Chapter Three:
The Bedroom:
Steve pushed the door open. Still holding her two hands tightly in one of his he marched over to the bed with Cathy trailing along behind. He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her close so that she was standing between his legs. He could see she was already terribly excited, her vagina was visibly damp, and her labial lips were puffy. He let go of her hands, Close your eyes and stand still. If I see you with your eyes open I'll spank you."
His tight grip on her hands, though it hurt ever so slightly and she probably could have easily pulled free, had been very arousing. She guessed the compression on her wrists plus the feeling of helplessness was what stirred her up.
He'd just threatened to spank her, and just the threat had a stirring effect. She had only been spanked once before by another man, and she remembered how much she'd liked it. It seemed awful to admit to it now, even if it was just to herself after so many years, but she remembered the hard swats, the tingling on her butt cheeks, the bright red hands marks, the man's tight grip around her waist, and the excitement that followed. It had a powerful emotional impact on her; he'd been in charge, really in charge, she was his, at his mercy, at least that's what she pretended. It was like a fantasy.
It had been her first husband. She'd done something he really hated, and he wanted to punish her. That was the first and only time her first husband ever got her off, but brother it was some first and only time. Of course, imagining to be at some man's mercy, his slave, a hopeless hapless sex toy, was great fun in the mind, but she'd never let it happen in reality, that was stuff for dreams, not the real world.
Steve took his two hands and firmly smoothed down her arms forcing her her hands to her sides, "Don't move, eyes closed."
She dutifully kept her arms down and her eyes shut. He'd taken his hands away. She wondered what would happen next. She found out almost right away. She felt him putting something around her waist. It felt like cloth, but it was firm. It was some kind of waist cincher, maybe a bustier or small corset. She felt what must be small whale bone or plastic stays press in against her torso. He turned her around, and she felt him tightening up the laces in the back. It was a corset of some sort. There were broad strips of silk or something hanging down in the back. He'd finished lacing her up. It wasn't too tight. She was glad of that. She felt him take the two thick pieces of she guessed satin or silk ribbon and tie them off in what must have been a monstrous bow in the back.
She wondered where he'd hidden the thing, must have been under the bed all the time. She hadn't noticed it when she got her pajamas on a few minutes earlier. She still kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to do anything to spoil this. He turned her back around.
Steve got the corset bow tied off in the back. The thing was bright red, and wrapped around her from just above her navel to just below her rib cage. He hoped it wasn't uncomfortable. He wanted something tight around her, but not so tight as to be discomfiting. On each side of the bustier there were soft leather wrist manacles held to the bustier by short lengths of soft thick silk rope. He took her left wrist and buckled the manacle on. He did the same with the right. Now her hands were bound and attached at her waist. Of course she could squirm and wriggle the thing all out whack if she wanted to, but he doubted if she'd try that. After his little preliminary game with the red ribbons tying her hands behind her back, he had a hunch she liked being made to feel helpless. He smiled as he looked up at her closed eyes; she had no idea what he had in store for her in the days to come.
Since the ribbon and his realization she liked being retrained he'd been looking around on the Internet. He saw this one thing where a woman's two hands were held in place by a single device that closed over both wrists and locked them together with one tiny lock. The neatest thing he thought would be to buy it but only use something like a nut and bolt or key chain hoop to hold it together. She'd see it, know she was held by something that any other time she could easily undo, but because of its location she'd know she was trapped. He thought that could be totally cool. He nearly bought it. He would have too, but he wasn't into bondage like she apparently was. Then again maybe he would buy it, fastened her in it, and leave her home to wander around the house all day. That could be fun. He could fasten her hands in front with her palms up. She be able to walk around, but she wouldn't be able to pick up or hold anything. Yeah, he thought, he'd have to buy it.
Cathy felt the wrist bands go on. This was exciting; she was going on a strange and new adventure. She was glad it was Steve. She felt like she knew him well enough not to be afraid. Besides she really loved him. She wanted to do things to please him. If he had a few silly kinks she'd play along. His hands were warm and firm, calloused like a man's hand should be but not hard and coarse like hard work was all he did.
She smelled the coffee on his breath and she could still get a whiff of his cologne, no after shave. He wore some kind of spicy after shave, maybe Old Spice. She thought it was a manly aroma, not sweet and clingy like some of the stuff men could buy.
