Fransesca lasted a whole week before reaching for the dressing gown belt again. She used it along with a couple of Matt's ties to tie herself hand and foot, just for the feel of it. She was not even naked, and there were no vibrators or other sexual distractions. She rolled around for a few minutes dissatisfied then pulled herself free and returned to her chores.
The following day she was naked. The ties were not long enough to wrap over her tits but she had two dressing gown belts, hers and Matt's. It was still no fun really. It just took an hour to tie herself and free herself and return everything back to normal.
Even using vibrators she could not get any real enjoyment. She either had to turn them on before her hands were secure, or use a remote that she could touch when tied. She reached orgasm of course but they were fairly ordinary. There was no surprise, no excitement and no real restriction either. The hog tie was out of the question, and she could not risk having to cut any of Matt's ties, or even the dressing gown belts. She had gone into the hardware shop several times and gazed longingly at the reels of rope, but not buying. It was pathetic really. Then one day she looked at Matt's ties and had to spend several hours ironing them flat. She wondered why he had not said anything, maybe he had not noticed...
She was back at the hardware store, her heart was pounding, she found an assistant and he cut her ten metres of nice shiny white rope. She went home feeling like everyone was watching her. She put it in the vanity case still wrapped.
The next day she spent hours lovingly cutting and sealing the rope, winding it into individual lengths. There was no time for actual bondage that day.
So it was that Fransesca was standing at the bottom of the bed, ropes neatly laid out in front of her, her heart rate increased, pondering her next move. She undressed slowly, savouring the moment. The ropes felt stiff and new, but the motions were familiar. She tied her breasts in the long and practised fashion, but now an added rope went over her nipples squashing them back slightly. Her ankles and knees were tied, her thighs hugging the butterfly, but it did not have a wire. The remote was placed downstairs and she would have to try and reach it. The slipknot mechanism was simpler, involving pulling her left wrist on a rope that ran around her waist back to itself, the loop was actually against this wrist but once her right hand was inside it stopped her pulling the loop right through. She had tried it with the belt in front of her, and although her wrists were not tight to her body, they were together and the rope felt firm. By breathing in and pulling her right hand she could release the tension and free herself but it felt secure nonetheless.
She started on the bed. There was no chance of hurting her back as she could just swivel round and put her bound feet to the floor. It took a bit of effort to stand but once vertical she could jump to the top of the stairs. She wavered at the top, it looked remarkably steep and she had not considered how to get down. She did not have Matt to help her to the floor and her feet were already tied together.
It was a challenge at last, and she rose to it with all of her ingenuity sliding her back down a door post and then sitting down. She went down the stairs on her bottom, banging loudly, though there was no one to hear. She bounced along the floor into the dining room and then had to get herself onto a chair to reach the controls. She sat there panting before turning it on and receiving her prize. The whole thing took nearly two hours and when she finally wriggled free she was both hot and tired. It had been quite an adventure and it satisfied her for over a week.
A repeat performance was less successful. She knew how to achieve her goal and even putting obstacles in her way did not make a difference. She even braved putting the control in the garage. It was still dark without a light, so she left the light on. The floor was still cold and dusty, but she was not on it for long. She retreated to the house clutching the controls before turning them on. It was exciting, but not for the right reasons, and she only did it once.
As she sunk deeper into self gratification she searched desperately for new ways to titillate or was it torture herself? She tried to reproduce the harness but she could not. She wandered around naked with her breasts bound and a type of girdle around her waist and hips but her body was not fooled in the least. She craved the real thing. She wanted Matt to be a part of things again but she could not bring herself to ask him. Several times she started but could not go through with it. She would have to explain where the ropes came from, or else she would have to throw them away. If he refused she would then have to start all over again which was a waste of time, effort and money.
Inevitably he found out anyway. She was sitting downstairs minding her own business when there was an almighty roar from upstairs.
Fransesca! Come up here! Now!"
She felt like some sort of misbehaving school girl, but even before she was halfway up the stairs she knew what she would find. She wondered if this was what it was like to walk to your execution. She felt sick, she felt weak, she was scared out of her wits. She had dreaded this moment and no amount of forethought had given her a clue what to say.
"How long have you been at it again?" He demanded, "Didn't you get enough?" He was not giving her a chance to answer, "I thought we had finished with all this tying up? What have you got to say for yourself?"
