Holly pulls her anonymous little red Fiat 500 into a spare parking space outside one of the hundreds of identical detached houses on the estate, makes sure her big sunglasses are obscuring her face and pulls the hat down a little further, nervous as always about being spotted by the neighbours.
She leaves the car and steps quickly into the porch of the house, the door unlocked as always. Once the door is closed and bolted, the obscured glass means she can't be seen from the outside, and she can get herself ready in private. She hangs up her coat and steps out of her sensible driving shoes, leaving her standing in creme lingerie, and steps into a pair of creme heels she had in her bag.
Making sure everything is tidied away, she takes a deep breath, rings the doorbell and knees expectantly.
It seems like an age before the door opens, giving her time to think about what's really happening. Here she is, successful business owner, mother of 3, devoted wife and pillar of the local community, kneeling in front of an anonymous door in a creme bodice which is pushing her already fabulous and tits up and together and nipping her waist in, wearing a pair of creme lace stocking, a three strand pearl necklace and not a lot else.
They met online many years ago and came to an arrangement that worked well for them both. Neither could afford for their affair to be public, and neither wanted their partners to find out, but they couldn't keep their hands off one another. They both needed what the other could give them.
It's not the first time, it's not even the tenth time, but it's a rare treat these days; they are both so busy that getting a chance to spend an evening together only happens once or twice a year.
Finally, the door opened, and she was looking at his black polished shoes, pin-striped trousers, white shirt and waistcoat.
"Good evening, Holly."
"Good evening, Sir."
"Are you ready to give yourself over for the next few hours?"
"Yes, Sir, I am."
It had become routine, starting their evenings this way, her accepting her place, him asserting his; from that point on, they both knew what the rules were.
He bent down and unclasped the pearly necklace, setting it aside.
"Very pretty, matching the outfit so well, but not appropriate for this evening, do you think?"
"No, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't think." Holly finds herself saying, knowing that she'd chosen the pearls because they were perfect and expensive and drew attention to her neck.
He reached around behind her, lifting her blond hair out of the way and buckled a black leather collar into place. She knows which it is. It's covered in D rings and has "Slut Wife" marked out in rhinestones. It's incredibly trashy and incredibly hot at the same time.
"There we go, that's better, come on in now."
She follows behind him, on her hands and knees, staying at his ankle like she's been trained, thankful for the deep carpets and not having to kneel on hard wooden floors or tiles.
"I have a treat for you this evening; you're going to get to choose for once."
"Choose Sir?" Holly is so used to not having to choose on evenings like this; it's part of what she gets off on. Somebody else makes the decisions; her job is to do what she's told, hold the position, swallow the cock, stretch her cheeks apart, and take what she's given. No choices is almost the point.
"Stand up, hands behind your back; there's a good girl."
She stands, pushing her hair behind her ears, and takes note of where they are his study. There's an ottoman right behind her, pushed back against the wall under a steel loop set into the wall, and a wingbacked armchair in front of her, facing her, in a very odd place. A wood-burning stove is on, and the room is too hot; she can feel herself starting to sweat.
He opens the top of the ottoman and lifts out an armful of rough-looking hessian ropes and a Hitachi wand vibrator, setting them all down on the ottoman. He ties her hands behind her back, not hard, but inescapable, looping the rope around her tightly cinched waist and securing them to it. Then he loops rope around her chest, above and below her tits, tight enough to be uncomfortable.
She knows what's coming next. He dips his hand into the cups of her bodice, pulling her tits out over the cups, and with a few more loops of rope around them, over her shoulders and finally tied, she's standing with her tits firmly bound, slightly swollen and her pussy absolutely throbbing.
A cock gag is pushed into her mouth and buckled behind her head. It's not huge, not like the inflatable one she once filled her with, but it's big enough to make her gag a little and concentrate on her breathing.
