I stood in the hallway, my jaw hanging open in disbelief, my eyes riveted to the form of my wife, my bride of 5 months. She was bound hand and foot, stretched on her belly in the middle of our bed, and writhing in a most deliciously erotic manner.
My first thought was that I had stumbled upon a robbery or rape in progress in my own home, that there must be someone else in the house, but it was obvious from her movement that this was something she was enjoying immensely. The best part was, she was still unaware of my presence. I quietly thanked mother nature for the snowstorm that had aborted my business trip, and was very glad that I had decided to return home rather than wait it out in the airport.
On stocking feet, I softly walked into the bedroom for a closer look.
Her ankles were bound together and fastened by a short length of rope to the crossbar at the foot of the bed. Her wrists, raised above her head, were likewise fastened to the headboard, though here it was a pair of handcuffs that held her wrists and a length of rope that fastened the handcuffs to the bed. A twin strand passed from the loop around her waist, between her buttocks and through her crotch. I presumed it was fastened in front to that same waist loop. It was against this twin strand that she appeared to be moving.
The whole thing puzzled me for several minutes - I could see how she had managed to bind herself, probably setting the handcuffs in place, then tying her ankles after the rope panty was in place before she closed the cuffs around her wrist, but had she intended to remain this way until my return from Chicago a week from now? I considered the possibility that she had a friend who was to come release her at some specific point in time, a thought that made me more than a little jealous. Then I spotted the icecube.
It was tied to her wrist with a length of white string, and in its depth I could make out the shape of a small key. Timed release. I quietly picked up her cuticle scissors from the dresser and, being careful not to make a telltale tug on the string, snipped it, placing the icecube quietly into the wastebasket, then sat in my reading chair to watch.
She moved for a while, then subsided - evidently delaying her gratification, perhaps trying to time it so that she would achieve an orgasm at about the time she would be able to free herself. I smiled as I wondered how she would respond when she found that she had no key. I smiled, and enjoyed the show, and considered the old fantasies that had filled my mind as a teenager, fantasies I had never hoped to share with a woman. My lovely and loving wife was going to be a more perfect lover than I had thought.
The moment arrived when her body strained against the ropes and a moaning escaped into the cloth gag in her mouth, barely perceptible from my vantage point. She lay for long moments, her breathing slowing, the flush on her shoulders returning to the natural, almost milk white color of her skin. Her hands fumbled for several moments, the motions unhurried, almost languid at first became more frantic as she found the cut end of the string. She cast about as if searching for that icecube - not believing, I imagine, that it could possibly be gone.
