What Would Jesus Do?
by Jo

Brisa stood, or more accurately, hung. The toes of one foot barely touched the floor. The ropes dug painfully into her wrists and elbows. A wadded scarf filled her mouth, a second cleaved her lips, a third covered her mouth and nose, a fourth covered her eyes. Brisa sobbed, the soft cloth absorbed her tears. She cried for many reasons. For the realization that his was her new life. For angering Juan. For disappointing Tio Jesus.

She had gotten drunk at the party. It was her party after all, her wedding party. But she drank too much and stumbled into Tia Carmen, knocked her to the ground, sent her walker skittering across the dance floor. The place went dead quiet. Even the band stopped playing. Tio Jesus was there at the old woman's side. He bent, spoke to her. After a minute she nodded and he helped her to her feet. Someone produced the walker, guided her to a chair. Adrenaline has a sobering effect and Brisa ran over to her aunt. She grasped the old woman and cried, "I'm sorry." over and over again. Carmen looked addled, but soon her eyes cleared, and she reached for Brisa, pulled her down for a kiss. "I'm okay." At that the band picked up again and soon the party was back in full swing. Well, almost.

* * *

"She is your wife, Juan. You can beat her if you wish. That is the way in her family. She expects it. But it is not your way. Hm?"

"Tio ..."

Jesus turned to her. The look on his face sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't a fierce look or even an angry look. It was a look of utter calm and it frightened her to her core.

"Juan, you see the way it is with women. It turns into a thing of pride. Makes them feel superior. They brag to their friends about 'that animal' of a husband." He shrugged. "Some even see a bloody nose as a red badge of courage, as it were."

"But what do I do, Uncle? You say I cannot punish her?"

"I did not say that, Juan. She must first learn her place. Then if she misbehaves, well, of course you should punish her. But you must never," he held his finger up to Juan's face, "never strike her in anger. Comprende?"

Juan nodded. "Si. Si."

"You are a man. You are strong. You can force her to obey, but that is not the best way. There is a stronger force, a more powerful force. Your wife stood before God and the priest and vowed to obey you." Jesus shrugged again. "That is all the force you need. But first you must teach her."

Brisa's cheeks flushed. He was talking about her as if she was a child. She had a college degree and was the assistant manager in her department at work. "Tio-"

"Be quiet!"

Jesus stepped across the room, opened the closet door, and retrieved a large paper shopping bag. "I took the liberty of providing you with certain supplies."

He opened the bag and pulled out a small coil of white rope. "She had plans for this night. She would tease you, play with you. It is the way with women. I've seen the way she behaves at the beach. Up to now it has been all about her. That will change - starting now. Bind her wrists."

Juan hesitated only a moment before taking the rope from his uncle. Brisa stood stock still, her mind frozen in disbelief. He reached for her arm. Brisa pulled back. But he grabbed her anyway, pulled her to him, spun her around. He took her other wrist, wrapped the coils around them.

"Juan!"

"Didn't Uncle just tell you to be quiet?"

"You will gag her."

Brisa turned and saw that he had cloth in his hand. Scarves.

"Ball one up to put in her mouth. Use another to hold it in place."

Juan held up the clump of cloth. Brisa struggled.

"Place your hand over her mouth and nose, tightly. In a few seconds she will be desperate for air and will open her mouth."

Brisa struggled. First with anger, then a growing desperation to breathe.

"Now."

Juan removed his hand. Brisa opened her mouth, gasping. Juan shoved the wadded up cloth into it.

"Quickly before she can spit it out. Tie another between her teeth. I have made a knot. Place is in her mouth. It will make the gag more effective."

Brisa shook her head in defiance, her eyes aflame.

"Let me see her wrists. Ah, si. That is not so good. She will easily escape. I will teach you the proper way to bind her. The secret is to make the binding tight enough to be effective, but not so tight as it causes harm. And never leave her alone for more than a few minutes. If you cut off the circulation damage can occur very quickly. Here. You will tie her elbows, then redo her wrists."

Juan did so. Brisa stood still, trembling with anger and a bit of fear.

