by Jennifer Harrison

Part 4

Author’s note: sex doesn’t stop at forty, or after kids, and neither should bondage. But, always, beware what you wish for.

“Adrian has asked me to marry him and I’ve accepted!”

The delight on my daughter’s face was unmistakable, and I felt sure was only increased by the open-mouthed look of shock and horror on my face. As she stood in front of me, lovingly clutching her fiancé’s arm, head on his shoulder, I could find nothing to say.

Ella had been dating Adrian for three months now, and throughout that time, he had been fucking and abusing me on the side. I spent some time during most weekends at his house, sometimes cleaning or cooking like a skivvy, sometimes being used like a common prostitute, sometimes being tortured like a sex slave.

He had introduced me to the ‘delights’ of anal sex fairly early on, spending plenty of time preparing me by stretching me with larger and more painful plugs. He left me ungagged through this phase, clearly enjoying my cries of agony and pleas for mercy. This had gone on for a week, with me having to report each evening for my ‘anal exercises’, as he put it. I doubt if he needed to take this long, he was just enjoying making me suffer in anticipation of my eventual defilement. At last, with me tied with my arms up behind me and my bottom in the air, he administered an enema to clean me out, before finally buggering me, hard and deep, ending by pumping his cum inside me. His acute sense for identifying and maximising my humiliation led him to leave me there, and allow the cum to leak back down between my buttocks, before dribbling down my thigh. Once he had taken my anal ‘virginity’, it became a regular feature of our sessions.

Pain also became a regular feature, one which I dreaded even more than the anal rape. He often flogged me, enjoying my screams and tears, especially when he directed his blows at my pussy or breasts. But he also employed the cane and the riding crop liberally when the mood took him. Many times I had to dress carefully to hide the marks on my body when I went to school, and that task wasn’t helped by the skimpy outfits he made me wear.

And then there were those ‘special occasions’, where I feared either for my life, my sanity, or my reputation. One time which seemed to threaten all three had occurred when he turned up at my house in the early hours of a Saturday morning, having left Ella sleeping at his own place. He had stripped me, tied and gagged me, and bundled me into the boot of his car. Half an hour later, I was pulled out and dumped in the high street of a market town ten miles from my home! I could only watch as he drove away, then I ran for cover, before walking home, risking discovery or a traffic accident on the dark, winding country roads. It took me until just before dawn to get back to my house, where I had to struggle to get my hands free so I could finally go back to bed.

Breath play, choking and strangulation were a big part of what turned him on, but I wasn’t quite sure if it was the act itself which aroused him, the frisson of perhaps causing an ‘accidental’ death, or the terrified reaction it induced in me. On one occasion, he took me out onto his substantial plot of garden, dressed in nothing but chains on my wrists and ankles, and a ring gag in my mouth, making me carry a spade out with me. My natural assumption was that he was going to make me work in the fields like a slave, which he did, but when I realised that my task was to dig a deep hole, I began to fear that a far more likely explanation was that he was making me dig my own grave!

He had brought a flogger, among other things, and he used it liberally on me whenever I tried to stop or even slow down to take a breather. It was a hot, sunny day, and I was soon bathed in sweat as I dug out the hole until it was three or four feet deep, and Adrian told me to stop and get out.

I needed to rest, but immediately he started tying me up, arms behind my back, legs together and then thigh to calf so I could only kneel on the ground, then thighs to body so I was trussed up in a ball. He grabbed a couple of the ropes and manhandled me into the hole, and I really started to freak out, screaming and wailing, struggling pointlessly, as he shovelled the dirt I had taken from the hole back in around me and onto me.

He quickly filled the hole until I was buried up to my shoulders. I hadn’t stopped crying and shouting incoherently since he’d started, but suddenly I was silenced, as he pulled a plastic bag over my head and duct taped it tight around my neck. As I tried to suck in air, the plastic clung to my face, sending a jolt of terrified panic to my brain. I had to breathe out, and the bag expanded, fogging up with the moisture from my breath, but as soon as I breathed in again, it stuck to me as if it was vacuum sealed, which it pretty much was. The air was already stale, and I started to hyperventilate as the amount of oxygen rapidly fell. I could see stars, and my vision was becoming blurred, not just from the misted plastic in front of my eyes. I could feel myself passing out, and I knew he was watching me, fighting for my life, while he masturbated over me!

