Bound to Be...

It started two years ago with some rather odd conversations. I'd drift out of the constant chatter between my wife, Kate, and her divorced friend Patricia, only to find myself returned to a flirty conversation with the odd kinky gesture - the two of them giggling like school girls.

Curious but improbable.

Months later there was another three-way conversation that included witty banter from Patricia about spankings and using ball-gags to silence the kids with my wife adding her own favourite restraints for good measure.

Interesting and yet unlikely.

Then a year ago my wife informed me that she wanted some time out - she needed time away and she was going into the mountains for a couple of days with Patricia. I played with the idea for a week before I called her while she was at the markets.

"Alright babe, I'll give you your free pass," I said.

"Free pass to what?"

"Experiment," I confirmed.

"I don't understand, what are you talking about?" she challenged, frustrated.

"I want you to know that you have my permission to fuck Patricia."

There was a gasp on the other end of the phone, and a suitable pause.

".. what would make you think ..," she whispered. I could practically hear her blushing.

"I understand babe, I think she wants you, and I want you two to make the most of your time together."

There was a longer pause.

".. you have the strangest ideas sometimes. I can't talk about this now, we will talk about this later," she said nervously, half smiling.

Our conversation that night was brief - I told her that I thought her friend was hot for her and she told me that I was probably wrong but it was clear that I had piqued her attention.

At the last minute before their trip I put an extra hundred dollars into their kitty for drinks. Other than a cute little story about the two of them thinking of sending me back a photo of them pillow fighting in their panties, nothing came of it. But then, would I expect to know? My wife is a paradox of strength, independence and submission and though I have been the only man who has ever provided her with both distance and discipline, it does mean that I will be the last to know, but the first to be rewarded, if she ever expanded her horizons.

I couldn't help but think that maybe she lacked the courage to ask the question .. or at least ask it properly.

-[ = ]-

So it came to be that I decided to test Patricia myself. The next family visit was to our house, and she was not her usual, perky, self. It was a good time to try something subtle. Patricia was wearing a fitted top and tight denim jeans. She came in to the kitchen from the discussion outside and dove into the fridge to get another drink.

"That ass really suits you," I chimed from my stool at the kitchen bench.

She turned and cocked an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry," I apologised. She turned back to the fridge.

"I meant to say that ass looks *really* good on you," I grinned.

She turned to look at me, and smiled - perhaps uneasily. The corner of her mouth told me she was more than a little unsure of what just happened. But she took her drink outside and I didn't hear anything of it.

The next time we met Patricia she was at our house, and she was back on her game. The summery light blue dress was low and high cut in all the right places. She hugged me when she came in, and then strode past me following my wife. She suddenly paused, felt out the line of her panties and "snapped" the waist band through her dress, in front of me - where only I could see. She grinned and winked and then stepped off on her previous course. My cock hardened. That fucking tease.

The last time we caught up was at her place. Patricia was at the door, barefooted and in another airy dress that managed to show off her curves despite the loose fit. She seemed to be struggling to carry a basket full of craft materials for the kids. Patricia leaned forward for a peck on the cheek with my wife, who in turn offered to take some of the load, but before she could answer a handful of pens and papers had fallen to the floor. Patricia told her not to worry, that I could help, and then she urged my wife and both sets of kids through to the backyard for refreshments. As they went past her into the house Patricia turned away to face the hallway and lowered herself to her hands and knees placing the basket on the floor and reaching for some of the pens.

"Could you get that?" she said, glancing over her shoulder. I don't know what she adjusted but her dress was now high on her hips and was no longer leaving anything to my imagination. Her ass was out and her bald cunt was bare to the world. She wasn't going to have to ask twice. I climbed down to the floor behind her and reached for a pen between her legs. On the way down my finger lazily followed the contour of her ass, which was met with Patricia lightly pushing herself onto my finger. On the way back from the floor I gently stroked the full length of her hairless pussy, from clit to asshole with the now slickened nub of the pen.

"Hmm, thanks!" she chirped, to which I replied with hard pinch where her arse met her inner thigh.

-[ = ]-

I picked Patricia up and drove out of the city.

