The Agreement 6

An erotic adventure of lust and love, punishment and passion.

They pulled into a nondescript parking lot next to a squat little building beneath a bridge. The windows of the industrial building were masked and there was no signage save for a few posters declaring that unauthorized vehicles would be towed.

He looked at her beautiful face in the moon's wan glow to see if she had lost her nerve. She returned his gaze with a fierce defiance that he found encouraging. She was tough. She could do this. Besides, he would be here beside her the whole time, encouraging her, supporting her, molding her, disciplining her.

She had stepped over the line of their agreement, and she needed to be punished; to be shown that there were consequences. He had just the solution. To publicly reclaim his dominance and to declare his undying love. She would submit... to his control, to his lust, to his passion. He would convince her once again that she belonged to him, with him, forever.

He opened his door, and the sudden luminance of the dome light splashed a moment of fear across her face. He could tell that she knew she had done wrong. He knew that she was sorry. He could sense her trepidation and puzzlement, not knowing what to expect, only knowing that it would be a trial. For he had long ago established that he was a man of his word, and she knew that she would be required to make penance for her indiscretion.

They had made an agreement years ago, and it had served them well. Their home had been happy and comfortable, full of love and affection, where they had raised well-adjusted children who were now successful in their own lives, with families of their own. But there had been no illusions. They had both known, nearly from the start that they needed something more, and their agreement had allowed for a limited amount of freedom to explore their needs. And for years, it had worked flawlessly. Until she stepped over the line.

He stepped out of the car and waited patiently for her to gather up her courage and join him in the dark and slightly menacing parking lot. When she finally did get out of the car, she walked over to stand beside him. He turned and said, "Lift your hair." She complied and he pulled a studded black dog collar from the pocket of his slacks, where it had been poking his leg for the entire ride, challenging his fortitude, reminding him of his intentions, testing his resolve. He was not sure that he was doing the right thing, but he summoned up his own wellspring of courage and placed the collar on her long, slender neck. Then he pulled the chain, slowly, from his other pocket, giving her time to feel the weight of his intention. Attaching it to the collar, he gripped the chain firmly just inches from her beautiful throat, and firmly led her toward a non-descript door on the side of the non-descript building.

A small handwritten paper sign on the door was adorned with a single word, Grind.

Now that they were close to the industrial steel door, they could hear the faint pulsing of music from within. "Are you ready?" he asked. She nodded, and he pulled open the door. Loud dance music assaulted their ears as he led her into the partitioned hallway, barely brighter than the unlighted parking lot. He guided her toward a desk partially blocking the path and spoke to her firmly. "Wait right here! Do not move!" He wanted her to be clear that he was serious. He didn't want her peeking around the partition to see what was going on. He wanted her to anticipate, to fear.

He stepped over to the desk and presented his identification. The attendant on duty scanned the card and glanced at the data presented on his screen. Raising a single eyebrow, the steward nodded and waved him in. "Good to go..."

Glancing back to reaffirm with his gaze that she was not to move, he stepped beyond the partition. He moved quickly and surely, retrieving his bag from the locker in the back hall where he always kept it. He brought it to the space he had reserved in the center of the main space, where a sheet was already spread on the floor and a large industrial metal loop hung from the ceiling, firmly attached and able to bear extreme loads. He dropped the bag on the edge of the sheet, nodded to a few familiar faces, and headed back to retrieve his woman.

Coming around the end of the partition, he saw that she had obeyed, and still stood exactly where he had left her. He glanced over at the attendant, his question plain in his eyes, and the attendant gave him the thumbs up. Relieved, he stepped over to her and grabbed the end of the chain, attached to her comely neck.

"Follow me," was all he said, and he led her around the end of the partition and stopped, giving her time to take in the sights before her.

Ten feet away was a thin and athletic middle-aged man before a laptop, shirtless, dancing to the beat and gesticulating with his arms as he mouthed the words of the industrial dance music coming from his computer. Speakers strategically placed around the room pounded the beat for all to hear, to feel, and the DJ was clearly into this groove.

Twenty feet away was a large wooden rack covered in a sheet with an attractive young woman tied at the wrists and ankles. A tall and formidable man, shirtless and furry, wearing nothing but jeans, attached clothespins to her nipples and seemingly random folds of skin across her chest and belly.

Forty feet away, a section of chain link fence was attached to the wall, and another individual of questionable gender was chained to it, facing the wall, and being flogged by a young woman dressed from head to toe in a single piece jumpsuit covered in a paisley pattern.

Only a few feet away to their left was a couch and several chairs, occupied by a disparate group of people in various states of dress, some of them completely naked, others completely clothed, most somewhere in between, but none seemingly concerned for what the other was wearing. There were several discrete conversations, and some were clearly jumping from one conversation to the next, indicating that these people all knew each other to some degree.

Another couch, closer to the action on the floor, was fully occupied by still more people, calmly observing the application of clothes pins on the attractive woman bound to the rack.

He waited for a few moments for her to take it in, and then led her to a small coatroom to the right where he gently removed her long coat, revealing the only remaining clothes she wore, a matching bra and panties of the finest silk. He stopped to admire her nearly flat stomach and firm small breasts cupped gently by the light blue silk. She looked amazing for her age, and even better considering that she bore him two children so many years ago.

