"Yes, yes, oh god, yes." '
Slap
'. "Harder."
'SLAP'.
"Oh my god, yes, more, more ..."
"What the fuck?" Chris roared.
The couple on the bed froze. She was bound, hand and foot, arms behind her back, feet underneath her, leaving her buttocks pushed high into the air. These buttocks glowed red, almost luminous, matching her face, which was sweating and flushed. Her breasts were large, and while mostly hidden, it was possible to see nipple clamps. She had dark hair, but the roots needed retouching, as her natural lighter shade was showing, where the man was pulling it horizontal, forcing her head back.
The man was middle-aged, grey hair sprouting over much of his body. He too was sweating profusely. He was a little overweight, having the shape of a man who spent his life behind a desk, and paid more attention to fine dining than exercise. He was behind the woman, and his whole body was visible, except for the end of his (unimpressive) penis, which was inserted in the woman's anus.
Chris raised his phone and took a picture. Then he strolled over to the pile of clothes and took out the man's wallet. He slipped it in his pocket, picked up the rest of the clothes, walked to the bedroom window, and dropped them on to the garden below.
The man on the bed began to mouth his objections, but remained frozen on the bed - well - almost. He moved his hips forward, hiding his penis, by burying it further into the woman's back passage.
"Now, fuck off, you sad, inadequate, old bastard." Chris forced the words between gritted teeth. "Next time you want a whore, pay for one, like every other desperate, limp-dicked twat, who's too scared to tell their wife what they want. I've got your name and details in your wallet. If you're not gone when I count to three, your wife's gonna see the photo - and your kids if they're old enough, and everyone at your work.
"GO!" He roared.
The man did not need telling twice. He ran from the house, naked and terrified, grabbing his clothes on the way to his BMW. A few seconds later, the engine raced and there was a squeal of tyres as the car disappeared round the corner. He drove home at high speed, triggering not one, but three speed cameras. He was just thankful that his wife was out.
"Never again, never again," he muttered throughout the journey - though it was only three days before he was back on the same website where he had met Kay.
Meanwhile, Chris glared at Kay. "Look at you," he whispered, "trussed up like a piece of meat. I suppose that's what you are. A piece of meat to these people. A sad, stupid woman, desperate and unsatisfied. Begging to be humiliated, because your husband of ten years actually respects you."
Kay whimpered through the tears pouring down her cheeks.
"SHUT UP!"
There was silence while Chris walked round and appraised her. She was a good-looking woman, although her current position did little to show it. Her arse looked OK, stuck up in the air, cheeks spread, showing the brown hole in the centre, larger than usual, due to its recent activity. The cheeks were, perhaps, a little fleshy, but time at the gym kept them firm.
Her labia, just below, were red and puffy, running with her juices, slightly open to show her vagina, and maybe just a hint of clitoris.
Kay wept, distraught. She loved Chris - adored him - but she knew she had her flaws. She had an addictive personality, and currently had rediscovered her love of online Bingo. She also needed constant reassurance, and having people tell her how wonderful she was amounted to addiction.
She had, in fact, found the perfect place for people to tell her how wonderful she was - how beautiful, what great company - constant praise was like a drug to her. It came at a price, however. Single women (regardless of looks) might draw huge amounts of praise on the swinger website, as they were rare, but the price of that was sex - and it was a price she was willing to pay.
Kay's guilt was running wild. She needed to apologise, to beg Chris to take her back again, to promise it would never happen again. Would he believe her this time? Why should he? How could she prove her love for him?
"After last time," Chris began, "I forgave you. Even though every time you went out, I was terrified. You said I was trying to be controlling, but that's bullshit. I was scared. It took months before I could get a hard on with you, because of what you'd done, and because I thought you might have any number of diseases. I even made you have an HIV test."
Kay tried to protest. She had always been safe. Even the man who just left had run away with a condom dangling absurdly from his limp dick.
"And now I catch you again. I've known for a while. Problem is, you're a shit liar. I know when you're fucking about. Then you do stupid things. This time, you left your phone without locking it. I only needed to see the pictures you're sharing and I knew.
"Before you keep saying that I'm spying on you, and where's the trust? I only checked when I knew you were up to something - I haven't done since the last time. And as for trust. Don't make me fucking laugh. I didn't trust you, because you lie and you cheat. It'd be like trusting a paedo in a classroom.