"Do you have any blood pressure issues?"

"No"

"Do you have any skin concerns - rashes, grazes, reactions or other conditions that I should know about?"

"No, but why .."

"Are there any areas of your body that cannot, or should not, be touched or manipulated?"

"No .. Sir," she added sarcastically.

"Have you ever masturbated and climaxed to a vibrator?"

"What do you think?!" she groaned and hit me.

"That you're too pure to know what a vibrator is?" I teased.

-[ = ]-

Patricia went in first, emptying my bag of bondage toys on the bed, greedily - like a kid ripping open the biggest present under the tree. I pushed the door to the room shut and I twisted the latch - locked - this was the point of no return.

She had her back to me when I reached her. Sensing me behind her she raised her hands above her head - entwining her fingers. With my chest against her shoulders I gently drew the back of my fingers down her firm form. The smooth fabric offered little resistance as my nails trailed from the inside of her shoulders down along the curved outline of her breasts - her nipples standing out and hardening obscenely against the flimsy fabric. Gorgeous.

My finger tips continued across her taught stomach, firm waist and hips and slowed into the tops of her thighs. Patricia worked out hard and it had clearly paid off - her body was nothing short of fit and touching it was warming my crotch. As my fingers came to rest, she lowered her arms letting them cross her body. Her hands fell on to the hem of her dress, which she clasped and drew up and over her head in a single graceful movement. My fingers now rested at the top of her g-string and she was pushing her tight little ass into my hard cock through my jeans as she rubbed her thighs together, slowly shifting her weight from one high-heeled pump to another.

Teasing bitch, she's not driving here.

"You have been a very naughty girl, Patricia," I said sternly, to her giggle.

I stood next to the bed and picked up a long piece of quarter inch nylon rope and proceeded to tie her wrists together tightly behind her back. Aside from taking her control, it had the distinct advantage of forcing her shoulders back and her tits out.

I then picked up the red ball gag and wedged the sphere between her lips where she accepted it without question. I pulled the straps behind her head and buckled them tightly beneath her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling the ball deep into her mouth. The ball, of medium size, filled her mouth completely. Without help, the gag was not coming off. To test the effectiveness of the gag I slapped her ass, hard.

"Hmmmph!" she protested genuinely.

With nothing but moans coming from her gagged lips, Patricia was gagged securely.

While the fingers from her bound hands tried to squeeze my cock through my jeans I took advantage of a special feature of this ball gag. I placed a small silver chain through the ball using the same hole that the leather strap went through. Attached to both ends of the chain was a set of clover nipple clamps. I put one hand on the back of her head and pushed her forward. I then picked up the two spring nipple clamps and placed one on each hardened nipple. As the clamps were applied, there was a sharp bite at first;

"Nnnng!" Patricia grunted.

But after a few moments, the bite lessened to an erotic ache. There would be no doubt that they were there. The length of the chain was such that Patricia had to keep her head bowed to prevent putting too much tension on the nipple clamps and thus her already sensitive nipples. Clover nipple clamps were the kind that press harder, the harder they are pulled. As it was the chain was short enough that her breasts were actually beginning to be lifted up by the nipples. The clamps were not coming off.

I sat on the edge of the bed with Patricia standing - her legs between mine - her front facing to my left and back to my right. With my right foot I gentled kicked at the insides of her feet. She got the message and slowly spread her legs to as far as she dared on her heels.

I ran one hand up the deliciously smooth inside leg of my little captive whilst I picked up the Hitachi massager from the bed with the other. Switching hands I held the massager firmly against the inside of her left thigh, forcing the massager's head against her tiny g-string and, in-turn, her defenseless cunt. I grabbed the roll of black tradies' tape and used my teeth to start it. One run of tape bound the neck of the massager to the top of her thigh via her hip. The other run of tape bound the handle of the massager to the bottom of her thigh - just above her knee. With the Hitachi taped to her like this I could be sure the vibrator would remain engaged with her pussy no matter how much she squirmed.

"Kneel." I insisted.