"Bueno. Now her chest above and below her breasts. Then her knees. And her ankles."

When Juan finished Jesus checked the knots.

"Good. Good. Now you may undress her and enjoy her as you please. There will be no more teasing. No more, how do you say, yanking of chains. Place her on the floor and tie her wrists to her ankles. I will go have a smoke while you continue her lesson."

Juan eased Brisa down onto the floor. He fastened the rope as instructed. Brisa lay, helpless, chest heaving. Juan clasped her breast. She had let him touch her, but not always. Some days he could help himself. Others she brushed his hand away. Now he could play to his heart's content. Jesus turned to the door.

"Uncle! Wait. I'll come with you."

"Check her hands and feet. Make sure they are warm."

"Her hands are a bit pink."

"Pink is not so bad. Blue is bad."

"I won't be long. I have some questions for you."

The men left the room. Brisa struggled in her bonds. Struggled until the helplessness of her situation finally sunk in. She went through the seven stages: disbelief, denial, anger. This last left her sweat-soaked and panting from her struggles. Then came bargaining. Okay, she'd play their little game, but she'd see that they paid for it. Then guilt for spoiling her wedding party and maybe hurting Tia Carmen. The thought depressed her. Lastly acceptance. She WAS Juan's wife and she HAD vowed to obey him for better or worse. And then another thought hit. Did this mean Juan was going to be in charge? Brisa had taken charge because Juan seemed too 'nice'. Always "Yes Brisa" and "No Brisa." Back in bargaining mode she could see the appealing of submitting if he would just 'man up'. Let him take care of her instead of the other way around. But ropes?

The ticking clock caught her attention. Ten minutes. Only ten. It seemed like she'd lain there for hours. And she couldn't get comfortable. Nothing hurt, necessarily, but everything felt weirdly odd. As if her body and especially her limbs were no longer her own. She could wiggle her fingers and toes, but that was about it. She squirmed around on the floor trying to get comfortable. It was clearly hopeless, but she kept trying anyway.

Juan came into the room and knelt beside her. He rolled her part way onto her back and played with her breasts some more. Brisa tried to catch his eye, but when she did she became embarrassed and looked away.

A line of pearl buttons ran up the front of her wedding gown. Juan undid them, tugged the garment open, exposing her lace-covered breasts. It felt nice to have him squeeze them, play with her nipples under the soft fabric. A thought formed somewhere in the back of her head. This was exactly what she had wanted. His uncle was right. She HAD planned to tease him, taunt him, until overcome with lust he would ravage her. And she would allow herself to be ravaged. And, in a way, it was happening. Okay, she hadn't planned on ropes. But there she was, helpless to his advances.

Juan undid the knot holding her wrists to her ankles. He stood her up and untied the rope at her knees, then the one at her elbows. It took a minute for her joints to stretch out, straighten, for the tension to ease.

Juan finished unbuttoning Brisa's gown. He pushed it off her shoulders. It fetched up against her still-bound wrists. He pulled her petticoats down to her ankles. Then he lifted her slip up and over her head and down her arms. Brisa felt a wave of embarrassment. Standing there in only her underwear. She had worn the thong bikini at the beach, but no boy had ever seen her in her underwear. She didn't know why it was different, but the exposure made her blush deeply.

Juan tugged the garments down to Brisa's wrists, then tied her elbows. He undid her wrists and pulled her gown and slip completely off. He retied her wrists. Then he hefted her out of the dress and petticoats puddled around her feet and set her down a couple of feet away.

He spent a few minutes groping her, holding her against him, squeezing her bottom, leaning her back and playing with her breasts.

Brisa gave herself over to the sensations. It wasn't what she'd planned, but her body was responding. And she was actually starting to enjoy it. But then Juan picked her up again and set her down by the window. A plant hung there and Juan removed it. He looped a cord over the hook, fixed it to Brisa's wrists and drew them back and up. It was distinctly uncomfortable, but then it got worse. Juan tied a rope to her left ankle and looped it, too, over the hook. He removed her shoes which left Brisa nearly hanging, her right foot barely brushing the floor.