When I came to, I could feel and see that he had made a hole in the plastic bag and fed a pipe into my mouth, through the ring gag, before duct taping the pipe in place. I was still terrified, and for good reason, as he resumed shovelling dirt around me. Gradually he covered my shoulders, then my neck, then my plastic-covered head up to my eyes. He got down on the ground, and looked me straight in the eyes. He was smiling, as always, and I felt him patting me on the head, as he mouthed ‘Goodbye!’ to me. Then he got up, and I was plunged into darkness as he finally covered my head!

As I screamed continuously into the breathing tube, I heard him somewhere in the distance shouting for me to be quiet, but I couldn’t – not until he put something over the end of the tube, probably his hand, cutting off my air supply. He released it again after a few seconds, but I had learned my lesson – I sobbed silently in my tomb!

The next few hours were hell. I could hear nothing but my own, laboured breathing. Every time I felt something on my skin, I panicked, imagining worms and centipedes crawling over my body, and into various crevices. I was constantly worried that something would crawl, or would be put, into the tube providing my lifeline to the surface. I knew Adrian might piss into it, or even wank into it; when he didn’t, I assumed he’d abandoned me here – he was probably out enjoying himself somewhere, or fucking my daughter…

When he finally dug me out, it was dark. I went home, got a bottle of wine, got into the bath, and contemplated suicide. It seemed the only way out, but I knew even that would not solve my problems.

His hold on me was the same throughout this abuse – on the one hand, he threatened to destroy my life through exposure at work, at home, and with friends and family; on the other he threatened to destroy my daughter’s life, by doing to her whatever I refused to let him do to me. It was a combination I could not find a way to combat. Even after death, he could carry out his threat.

“Aren’t you going to wish your daughter well, Julia?”

“Oh! Er… of course,” I said, flustered by my initial reaction. We hugged and air-kissed with a mutual lack of sincerity.

“Have you set a date?” I managed to ask, trying to sound like a real mother.

“July 23rd!” Ella said, in obvious excitement, “followed by a whole month on honeymoon!”

I managed to smile and sound enthusiastic as I asked them about their plans for married life, and I tried to look like I was listening to the answers, but all I could think about was, how was this going to affect me.

“Don’t worry, Julia, I’m not stealing your daughter away, I’m not going to lock her away in a dungeon – not unless she wants me to, that is.” This last was said with the evil, smug grin, and elicited girlish giggling from Ella, with a half-whispered “Ooh, yes please, Master!” I felt physically sick.

“I certainly hope you will come to visit us, I have enjoyed your company very much in the last few months.” I glanced at Ella, but this didn’t seem to raise any suspicions. Adrian, meanwhile, was looking innocently at me, and I wondered whether he would allow any change to our relationship. My hopes were not high.

- o O o –

I arrive early on Friday at his house to do my work. It’s a week to the wedding, but all the joy of preparing for my only daughter’s big day has been totally ruined by the unwelcome attentions of her fiancé. There has been no break in the pattern of his use and abuse of me, and now, here I am, the weekend of his stag party, and I’m cooking and cleaning his house for him, in the nude, and with chains on my wrists and ankles.

After a long, arduous day, I’m hoping this is the extent of my involvement in his stag do, but of course, that would be naïve of me. He leads me to the bathroom and tells me to shower, then go to the guest bedroom, where I’ll find my clothes for the evening.

When I emerge from the shower, my heart sinks as I see the clothes on the bed. It’s a maid’s outfit, but not like the one I wore before – plain, cheap, uninteresting – this is a classic design for a stag party. As I pull it on, the black latex squeezes me tight across the bust and the stomach. The skirt flares out from just above the hips and, despite the frilly white lace underneath, it barely covers me, and I know my pussy or bottom will be on display if I bend over even a little bit. There are hold-up fishnet stockings, and four inch high heels to go with the dress, along with a velvet choker and a frilly white band for my hair. I look at myself in the mirror, and I feel depressed – I used to be good looking, but now I look all of my forty years, tired, worn down, defeated. What am I doing here? What does the guy see in me? But I know, this is nothing to do with looks, it’s not even much about sex, it’s about power – his power over me.

The guests for the evening are about a dozen men, all around Adrian’s age, and the early evening activities include a lot of eating, drinking, and watching porn. I’m kept busy providing the food and drink, but there is no ‘funny business’ – most of the guys look at me as if I’m some kind of freak, wondering why I’m wearing the tarty clothes and displaying myself, when I’m so old! They’re probably feeling sorry for Adrian, that he hasn’t been able to get anyone hotter to waitress for him.