She no longer had the use of her hands, so I had to help Patricia kneel to the floor, first one knee and then the other. It gave me a chance to admire the the Irving Klaw photo in front of me. You could see excitement and arousal on her face as she drooled down her chin on to her chest and bare breasts, her nipples throbbing in a dull ache from the spring-loaded clamps and pulled taught due to the chain through her gag that forced her to look to the floor. Graceful servitude, probably for the first time in her rebellious young life, but I wasn't through with her yet.

I smiled, "Now lie on your side," I said quietly.

I eased her right shoulder into the rough carpet. She didn't complain, her mind racing with new sensations and a building anticipation. Before I let her go she brought her knees forward to keep herself on her side; after-all she was keen not to fall forward on those nipple clamps.

I tied her legs together above the knees and tied and cinched her heeled feet together very tightly at the ankles.

To make things more difficult for Patricia, I tied another rope on to the wrist tie behind her back and threaded it through the ankle tie at her feet and back to her wrists. As I slowly pulled on the loose end of the last rope, Patricia's bondage took its final form. The force of my make-shift pulley was inching her feet toward her ass, in-turn drawing her legs behind her back. This little fucktoy was so fit that I was able to get her feet nestled into her hands before she screamed into the gag. I slackened the last restraint slightly, and tied it off.

Patricia was in an effective hogtie. She was a human D-ring, with her body bowed out obscenely into the room. The stress of her shoulders and legs being pulled behind her left her breasts dramatically exposed and her muscles drawing taught lines from her neck down through her tight tummy and plunging into her pubic mound, further stress hidden only by the thin fabric of her tiny panties. The only thing stopping her from rotating her pelvis and letting her ass relax into a more comfortable position was the upward force of the unforgiving Hitachi massage head on her pronounced pussy. While the contradiction of her shoulders pulling her neck back and the nipple clamps demanding relief meant that trying to lift her head, or even relax her neck, only caused more unwanted tension to her nipples. Thus she was forced to hold her head forward against its will leaving a constant conscious reminder that caused her to continually dwell on her enforced submission.

From the far end of her body I picked up the Hitachi power cord and looked back toward her. I got lost in two pools of arousal as her eyes pleaded with me across the room. I was brought back when I realised that she was ever so gently rocking her hips, unsuccessfully trying to get relief from the head of the massager through the growing wet spot in the little triangle of fabric that covered her hungry cunt.

I smiled back at Patricia and plugged the Hitachi in to the wall.

-[ = ]-

I switched on the Hitachi at its low setting, and watched her reaction. The effect on my horny bound guest was immediate.

The massager had started vibrating without warning. "Mmrrrmmmrh!", she moaned as her jaw bore down into her gag, her eyes forcing themselves shut to the intense stimulation. Patricia had used vibrators in the past, and they certainly made her orgasm, but no battery powered device could be compared to the Hitachi and then nothing compared to a Hitachi forcefully strapped to a poor girl's rapidly engorging clit.

Her body jerked at the unfamiliar stimulus, and she strained futilely at the ropes as her breathing increased pace. Unable to close her legs against the instrument, she clenched her buttocks and began to squirm. Soon enough her animal lust found its rhythm. "Hmmmmnn," she moaned quietly, beginning to rock. "Hmmnn", again in a slightly higher pitch, "Hmmnn!" more desperately. The bound girl knew she would come soon; she could feel her pulse between legs and began to slick with her own juices.

The time for foreplay was over. I turned the Hitachi to its highest setting. Her eye-lids flashed open as the game went up a level.

A desperate whimper arose in the back of Patricia's throat. The contorted look on her face said *I've got to come. I can't take any more of this. I have to come now!*

My captive strained against the ropes that held her, a futile attempt to remove or increase the stimulus - I don't know which. Patricia's thighs were now slick with her own juices, which also ran down her the back of her thighs to the carpet beneath her hips.

I waited quietly and watched until the first orgasm came crashing down over her.

The moment it broke was perfect - all of the tension in her face fell away. Her eye lids gently closed as her eyes slowly rolled back into her head, her head fell back until it was stopped by the pull of her breasts away from her chest via their taught nipple clamps, while her jaw began to drop around the ball gag - a silent scream in beautiful agony - she was in sheer ecstasy.