He had a strong firm body. He wasn't one of those gym freaks, not like those guys who worked out all day pumping iron and then staring at their bodies in mirrors. No he wasn't narcissistic like that, but he was strong and well muscled, not muscle bound. He wasn't some Hulk Hogan. He was more the Liam Neeson type. He wasn't as tall as Liam Neeson, but he was a lot taller than her five foot four. He wasn't as pretty as Neeson either. Steve wasn't handsome, but he had personality and he was sensitive and thoughtful.
Cathy leaned forward, and tried to press against him just a little. She liked the feel of his body against hers. At night in bed his body was like a little furnace, all hot and dry. He had a little tummy, not a big gut, just a little tummy. No his abs were not made of steel, but they were nice and firm.
She liked everything about him, his hazel eyes, his sandy colored hair, the way it always looked like it needed to be combed, his warm friendly smile, his deep resonant voice. She liked the sound of the, 'Now Cathy' he made when he wanted to cajole her about something.
She liked that he paid attention to her, that he listened to everything she said. She liked how he asked questions. He was interested in what she thought. He did lots of things she liked. He held doors, pulled out chairs at the restaurant, walked on the outside on the sidewalk. He liked to guide her by the elbow when they walked around.
His voice was so manly, so masculine, so deep, like a father even. Not that she wanted a father, not her. Some women married men a lot older than they were because they're looking for someone like that, a daddy. She didn't want a daddy. Steve was just right. She was twenty-seven, he was twenty-nine. They could get married, have kids of their own, and help them grow up. She bet he'd be a good dad.
She sighed. He was smoothing up and down the outer parts of her upper thighs with the palms of his hands. He was always touching her, but touching her in ways that were good. Her husbands had been gropers; Steve was a toucher. He didn't paw, he caressed. She cried out in her mind, Steve reach inside. 'Get inside my thighs. You know where I want those hands!'
Steve saw how wet she was getting. He loved it. She was so responsive. He looked up. She still had her eyes closed. He stood up and kissed her. She kissed him back. He thought, so obedient, so responsive, so willing to please. She couldn't be what they'd told him. He turned her around and half walked half pushed her toward the full length mirror on the outer side of the bathroom door. He wanted her to see how she looked. He reached the mirror, "OK, you can open your eyes."
It had been a real test of her personal self control to keep her eyes closed. Now at last she opened them. Again he was standing behind her while they looked in a mirror. He asked, "What do you think?"
She leaned back against him while she looked at herself; hands held at her side, bright red bustier with tiny black buttons holding her waist in place, "Could I see the bow in back?"
He half turned her so she could see.
It was a bright red bow made of the same silk material as the bustier. She wasn't sure exactly how she looked. She liked it. It made her look sexy. It was too bad about her face; if only she were a pretty girl, not some wallflower. She leaned her face against his chest. She looked at him. He looked so big, so strong, so in charge.
She got eye contact through the mirror. He was so handsome. She told him, "Steve, you're so handsome. I want to stay with you. I want to stay with you forever. You don't have to marry me, just let me stay. I'll be your maid like tonight. You want a sex toy? I'll do whatever you want." She meant it too. He was a good man. He was genuine, and he didn't care that she was ugly.
He squeezed her little bit, "That's nice. Now tell me what you think of the way you look."
She pushed her head tightly against his chest, "It's a pretty outfit, a pretty outfit on an ugly girl."
He turned her around, "You know how I feel about that. Words like ugly and pretty. They're verbs not nouns. Right now I think you're gorgeously sexy, but pretty or ugly? Well you have potential."
"Potential?"
Cathy I don't know about you. I like to think I do, but, well, I think the jury's still out. You could be pretty, really beautiful, then again you might be a monster."
She didn't understand that. She'd been careful, she hadn't done anything to cause him to have doubts, "Tell me. What do I have to do to be beautiful for you?"
"Right now? Come with me to bed."
Together they walked over to the bed. He pulled down the bedspread and helped her lie down. He walked around and got in the other side. On his way around he stopped at the foot of the bed. She lay there, helpless, hands at her sides. She was so small. She said she didn't like her eyes, but actually she had pretty eyes. She looked so frail; she had a timid smile on her face. It occurred to him she might be a little bit afraid, like she wasn't completely sure of him, like maybe she was a little afraid he might hurt her. The thought crossed his mind; he could hurt her. He knew he never would. He knew what he wanted to do sometime. He looked at her tiny hands and feet, "You know what I'm going to do one of these days?"
She looked a little alarmed, "I don't know what?"
"I'm going to get some nail polish and do your finger and toe nails."
