One Glass of Wine

David heard the TV faintly in the background of his breathing and his heartbeat. He sat awkwardly on the leather sofa, arms restrained in leather arm splints, frustrating devices of restraint that allowed the use of his hands for long distance manipulation, but allowed no close-in usage for scratching, eating or drinking. All his nutritional sustenance was controlled by Sandy, but even that was in doubt for tonight, as his mouth was plugged with a padded leather gag which pressed his tongue to the bottom of his mouth. She had locked it to the tight leather hood that had been laced and locked upon his head, removing his sight and most of his hearing. A thick leather posture collar held his head high and rigid. When he moved, tiny luggage locks jangled and kept him aware of his prison. Finally, the anal plug pushed against his panty girdle in futile attempts to extricate itself, at the same time pushing backward relentlessly against his prostate, generating confusing feelings of both shame and ecstasy.

In short, he was in heaven.

He had no choice except to internalize all emotions and thoughts. There were no external stimuli. He floated in sub-space, a chemical cocktail of restraint, submission, humiliation, some pain, and a lot of sexual lust. His was a box of nothing and yet had a fullness of total self-awareness, a box of everything. His skin tingled with the sparking of life itself in a primordial soup. It carried him away.

He twisted himself on the anal plug and sucked his breath in quickly with want as it massaged him only enough to keep him in total arousal. It was an evil thing, but it was not the most evil. Although he was unable to touch himself because of the arm splints, they were actually superfluous, as he had been locked in a stainless steel male chastity device for 26 days since he had last been allowed to have an orgasm. His penis had filled the cage up, trying to spring upward and outward, but there was nowhere to go. First barrier, the cage itself; second the girdle.

This was total domination and defeat of the male gender by his wife Sandy. He realized that his story, if told to others in a short story format, would not only be silly and unbelievable, but would actually require a novel. And yet he lived it. It was real. And he had lived it for a very long time.

How long would she force him to remain this way? Would she require some sexual service tonight? Would she simply be happy for the peace and quiet and release him the next morning? Would she allow him an orgasm? If so, would she force him to masturbate or would she allow penetration?

Unknown to David, Sandy sat not two metres away from him watching "The Bridges of Madison County. Periodically she glanced at David for safety reasons, smiled at her husband, and then resumed her attachment to the movie.

His mind began to whirl with wild fantasies and almost hallucinogenic thoughts and memories both recent and long ago. Restrained as he was, his body twitched slightly like a dreaming dog.

EARLIER...

David drove home on Friday night in a continuous drizzle of rain. The windshield wipers rhythmically slapped the gore of dead insects back and forth, creating a dangerous layer of translucent haze. He gripped the wheel a little more tightly than usual, waiting for interaction with idiots.

The week had been a good one, a raise and the promise of a year-end bonus, based on what he had accomplished over the past six months. A new oil find had bolstered the company's bottom line and broadened its opportunities going forward. Despite the rush hour oxymoron, he smiled as the cars inched forward. A nice glass of Cabernet awaited him at home, maybe two, probably three.

David drank too much. He knew it. His wife Sandy knew it. But he was not an alcoholic, and considered himself a lover of wine. There was no taste like wine. It was an unfortunate byproduct of that nectar that it made him drunk. Non-alcoholic wines did not cut it.

Sandy hated drinking. It caused her to lose control, and Sandy liked to be in control. The one thing she could not be in command of was his wine consumption, and long ago she had devised a scheme that actually served two purposes, full sexual service for her any time she wanted, and limited wine consumption for him. At least that's the way he saw it. The reality was that there was a third element which caused the hand to fit the glove very well: he in fact enjoyed and even craved for her to control him in every way. Each of them won. It was a perfect symbiotic relationship, well, not quite perfect; he missed his wine. But weekdays were now alcohol-free by her decree, and weekends were optional, depending upon her desires.

David pulled into the darkness and familiarity of the garage, turned off the ignition, and opened his door. The garage smelled slightly of last week's garbage forgotten on garbage day. He gathered his briefcase and stepped inside the mudroom shouting the universal, "Honey, I'm home!"

Sandy poked her head around from the foyer and smiled with love and happiness.

"Hi sweetie," she said softly, and came around to kiss him quickly on the mouth before starting to unload the dryer.

David responded by giving her a quick hug, more of a gentle squeeze actually, one of familiarity and love.

"Wine tonight?" he asked.

Without looking up she answered, "Everything's described in the bedroom. One glass tonight and that's it. Go and follow your instructions. I have the keys."

With both dread and anticipation, he smiled and said, "Yes Goddess. It's to be THAT type of evening is it?"

She neither looked up, nor answered.

