Bad Day

Our affair started conventionally enough. Her husband Gordon was out of town at a sci-fi convention and dutiful housewife Ginger was left alone to tend the kids and dog. Well, not alone, I was visiting her to buy some drugs. Her husband was a middling level dealer of usually good stuff.

I just blurted out during a banal conversation that I wanted to "do it" with her. (I was more circumspect with her in the beginning of our relationship.) Just like that.

We did it then and there, while her family slept. And then we did it again and again, usually at my small apartment. Usually we did it on Saturdays, when she was supposedly working extra

hours at her payroll job. She said I was a perfect fit. I am not large, nor small, but my cock is well shaped, crowned well, very stimulating in her well-muscled vagina. She did those Kiegel exercises which kept her pussy tight and always gripped me wonderfully. Something to say for an organ that had pushed out three babies.

But after many Saturdays, it started to get... unsatisfying. The sex was always good, and something about her, maybe her pheromones, would get me hard every time. But it was getting time to end it. Hell, we had been going at it for over a year. Every damn Saturday. And with my spotty employment, I almost always had Saturdays free.

I found I was getting irritated with Ginger, though I tried not to show it. Slowly, I began to figure out why.

Emotional blackmail. She, in subtle ways, gave me to understand that I was the only bright spot in her overworked but dull suburban life. And there was a subtle threat, too. If we broke it off, she would have no reason to keep up the pretense of domestic bliss with Gordon. Their marriage would fail and I would be at least partly responsible for that. I was her fun time. And it made me feel just a bit like I was her toy.

So I resolved to make her pay for her emotional blackmail of me, and that's what it was. Maybe even make her long for that safe suburban grind.

I decided to introduce a bit of bondage to our Saturday trysts.

One day I asked if I could tie her up. I didn't know if she was kinky or not, but I asked her, and she agreed readily. I tied her spread-eagled first, using furniture. She could have probably pulled the chairs and bedlegs to her if she tired hard enough, but she didn't, and we went at it, and we came simultaneously for once. Even so, it was better for me than it was for her, I suspect. It was the first time I had tied anyone, and I loved doing it. I suspect it has something to do with a sort of perverse empathy, relishing the idea of helplessness in this woman under me. After she was trussed, after all, she was mine to do with as I pleased. And sooner or later, I knew these bondage games would be too much for her, and she would stop coming over, and our sordid little affair would end. But she kept coming back, every Saturday.

To make it more objectionable to her, and spicier for me, I introduced some roleplay. She was a housewife, after all, so I would pretend I was an intruder. I would come up behind her and threaten her with my camping knife. "Hello, little housewife," I would say. "I'm going to have a little fun now." I would brandish the knife. "And you're about to have a really bad day." This I would say in her ear, watching her auburn hair stir with my breath. "Now take off all your clothes." She would comply, pretending fright and after she stripped, shame at being forced naked in front of a stranger. Then I would tie her in various ways. Usually with her hands behind her back, her ankles roped as well, until I was ready to do her. Only occasionally would I put her in a hogtie. It wasn't very conducive to making love. Yes, I still used that phrase in my head, maybe to relieve the not inconsiderable guilt I felt at having crossed this line with another person, forcing her, so to speak into my kinky games.

Then I escalated into gagging her, generally with her own panties, and forcing her to say the following phrase: "I'm having a bad day." A housewife, intruded upon, forced to strip and to be tied. The idea of it excited me. A bad day for a housewife, after all, might normally be having the car break down during a shopping trip, or a plumbing problem assert itself. So this was several notches above that, to be sure. A modest suburban housewife tied and ravished and fucked by a "stranger." A bad day indeed. Then came another escalation: I bought a pair of handcuffs. Real handcuffs that needed a key. I used them on her. It was quicker than my rope tricks. And freed the ropes for other more interesting parts of her body.

One thing she wouldn't let me do was spank her. I started to once, I had her lay across my lap, but her posture (she was stiff as a board, and didn't let her weight fall across my legs, quite a feat for a woman whose hands were tied behind her back) made me realize that this was going too far for her. I decided to respect that, but I was disappointed. Our little games by now were getting a bit stale. The initial rush of including a real live human girl in my revenge fantasies (for that's what they had become) had dulled some. It was after all a scripted game.

