Snuggy-Wuggy
By Rocco of The Writing Group
I hate March. I'm done with cold, done with winter, and here it is freezing my tail off. I walk in from outside, shivering. I still don't really feel warm inside, either. We can't spend any more on heat. I'll change out of these damp clothes and hide under a blanket until June!
I walk into the living room. Renee looks up from her sewing and smiles at me. I feel better already. She's the picture of domesticity, sitting on the couch and sewing. I walk over and lean in for a kiss.
"Sweetie, are you shivering?" She looks very concerned. Exaggerating, in fact. We've been married a couple of years now. I recognize the, "I'm leading you down the garden path" expression.
I've never regretted following Renee's lead. "Yeah, I hate March. I can't stop shaking."
"You're in luck, Chris!" She has more to say, but I love a good straight line.
"Yes, I am. I have you." I enjoy the look on her face when I surprise her with a lovebit. (That's short for "love soundbite". Yes, we have cute names for our cute habits. We're sickeningly cute.)
"You had better remember that, Christina Marie Purvis! Also, stop interrupting me." She isn't mad. She's doing her comedy routine. That's a signal that she has a plan and I should be quiet. I'm only "Christina Marie" when she's being intimidating.
"Sorry."
"Forgiven. Provisionally." Smile. "Anyway, you're in luck. I was just finishing a gift for you."
She holds up the thing she was working on. It's a blanket? It's not falling right, and there are two wide strips of different-color material sewn onto it. A hole in the middle? It kind of looks like a ...
"You've seen those infomercials for a blanket-poncho thing that lets you be snug and warm with your head and your arms out? I thought something like that would be good for my wife who's always chilly. You know me, I never make anything to the pattern."
"Yeah. It's like how I cook. You don't catch me following the recipe precisely."
"I made the sleeves form-fitting (and better looking), and made the fabric two layers." The sleeves are made of a different material, red fabric on a reddish-brown blanket fabric. The contrast is actually really striking and attractive. Of course, Renee is a tailor. (She hates seamstress.) "It's more body-shaped, not as loose as the commercial one. That makes it hang better and not catch on stuff. It's also warmer." She should have been an inventor. She's always improving stuff. The double-thickness blanket sounds really good to me. I am very cold.
"Usually, I'd put this on a mannequin to see how it looks. This time, the person I made it for is right here. So. Ms. Mannequin--take it all off!" She's very commanding when she's tailoring. It's charming. Really, it's incredibly hot, but "charming" is what I say.
"Take what off?"
"Everything. Shoes, clothes, ... OK, I'll be nice and let you keep your piercings in." That is definitely a leer. She gave me the nipple jewelry. "I love to look at your beautiful body. Strip!" After a moment, "I also want to test how warm the Snuggy-Wuggy is. Those outdoor clothes ... no. Off!"
Jacket off, then I sit beside her and slide off my boots. "You're really going to call it 'Snuggy-Wuggy'?" Slip off the warm socks. The air is cold on my bare feet. I hate March. Unbutton the blouse.
"If I sell it? Maybe. I'd have to ask a lawyer about trademarks. Right now, I'm just talking to my gorgeous, wonderful, cooperative wife. Also chilly--I see goosebumps on your arms." I get up to remove the blouse, then unhook and drop my bra. "Those big bumps on your knockers are way more fun, though. They're really standing up." Sliding my pants and panties down together.
"Sorry I couldn't strip slower for you, lover, but I'm
cold
." I'm really trembling now.
"I will never complain about a naked Chris. If you weren't so cold, I'd make you wait while I took a better look." She's gathering the ... I guess I have call it "Snuggy-Wuggy", but I resent it. Anyway, she grabs it and walks behind me, climbing up on the ottoman and holding the garment in mid-air. "Put your hands down by your sides."
She drops the thing over my head. I'm blind for a couple of seconds, then my head pops through the collar. I'm glad I cut off my 2-foot blonde braid last year. Pulling this thing over a braid might have caught and hurt. Buzzcut dyed green slips right through. There's a padded, reinforced collar. It's really comfortable, even though it's as heavy as a winter coat. Of course, it's comfy. My wife is a genius. It smells faintly of chlorine-free bleach, she must have washed it. Because she loves me. I am smiling.
She climbs back down. "OK, now you'll probably have to put one arm at a time into the sleeves. I might have made this thing too tight for your chest. I will never complain about a big-boobed Chris, though. Raise your right hand straight up. The entry to the sleeve is right at your shoulder." She pulls the cloth out at the top of the right sleeve, where the red fabric joins the brownish stuff. That gives me enough slack to awkwardly fold my arm up and put it into the sleeve. The thing isn't nearly as tight after that. She silently tugs on the left shoulder, and I put my left arm into that sleeve. The thing is even more comfortable now. In fact, it feels really nice.
Whenever Renee puts a new garment on me, she does this thing where she runs her hands over my body. She's seeing how it hangs, trying to find loose places and tight places. I don't think she's that intimate with paying customers. She's doing it now. It's wonderful. She's so focused, so professional. She does give extra attention to my breasts and my butt and my crotch, though. The double layer of thick fabric should make the sensation less, but no. She's pressing harder so I can feel her hands. The expert tailor knows exactly how to caress me through something she made. "How does it feel, Chris?" she asks.