Fransesca said nothing. Matt's face was filled with rage; she had only seen this once before and had been glad that she was not the focus of his attention on that occasion.
"Perhaps you should spank me?" She said helpfully. She was not sure why, maybe it was this school girl feeling?
"Don't tempt me," he growled.
Fransesca did not understand this reaction and told him so.
"I spanked you once before and you made it perfectly clear that you would not tolerate it again."
"I said no such thing!" she retorted her mind going back to that first spanking. Whether she had thought it or not, she had not stopped him or forbidden him.
"You may not have said it in so many words, but it was clear to me that you were less than happy."
"I don't," she started automatically, "like the," her voice slowed, "pain thing but," she did not hesitate, "you do." It was a statement not a question. Everything now made sense, the bottom showing, the occasional slap, he had been trying to show all this time and she had not seen it.
"It seems we both still have secrets," he spat back at her.
"Why didn't you say something?" she asked instinctively.
"You’re asking me?" he bellowed.
"I was embarrassed," she hissed, "what's your excuse?"
She thought he might burst a blood vessel.
"You just have no idea!"
Fransesca almost fell backwards from the venom that seemed to be coming from her husband's mouth.
"You veto this! You instruct that! Do it this way! Do not do it that way! It was like trying to learn the Highway code word for word! And if all else fails? Sausages!"
Fransesca was shocked, had she really been that demanding? She thought she had been submissive!
"After your reaction first time," he continued his tone lowering slightly, "I was convinced you would just ban spanking altogether, so I satisfied myself with the odd tap, or sting."
He seemed to be on the verge of breaking down altogether.
"I'm sure that if you can accept my wanting tying up, occasionally, I can accept the odd spanking," she said carefully, biting her lip before a string of ifs or buts appeared. "I am willing to accept whatever you want now," she stated rashly.
Matt did not seem convinced.
"I will not fight you," she said calmly, "I will not try and escape, and there will be no sausages. To quote the program you like so much the safety is off." She lowered her head, "I submit to your punishment." She paused before adding gingerly, "But I would prefer to be tied down and gagged."
"No gag," he said firmly.
Fransesca looked up in astonishment.
"If you scream I want to hear it," he said brutally in her eyes, "only then will I know that it means something."
Fransesca gulped. He meant it. "As you wish," she said softly.
"You'd better get undressed," he said almost offhandedly, grabbing the ropes as he headed for the door. "I will see you downstairs." His voice was even, but the tone was cold. "Do not keep me waiting," he added menacingly.
She stripped quickly scattering her clothes and not attempting to pick them up. She heard the garage door slam and wondered what he was doing. She would soon find out she decided. Once more she walked as if to her execution. There was no excitement, only dread. Right now she just wanted to get it over with.
There was a sawhorse in the middle of the lounge floor. She could easily see what he would have in mind, but he had never used it before, why? Perhaps it was part of his fantasy? Too much temptation? Or maybe, like her sometimes it was just a spur of the moment idea.
She let him place her bent over with her legs spread apart ankles strapped to the back legs her wrists to the front, her bottom high and accessible. There was no eroticism, he did not attempt to tie her breasts and the ropes used to hold her hips to the horse were purely functional. Her head was virtually touching the floor and she would have to crane her neck to stop herself going dizzy. She could not have escaped even if she had wanted to.
"I trust you are uncomfortable," he said, and she realised why this had never been done before. Even though there was a towel over the rail to prevent splinters she was bent hard over her tits dangled freely and she was already noticing the strain of holding her head up. There could be no relaxing in this position.
"Before we start I want you to know," he said his voice even but still cold, "I do not enjoy hurting you, but you have hurt me. You have hurt me deeply, twice now, with your deceptions and secrets. If your bottom gets bruised it will heal, though you might remember this for a long time. Only time will tell if I will ever fully trust you again." He paused, letting his words sink in. Fransesca squirmed uncomfortably.
"I promise you, this will hurt," he stated. "I do not guarantee you sexual satisfaction either," he continued, "this is punishment, not pleasure. Your only hope is that my love for you will see past the pain, and my distaste to see your bottom turn red will overpower my sense of anger and outrage. When I have finished I will offer you a chance for release. If you take it you may go and nurse your wounds in peace. If you do not I will retie your hands and see if the sight of you stirs up something." He paused as if he was unable to continue. "I do love you Fransesca," he whispered, "I still love you despite what you have done." His tone had changed slightly, "I will give you one more chance to back out, but you will sleep alone if you do," his voice trailed off.