I get a huge shock when I see, and hear, the DVD of a woman, tied to Adrian’s bed, and being fucked from behind by Adrian, while she chokes, a noose tied around her neck. It isn’t me, and it isn’t Ella, but it’s the same scenario as we’ve both been in, and I immediately fear that this is merely a prelude to our appearance on screen. There’s general amusement at the scene, and several of the guests congratulate Adrian on both his performance, and his ability to get the woman to agree to such extreme treatment.

“So, Ade, when does the ‘entertainment’ arrive?” one of the guests asks, as the DVD ends.

“She’s been here all the time,” he says, indicating in my direction with a flourish. There’s a rather awkward silence as all faces turn to me, with a mixture of surprise, bafflement and some distaste.

“Er, no offense, but she’s a bit… old?” someone pipes up. Adrian smiles broadly.

“Julia, would you go upstairs and bring down everything I’ve laid out on my bed?”

I go upstairs and see what he has planned out for me – the bed is covered in ropes, chains, gags, canes, crops, floggers, and other stuff I haven’t seen before. I start to cry, but I still gather it all up in my arms and take it downstairs. When I go back into the main room, Adrian tells me to put everything down on the table, then to take off my dress. I give him a pleading look, but I dare not argue with him, I know he will punish me horribly if I embarrass him in front of his friends. I get a smile, and an expectant look, in return. Slowly, reluctantly, I strip out of the latex, and stand in front of the staring group in just the stockings, heels, choker, and ridiculous maid’s hair band.

“Yes, I could have got some young, fit stripper to come along,” Adrian explains as he gets up, walks over to stand behind me, and reaches around to massage my breasts, “but Julia here will do so much more than just take her clothes off.”

He picks up a length of rope, and ties my arms behind me, wrist to elbow, before using another rope to create a harness around my breasts, making them bulge hideously. To this bondage, he adds a head harness ring gag, and then spreads my legs with a bar strapped between my ankles. I feel mortified to be forced into this situation, to be displayed like this to all these strangers, but my heart is pounding like a drum, I’m salivating, I’m prickling with sweat, and – oh God, the shame of it – my pussy is getting very warm! This is one of my all-time hottest ever fantasies!

“She is very good at giving head, takes it up the arse, and has a very hungry cunt,” Adrian continues. “She also enjoys a bit of corporal punishment, if that takes your fancy. Bend over, Julia, and make yourself available to my friends.” I do as I’m told, knowing resistance at this point is pointless. Now I’m bent over, my arse in the air, my ballooning breasts below me, staring back at their shocked faces.

“I suggest you use these,” he says, producing a box of condoms – a large box, I notice – “not for her benefit, to be honest, but you don’t all want to be getting sloppy seconds, do you? Don’t be shy, guys. She’s as desperate to be fucked as, hopefully, you are to fuck her.”

There is a pregnant pause, as they look at each other to see who’s going to go first. After maybe a minute, one of them gets up and walks around behind me. I feel his hand on my buttock, then sliding down between my thighs to feel my pussy, which is hot and moist – I am unbelievably turned on right now! I can’t stop a moan escaping as his fingers probe my lips, parting them, pushing slightly inside me.

“Fuck! The horny bitch is wet for me!” he exclaims.

I feel my face burning as I see them all staring at me, and I close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, someone else has got up and approached me, standing in front of me, putting his fingers through the ring gag into my mouth.

“I think she’s gagging for it,” he says, getting a few groans from the others, “you ready to take her, Mark?”

Moments later, I am being fucked in my mouth and in my pussy, while being watched by ten other guys! I cum just from the unbelievable situation, never mind what they’re doing to me – how many times have I had this dream? On display, being discussed dispassionately by a group of total strangers, being touched, being fucked, both ends at once, unable to resist…

I taste the cum in my mouth, and swallow it more eagerly than I have ever done before. I cum again as I feel the cock inside me jerk and pump, and my pussy convulsively grips down on it through my orgasm.

“Fuck, she’s good!” I hear someone say, and I soon find myself sucking and licking a new cock, while someone else drives into me from behind.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of depravation, as I am taken on the floor, against the wall, on the table, before being forced upstairs and tied to the bed for further sexual assaults. I am buggered, and someone even puts their cock between my bound breasts and ‘tit-fucks’ me, spurting his cum over my chest and neck. After some effort, three of them manage to arrange themselves so they can fuck me in the mouth, pussy and arse all at the same time. I am soon in a complete daze, so exhausted that I have no idea who is doing what to me, how many times I’ve cum, whether I’m suffering pain or pleasure from all of this. Any distaste at ‘fucking an old bird’, as I heard one person say, seems to have been well and truly laid to rest.

