I'm more composed by the time Jess loosens the pantyhose leash which had become tight around my neck. Signifying things are drawing to a close, she stands and steps out of the dildo and its straps, removes her vibrator, then undoes the clasps firstly on my wrists, followed by my ankles. I'm mindful to allow the blood to return fully before I attempt to shake it out a little, without getting up off the bench.
On Jess returning to my front, she puts her hands through my hair. More caresses follow as I wrap my arms around her behind. The latex dress remains hitched over her hips, my cheek encased in her crotch, moist with sweat and her own juices.
The thought of her being available now to allow me to worship her fills my head, exciting me again so soon after our previous passions; a passion fulfilled in the sense of my being completely dominated, but not reaching an orgasm as such. But do I even need an orgasm? All I want is to worship Jess. I'll always need to worship Jess. How long can this go on for though, before she realises my lie.
Maybe intuitively sensing my want, Jess budges a fraction closer, her vagina now almost in kissing distance. Maybe if I'm just presumptuous enough to pull her in even closer?
A vibration and a ringtone from within the kitbag distracts Jess. Whatever it is important enough to leave me unattended.
A stiffening from Jess, and a look towards me - green eyes changing hue; a fire and rage fill them. Throwing the phone down and striding behind me, deftly grabbing the cane off the floor as she does, I curl into a ball instinctively even before I attempt to slide off the bench. I'm not quick enough to escape though, despite being free of bonds; my limbs heavy and weary.
The sharp, painful, striking blows rain down on me from Jess. Not even wasting time on pulling back and aiming, her rage results in a repeated forehand swing immediately followed by backhand, then back to forehand again, subconsciously not wasting anytime to inflict as much damage as possible. All I can do is maintain a curled position on my side, precariously balanced on the bench, protecting the sensitive areas as the cane bounces indiscriminately off both my ass, legs and back.
I can only afford to be half aware of someone else entering the room, the sharp clip of thin pointed heels, quickly moving in. Instead of assessing the danger from them, I use the opportunity to turn my face and take a look at Jess between the blows. Her eyes now red and watery, she wears her own 'How could you?' look.
I'm crushed at her disappointment in me, my eyes pleading for forgiveness as the new assailant reaches me, pulling the pantyhose off my neck.
"I'm sor" - I cry to her, pleading, the "ry" becoming muffled as the nylon hose is stretched over my head again.
"Oghhhh!" I can't breathe! Incapacitated! Hard full blow to my ribs. Falling, maybe off the bench. Collision on hard floor. The liver punch ... they've got me ... down on the canvas. Only gasping for life. Struggling to breathe now. Nothing else. Playing with me.