Fransesca said nothing. She was already feeling the strain of the position she was in, and his speech was hurting almost as much as she imagined his hands would. Eventually she snapped, "Just get on with it."
"I will start when I am ready," he told her in no uncertain terms. "You told me that anticipation was part of the excitement." She thought she detected a sneer, but the feel and sound of a hard smack on her left buttock stopped all thoughts of his mood or his prevarication.
"Anticipate this," he told her. She did not understand.
He placed a clock on the floor in front of her.
"In half an hour I will spank you like you have never been spanked before," he told her. "Exactly half an hour, no more no less. I need time to calm down," he explained, "and you need time to realise exactly what you have done."
The minutes past silently and slowly. Fransesca kept shutting her eyes but each time she opened them it seemed there was still over twenty minutes to go. Her bottom stung but after the initial shock it was certainly bearable. Her right buttock felt cold and exposed, as yet untouched. She could not hear him and she could not see him, but the mixture of fear and to a certain extent anger was all she could think of. She was hurting from the position she was in and she knew it would only get worse. Why couldn't he get it over with? Why all this waiting? Why torture her? He said he loved her!
She watched the clock intently. It seemed to be twenty-nine minutes for an eternity. Her mood had changed from anger to shame. She awaited his punishment with stoicism formed from the knowledge that he would not hurt her really. She knew she was being punished, and accepted it, she deserved it. All this talk of hurting and pain was typical Matt. Did she love him? There was no doubt that she did. She wanted him to release her and hold her, tell her it was all a big mistake. That would not happen, the clock showed time was up. Matt appeared before her, she could see his ankles at any rate. She wondered if he had been watching the clock like her.
"Do you want me to free you?"
It was tempting, but no. She had endured this much, she could endure a little spanking.
"I will take your silence as consent," he confirmed. "Now how many times have you tied yourself up since we so say stopped all this?"
"I can't remember," she gasped truthfully, "quite a few."
"Let’s make it easier," he went on, his voice calm and even, "how many weeks then?"
"Five or six," she answered quickly. "Six I think."
"Six it is then. I want you to count out loud for me. That's one."
Despite expecting it, she still jumped as he hit her left buttock again. Why not her right one?
"I said count!" He ordered.
"One," she growled "Two!" her voice pitch changed as the blow went through her, "Ow, three." Despite all her self control she could not stop the outcry. She expected the next blow to follow straight away but there seemed a long pause. He had hit her right buttock once. Her left one was already hurting and he hit it again.
"Four," she whimpered. She suddenly realised that she had been wrong, he was going to hurt her. The gasp that came from the next blow was unintelligible
"Five," she said weakly, "Six!" it was a combination of expectation and pain. Her whole mind was concentrating on her beleaguered bottom. It hurt like hell and she could not stop it or even rub it. But it was over, or was it?"
"How many times did you escape my ropes?" he asked.
What's that got to do with it? The question was in her mind, she did not utter it.
"How many?" he persisted.
"Ten maybe twelve," she answered unsure, but it seemed reasonable.
"Twelve it is then."
The words rang through her brain and she could hardly believe it.
"You will count again," he told her.
Twelve! she could not take another twelve of those swipes. Her bottom hurt already, surely he had had enough.
"One," he told her again.
"One!" she echoed her bottom on fire again.
And so it continued, he would ask some inane question and she would answer with a figure like some crazy lottery number generator. She concentrated on counting, letting out cries or gasps but he would not break her.
Despite counting out loud, she lost track of how many times he hit her. Her bottom was a mass of pain, she could not really stand it. Her eyes began to water. She could not prevent it, her bottom hurt so much. She could not reach over and wipe away the tear that started to form, she hoped he would not notice, but it appeared to be what he was looking for.
"A tear," there was irony in his voice, "I was beginning to think that nothing could break through that thick skin of yours."
"I'm in bloody pain!" she screamed at him, the tears flowing freely now. "What the hell do you expect!"
"I have finished," he told her.
Fransesca shook from head to toe. Was it fear or relief, or just the pain that was pulsating from her bottom? She was still crying, her face was wet and she was instinctively trying to lick herself clean. He was untying her right hand, her impulse was to touch her bottom, but she was afraid it would hurt even more. She would not be able to sit down maybe she would be better tied where she was. She wiped her eyes, her left hand joining in as soon as it was free. She could raise her body vertical, but her legs were still held splayed outwards.