Eventually, everyone’s sexual appetites seem to have been sated, at least temporarily, and their attentions turn to other interests. It starts with spanking, but quickly escalates to use of the crop, caning, and then flogging. Someone suggests a ‘wanking contest’, and I’m dragged outside into the night air, forced down on the ground, and I become the centre of a circle of masturbating men competing to be the first to spray me! There is great hilarity as I am covered in their spunk. This is quickly followed by a ‘pissing contest’, and you can guess what that entails!

At some point in the early hours of the morning, I fall into an exhausted sleep. When I wake, it’s daylight, and I’m stiff and aching, having been left tied up as I slept. I wonder if I will now be allowed to clean myself up and go home, but this is not a stag night, it’s a stag weekend!

I’m allowed to take a quick shower, before I’m dressed in the maid’s costume once again. I have to make breakfast for them all, and the rest of the day is spent waiting on them as they relax by the pool, eating and drinking. There’s the occasional break, as I have to suck one of them off, or they fuck me, all out by the pool, in front of the others. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I find this public humiliation and debauchery incredibly arousing. Adrian, who has been watching all these bacchanalian activities with a cold but amused detachment, can clearly see the effect it has had on me, and moves in to take advantage of the situation.

“Julia, I think we’d all be entertained if you masturbated for us.”

“W-what?!” I stammered, totally shocked, “Here? Now?!”

“Yes,” he smiled, “right here, right now.”

My face is bright red with shame and embarrassment, tears are rolling down my cheeks, but I kneel down in front of them all, pull my skirt to one side to expose my bald pussy, and go to work with my fingers. At first I’m self-conscious as they whoop and cheer encouragement, but I soon shut them out and close my eyes, my hands roaming over my latex-clad breasts, as I lose myself completely in the sensations I’m causing, and the mental images that go with it. Pretty soon, I’m shouting out in orgasm, my body convulsing so violently that I collapse onto the flagstones, finally subsiding into a whimpering, twitching wreck.

“Well done, Julia. Now get me a drink.”

When evening falls, I have to cook dinner for them, then the activities of the previous night are repeated. One addition is a chance to watch the DVD Adrian has made of the last twenty four hours! I’m forced to watch it while bound to a chair, ballgagged, and being ‘pleasured’ with a wand vibrator. I cum twice, noisily, as I watch myself on screen, amusing them all and setting up the evening perfectly.

On Sunday morning, the revellers gradually drift off home, and after I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom, I’m allowed to leave too. I go straight to bed, and sleep for fifteen hours straight, before getting up to go to work. Only six more days to the wedding, if I can survive it. Maybe then, things will change?

- o O o –

All week in the lead-up to the wedding, I was tormented by memories of that weekend. I was so conflicted – on the one hand, I had been subjected to cruel and obscene treatment by a group of men I had never met and didn’t know; on the other hand… I had loved it, and every time I thought about it, I was ashamed to the point where I cried, but also aroused to the point where I had to touch myself. When I masturbated, I thought of myself in front of all those men – wanton, debased, just a worthless slut performing for cruel, heartless, anonymous strangers… and I would cum again, cringing in self-loathing.

I was in a mess when the morning of the wedding came around. Ella was like an excited puppy and, luckily, couldn’t see how distracted and nervous I was. I couldn’t help thinking Adrian would have something planned, something to make my day unbearable. As usual, when I thought how evil Adrian could be, I underestimated him.

My ex-husband David, Ella’s father, was there with his Italian eye candy Francesca, which didn’t make things any easier. When the time finally came for me to leave for the church, Francesca came with me, which led to a long, uncomfortable car ride. She was about twenty five, fucking gorgeous, elegantly – and expensively – dressed, and looked so fucking smug, I could have scratched her eyes out!

When we got to the church, all the other guests were seated, and Adrian was in his place. As we approached the front, Adrian and his best man got up to welcome us, and I stopped dead in my tracks, chin on the floor, the pit of my stomach somewhere subterranean. The best man was one of the guys from the stag do, of course he was, how could I have not realised that! With a kind of sixth sense, I turned to my right, and there, filling a whole pew, were the other guys from the stag party, looking stunned, and then breaking out into smiles!

