She'd lost track of the wineries they'd visited. They just seemed to go on and on, one tasting room after another, one tiny glass of this followed by a thimble-full of that, and so on, and so forth, and it was impossible to know exactly how many of those tiny sips of wine she had consumed. She couldn't even be sure how many different tasting rooms she'd been in. But, judging by the pressure she was feeling in her bladder, they'd been to quite a few. Grace was still very buzzed, her head throbbing slightly from too much drink, but the shock of her newfound bondage was spilling some clarity into the alcohol's dull haze.
Outside temperatures had been in the mid-eighties, but the floor upon which she sat, legs out straight and spread slightly apart, was cool and comfortable. She could not feel the sun on her pale skin; she was clearly inside, somewhere.
The floor was uneven and slightly rough, maybe bricks, or pavers. The inside of a winery, right. Gordon's winery. Who was Gordon? Maybe this was one of those underground caves where they store the wine barrels. Or a room for some other stage of the process. She briefly tried to remember the things she had learned in that viticulture course she had taken in college. What was that? Grace thought she heard something, like water splashing, but then it was quiet but for the buzzing in her ears.
She and Sam had discussed this scene in great detail. No gags, no pain, but hardly any other non-obvious limits. So, mostly comfortable this explanation of her situation, she did not panic. There was no gag in her mouth, after all.
Still, she couldn't deny that she was nervous, and maybe a little scared. How long had she been out? How had she gotten tied up. Who was Gordon? Where was everyone? Where was Sam?
Grace opened her mouth, perhaps to say something like, "Hello?" or "Is anyone there?" or "Sam?" but as soon as it opened, it was filled with a soft, fleshy knob.
"My husband's cock," Grace thought to herself and relaxed a little as its hard length filled her mouth. Suddenly comforted by a familiar sensation, she laved her tongue around its spongy tip and sucked on it wetly, confident and excited as the naughty game was now beginning in earnest. She considered asking for a bathroom-break to relieve some pressure, but that would have broken the spell. So she bore down on her bladder and focused on the cock in her mouth.
All day Sam had been groping her discretely whenever the opportunity had presented itself, which was fairly often. He would slide his hand up her white, sleeveless blouse to cup a breast (no bra), tweak the 12 gauge circular barbells piercing each of her nipples, or up her pink, pleated skirt (nearly see-through) to cup her mons (no panties), flicking the purple sapphire gem dangling from the ring through the hood of her clitoris. One time, taking advantage of his plantar fasciitis, he arranged for a chair in the tasting room where everyone else was standing. Sitting in this way with Grace right next to him, Sam had actually pushed two fingers up inside her wet pussy while they stood, chatting, glasses of zinfandel in hand. Grace was pretty sure not everyone was completely ignorant of Sam's boldness, but she was too buzzed and excited at that point to care. As her cunt drooled its delicious and fragrant juice onto the talented fingers of her dirty-minded husband, she had barely been able to stand; her speech had become clumsy.
Beyond that, she couldn't remember much. And now here she was naked, blindfolded, bound, and sucking cock in a dungeon. Her body tingled and her cunt juiced at the realization.
Grace's pussy was very wet, and getting wetter as her husband's cock began to push with greater urgency into her mouth, banging against the back of her throat, gently but firmly. Like it wanted in. Was he going to throat-fuck her? Could she swallow it? They had talked about deep-throat before, and she had practiced a bit with one of her more slender and soft dildos, occasionally succeeding with a lot of tears and drool and coughing. But the rhythmic, gentle and insistent thrusting was leaving little room for misunderstanding. And there was something about her current situation, being bound and blindfolded, that allowed her a calm, intense focus, making her feel bold, confident. Focused on the cock and its violation of her mouth, she became familiar with its rhythm and after a short while stopped gagging when it hit the back of her throat. Shortly after that, the collision actually sent a small spasm of anticipation through her, from her mouth to her torso, to her pussy, to the tips of her toes. And then she did it.