"I'm going downstairs. Come down when you're ready. I know you think I'm boring and 'vanilla' - because every time I suggested something, you turned your nose up at it. When you come down, I'll tell you what I like. Then you can fuck off. Forget getting any of my dad's money in a divorce settlement. You've had more than your share already."
He walked out of the room, leaving her bound on the bed, crying and unable to call his name. He went downstairs, turned on the TV and switched on the football - a very uninteresting game, which Manchester City would win (they always did) - and sat with his confused thoughts fracturing his mind.
It was twenty minutes before Kay started calling his name, and thirty before he made his way, heavily, upstairs. It was not in his nature to be cruel, even to those who were cruel to him - and anyway, she might piss on the bed, and he did not want to clean that up.
He walked into the room and glared at her. "Shut up."
The knots were not difficult to undo, and anyway, he had watched videos about using ropes, when he had asked Becky if they could experiment with bondage (she had refused). The ropes fell away easily.
Her arms and legs were numb and immobile, and much as she did not want to ask him for help, she needed to.
"P ... p .... Please. The clamps. They're agony."
He slid the small, rubber loop down the 'tweezer' type nipple clamps. The marks they left were vicious, and he almost felt sympathy for her - on the other hand, she had clearly wanted them put on. Her lovely, pert nipples were crushed, distended and mis-shapen, but they'd recover.
"I need the loo," she stammered, hopping off the bed and running to the bathroom.
She stayed there for twenty minutes, crying, while he waited. Eventually, he heard the door unlock and she shuffled along the landing. She entered the bedroom, wrapped in a large bath towel.
"Don't be bloody ridiculous," he laughed, humourlessly, "you put on a towel for me, when I've seen you naked for god knows how long, but you're happy enough to put it all on show for total fucking strangers. Pathetic. Take it off."
She considered protesting, but recognised that he was right - and actually, after all the years of being put on a pedestal, while he constantly 'respected' her, or simply went along with her whims, this more forceful side was good to see. A bit of a turn-on even. She dropped the towel and stood before him, naked.
"Turn round," he directed. She did, and he looked at her buttocks. The man had spanked her hard - very hard. Chris looked at the redness on her buttocks, spreading and merging from the original handprints. It looked as if she would be bruised. To him, that was not acceptable.
"Sit down," he said, patting the bed next to him. "Why? Why do this again? Why not talk to me? Oh, I know - good old Chris, boring, 'vanilla', never up for 'fun'. Ever thought you might be wrong? Ever thought if you talked to me, I might listen? Ever thought I might have some 'kinks' myself, that I'd like to act on?"
She looked at him. His face was pale, almost white. This was clear sign that he was angry. Not angry. Furious. When he was angry, he went red, like most people. This pale, white, bloodless look meant he was beyond that. His anger was no longer irrational, it was deep-seated and had coalesced into a need for revenge.
"What d'you mean?" She whispered, intrigued. She might feel shamed, embarrassed and a little scared, but could he really have a more interesting sexual side?
They had been more exploratory early in their relationship - different positions, dressing up, making videos and taking pictures - even going on a public webcam site. They had talked about swinging, and agreed it might be fun, but never acted on it. Over the years, their sexual adventures had died out, getting predictable and boring (for her anyway), and finally stopping about two years ago.
She never stopped loving him, but as the sex stopped, she started to miss it. She didn't want an affair, so the swinging website seemed a good way to have casual, adventurous relationships. She had met men and women, enjoyed threesomes and parties, gone to swingers' clubs and experienced everything - anal, bondage, lesbianism, modelling, fucking machines, exhibitionism, S and M - and more. It became a drug, and she was addicted.
And the money, of course. At first, she refused when some men offered to pay her - well - except for the gifts, meals, hotel rooms and so on. Then she realised how deeply in debt she was. She had brought vast numbers of sex toys, lingerie, outfits. She had even paid for hotel rooms with some regular 'friends', who were particularly 'fun'.
She started just taking a bit for especially kinky things (things she enjoyed, but which she knew these men would usually have to pay for). Then she did photo and video shoots - with other women in hotels, surrounded by men with cameras or phones; in threesomes or groups; on her own, with a machine which fucked her as she lay back, legs wide, vagina yawning as a ten inch rubber cock pumped in and out from a device made of pistons and shiny metal.