He noticed goose pimples on her arm, and wasn't surprised even though the air was quite warm, almost hot. She was nervous. She had never been here, her own needs not reflected within these walls.

She had need of intellectual stimulation regarding subjects of which he had little interest. She had found those needs met through the years by a series of friends and lovers whom he had remained blissfully unaware of. He knew that she had other men, and maybe women as well, but he remained intentionally ignorant to the details, much as she had remained unaware of his activities here.

His needs tended toward the technical, and he had spent much of his time honing his skills as a rigger, a person who binds and ties bodies, often suspending them from hooks in the ceiling, or tying them to hard structures such as racks and other similar fixtures. At its most basic, a rigger could tie a person up in such a way as to allow limited freedom of movement, while protecting them from being harmed by the ropes or their own resistance against the restraints. The technical expertise was considerable, and his complex mind was always seeking new and unique ways to creatively bind an individual to heighten sexual pleasure or provide meditative stimulation and relief.

And tonight their two worlds would collide. Well, technically, she would smash into his world, as she had brought her world smashing into his.

He had come home, surprised to see an unfamiliar car in the drive, and upon entering found his wife sprawled on the living room floor being ravaged by what appeared to be one of her college students, young and fit, with short spiky hair and the tight buttocks of a track star. Though he had turned and left immediately, she saw him. The alarm on her face in that brief moment would have been comical had it not been for the fact that he instantly realized that their agreement, previously so perfect and flawless in its execution, had faltered, and that their world was in danger of crashing down around them. Immediate action was necessary were they to salvage their marriage, their loving relationship.

He had driven around the neighborhood, wandering aimlessly, and thinking of how to handle this serious breach in protocol. His solution, discovered after much deliberation, was to bring her into his world. This was the plan he was now executing.

He had returned home after making arrangements at the club, and found his wife, alone and clothed, sitting on the couch awaiting his arrival. She was apologetic and clearly distraught at the fear that he would leave her, that he would not forgive her unforgivable breach of their agreement. He just told her to shower and primp, and to put on the blue silk underwear he had bought her for their first anniversary.

She still kept it in the original box and only wore it on extremely special occasions, and usually only for a few minutes before he peeled it off of her. It was a symbol of their love, of their agreement, of the peaceful compromise they had established so long ago that had saved a marriage in peril of failure. For it was on that first anniversary that their discontent had been brought into the open, and their needs had been exposed to each other. They had agreed then that a certain allotment of time was to be spent pursuing activities outside of the home. Activities that fulfilled their needs that were currently being unmet by each other. And by this method, they would preserve the love and respect that they shared for each other. By this means they would continue to thrive and grow, satisfied and stimulated, and always have a safe haven to return to, comforted and nurtured by each other.

He came into the bedroom to find her sitting on the bed in her finest silk underthings. She looked sad and tired, but her hair was perfectly coiffed and her makeup was exquisite, as always. He pulled her heavy trench from the walk-in closet that they shared and she rose and allowed him to wrap her in it. He silently led her to the car, and she meekly obeyed his unspoken directives. She was clearly puzzled, but their long life together had left her with nothing but trust in him, and she knew that his punishment would be fair. And he could tell that she realized that he was punishing her. He also knew that she was a little relieved that he was doing so, for the alternative would be far worse.

They could survive without each other. Each was firmly established in their respective careers and had enough friends in non-overlapping groups that their lives would continue uninterrupted by the painful division of friends and family. However, they both instinctively knew that they would never be as happy apart as they were together. They just had to get beyond this little hurdle, this gargantuan breach of protocol, this violation of trust that threatened to overwhelm and destroy them if not addressed immediately.

And so, here they were. He led her around by her collar and she walked proud and tall, displaying her finely maintained body for all to see. He stopped every fifteen feet or so and guided her to turn and move so that she was prominently displayed to all who cared to look. And she was captivating. Nary an eye looked away. Men and women alike followed her every graceful move as he led her around the space.

Stopping near the area he had reserved, he paused to look up at the metal attachment hanging over the clean white sheet. He watched her from the corner of his eye as her gaze followed his. He saw the alarm on her face as she began to realize what he had in mind.

He led her away, and noticed the relief in her eyes as she turned from the empty scene, waiting to begin. He led her for another loop and casually, but purposefully, dropped his keys in front of the couch where the conversations had now largely hushed. He bade her retrieve them for him, and she understood his intent. Keeping her long, shapely legs absolutely straight, she slowly bent at the waist, and retrieved the keys from the floor. Rising slowly, she glanced back to see how many had watched her as she had proffered her scantily clad nethers to the group. All eyes were riveted and all conversation had ceased. He saw a small glimmer of pride in her expression as she handed him the keys. He allowed a brief smile of acknowledgement and encouragement to creep across his face for a moment, and then reassumed the stoic demeanor of her punisher. It was time.

