, but there is no way I can bring myself to do it. When the zip is all the way down, he slowly pulls the dress off my arms and down to my waist. I feel terrible as I lift my bottom so that he can pull the dress all the way down and take it off me – now I can’t pretend it is all his doing, I have actively participated for the first time.
Now his hands roam across the bare skin of my stomach, back and shoulders, as well as massaging my breasts, while his kissing becomes firmer and more urgent. With an expert and experienced touch, he unhooks my bra and starts to pull that away from me.
“Oh, please, don’t look at my saggy tits!” I protest, covering myself.
“I love your saggy tits!” he says, gently but firmly moving my hands away, holding them against the sofa either side of my head as he takes my right nipple into his mouth.
“I’m a breast man,” he says indistinctly, as he nuzzles and nibbles away. “I love them, the bigger, the softer, the fleshier the better.” He doesn’t seem to be just saying that either, he seems to be enjoying them. I let out a long, lustful moan – I’ve always enjoyed having my breasts played with, and he’s doing a fine job on them.
His hands are no longer holding my own down but are pulling down the sides of my panties. Again, I shamelessly help him by raising my buttocks off the sofa. I am now naked apart from my heels, and he quickly removes those as well. He sucks hard on my nipples, first one then the other, his fingers running along my thighs as I throw back my head, eyes closed, and wantonly spread my legs. I’m lost, utterly consumed by my desperate, aching need for his touch.
“Have you ever tried bondage, Julia?”
“What?!” I exclaim a little muzzily, as I come back from the trance-like state I have fallen into. “Being tied up? That’s… that’s disgusting!” I try to sound disgusted, but even I can hear the lust in my voice.
“Many women find it very liberating,” he says as he continues to run his fingers tantalisingly around my sex, “they find it allows them to lose their inhibitions and enjoy their true feelings, unencumbered by guilt. After all, you can’t blame yourself if you have no control over events.”
I arch my back as his manicured nails graze my pussy, sending bolts of electricity through me. I can’t take much more of this teasing, as images of myself from this afternoon, cuffed and gagged, swim before my eyes.
“Do what you want to me,” I whine, losing all thoughts of resistance, “tie me up, gag me, whatever you want, but fuck me!”
I open my eyes and see the confident smile on his face as he reaches behind a cushion and pulls out a length of white rope. The bastard, he had this planned all along, and was so sure I would go along with it! But I just lie there and watch, as he takes my arm and slowly wraps the rope around my wrist several times, then knots it tightly. It feels so soft, yet so secure! It sends a tingling feeling through my body, and I watch as he ties a second rope around my other wrist. Now he takes my right leg, holding it by the ankle and bringing it up onto the sofa. He ties the rope from my right wrist tight around the ankle, so that my arm is lying along my shin and the two limbs are held tightly together. He repeats this on the other side and there I am, helpless and spread wide open!
As I pull on the ropes, testing what I already know, he is holding a gag up before my face, waiting for me to open up and receive it. I look questioningly at his face – do I really have to? – but his expression is calm, confident, commanding. I swallow nervously, part my lips and allow him to push it into place. The ball is larger than the one I tried earlier, but softer – I can squeeze down on it, but when I relax, it expands and pushes my jaws apart again. There’s a hole through the middle of it, a firm cylinder which I can’t crush as I bite down, which allows me to breathe easily and, I notice, also allows my moan of desperation and need to escape unmuffled from my throat.
Finally, his fingers part my nether lips and he touches my throbbing little button, sending shivers through me and making me moan even louder. He was right, I can now tell him to stop what he’s doing, fight to get free, try to pull my legs together to protect my ‘virtue’, and it won’t make a blind bit of difference, he will do exactly what he wants with me, and I can only lie there and hope it includes a damn good fucking!
He teases and torments me, sucking and biting my nipples, massaging and roughly squeezing my breasts, tickling my fanny, running his fingers tantalisingly over my hot, dripping hole. And I love every excruciating, frustrating second, sure that at some point, he’s going to fuck me so hard! My garbled, unintelligible moans now beg him to take me, not release me, but they have the same effect as before – absolutely none. And then, all of a sudden he gets up and leaves the room.
I’m more than a little confused, and seriously begin to think he is going to let me die of frustration, but after a couple of minutes he returns, with a small wash bag. He sits down on the carpet in front of me, between my outspread legs, and takes an aerosol can out of the bag. Oh no, do I stink that badly that he’s got the deodorant out? I do smell strongly of sex, and I know I’m dripping onto his plush leather sofa…
“Sorry,” he says with a smile, “but I hate getting pubes stuck in my teeth when I go down on a woman.”
I don’t really understand the comment, but I understand ‘going down’, and I almost wet myself with excitement at the thought. As I daydream, my pubic mound is covered in shaving foam, and Adrian has a safety razor in his hand. I have never shaved down there, and no-one has ever shaved me anywhere, but it’s just incredible. I’m totally aroused already, and the feel of the blades as they scrape over my pussy lips is one of the most erotic experiences of my life. After only a couple of minutes, he wipes away the remaining foam, and I look down at my bald pussy for the first time since puberty.