Brisa stood, or more accurately hung. The ropes digging painfully into her wrists and elbows. A knotted scarf cleaved her lips, a second covered her mouth and nose. Juan added a third scarf across her face covering her from nose to chin. A forth scarf robbed her of her sight.

Brisa sobbed, the soft cloth absorbed her tears. She cried for many reasons. For the realization that this was her new life. For angering Juan. For disappointing Tio Jesus.

She heard a click and felt a tug and her underwear fell away. For all her teasing she was a modest girl and men, even husbands, never saw a woman naked. And yet here she was wearing only her white garter belt and white stockings ... and nothing else.

The room was silent save the ticking of the clock. She moved around a bit in a failed attempt to ease the discomfort. It wasn't painful, but it was getting there. As she moved she could feel her breasts swaying. She tried to stand still, but then the ache in her arms and back made her move. And she knew Juan was there, watching her, watching her breasts swing back and forth.

There was a noise. Footsteps on the other side of the room over by the bed. Then the footsteps came closer and Juan's hands were on her again. Her large breasts hung full and soft and he paid them attention, squeezing them, tugging on the nipples. He ran his hand down her back, down to her bottom, between her cheeks, probing her in a way even she avoided. She had resigned herself to being available to Juan to enjoy as he pleased, but now the full weight of her helplessness, her total exposure, her vulnerability began to sink in.

Juan's hand left her backside, moved to her front, found Brisa's nether lips, parted them. He stroked her, caressed her, found the little nub of her clit and teased it. It was another yes/no situation. Yes, it felt as she'd hoped. Better. She rarely touched herself. And when she did she felt guilty. But now? Juan was her husband and he could touch her any way he wished. If he wanted to touch her there, or anywhere, she couldn't, wouldn't stop him. Her body responded in a familiar way. But then there were the ropes. It was like enjoying a good meal with a fly buzzing around. She would just give herself over to the sensation when her arms would hurt or she got a kink in her back. Still, the ropes helped her to resist the orgasm. She didn't want to do that until he was inside of her. But his fingers were relentless and it was touch and go for a while.

Juan released her leg, then her wrists. Again it took a minute for Brisa's body to adjust to normal. He removed the scarves from her eyes and her mouth and kissed her. Kissed her until she was trembling with anticipation. Juan placed his hand on Brisa's shoulder and forced her to her knees. Again the totality of her submission sent her resignation another notch deeper. He truly could use her as he pleased.

Brisa had never done this before. She had heard about it, talked about it with her girlfriends. Giggled about it was more like it. But now here she was opening her mouth, taking him in. She knew she wasn't doing it right. Having him deep in her mouth made her gag. And she had trouble keeping her teeth out of the way. But she remembered one of her girlfriends saying that there was no such thing as a bad blowjob and Brisa hoped that would be the case. So she knelt, naked save her stockings, wrists tied behind her back, Juan in her mouth.

Juan undressed while Brisa sucked him, pulled off his shirt and undershirt, kicked off his shoes, undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. He pushed her away and peeled off his underpants and socks, led Brisa to the bed.

He untied her wrists and retied them in front. He lay her on the bed, positioned a large pillow under her hips. There was a rope leading from the headboard, two more attached to the bedposts. He managed to stretch her pretty well as he tied her down, Brisa's sex elevated well off the bed.

When he pushed into her, Brisa bit his shoulder.

"Sorry."

"No. No. I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you, but it's kind of the way it goes."

"Yeah."

"Is it okay?"

"Yeah." Brisa lied. It hurt. But it hurt, if not in a good way, in a way that felt right. Juan was there, his weight on her, he was inside of her. Yes, it felt very, very right.

Across town, Tia Lupie sat on the balcony. Her head was back resting on the seat cushion. Her eyes were closed. She held a small glass of brandy in her hand.

"I hope they will be happy."

Jesus Morell took a puff of his cigar, sipped his brandy.

"They will. They will. Brisa is a good girl."

He took another puff.

"And Juan? Juan is a good boy. He knows what he must do."

The End

Copyright© 2012 by Jo. All rights reserved.