So yet another escalation: one day I borrowed my neighbor's Polaroid. I had introduced something new: a crotch rope. I had tied her hands behind her back, as usual, but then I put a rope around her midsection, and added another, tying it off in the small of her back, forcing it between her legs and then pulling it up tight into her sweet pussy, and looping it around the waist rope in front. Her ankles were tied as well, and this time also her knees, and I made her hop around like that, pulling on the crotch rope like a leash, relishing her humiliation at this new turn in her "bad day." Then I put her on her knees and attached her bound wrists to her cinched ankles. She was leaning back and I caught her unawares for the first photograph. When I tried to get another one, she turned her head, but, hey, she was tied, wasn't she. She wasn't going anywhere, and her movements were restricted. So I moved around her and with persistence, got several more juicy shots. She did not like my having done that, but she said nothing. She trusted me not to show them to anyone else. And she never mentioned it, probably forgot about it, for a while.

But I didn't forget them. A plan was beginning to form.

Then, suddenly, Ginger and Gordon were getting divorced.

Shit, I thought. Now she'll be over all the time. Probably even want me to marry her. And I'll be just another part of her dull suburban life. I had to do something.

And then I met Pamela. I was taking an art class, trying to upgrade my graphic skills, and she was in the class with me. A beautiful, petite, brown-haired single mother ( I never saw her son) who looked 20 years younger than her actual age, which had to be, like me, in the forties. We started dating and I immediately introduced some light bondage, tying her hands to either side of her four poster bed with the belt of her robe. She easily freed herself before we could even get started, and the sex was good, but I realized I would have to employ more stringent techniques, i.e., the handcuffs. But I never got around to the roleplaying I enjoyed with Ginger. The next time we got together I used the cuffs and she couldn't get free, and I enjoyed that a lot more. She was helpless and I was helpless, lost in lust. I fucked her brains out.

This little dalliance caused me to miss a couple of Saturdays with Ginger. It must have made her suspicious.

I decided to break it off with her. The combination of guilt I felt and the thrill of my new conquest of Pamela made that feel like a necessity.

It was a Saturday. But this time I wasn't going to wait for her to come over, like some kind of housepet for her pussy.

So I went over to Ginger's house, after making sure that Gordon wasn't present, of course. That was almost certain. He'd already moved out to a weekly motel room.

My plan was to enjoy one more session with her, and this time escalate things just a little bit further. This time, make it real.

Finally, I thought, I would take it all the way. Cause Ginger real fright and shame and maybe even a little pain. I put everything I needed in my pockets. The cuffs, the coils of rope... and the Polaroids.

The house was virtually empty. Just an old coffee table in the living room. Neither of them were keeping the old place. He was going to move west and she was going to move into a house she was soon to inherit from her family. But there was money to split, and of course, custody of the children. There would be a fight. Everyone that knew the couple knew this. I certainly did.

She came down the stairs after I let myself in, but it was obvious that she was angry about something.

"You're dumping me for that slut Pamela, aren't you?" she asked, without preamble.

She must have followed me. And more than once.

Well, I thought, this will make it easier. She was trying to make me feel guilty. And obviously she had been following me. What nerve! And wherever did she get the time?

"You bastard," she said.

I'd had enough. "Look. You have been keeping me in emotional blackmail all this time. Emotional bondage." I let the word sink in. "You knew I didn't want to hurt your feelings by bringing this to an end. But I told you again and again that we had to end it. And you have held over my head the implied threat of telling Gordon about our affair, and causing the end of your marriage. You come over every Saturday. You practically make me fuck you. That's why I started the bondage games. I figured that sooner or later you would have enough of the humiliation and stop coming over," I fingered the Polaroids in my front shirt pocket. "But now," I pulled out the pictures, "now I'm going to end this, and spectacularly." I stepped closer to her and fanned the pictures out, so she could see each one, her hogtied on her knees, trying vainly to hide her face from the intruding camera. Her shame at her bound nudity, her guilt for her adultery, made real by the pictures.