As he walked to the bedroom, his heart started to race, and his knees trembled slightly. This never got old, as there were endless combinations and permutations of bondage, humiliation and discipline, some scenes of which were repeated without boredom numerous times. It always had newness and freshness to it, an intimacy born of trust. He literally trusted her with his life, as she could do anything to him that she wanted. And she did.

Laid out on the bed were an anal plug, lubrication, panty girdle, leather hood, and the dreaded posture collar. A bag of small luggage locks and two new arm-length leather items festooned with buckles and straps lay off to the side. A riding crop lay on the bureau, silent with menace. She meant business tonight.

There was a sequence to the instructions, and now nude, he followed them meticulously while sipping on his one precious glass of Cabernet. The most difficult and the last items were the hood and the collar. The hood laced up over the top and back of his head ending at the base of his neck where a leather hasp flap allowed the insertion of the lock. The click of the lock was like the clank of a jail cell door. There was a permanence to it that both shocked and excited him. He was thankful but at the same time a little disappointed that the facial openings were still open in the hood. Breathing was easy, and he could easily maneuver the dreaded posture collar into place. It simply was pulled as tight as possible and the hasp was locked with finality. He had no idea what the remaining items were for, and the instructions ended with the collar.

He turned, feeling the anal plug shift inside him, finding its most tormenting place as it always did. He fired his anal muscles to try to launch it from within him, but the girdle held firm. The mirror showed some leather freak ready for the leather bar.

David used to fear being gay, as he liked this so much, but a psychologist once asked him, "Do you like the smell of a man?"

"No. God no!"

"Do you like the feel of a man touching you...there?"

"No!"

"Do you like the feel of a man's stubble as he kisses you on the lips?"

"Jesus Christ, no!"

"And you fear you are gay?"

"Well, I, umm..."

"David, you like the FEEL of things, the girdles, the bras, the anal plugs. They simply feel good to you. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, but you definitely don't have to worry about that."

That had been a revelation, but he conveniently never let it ruin the lovely sexual humiliation effect of wearing a girdle or the insertion of an anal plug, especially if it was lovingly demanded by a dominant woman, or in this case, his wife.

As instructed, he yelled, "I'm ready!"

He gulped the last of his wine regretfully, just in case.

Sandy entered with a smile, ironically with a glass of white wine herself.

She spoke loudly so he could hear her through the padding at his ears, "Well, you do look ready to serve don't you? Do a squat for me and make sure that plug is nestled next to your clitoris."

She always called his prostate his clitoris in a most humiliating way. His face burned red, and his hands began to tremble slightly, as he squatted. He gasped as the plug found its final resting place.

Sandy smiled. "Now for the best part," she yelled mischievously, "Hold your arm out."

He did so and the leather splints were applied to his arm and the twenty or so buckles were pulled tight and secured. It was repeated for the other arm. He felt like the Tin Man, unable to bend his neck or arms and unable to move his head.

"Jesus! What happens if I want to eat or drink?" he asked.

"You don't. I'll take care of you when and if it is necessary."

As he was marveling at the helplessness these devices afforded him, she applied the padded leather strap across his eyes and cinched it tight, also locking it in place. Sight and sound. Gone. He opened his mouth to say something when the gag fell into place with his whimper. Locked.

He stood there in a void, stunned at his loss of dignity and power.

"Mmf, mmf!" he said.

Now Sandy lowered her voice as if a normal unrestrained person were in her presence. She was actually just talking to herself, but it was just loud enough that David could hear. Not with understanding however; they were just murmurs beyond his ability to decipher meaning..

She led him to the granite island bar in the kitchen and sat him down on a stool while she deliberately made loud knife, fork, and plate sounds as she ate her supper. There was music in the background as well, maybe ABBA, maybe something else.

And so the night began.

Sandy spoke softly to him so he could only hear a voice, "I'm going to read for awhile now, and then I'm going to watch a movie. I absolutely do NOT wish to be disturbed! Is that clear?"

He sat there helplessly, straining to hear her voice, to make understanding of it. Time stood still until he felt two quick slaps of the riding crop on his girdled buttocks overhanging the stool.

"Mmf! Phff!" he responded.

Smiling gleefully, Sandy yelled so he could hear, "IS THAT CLEAR?"

Unable to nod or speak, he did the best he could, "Mmm, Mmm."

Sandy gave him a hug then and patted his caged penis inside the girdle, saying clearly, "Don't go away my dear. Enjoy your evening." She smiled and shook her head as she walked to her favorite chair in the living room where she could read and watch him at the same time.

Before she began to read, she wondered what caused a person to love being dominated like that. It was crazy. It had taken 20 years of marriage before she finally realized her potential and how he folded into her designs for marital bliss. It was so simple, and yet she had resisted all these years because, well, it just seemed weird, not right, perverted. Surely he could be normal, like other men.