I was in a daze as Adrian asked if he could have a quick word, and led me into a side room where the register would be signed. I was totally lost as I turned to look at him.

“Take off your dress, Julia,” he ordered in a cold, business-like way.

“Please, Adrian,” I said, unable to comprehend what was going on, “not here, not in the church!”

“Hurry up, or Ella will be here before you’re ready. You don’t want to keep your daughter waiting on her big day, do you?”

What the FUCK?! This cannot be happening!

Still feeling like I was in some kind of dream, I took off my summer dress, and stood before my soon-to-be son-in-law in my slip, bra and panties.

“Take those off – quickly, come on!” I tried to fight back the tears as I stripped naked in the cold church.

“Put this on,” he commanded, handing me a tangle of leather straps. I sorted it out, and realised it was some kind of body harness, but what took my attention were the two dildos attached to it. I looked up at him in disbelief, wondering again at just how monstrous he was.

“You should moisten those before you try and put them in,” he said, pointing at the dildos, “but I’d get a move on, the vicar might come in at any moment.”

The tears were flowing as I sucked on the silicone devices, then stepped into the harness and forced them home, gritting my teeth against the pain. The harness went between my legs, around my waist, then split to form a diamond pattern around each breast, then up over my shoulders. Once I had got it on, Adrian stepped in to tighten all the buckles, so it squeezed me tight all over, and forced the dildos even further into me. I heard soft clicks as he padlocked the buckles.

“Okay, now put your dress back on, and we can rejoin the others.” I looked around, but he had already disposed of my underwear, and I had no option but to put my dress on over the bondage gear, dab my eyes dry, and follow him back into the main part of the church.

“Are you alright, Julia?” Francesca said as I sat down gingerly on the wooden pew, feeling the intruders move inside me, “you look upset.”

“My daughter’s getting married,” I said angrily, glad to have a chance to vent some of my feelings, “of course I’m fucking upset!”

The rest of the ceremony completely passed me by, as all I could think about was the tight leather constricting my body, the butt plug sitting uncomfortably in my arse and, mostly, the dildo moving around in my pussy. It was uncomfortable, but in a disconcertingly erotic way. Francesca on one side of me, and David on the other, must have wondered if I had ants in my pants, the way I kept shifting and squirming in my seat, and from the little whimpering noises I kept making.

The next thing I really remember was being on the receiving line at the reception, alongside David, and Adrian’s parents.

“What’s wrong with you, Julia?” David hissed, “You seem totally distracted. Can’t you look happy, even on your daughter’s wedding day?”

“What’s wrong with you, David?” I countered, “Couldn’t you manage without your Italian tart, even on your daughter’s wedding day?”

“Hello again, Mrs Henderson, or may I call you Julia?” I turned back to the line of guests to find the best man, Mark, holding out his hand, looking at me with a knowing smile, and I remembered him, the previous weekend, looking down on me as he came in my face. I felt my cheeks go red, and I became flustered, feeling a sudden flush of heat in my loins. It didn’t get better as he was followed by all the other guys from the stag party, all with their smug grins and suggestive comments – ‘great spread, Mrs Henderson’, ‘glad they finally tied the knots, eh, Mrs Henderson?’, ‘suck my dick, Mrs Henderson’ – oh, no-one said that one, that was just in my head!

The happy couple started the first dance, but then Ella came and pulled Adrian’s dad onto the dance floor, and Adrian came and got me up. As we twirled around, I could feel him fingering the padlocks through my dress, and I realised that anyone who danced with me would probably also feel them.

“Please sir,” I whispered, “may I have the keys to unlock myself?”

“Later, Julia,” he replied, “don’t worry, you’ll get them later.”

When the song ended, I went to sit down, and no-one could drag me out there again. Also, I realised I’d better not drink, as I didn’t want to have to go to the toilet with these things locked inside me!

“What the fuck are you doing, mum?” Ella came over two hours later with a thunderous expression on her face. “You’ve been sitting here, being a killjoy, all night! Can’t you be even a little bit happy for me? Why are you trying to ruin my big day?”

“I’m sorry, darling,” I said, genuinely regretting I was so obviously looking as miserable as I felt, “I think I just need a breath of fresh air.”

I gave her a cheerful smile and went outside. It was a clear night, and the stars were out. Full of romance, I thought, except I didn’t feel romantic, I felt uncomfortable, sore, stretched and… horny! I hadn’t realised until then just how aroused I was by the dildo inside me.