“That’s better,” he says, and leans down over me, not to kiss my mound but to run his tongue all the way up my slit. I scream and almost cum right there, the feeling is so intense. Now he settles himself down, and begins torturing me with pleasure all over again. I don’t know how long he keeps licking, nibbling and probing – it feels like hours, always at the edge of orgasm, but never reaching it. I didn’t know it was possible to be so controlled, and controlling, to know just when one more lick would send me over the edge, and to be able to pull back and watch as I writhe and squirm and moan in my almost-climax. And then to do it again, and again. I’m out of my mind with lust by now, desperate for release, but it just won’t come. This is torture, now – beautiful torture, but torture nonetheless.
“Shall we move through to the bedroom?” he asks as he unties my ankles from my wrists. Oh God yes! Maybe there he’ll give me what I need now, more than ever!
He gives me a hand up, but makes no move to remove the gag, and neither do I – I know my bondage isn’t over, I know how much he is into it, how much he enjoys being in total control. And I don’t want it to end either –being totally at his mercy is a turn-on, just as he said it would be. I have never let a man do what he’s done to me, and the result has been the most fantastic feeling. All I need now is the final release…
It feels strange to be padding around his house naked, gagged, with ropes still dangling from my wrists, while he’s still fully clothed – even while I’m ‘free’, he’s in total control.
I’m amazed when I see his bed. It’s a huge four-poster framed bed, but in cold, hard iron, rather than elegantly turned wood. What a perfect bed for bondage, I think, but then I see all the strategically positioned eyelets, perfect for tying or locking chains, and realise it was purpose-built for that – any woman walking into this room knows what to expect. I know what to expect.
He has me crawl up onto the mattress and position myself facing down the bed, leaning down to the rail across the bottom. He ties the ropes on my wrists to the corner posts, stretching me along the rail as I kneel down, bent forward. He stands in front of me with a length of rope, and I watch in fascination and some fear as he ties it into a hangman’s noose. When he’s done, he puts it over my head and pulls it tight until I can feel it restricting my airway slightly. I’ve heard of ‘breath play’, auto-asphyxiation, and now I’m fucking scared, finally realising just how vulnerable I am. He ties the other end of the rope to the bars below me, making sure I am pulled down firmly against the iron bar and there’s not an inch of slack. My face is reddening as he strokes my cheek, then walks behind me, out of my line of vision.
I feel something being strapped between my knees, forcing them further apart, leaving me wide open. Then a rope is tied around my waist, hoisting me up so that my bottom is presented at the perfect height and angle. Okay, enough preparation already, I think, let’s get to the main event!
But Adrian still isn’t done. I watch in dismay as he sets up a tripod and video camera right in front of me. There is a massive flat screen TV on the wall in front of me, and it bursts into life, displaying a larger-than-life image of my face, a flush of red in the cheeks, a look of alarm in the eyes and a strand of drool hanging from my chin. I’m really in trouble now, he’s going to record us having sex, and there is nothing I can do about it! All I can hope is that, with that noose tight around my neck, it isn’t going to be a snuff movie!
Finally, Adrian takes his clothes off. Wow, his body was worth waiting for – tight, firm buttocks, strong thighs like a tennis player, smooth, strong chest, muscled arms – he clearly enjoys working out and loves his body. Then he turns and I see his erect cock, and I feel the drool running down my thigh as well as down my chin! I don’t know inches, but from my vast sexual experience of half a dozen guys, he’s considerably better endowed than all of them.
I feel him get onto the bed behind me, and I see him, on the big screen, squeezing a dollop of lubricant onto his hand and then smearing it over my sex – not that I need it, I’m so ready, my pussy is convulsing, ready to swallow him whole! I’m relieved to see him slide a condom down his shaft – no way do I want to get pregnant at my age, and in these circumstances – and finally he’s ready.
As he slides into me, I let out almost a howl of pleasure, a release of tension that has been building for the last twelve months, never mind the last few hours. He starts with long, deep, slow strokes, bringing me back to that fever pitch, then suddenly slamming into me, his thighs slapping against my buttocks. I shoot forward, and the noose around my neck is pulled a little tighter, choking me a little more, and it doesn’t loosen at all as he pulls back. Three strokes like that, and I cum to one of the most intense, and certainly the most frightening, climaxes of my life.
Adrian goes back to his long, languid, deep penetrations, leaning over and grabbing my breasts hanging below me, pinching my nipples to erection. I look up at the screen and I’m shocked by the look on my face – sweat on my brow, eyes bulging and wide with terror, face red and blotchy from the root of my hair down to the white line of the rope cutting into my neck. This is as scary as it is arousing.
As he senses my arousal rising once again, Adrian drives into me, clearly intent that we should climax together this time. I am really fighting for breath now, and stare desperately at the screen, hoping he will see my distress and stop to loosen the rope, but I can tell from the look on his face that he’s enjoying every second of my suffering. All I can hope now is that he, and I, cum before I lose consciousness!
Suddenly, the picture in front of me changes. Instead of my own tortured face, I’m looking at the face of my daughter! She is in exactly the same position as me, tied in exactly the same way, drooling from the same gag, her face bloated and her eyes wide exactly as mine are. I scream at the point of orgasm, and tears are suddenly streaming down my face – tears of fear, of shame, and finally of relief, as Adrian loosens the noose and lets me breathe freely once more. I sag against my bondage, exhausted. What the hell have I got myself into? What kind of monster have I given myself over to?
End of part 1
Copyright© 2012 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.