We had just gone for a walk. That's all. I had no idea that the afternoon was going to get sexy although by now I should have known the signs and my own inclinations. He had brought a couple of bottles of wine and his inevitable back pack. He never goes anywhere without it, as it contains all the items he likes to use on me, but it didn't ring any alarm bells because, as I said, he always has it with him. It might contain nothing more than a picnic, and perhaps some extra bottles of wine, but I never knew exactly what he had in that bag.
We found a nice little glade almost hidden in the undergrowth, just a small area of grass surrounded by bushes, and a few more mature trees. The leaves of the silver birches had started to turn that lovely golden colour of autumn, the bark shining in the late sunshine, making the trunks look like columns of fire. He spread a blanket on the ground and opened a bottle. It was a strong dry white, my favourite, and too often my downfall because it usually only takes a glass or two to lower my inhibitions. Three or four, and I'm a slave to his wishes!
As it was still quite warm I was dressed in a pair of white shorts, very short shorts, cut high on the leg to expose more flesh than was seemly, and only just covering my vital bits, the back so tight it parted my cheeks and pushed them apart to show off my cute bum to its very best, the waist band only just covering the Brazilian I had carefully shaved just for him – hipsters perhaps but more like very low rise, so low the zip was only an inch or so long.
My top was almost see-through silk, again just for him, to excite and inflame his sexual desire for me. It was held together by a knot in front, just below my bust, revealing my bare belly and that bunny girl, belly button ring he had persuaded me to have done last year. I felt and looked very exposed, again just for him. He loves me to look sexy, well more than sexy. He wants me to look like a hooker, and I give in to his desire because it makes him want to have me so badly and when he does, guess what, I give in to that desire too.
The only other items of clothing were my boots, the most impractical things to wear in the forest, but just right to get him going: knee high, four inch stiletto heels, white to match my top and shorts. All pure and virginal you might think, but that was the last thing on my mind, because there was nothing pure about my thoughts. I wanted him so much and he knew it, but he was going to make me want him a lot more before he allowed me any satisfaction. He was going to tease me until I begged him for it, as he knew so well I would.
That is how we like to do it. I am quite submissive, while he is domineering to the point of being almost sadistic. He will often make me beg to suck his cock, then beg to take his cum down my throat, beg to be fucked, beg to be made to cum and in fact beg to be his slave. Now don't go feeling sorry for me because it all drives me wild. He gives me such incredible climaxes and so many, that every little plea is worth it, every word of submission is like a prayer for more – and he makes sure that my prayers are always answered!
So there we were. I was sitting with my legs tucked under me in a pose of butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth modesty, or at least as modest as a girl can be, dressed as I was. My titties were standing proud against the tight silk of my shirt, my nipples dimpling the sheer material. It was quite warm in our sheltered glade and I was perspiring slightly, partly from the heat, but more in anticipation as he refilled my glass. The gloss of perspiration on my boobs made the silk transparent, sticking to my skin like a thin sheet of gossamer.
As I was drinking my third glass of wine he looked over at me. 'Why don't you kneel on the blanket so I can see you better?' he said.
Without a murmur I shifted onto my knees.
'Put your hands behind your back.'
His voice, though quiet, was commanding and I did as I was told.
From his bag he drew a white silk scarf. Now he was grinning wickedly. Holding the scarf in his two big fists, he covered my eyes and knotted it at the back tightly. I could see nothing.
'I've a present for you,' he whispered. I know the surprises he likes to give me and my heart fluttered with expectation. I heard him delve into the bag and the clanking of metal. Then he reached behind me and drew my forearms together against my butt. I felt the cold steel of the handcuffs close tightly on my wrists and let out a long sigh of surrender. Already little eddies of desire were radiating from my pussy and I was hungry for his cock. He pulled down my hands and hooked the chain under the heels of my boots. I was trapped with my arms hard against my back and my body arched backwards, pushing out my swollen titties.
He pulled on the chain, checking that it was secure. It was and I could hardly move my arms at all. Then his hands were on my breasts, slowly moulding and massaging them, stroking my peeping nipples through the silk, making me squirm with longing and bringing moans of delight from my lips, as his fingers nipped the tips. I thrust out my breasts, trying to rub myself against him, wanting to feel the hardness of his sex pressing against my stomach.