“I was wondering if you might like to come up to my room later.” I turned, and saw Mark, the best man, had come outside and stood behind me.

“Why on Earth would I do that?” I asked incredulously.

“To get these,” he replied, holding up a set of padlock keys, “Adrian put them in my safe keeping, as he’ll be leaving soon with his new wife.”

“Give them to me,” I said sternly, holding out my hand. He put the keys in his pocket.

“Later. In my room. In the meantime, would you care to dance?”

Well, I knew he knew about the padlocks, so I thought, what the hell, at least Ella will see that I’m joining in. And the weird thing is, despite the looming threat of what he might do to me in his room later before he gave me those keys, I actually started to enjoy myself, for the first time in a long time. Adrian and Ella went off in a blaze of confetti, tin cans and over-inflated condoms, then Mark and I got back on the dance floor and partied hard. When the slow numbers came along, it felt so good to feel his hands around me, starting in the small of my back but creeping down onto my bum, and my breasts squashed up against his chest. I was getting quite hot for him.

Eventually, people started to leave, then Mark said he was going upstairs and he’d see me later. He smiled, but it was a nice smile, and I was almost looking forward to seeing him.

“Who’s the toyboy?” It was my ex, David, the supercilious creep.

“Toyboy?” I said, amazed at his hypocrisy, “tell me, do they not have a law against underage sex in Italy? She looks about fourteen, you fucking pervert!” He went off in a huff, and I saw him and his floozie looking daggers at me a little later. God, it felt good!

At last the evening came to an end and, about midnight, I headed upstairs, as nervous and excited as a teenager on her first date, although not many teenage dates held the threat – or was it a promise – of bondage and wild sex as this did!

- o O o –

”Oh my God!” I breathe. I’m in his room and I am looking at Mark. I am also looking at several of the other guys from the stag party, and half a dozen men I have never seen before – are these friends of Mark, or did he just drag them in off the street?!

“Could I have those keys now, please, Mark?” I ask nervously, looking from face to face. Some are smiling, others are stern. They are all staring at me.

“Hmm,” Mark replies, as if considering this request, “How about you blow every guy in this room first?”

I look around again, the fear, nervousness and arousal rising inside me. I can’t believe this is happening again! He knows how much this is turning me on, he must do! What is he threatening me with if I don’t do as he says? Somehow, instinctively, I know he’s not threatening me with anything. In the way I know Adrian is fundamentally evil, I know that this guy, who I first spoke to only a few hours ago, is fundamentally good.

“Yes, sir,” I croak, the arousal unmistakable in my voice. I reach behind me, unzip my dress, and step out of it, displaying my body, with its tight leather harness, to them all. I sink to my knees, and they move in around me.

I do them all! My God, I feel such a cum slut as I suck them, one after another, until they cum in my mouth and I drink it down like it’s high-class champagne! Mark is last, and I look up as I work on his cock, seeing the happy look on his face, feeling his hand stroking my hair rather than grabbing it and forcing me onto him. Somehow, the whole thing seems… normal.

When he’s finished, he helps me to my feet, and unlocks the harness, helping me out of it, watching with a mixture of concern and relish as I gingerly pull the dildo and butt plug from my body.

“Now,” he says, with a look of mock seriousness, “I understand several of the these gentlemen would like to sample your rather hot little body some more. Of course, I understand you might demur, in which case we would have to restrain you so you couldn’t resist, possibly even gag you to prevent your cries for help being answered…”

“Oh, sir!” I reply, in a ridiculous little-girl tone, “I couldn’t possibly agree to you all ravishing me! But, if you tied me up and gagged me – better make it a good one, I can be pretty noisy – I couldn’t stop you having your wicked way with me… several times…”

Oh boy! It’s one of the best nights of my life! Bondage, sex, it’s just amazing! But, you know what the best part of the whole night is? I’m lying on the bed, tied down spread-eagled, all the other men have finally left, and Mark comes over to me. He cups my sweaty, cum-stained face in his hands and kisses me tenderly on the lips.

“You are one beautiful MILF!” he says, then proceeds to drive me absolutely wild with his tongue and his lips all over my body. But the best part was that first, tender kiss – it made me realise that, despite all the sex I had enjoyed, what I really needed was the gentle touch of another human being. And now I have that as well! It feels like a light has gone on in the darkness of my life. And, oh my word, this guy is so fucking good with his tongue!