But that ship had sailed long ago. David was a cross dresser and even now she hated that and wanted nothing to do with it. The girdle he wore was only a tool to hold the anal plug in place. He liked to dress up and masturbate in front of a mirror. How fucking gross is that? The chastity device had solved that. He had stepped into that himself, thinking it was a fun little sexual game, even ordering his own "prison". Once locked on, the game changed however. She only unlocked him when she wanted, and with his oral talents, that was not often. That had been the start, and now, whenever he was unlocked for any type of orgasm, he was in some form of bondage from which there was no escape...unless he locked the chastity device back on first.

He had stopped going to the gym because of the device, and instead worked out at home. It was a game at first, but with increasing alarm he noted that there was no way out of her bondage cycle. He thought he had a way out when he arranged for his first medical with the family doctor. But she did not blink. She accompanied him into the doctor's office and explained that the device was permanent unless a medical procedure was necessary such as an MRI. The reason was not any of his business. The doctor was shocked, but when he asked David if he was in agreement with being locked into the device, even she had been surprised when he said yes. The doctor had looked at her suspiciously but had said nothing more, and that was that.

Sandy smiled and started reading. It was so peaceful, and the book was powerful, good enough that she read for two hours, finishing it up with rapidly turned final pages. The book slammed shut in her hands and she glanced at David, now slouched on the stool, utterly subdued and helpless.

Time for a movie, a chick flick tonight, nothing blowing up, no stupid Monty Python stuff, just a nice reflective story of love.

She went to him and pulled him gently to his feet, holding him by both shoulders and smiling. There was momentary sympathy for his predicament, but she recovered her reason, as in her research, she had learned that the more he was subjected to such restraint, the more enjoyment he gained from it. She was tired of asking why, and to be quite frank, so was he. It was what it was. And they got what they both wanted, bizarre as it seemed. And nobody had to know. Nobody but the doctor, and he really had not an inkling of the extent of this lifestyle.

Placing him near her on the leather couch, she looked at her watch. Two and a half hours now. Time to feed him and provide some fluids.

She yelled into his ear, "Time for supper dear, and if you do not utter a word, I will give you some wine to wash it down. The gag will come off only for a short time. Do you agree?"

That had seemed like an eternity ago to David. He twitched and seemed to wake up. Had he been asleep? The sensory deprivation was taking its toll. He didn't know what was real any more. How long had it been, he wondered? Was he lying down? He moved and felt the anal plug shift again. No, he was sitting up still. He strained to hear something other than his heartbeat and breathing, anything. But there was nothing. He wondered where he was. There was no sound as far as he could tell. He rotated his body on top of the anal plug in a desperate futility. There had to be a reason to be trussed like this for so long, but she had not offered anything. He decided to take a risk.

Sometimes if he laid on his stomach and gyrated in a certain way, the pressure on his penis and the working of the plug played their magic and allowed him a type of orgasm. It wasn't much, but it was something. He assumed Sandy had left him alone and so he laid himself on the floor and started to work. His breathing was restricted by the hood, and he began to grunt and sweat. It was working! Then it passed in utter frustration, then welled up again. After several rollercoaster rides of hope and denial, he began to think this was it.

That's when the riding crop hit the first time on his tightly girdled behind. Then again and again on various places as he writhed on the floor, blindly trying to anticipate the next sting. It didn't really hurt much, but it was death by a thousand stings. Eventually he just laid there still, while the sting of the riding crop caused a full mental submission.

Jesus, he thought. She had never acted like this before. When would this stop?

Finally, he felt her helping him up and he was pulled backward, stumbling, until his back rested against what was probably a door. She fumbled at the top of the hood where there was a metal D-ring. He heard a lock snap shut while at the same time he was lurched upright, so that he almost felt like he was in traction. Then nothing. He tried to move but he was now forced to stand.

"No, please, no!" was what he wanted to say. He had been so close to orgasm, and now that was taken away, with virtually no chance to regain that feeling of release. His anal muscles clenched and released the plug rhythmically in continuous attempts to find relief, but it was not to be.

"Rho, phse Rho!" he screamed.

Sandy patted his chastity device and girdle and laughed into his ear, saying, "Well you sure blew your chances tonight, didn't you? Don't worry, I'll tuck you in when we're done watching the movie."

As one parting shot, she landed a particularly nasty rider's crop snap on his exposed belly. A red welt rose up quickly. She stared at it in amazement and near adulation, not at the marvel of its quick growth, but at how it aroused her. She touched it lovingly and then pulled away quickly. She had never done this before. She had never felt this way before, and the fear of it lasted only a nanosecond.

And that terrified her in a very pleasing way.