"Do you want me to continue freeing you or are you going to stay here."
"I'm staying," she said petulantly. Anything to take her mind off her bottom.
"Hands behind, don't struggle," he ordered.
She obeyed meekly. She did not even think to tense up or fight him. Her hands were bound behind her and secured around the waist. He still did not try and tie her breasts just binding her arms above the elbow to keep her secure. She wavered unsteadily, preferring to bend slightly forward over the bar, her bottom still cruelly exposed and throbbing like she had never known.
"Now we wait again," he told her. "But no clock this time. I do not know how long it will take for me to want to touch you again," he said sorrowfully.
Fransesca's bottom was all she could think of. She pulled at the ropes continually as if fighting might somehow stop the pain. It did not, but that did not stop her trying. The pain slowly sank into a continuous throbbing, bearable, just, but still hurting.
"Harder," she pleaded, "please harder." She needed to be able to feel past her bottom. Both tits were now held.
"Harder," she begged again.
He stopped completely and she cried in anguish. Then she felt him trying to enter her, he found his mark and pumped. She screamed as his groin crashed into her backside. He stopped but she called back.
"No, harder." It was like she was possessed. "My tits too, I want it, harder." This vocalization was intoxicating. He had started it with all this calling out numbers, now she was just following on.
She felt him climax, but she was not satisfied. She was struggling to break free, but not to stop him, she wanted to hold his hands to her tits and squeeze harder.
He stopped pumping. She was in the process of telling him to continue when she realised how much she was demanding of him, even now. Her words faded on her lips. She still needed him inside her, but she could feel him shrink fully spent. He was squeezing her tits as his climax subsided, she could hardly feel it. He withdrew and she controlled her anguish only jerking as his hands touched her bottom, to her relief he did not leave her alone. Powerful digits invaded her vagina and her tit was once again molested. Despite all her pain maybe even because of it, she was going to climax.
"Stop," she called as the feelings swept over her, and he stopped. She was slightly surprised. He was feeling for the ropes at her back.
"No my legs, please," she added not wanting to sound domineering, "I need to close my legs."
As soon as she was able she stood upright and started pacing around, her hands still held behind her. It might have been comical to see Matt trying to follow her as she almost marched about trying to get feeling in her legs and avoiding any urges to sit down.
"Stand still!" He called out exasperated, "I can't untie you unless you stand still."
"Leave my hands," she said still walking, "I have an intense desire to scratch at my bottom and it's only the ropes that are stopping it," she explained, still moving around like some sort of caged animal. "It still hurts."
"It's meant to," he said quietly, "I hope I never have to do that again."
She would have to agree, yet something told her she would accept a spanking any time he demanded it of her. She might even goad him into it. She was sure it would not be as fierce as this had been, but his reaction afterwards had been far more intense than she had ever known. He obviously did like to spank her, she did not understand it, but then again he had not understood her love of bondage either.
"What now?" he said standing half naked and bewildered in the middle of the room as she kept her pacing. In other circumstances it would have been comical. "You are making me dizzy."
"I want you to fuck me again," she said bluntly. His surprise was blatant.
"I can't, and you know it," he sighed.
"Let me encourage you," she suggested, stopping her pacing and giving him a lick of her lips.
He still looked bewildered.
"I don't seem to have eaten you for weeks," she claimed mischievously. "Not that I intend to go all the way this time either," she added, "just a little encouragement to get you going again."
Matt seemed unconvinced.
"Just to show no hard feelings," she wheedled, then she saw a double meaning, "on second thoughts it's a hard feeling I am after," she chuckled. "What's the matter are you not up to it?" She turned her still smarting bottom towards him and wiggled it. "It's still warm," she assured him, "come and get it."
She ran, and to her delight he ran after her. She still had her hands tied of course so her balance was not good, he caught her halfway up the stairs, good humoured and not too rough.
"Let's stop this," he said gently.
Fransesca burst into tears. She did not know why.
"Let me pleasure you," she pleaded. "Fuck me, anything, just don't hurt me."
"I won't hurt you anymore," he assured her, "come along, I think you are in shock."
"I'm all right," she sobbed. "Please don't leave me."