'Don't make me wait. Please don't make me wait,' I begged blindly, imagining his cock big and stiff inside his pants.
'Not yet,' he murmured, pulling away from me and relishing his power over me.
'You'll do anything for me, won't you?' he asked forthrightly.
'Yes,' I said. Anything, I thought, if you'll just fuck me, my darling.
'You remember what we talked about last night?' I could feel the warmth of his breath against my neck.
'Yes,' I said again, though now more uncertainly.
His hands returned to my breasts, squeezing them lovingly, tantalisingly.
'You remember how excited you got when I told you to imagine that I was a stranger taking you against your will?'
I should say here that my husband is the only man I have ever slept with. I was his virgin bride. Well, perhaps we didn't wait until the altar but ours was an exclusive relationship because, to be really honest, he is the only man I've met that I have ever wanted. But sometimes he talks about sharing me with other men and the appalling truth is that nothing turns me on as much. The night before, he had tethered me to the bed, my legs splayed over his shoulders, and he had fucked me relentlessly; and as I struggled against my binding, as I took him deep inside me and pretended that he was some anonymous lover who had seized me and was using my body as his fuck toy, he told me all the things that this mythical man would do to a cock-hungry whore like me, and I came so hard that I barely knew who I was with, only that I had never orgasmed so deeply and satisfyingly. As he pounded me through my climax and on to another, I knew that I just couldn't help it: I love to fantasise about having sex with strangers. In my dreams I don't even want to know their names but just to feel an unknown, uncaring cock invading my body and taking me to unrealised heights.
But that was just our fantasy, wasn't it? He would never really do that to me, would he?
I heard him stand up. Again he was rummaging in his bag. Then there was a whirring noise and I realised that he had turned on his camcorder. He seemed to be videoing me from every angle for his collection. He must have hundreds of films of me but never tires of taking more in different states of dress and undress, different poses and then, of course, there are the films of the two of us making love here, there and everywhere.
I sensed him next to me again. He leant over me and pecked me on the forehead.
'I'm going to leave you now. Who knows, maybe today will be the day that you fulfil your fantasy. Bye!'
I heard his footsteps receding into the distance. Now I was utterly alone and defenceless. Soon he'll be back, I told myself, and then he'll ram his gorgeous cock into my mouth and fuck me to exhaustion. He would, wouldn't he? Blindfolded, bound and helpless, I waited and, as I waited, I began to remember all the things he had said that a stranger would do to me, his cock-hungry whore. And the more I remembered, the more I realised how much my plight was turning him on; and that began to arouse my poor, needy pussy.
Who knows how long passed? With every whisper of a falling leaf or rustle of a scurrying squirrel, my mind jumped to attention and began to imagine what might befall me.
Was I frightened in this precarious situation? Yes, of course I was, but there was a much stronger sensation coursing through my veins – the thrill and fear of being forced to have sex with another man and discovering how a strange cock would feel stretching my pussy where only my husband's cock had been before. These were the mixed emotions that scampered through my consciousness.
After a while I heard two unfamiliar voices not far away. They were definitely men's voices. Perhaps they were innocent walkers and they wouldn't see me. Or had he really arranged for his (my?) fantasy to come true? Surely he wouldn't do that. As I pondered my plight, I could feel my fear battling against my sexual curiosity. Did I want them to notice me? At one moment fear and shame would gain the upper hand and I would duck my head, as best I could, in order to hide from their prying eyes. Then the next I would remember the yearning hunger I had felt the night before and imagine my husband's pleasure as he watched me from the bushes yielding my pussy to another man's pleasure, and I could feel my cunt moistening at the prospect of its surrender. And so, I decided to let chance determine my fate and, head held high, bosom pushed out in defiance, I waited to see what would happen.
The sound of talking approached until it was so close that my heart was pounding, my breath was held in abject fear. Please pass me by, I prayed, thinking better of my former foolhardiness. I don't need strangers to make me cum when I have a wonderful husband to do that.
And then the words I dreaded!
'Bloody hell! Look! There!'