"It feels great. The way your hands linger on all the best spots ... you meant the Snuggy-Wuggy, didn't you." I grin. Another hit with a lovebit. "It's super warm and hangs evenly. I know it must be heavy, but it doesn't feel that way. One thing, though: the sleeves are quite a bit too long. My hands don't reach the ends." I hold my hands out straight in front of me. Weirdly, the blanket part follows them. I can see straps connecting the ends of the sleeves to the blanket on the opposite side. Wait a second ....
"Let me make a couple of adjustments," says Renee, and she puts her hip against my butt and pulls hard at some kind of handle or something on the back of the thing, and my arms are pulled into a hugging-myself position. There's a tight band running around my back, behind my shoulders. I can distinctly hear a click! as some kind of buckle is secured.
"Renee, what is--" That's as far as I can get before I feel another yank as something tightens the Snuggy-Wuggy around my waist. Another click.
I'm not scared. It surprises me how not-scared I am. We've played enough bondage games, and I trust her so absolutely. My heart speeds up, but that's excitement, not fear.
Renee walks around in front of me and carefully examines my face. She's checking to see if I'm freaking out. She's always careful about my emotional state. I smile. She's showing how much she cares.
She smiles back. What's going on? I'm in ... "A strait jacket, Renee? I'm honored you went to so much trouble for me."
"Comfiest strait jacket ever made, I think. You're the one to judge. I've never worn it properly." She takes me by the shoulders and walks me over to the couch where she was sitting. I feel a rush. Without arms, I can't possibly resist. I feel even more helpless than I do in our handcuffs. I find myself trying to embrace her, kiss her. When my arms don't work, I try to lean on her. She's got my shoulders, though. I can only go where she puts me.
She turns me so the couch is behind my calves. A slight push is enough to force me to sit. She's so careful. Renee holds onto me and makes sure I don't fall too hard. I'm surprised when she kneels down and fumbles with the bottom of the cone of fabric. She pulls, hard, tightening the hem around my ankles. It's a drawstring. I can see a cord pulled out of the hem. She's tying it off now. Even while I'm getting more and more excited, I notice her beautiful, skilled hands tying the knot with perfect precision and confidence. It's not unpleasantly tight, but I have no slack. I'm naked, in a sack, with my head and my bare feet sticking out. And my arms helplessly pinned.
Renee grabs my ankles and rotates me around on my butt. My head is at one end of the couch and my feet at the other. The couch is our best piece of furniture. It's an antique longer than either of us is tall, with super-comfortable foam cushions. We've had to wash the cushion covers before, after passionate lovemaking on the very comfy sofa.
She draws me out of the happy past with a happier present. She kneels on the floor by my head and kisses me possessively, lovingly, firmly. With her hands on my head and the rest of me reduced to a wiggly sausage, she's so totally in command. The warmth between my legs started when I first stripped for her. Now it's going from "warm" to "melting wax".
Renee starts planting quick kisses on me--my cheek, my forehead, back to the lips, other cheek, nibble an ear. I'm making a sound like "Mmmm." No words.
Then she pulls back again. And asks, "So, why did you lie to me?"
My eyes fly open. (I don't remember closing my eyes.) So does my mouth. "What?!"
"You told me you weren't ticklish." Now that I can see her, I know it's OK. She's got an impish smile. I so, so want to kiss that mouth, but I'm totally helpless. I'm rubbing my thighs together involuntarily. She's so smart, so sure of herself. I cannot resist her when she's like this, and I don't mean because I'm bound.
"Um, I'm not? Wait, is that what this is about? You invented a new strait jacket to hold me still so you could tickle me?"
"I love you. Making stuff for you is fun. Don't change the subject." I could fall into that smile forever. I guess I should answer, not just stare at her adoringly. As I open my mouth, though, Renee overrides me.
"I figured it out. You claim to hate foot massages. I make all your clothes, but for Bea's wedding you let me dress you, from panties to hat, but not put your socks on. Why are you so defensive about your feet, my darling?" Her left hand is stroking the very short hair on my head. It's amazingly sensual.
I really can't resist Renee-in-charge. "Habit, my beloved." (We trade endearments. I think she memorized the thesaurus for "love".) "The truth is, I'm very, very ticklish. And I'm not comfortable with it. One bare foot, four fingernails, and I'm out of control. Rhoda learned my weakness and, well, took advantage of it. It was a borderline abuse thing. I understand it now, but I didn't then. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it ... wasn't. To be honest, I hadn't actually thought about why I pretended until just now. I just knew the subject made me uncomfortable."
"Do you trust me, Chris?" She sounds way too serious about that question.
"I trust you. I trust you completely. Utterly. With my life, with my heart. I'm yours." I don't know if I sound serious. I sure hope I sound sincere. I must, because I get a kiss.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Little Miss Damsel-in-Distress?" Smirking. I'm not a miss or little, but I get it.
"Yes!" I know
that
sounded sincere. I think maybe I sounded a little desperate. She's so hot and I'm