He led her once again to the clean white sheet in the middle of the main space, and using firm tension on her leash guided her to her knees. He didn't speak, but she knew not to move. Reaching for his bag, he unzipped it and retrieved several coils of rope which he laid in a neat and orderly array in front of her so that her gaze could not miss them. He laid out several carabiners and metal rings as well. If she was surprised, she did not show it, her face remained carefully schooled and as stoic as his. She was prepared to bear his punishment, whatever it might be, and bear it with pride. Good.

His tackle neatly laid in place, he uncoiled the first rope, measured its length with his arms, and finding the middle, doubled it up along its entire length. He did this in clear view of his wife, and in a formal and ritualistic manner, letting her see how well-rehearsed he was in his actions. He draped the first loop across her lap as he gently lifted her left hand and forearm. Raising her other hand to join the first he smoothly rose and guided both arms behind her back, where he began looping and pulling the rope around her overlapped wrists in an arcane pattern of knots and wraps. Once her wrists were bound together, he continued looping the rope around her arms and chest, binding her to herself in one of the standard forms, known for its strength and simplicity, and for being comfortable for extended periods of time.

Once her arms were firmly immobilized, he grabbed the rope harness of his creation firmly with both hands and gently lowered his wife to the floor laying face down. As he gently spread her legs to begin the next step in his planned binding, he noticed that the crotch of her light-blue silken undies was damp and stained. She was excited. Good.

He gently bent her left leg at the knee, and pulling over a shorter length of cord, began to bind her bent leg to itself. He made sure that the ties were firm but that her circulation was not obstructed. He wanted to keep her tied for some time and he also wanted her to be able to experience not only the carefully measured pain he inflicted, but pleasure as well. Toward this end, he chose his knots carefully and used extra wraps for comfort.

Finishing the first leg, he copied his ties on the other leg exactly. He was not striving for art here, but effectiveness. Besides. His wife knew nothing of Shibari, and any attempt at being artful would fail to impress her. He was teaching her a lesson in humility and loyalty, not the fine art of japanese binding.

Having established the bindings that would keep her in position, he began looping ropes through the rings and carabiners, tying first one leg, then the other, to the ring hanging from the ceiling. He pulled each rope only taught enough to raise her legs an inch or so off of the ground, pressing her face and chest to the mat beneath the white linen spread beneath her.

He took a moment to kneel near her side and grabbed her hair firmly, forcing her to turn her head and look at him. He carefully evaluated the expression on her face and the look in her eyes. She was responding well to her first time in ropes. She wasn't panicked, and in fact, appeared peaceful and resigned.

It was as he had hoped for all these years. She responded well to bondage. But he had never before taken the chance at broaching the subject. Then HE would have been the offender, violating the agreement they had established on their first anniversary.

Content that she was not alarmed or experiencing any unintentional pain, he began stringing the final loops that would lift her body from the mat. Using several rings as makeshift pulleys, he strung the rope repeatedly from the top ring to the bindings on her torso. Strictly speaking, he didn't need so many loops to lift her trim body as he was not small or weak, but it would serve his purposes to raise her slowly with little effort, and the technical arrangement of pulleys and ropes would do just that.

Now that he had strung all the ropes and had every pulley in position, he double checked each and every knot and wrap to make sure that there was no unintentional pinching and that there was just enough tautness to bind while not obstructing the blood flow to any part of his wife's body. Satisfied that all was in place, he began to pull the lead rope, gently lifting her off the ground.

As soon as she was a mere inch off the ground he stopped and tied the lead rope off. Kneeling beside her, he inspected once again the wraps around her chest, now bearing all of her weight. They appeared to be in place and evenly supporting her. Her silk-covered breasts poked out between the bindings, nearly brushing the floor, and he grabbed one of the ropes and pulled it with much of his weight, stretching it just enough to let her proffered nipples touch the ground. Then he swung her slowly, back and forth, her nipples gently brushing the sheet at each pass, getting harder and more prominent with each touch. She moaned gently and he took a glance at the crotch of her panties between her legs, now firmly bound in a spread position. There was evidence of renewed wetness. Good.

Stopping her swing, he disengaged the restraining knot he had tied in the lead rope and began slowly hauling her higher. He stopped when she was about a foot off the ground and tied the lead rope off again. He adjusted the length of the ropes holding her legs suspended so that she was in a flat position again, and gave her a gentle push, swinging her in a circular pattern.

Convinced that she was in a controlled and safe position, he stepped over to his bag and retrieved one of several water bottles. Popping the top, he took a long pull from the self-contained straw, and then closed the cap. He watched her swing. Squatting down to see her face, he noted that her eyes were closed and her face relaxed. She was on cloud nine, that comfortable place of otherness that many experienced when bound; only when bound. Good.

He continued to watch as her swinging lessened under the inexorable forces of gravity, resistance, and entropy. Returning to his wife, whose swinging had now nearly stopped, he again loosened the knot on the lead rope and began to haul her higher. He stopped when she reached waist level. This would do for what he had in mind next. He tied off the lead rope, and adjusted the leg ropes to match.

Now she was effectively exposed, her wet panties visible to all, her stiffly erect nipples poking through the taut blue silk on her chest. Her firm but ample buttocks were exquisite, their shape prominently evident through the silken blue covering that hugged every curve and contour, climbing gently into her crevice.