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She got out, toweled dry, shook out her hair. She looked at herself in the mirror and for a split second she was horrified. She had to wear makeup. She reached for the drawer, stopped. That’s not what the note said.
Julie looked into the mirror again; she made a few faces. She pouted. She whimpered. She touched herself and moaned. She turned around, bent over, looked at her ass and her pussy over her shoulders—one shoulder after the other, trying to get herself from all angles. All right, fine, she decided. No makeup.
She went back into the bedroom.
By now, the bedroom was dim and it wasn’t that easy to see what she was doing. But she knew the contours of the leather and metal like she knew the contours of her own sex.
The collar went first. Just the touch of it against her flesh was enough to feel electric. The sensation of it buckled around her neck was like a telephone call to her clit. She felt moist and slick, despite having soaped up and rinsed and toweled off just a moment ago. Yeah, she discovered with a quick, excited, vaguely guilty finger. I’m already wet down there.
She had always and would always think of the collar as a dog collar, because there was something fucking hot about being collared like a dog. She had purchased her very first collar at age nineteen from a pet store, blushing and squirming as the clerk rang it up, as if her shame-laced eyes could tell him she didn’t really have a dog, and certainly not a hundred-and-ten-pound one. This collar, however, was not a dog collar—as evidenced by the added hasp, through which she fitted a padlock.
The lock on her collar gave a click as she closed it.
The gag came next, by simple necessity. It was shaped like a dildo, but broader and shorter than any dildo she’d ever be able to effectively fuck herself with. Its base fit into heavy strap that she secured around the back of her head.
The cock gag padlocked, too.
She had some trouble with the restraints, but it made her kind of hot to have to fight a little. She positioned herself facedown on the bed, softly cursing every aromatic rose petal her clumsy movements knocked on the floor. She liked them there, but this was more important. Briefly, after having to fight the first restraint—on her ankle—she changed her mind and rolled over on her back, positioning herself with the pillows beneath her ass. That was a hot position, but there was no fucking way she’d get her ankles restrained without herniating herself. She returned to her knees and finally got the restraints buckled, first around one ankle, then around the other. She fitted the padlocks through the hasps in the restraints, then hooked the black ropes through them. Each of the ropes trailed to a secure tie point on one of the bed frame’s four corners.
With each sharp click of a padlock, she became more her husband’s prisoner.
Jacob had thoughtfully given her almost no slack to work with. Once her ankles were shackled, her legs were staying spread until she was unfastened. She took a long, hot moment to position the pillows in just the right place—and then she spilled forward, over them, facedown, ass-up, very damned close to being helpless.
She had to attach her left wrist restraint to the bed first, of course, because Julie was right-handed. She buckled the right restraint before she did that—leaving the padlock hanging free. Then she carefully secured the restraint around her left wrist and affixed it to the black rope tied to the bed frame.
Then she set about completing her bondage—fastening her right wrist to the bed. It wasn’t easy. But what mostly gave her difficulty was her own impatience, and the tendency of her mind to wander over just what was going to happen to her as soon as she got that fucking padlock closed. She was intensely aroused. Her nipples felt so hard it almost hurt to let them touch the comforter. Her skin felt hot, but sweat was beading all over her naked body. The air of the bedroom felt chilly. She felt more moisture forming on her inner lips, and it wasn’t sweat. Every grunt of exertion came out muffled by the cock gag in her mouth. Every helpless whimper, every squirm, every wriggle, made her hips pump and grind against the pillows. Each time she did that, she felt how tight her ankles were secured to the bed, how wide her legs were forcibly spread. Her ass worked with furious tension, arousal mounting. She felt trickles running down her thighs; Sweat, she felt sure. I can’t be that turned on, can I?
She certainly felt very, very turned on, that was for sure.
The padlock clicked closed, securing the hasp of the wrist restraint around her right wrist, and to the black rope that locked her to the bed frame.
Julie moaned softly into the cock gag. Her hips began to grind as she struggled. Yeah, she decided. I’m really that turned on. She could feel it trickling down her thighs. She could feel her clit throbbing. She tried to hump herself forward and rub her clit against the pillow; she tried to bring her legs closer so she could maybe rub her thighs together. She couldn’t; she was tied too tightly.
Then she heard him, below, heavy footed and menacing.
Had he been there the whole time? She would have heard him as she entered the house, surely. Was he out on the patio, hiding? Was he outside the bedroom window, lurking in the night, watching as she struggled? Did he come in while she was showering?
Julie didn’t care; she simply knew that Jacob was there. She should have known he’d never leave her alone in the house to tie herself up for him...hell, what if she’d had a heart attack or something like that?
More importantly, there was no chance—no chance at all—that he’d miss the sight of Julie locking herself to the bed. Facedown, ass-up, spread, naked and sweaty and squirming, getting more aroused with every process in the ritual of surrender.
The back of Julie’s neck tingled to think that Jacob had been there the whole time—but one thing she knew. He was there, now. With her facedown, ass-up posture, she had to twist her head around to see him—and still he was nothing more than a shadow—big, bulky, menacing.
He didn’t say a word.
Distantly, Julie heard the chirruping softness of clothes hitting the floor, the clunk of wingtips kicked off carelessly.
Julie smelled his body as he circled the bed like a shark approaching its prey. Her hips worked ceaselessly; she fought against the bonds and heard Jacob’s pleasured grumbles as he watched her struggles augment her arousal. He felt her up and found her wet. He slid his fingers into her, murmured approvingly, took his fingers out. He drew his big hard hand back and viciously spanked her. Julie squealed behind the bed.
She fought the alternating pleasure-and-pain assault of his hand—the hand she’d been craving all day. She struggled against the restraints she’d secured around her own limbs, the ropes she’d locked them to.
He gave it to her hard again, again, no warm-up. He landed his hand on her ass three times quickly—not a proper spanking, but enough to get her attention. The sting and the thud pulsed through her naked body. Jacob put his fingers back in her cunt—three of them, now, almost too much for her...or just enough to stretch her. He started to thrust in rhythmically. Julie’s eyes rolled back in her head as the big shadowy thing reached out, grabbed her hair, pulled.
He finger-fucked her right to the brink; when she was on the very edge, he withdrew his fingers.
Then she heard a buzz; without much warning, he touched a vibrator to her clit. She shrieked behind the gag. He almost pushed her over; he almost made her cum. She had been on the edge before—now she was tottering, ready to lose it.
He pulled away at the very last instant—so close, she almost thought he was going to get her off without meaning to.