I saw the shock of recognition in her eyes of that day weeks, months ago? I couldn't remember; the affair had gone on so long.

"I wonder what kind of impact this will make in the divorce proceedings?" I asked rhetorically, because we both knew the photos would be devastating. "Now it's real, Ginger," I said and I approached her on the stairs. "It's finally real. I don't need to pretend to be an intruder. I don't need a knife. Just these pictures. Just the threat of showing them to Gordon's lawyers. Giving him the edge he needs."

She went pale. She was almost hyperventilating. I smiled cruelly at her. "I know you don't want that to happen, do you?" She shook her head. And realization came to her what was going to happen. She was going to get fucked, all right. Just like all the other Saturdays we had shared. And she was going to get some pleasure out of that, sure. But there would be pain, too, more than our games had ever cost her. Maybe mostly pain. And now there would be no limits. No play-acting.

I went up to her on the stairs and then I grabbed her arms, and made her turn around so her back was to me. I started talking over her shoulder as I had in our intruder games. "Hello, little housewife," I said, "I'm going to have a little fun now. And you're about to have a really bad day." And this time I meant it. "Take off all your clothes. Right here, right now, little housewife."

"C-Can we please do this upstairs?" she asked breathily.

I decided to give no quarter. So I fanned the photos in front of her again. "You have nothing to bargain with, my little housewife. I'm going to fuck you right here on these stairs. Strip," I told her again.

She stripped. Slowly at first. I think she realized it wasn't going to be like all the other times. She was trembling. I liked that. It told me she knew this time was for real.

Out of habit she started to fold her clothes but I was having none of that. I tore them out of her hands and threw them onto the stairsteps. Then I thought of another little humiliation. "Take your rings and your necklace off too," I told her. It looked like she was about to cry. "Do it now!" I said.

She complied, throwing the jewelry onto her mound of discarded clothes. So much more humbling for her to be stripped of all her everyday accoutrements. Including, I saw amongst her clothes, her wedding ring. Now she was well and truly naked. "Hands behind your back," I told her. I took out the cuffs and put them on her, rather roughly, I guess. I heard her grunt in pain. I almost said I was sorry. But my resolve returned. She was going to pay for making me her Saturday toy. I picked up her panties and brought them round to her mouth. She parted her lips automatically, like she'd learned to do for our games. Then closed them. It was then I saw the realization hit her again. This was no game. "Open your goddamn mouth," I told her. And slowly, as slowly as she'd taken off her clothes, she opened her mouth. I jammed the panties in. Then I took a short coil of twine and forced them into her mouth as well, tying them off behind her head. And then, quicker, so I wouldn't weaken, I took out the rest of the ropes. I put one around her waist, one around her mid thighs, her luscious, sleek thighs, one just below her knees, and one around her ankles. I used a length of twine for the crotch rope, part of a clothesline. Common housewife material. I must say I took a special pleasure in pulling the twine tight through her labia, hearing her sharp intake of breath at the invasion, mauling, just a little bit, the pussy that had enthralled me through so many Saturdays. I heard her gasp.

"Say it," I told her.

She worked her mouth for a moment, and then forced out the words garbled by the panty gag. "I'm having a bad day," she said.

"You sure are," I told her, and her punishment began.

I took my belt off, and showed it to her. Her eyes grew wide. "You wouldn't let me spank you before, during our little games. Well, today, little housewife, you're going to beg me to spank you." I pushed her down on the steps in front of her, her pale body angled up the stairs. "You know why? Because of the alternative." I dangled the belt in front of her face, saw her staring at it, trying to understand what I meant. Up til now, she might have thought she was just in for a brutal fucking but now.... She was going to be hurt! To speed her comprehension, I let the end of the belt trail along her lower back and fine white ass. Then I let fly, once, twice, three times in quick succession. I didn't break her skin, but I hit her hard enough to make her jump and for some nice red welts immediately begin to appear. "Don't!" she said. Oh, I thought, she thinks she still has some kind of control of this situation. So I hit her again. And then once more. She automatically began to struggle against the bindings, but they held her fast. "That's not what I want to hear, dear little housewife." Another stripe across her ass. "You know what I want to hear."