"That's it," Matt said firmly but quietly, "it's off to bed for you." He encouraged her upstairs, "It seems that you are not the only one to take things too far. I'm sorry."
Her memory of what happened next was a blur. He must have untied her, but she did not remember. She slept on her front, not even allowing a duvet to touch her bottom. She slept fitfully, but every time she awoke Matt was there to comfort her. He must have stayed awake all night watching her, stroking her reassuring her. His alarm went off and she awoke with a start. She heard Matt curse, but it was for her benefit not against her.
"Sorry I forgot," he said wearily.
It was her turn to be concerned: he looked shattered.
"You were up all night." Again it was not a question. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Now go to bed and I will ring you in sick." He looked like he would refuse, but she insisted he put his head down. She had never seen someone go to sleep so quickly. She smiled and left him alone.
She examined her bottom in the mirror like someone looking at a trophy. She was black and blue, with a massive blotch covering both her buttocks. Despite everything it only hurt if she pressed hard. She could even sit for a little while without too much discomfort.
She a long time to consider what had happened. It seemed to her that they had turned so many corners recently they had ended up going in circles. It would appear that she somehow needed bondage, or at least, she could not live without it. She had tried to bury her cravings and it had not worked, therefore she would have to find a way to accommodate them without hurting the man she loved. She also needed Matt, needed him to be a part of things. She no longer was satisfied with tying herself, neither was watching others an option. Even if she could find videos that matched her fantasies it was not enough. She had tasted real bondage and despite its many surprises she would not settle for anything else, but not all the time.
She now also knew of Matt's own needs which he had buried for so long. She could not in any way have admitted to enjoying the pain of the previous night, but then, that had been rather extreme. She hoped that he would not consider last night an end to his spanking. They had over reacted before, they must learn this time she resolved. She stood at the bedroom door watching him at peace, fast asleep. He looked so vulnerable she wanted to hold him in her arms, but that would only disturb him. Even the best intentions can hurt the one you love she thought ruefully. She retreated back downstairs until there were sounds of movement coming from the bedroom.
"What time is it?" Matt was still half asleep.
"Around one o'clock," she said softly, the kettles boiling, "I will make you some tea."
"Are you all right?"
Typical, she thought, thinking of her first. How could she ever have thought that he did not love her, or that he was taking her for granted?
"Just a little bruised," she admitted. It was an understatement physically, but to her mind it summed up her over all condition. "I will live," she said added flippantly.
They talked for most of the rest of the day, and deep into the night. New boundaries were set. A sort of schedule was produced, setting aside weekends or evenings for bondage or spanking. Overcoming misunderstandings about domineering or control. Discussing what was fun and what was a trial. Trying to understand fears and desires that were very personal and hard to explain or even admit to. There were also new ideas that could be tried or attempted. Matt wished to learn first hand what it was to be tied up, as a trial not regularly, at least not unless he somehow enjoyed it. They also discussed involving other people.
Fransesca had found she had very mixed feelings over the episodes with Paul. Both times the orgasms had been very powerful, but she had been embarrassed in front of him, not to mention the concerns about sex outside marriage. Were they prepared to separate sex and love? Could they involve Paul or anyone else for that matter in their little games? Aids or disease aside, would allowing or even watching each other have sex with someone else be exciting or damaging? They had already seen how mixing fantasy with reality could be fraught with unseen danger or surprise. Could their marriage survive jealousy or promiscuity? What about another woman? Assuming they found someone who indulged in bondage or spanking could they separate games from real life? May be they ought to get comfortable just with the two of them before trying to include others in their new regime. Paul seemed an obvious choice, perhaps his wife would be interested?
It would be a while before Matt could try spanking her again. Her bruises both outside and in must heal first, but there was nothing to stop his experiment in being tied up. He seemed reluctant to plan specifics and could not understand her wanting to discuss things at all. He had decided to allow it, surely that was enough. He had no preferences, how could he? He had never even considered it let alone tested what was comfortable. She should use her knowledge and experience and he would trust her, but he did not want to know when or how it would happen. They decided that next time she escaped she could tie him up instead. She looked at him as he agreed. ‘He thinks I won’t escape again,’ she mused to herself. She would bide her time and when she was ready. It was Matt’s turn to wait. The clock was ticking but unlike yesterday, he would not know how long he had to wait. Which was more cruel? The memory of that clock face was etched in her mind: so slow, unhurried, but unrelenting. It was better not to know she decided.