- o O o –

Adrian and Ella’s honeymoon was a honeymoon period for me too, not having to worry that he might phone and demand my presence to suffer his latest inventive perversion. So when the phone did ring, there was a moment of fear, then confusion – who would be calling me on a Saturday?

“Hello, Julia? It’s me, Mark, you might remember me from the wedding?” I certainly did remember him, but I wondered what his motives might be for calling me.

“This is going to sound like a dumb question, given your age, and our history so far, but… would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Whaddaya mean, my age?!” I exclaimed in mock outrage, “I’m not your grandmother’s age, you cheeky bugger! But yes, I would love to go on a date with you.”

So, he picked me up at eight, and I was as nervous as at any time I could remember.

“I have to tell you,” he said seriously as we got into his car, “I don’t put out on a first date.”

I laughed out loud, and the mood for a surreal evening was set – I’d already had sex with the guy, but here we were on our first date! We went to a local pub, had a couple of drinks and a meal, and basically had a really nice time, chatting and laughing. When he took me home, he walked me to my door, we kissed, and he left. That was it! I have to say, I was a little disappointed he didn’t make a move, but he stuck to what he’d said he’d do – maybe it was a matter of establishing trust, but it certainly frustrated my desires!

“Okay, second date,” he said the following weekend, “You’re allowed to grope me, but no full-on sex.”

“You’re a bit of a prude, aren’t you?” I asked with a smile.

“Hey, I don’t set the rules,” he replied innocently, “these are the immutable laws of dating.”

I got into the car and folded my arms, like a sulky child denied her sweets. We went to a very good restaurant and had another very enjoyable meal. When we got back to my place, I grabbed him and stuck my tongue down his throat, while rubbing my hand across the front of his trousers. I was pleased to find that I was having the desired effect where it mattered.

“Couldn’t we just pretend this is a third date?” I asked huskily, continuing to massage the bulge in his pants.

“Well,” he replied, clearing his throat and trying to control his own burgeoning arousal, “I suppose the wedding reception could be considered a date –”

I clamped my lips over his before he could go any further, kicked open the door behind me, and dragged him inside. Five minutes later we were both naked on my bed.

“You know,” I whispered, “I haven’t had sex without being in bondage for nearly eighteen months. I’m not sure I can do it…”

“Oh, dear,” he said as he lay on top of me, “I can see that might be a problem for you…”

“Third drawer down,” I said, pointing to the bedside cabinet – I had bought my own ballgag and handcuffs after I played with Ella’s, but had never had the inclination to use them, once Adrian had started using and abusing me.

“Well, well, well, I like a woman who’s prepared…”

Despite the fact that I was gagged and cuffed to the headboard, Mark made love to me in a gentle and considerate way, driving me wild by playing interminably with my breasts, then teasing me by licking my clitoris and gently exploring my pussy with his fingers. I was boiling over by the time he raised my legs up in the air and slid his erection into me. He moved slowly, in long, languid strokes, which were an exquisite torture, making me moan and writhe under him.

“Fu’ ‘eee har’! ‘P’eas!” I begged, my plea garbled by the gag, but still very clear.

“Hey, you’re cuffed and gagged!” he said with a look of mock outrage, “you don’t get to decide how I fuck you!”

He continued to slowly screw me, while bending his head down to suck on my nipples.

“Aah, ’ou bastar’!” I whined, wrapping my legs around his waist and trying to pull him into me.

“You’re a very sexy lady, Mrs Henderson,” he said, as he kissed my face, and my lips stretched around the gag, “And I intend to torture you for some considerable time!”

And he did, for what felt like hours, pulling out of me when he felt he might cum, and replacing his cock with his tongue. I was constantly on the cusp of orgasm, and alternately begged him to fuck me, then cursed him when he didn’t. It was beautiful, but it was torture. Eventually, gloriously, he thrust into me and I exploded, almost literally, in a huge climax. But he hadn’t cum yet, and he continued to fuck me, extending the climax from amazing, to incredible, to exquisite, to excruciating. Now I wanted him to stop, but I knew there was no way he could, and I bit down hard on the ballgag to stifle any protest I might inadvertently cry out. I was absolutely shocked when I realised he had taken me through that pain barrier, and I was cumming for a second time, just as he came for the first.