I think now it occurred to her that she she'd made a bad bargain by submitting to me. I think she would have gladly risked calling my bluff on the blackmail threat rather than surrender to this whipping. But it was too late. I had her now, well and truly tied, a naked slave to my desires. Helpless to resist.

I could see her tongue working against the panty gag. Then she said it. "Shpank me."

I hit her again with the belt. Tears were forming in her blue-green eyes. "That's not the way I want to hear it, is it, little housewife?" And now two more, crisscrossing the welts already there. Her whole body was quivering. I reveled in it. The body that had held me distracted and spellbound for a year of Saturdays.

"Please!" she blurted. "Pleashe shpank me!"

I knelt next to her, showing her the belt again. "Are you sure? Sure you want me to spank you?" She nodded. So I hit her again. Now she was frankly crying. But she got the message. "Yesh! I'm sure!" she nodded through her tears. "Shpank me, pleashe shpank me!"

"Well since you asked me to I will," I told her. But first let's go upstairs." She was still crying when I made her stand. "Okay, little housewife?" I grabbed hold of the end of the crotch rope and pulled. She was forced to hop up the stairs, her breasts bouncing, her face a mask of anger and fear. She knew she was in trouble now but I think she thought she could still get out of it. I could read that in her expression. When we got to the top of the stairs I pulled her towards the bedroom, still using the crotch rope as a leash, and walked along beside her so I could both pull the crotch rope and smack her ass at the same time.

I was surprised to see the bed was still there. The frame, the mattress, the bedposts, but it was old, the varnish on the posts peeling. I could see why they might leave it for the next family to deal with. Good, I thought, I could envision several different ways of making use of those worn bedposts. I hopped her over to the bed and pushed her down on it. She fell on her stomach, the air in her lungs rushing out of her. And now for another act she had never seen fit to do before. I stripped quickly and got on the bed in front of her face. I pulled on her hair so she was staring right at my cock. "You know what to do now," I told her. "Or do you want some more spanking?" She shook her head no. I made her squirm up to my cock. When she was close enough I warned her. "You and I both know you could hurt me there. But I'd make you regret it for the rest of your life." And now I brought out the camping knife I had used to mock threaten her with, and put it against her cheek. She understood I think that this was no mock threat. I pulled the panty gag and rope out of her mouth and said, "Get started, little housewife."

She inched herself nearer and then I felt her lips close around my cock. We had never done this before. I frankly am not a fan of fellatio. I don't like the idea of teeth near my cock. But what thrilled me now was knowing she didn't want to do it. I could see the humiliation on her face as she lay there, bound hands against her beaten butt, a crotch rope digging into her vagina. That reminded me to find the end of the rope and give a nice pull on it, which I did. She moaned helplessly around my cock. God I was loving this. I let her slurp some more and then I pulled it out, and grabbed her by her shoulders so I could flip her onto her back. She winced when her welted ass fell against the mattress. I was ready to fuck her now, ironically the only thing about this Saturday she might enjoy... and I didn't want her to enjoy it. I couldn't help it; I still needed her to suffer. So I flipped her back on to her stomach and then got off the bed so I could pull her ass towards the side of the bed. I let her knees drop to the floor. Then I found yet another length of rope and this I tied around her neck. I think she thought I was going to strangle her then though that was not my intention. But I didn't mind her fearing that. I went to the other side of the bed and tied the other end of the neck rope to a bed post. I could tell her breathing was restricted but not cut off. She turned her head to the side, trying to get more comfortable. She couldn't turn her head enough to see me, but she started to talk. "Pleashe," she began, and she started crying, really crying now in earnest. This had happened once before during our games, when I got a little rough, and then, of course, I felt guilty and released her immediately, cradling her in my arms and telling her I was sorry.

But not this time. I decided to taunt her. "You want me to let you go, Ginger?" I asked. I think she found a little hope then that her punishment was over, just because I had used her name instead of calling her my "little housewife." She nodded. "Yes. Let me go." She said, still sobbing.