I stood back in the middle of the room jealously admiring her breath-taking predicament.

Little did she know what awaited her.

-[ = ]-

The smell of Patricia's sex filled the room. It permeated my nostrils and set my mind on sexual fire. The only sound to be heard was the powerful buzzing of the vibrator that purred inexorably on.

Patricia began to rouse. It took her a moment to shake the delirium. She raised her head and flinched when the pain bit into her nipples. She looked over to me;

"Bmmp Mm Mmmp," Patricia seemed to be asking.

I mischievously smiled at her.

She looked like she was trying to smile back until realisation swept across her face.

"Bmmp Mmn Mmnmp!" Patricia seemed to be demanding.

A sheen of sweat had broken out over her whole body.

"Turn it off?" I asked, with my most practiced puzzled expression.

She looked relieved, "Hmm!" she mumbled.

"Not yet," I winked.

A look of terror came over her. Patricia, as with most women, hadn't been fortunate enough to learn that the clitoris, like the head of the penis, becomes hyper-sensitive post orgasm. Any clitoral stimulation capable of driving a woman to orgasm is unbearable, if not painful, after the fact. She was about to experience her first forced orgasm. And she realised it.

"Bmmp! Mnm! Mnmmp!" she bellowed into her gag through her heavy breathing, as the unrelenting stimulation drove her tortured clit on.

I shook my head and wandered off to get myself a glass of water.

For Patricia the conflict was just beginning. At first it was becoming more and more difficult to mentally hold back the painful over-stimulation, trying to conquer the unwanted but intense stimulation, trying to suppress the dread and anger of somebody forcing unwanted sexual manipulation on her. But then suddenly her body plateaued and slowly the stimulation of her clit gave way to arousal again. The thoughts became erotic; of being out of control, subject to another's whim's, unable to say no, available to anything he may desire. Her face flushed and the red hue raced from her cheeks to her chest and brought new heat to her nipples. She groaned audibly as her body betrayed her mind with her already sopping pussy starting to leak fresh juices and her nipples feeling like they had hardened even further.

Realising that the next orgasm may not be her last, she wanted to fight it or at least delay it. The restraints were needed, then. She writhed and struggled in her bonds, part of her wanting to tear off the vibrator and get some peace, part of her wanting to tear off the restraints and devour the machine with her desperate cunt. Her breathing became strained. Her thighs fought impossibly to close over her tightly bound and unprotected crotch. In her mind, Patricia fought back the arousal, and the tears, and the desire to embrace the heavenly feeling growing in her warm wet pussy, and the vibrator purred relentlessly on.

As the arousal got to the point of overcoming her will, her hips rolled and struggled beneath her bonds, aching with the intensity of her feelings.

In the end, the inevitable happened - another crashing orgasm - her pussy juices tickling her thigh as they leaked out into the carpet - nipples returning to their dull ache. She screamed in despair, beaten and betrayed by her weak and fickle physiological responses. She was so determined to beat them.

I laughed to myself and put the empty glass down on the side table.

-[ = ]-

Patricia roused from her second orgasm. The vibrating monster doesn't need rest.

I was waiting for her to endure the pain and get to her next plateau.

It is funny how time seems to slow down when you want something to happen so bad.

As her thrashing subdued and the rhythm of her arousal began, I reached into my pocket and withdrew a tiny black g-string. Still damp from last night's session, I held the fist full of fabric to my nose and drew in the scent. Even in a room full of pheromones and girl cum, nothing was sweeter than my wife's pussy in heat.

I said, suddenly sternly, "I don't need a lover Patricia, I need a slave." Her eyes went wide - she almost showed a face full of concern before she fell head-long into her next uncontrollable orgasm. The emotions tumbling with her into the darkness.

I knelt down on the carpet beside her. She was out of breath and was sweating from the struggle and excitement. She was drooling heavily down her chin around the ball gag. I took my wife's scant panties and wiped off Patrica's face and chin. I then pulled the g-string over her head, retaining her sight and ensuring that she would have the heavily scented crotch fabric filtering every breath.

Her eyes drifted around through the mental fog of sex until they eventually met mine. Then I gave her a moment to catch her breath.