We both lay there for quite a while, panting, covered in sweat, trying to recover from that rather impressive effort. Mark unbuckled the gag and released the cuffs, and we cuddled for an age, which felt wonderful. Later on, he managed a repeat performance, without the bondage, and although I didn’t cum, I don’t think that was the reason. I just felt so warm and tingly, it seemed even more special. Eventually, I fell asleep in his arms, and all the cares of the world seemed to have disappeared.

- o O o –

When the newlyweds returned, I fully expected Adrian’s abuse to resume, and I was trying to think of a way to explain it to Mark, as we seemed to have become an item since the wedding. But, to my surprise, the call never came, and life went on in its happy way for a couple of months. Maybe the responsibilities of married life had brought Adrian to his senses, I thought, though with no great conviction – he didn’t seem the type to change his controlling ways.

I was surprised – no, more like stunned – when I opened the door one day to find Ella standing there. She looked as though she had been crying, and like she could start again at any moment. I ushered her into the front room and asked her what the problem was. I guessed that maybe they’d had their first tiff, and she’d didn’t know how to handle it, poor lamb. Still, it must be quite serious, to drive her to seek advice or comfort from me – it would be so humiliating for her. I tried to put my most sympathetic face on.

She didn’t speak, but I saw a tear roll down her cheek. She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off her shoulders to her waist. The first thing I noticed was, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts were striped horizontally, many times. I knew from bitter experience that she had been caned, hard. I also saw that her nipples had been pierced, and large gold rings now adorned them. But then she turned her back to me, and I let out a gasp of horror, when I saw the welts, some of which had broken the skin and healed badly.

“Oh my God! Darling, what happened?! When did he do this to you?” There seemed little point in pretending I didn’t know it was Adrian – who else could it be? At my words, she broke down completely, and threw herself into my arms, and we hugged for a long time, the desperate sobs racking her body.

“It started… on our honeymoon,” she said haltingly, when she had finally managed to regain a little of her composure, “when we got to the villa, he… tied me up… we had played tie up games before, it was fun! But this time, he had this whip… I’d never felt pain like that before, mum!”

She broke down again, and I comforted her until she could resume.

“I couldn’t go to the pool and sunbathe, the marks were too bad. He kept me locked in the room, naked and handcuffed to the bed or the toilet, living off rubbish food he brought in, while he went out every night! When I begged him to let me go, he spat in my face and kept me gagged, so I wouldn’t annoy him or cry for help. Every night, he came back drunk, and would cane me or whip me… he didn’t even make love to me! When we got back here, it carried on even worse. He took me to some sleazy tattoo parlour and made me get these done” – she indicated the nipple rings – “and there’s one down there as well!”

I felt sick at the abuse she had suffered, so much worse than I had been through – it was like he felt he now owned her, and could do what he liked.

“We must go to the police!” I said firmly, “This is clear domestic abuse.”

“I can’t!” she wailed, “There’s… he made a DVD of me… of us… it shows me begging him to tie me up and do whatever he wants to me! He’ll show them that and no-one will believe me!”

It all sounded sickeningly familiar, and I was lost for words.

“I can just about put up with the beatings,” she went on, dabbing her puffy eyes, “but now he’s started… strangling me… the other day, he put a polythene bag over my head until I passed out! I really think he’s going to kill me!”

“We have to go and confront him,” I said, wondering, even as I said it, what it would achieve. But, before we could do that, there was something I knew I had to do, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

“There’s something I have to tell you, Ella,” I said, then stopped, unsure how to go on. She looked at me expectantly.

“Before you were married, he did all those things to me, too.” I saw the look of horror and incomprehension on her face, and rushed on before she could recover.

“I was stupid, and let him trick me,” I blurted, skating around the unpalatable truth, “but then he said that unless I agreed to let him do that stuff to me, he would do it to you, and I couldn’t let that happen! I couldn’t say anything to you, I was so ashamed!”

Now the tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Oh my God!” she cried and, to my surprise and immense relief, threw herself into a hug, holding me as I’d held her. For the first time in a long, long time, we were mother and daughter, lending each other mutual support and, despite the awful circumstances which brought it about, it felt good.

Ella didn’t want to go back to Adrian, but she knew she had little option, and hoped my presence would make things okay. For my part, I just wanted to get it all out in the open, tell him he couldn’t blackmail either of us any longer, and tell him Ella was moving back in with me.

I phoned Mark to tell him I wouldn’t be able to make our date that night, but had to leave a message on his answering machine. Then we got in my car.

I was scared, but I felt that, now I’d told Ella the truth, the worst was over. How wrong I was!

End of part 4

Copyright© 2012 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.