Originally Published in Bondage Parade No. 21
Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w
Story Codes: M/f, bond, sensual, love, cons, sex, X
tape sealing the rubber ball into her mouth. She could hear her husband puttering about the house and wondered what Ralph was up to.
She rolled her head, her chain leash slithering across the sheets as it moved between her collar and the bedpost. The silken strands of her chestnut hair were sweat damp against her smoothly naked skin, sticking to the upper swells of her small, proud breasts like dew–soaked fronds, and the light in her eyes brightened even further as she regarded the so{t, rosily puckered summits of her nipples. Only minutes before those flaccid buds had been hard as stones, burning with the passion screaming through the sweetly rounded column of her captive flesh. That was one thing about Ralph, she reflected almost dreamily, he knew exactly what to do to her and how to do it in a way that drove her to shrieking insanity before the explosion consumed her.
Of course, there was the little matter of an encore. The twinkle in her eyes faded into the dreaminess of her mood as she tested her bonds again. Not that she could escape, or would have wanted to if she could have but a girl liked to be certain about these things.
It had taken Ralph almost a year to get her to try bondage at all, and even now he was very, very careful not to push it at her. That was one of the things she loved so much about him. He was no hunk, her Ralph – in fact, her lips quirked under the tape,,that little pot she liked to tease him about was growing more noticeable of late. No, he was no Conan the Barbarian. What he was was understanding and gentle. He loved to tie her up, and once she'd tried it, she loved to have him do it. But it was something they shared; something he was wise enough to know had to come from her, as well. That was why he never pressured her about it. That was why he took care not to become demanding or insistent. He had shown her that she was more than just a model for his ropes – that she was his lover, in every sense of the word, and that she wore his straps and ropes and chains because she wanted to. Because they made her feel precious and special, cosseted and compelled at the same time. Made her feel as if she were his most priceless treasure, to be kept safe under lock and key.
And, she admitted with a sunny chuckle shared only with her gag, the touch of his restraints woke her fiery sexuality to blazing life. There was something... so liberating, so deliciously wicked about "submitting" to him in bondage. And in savoring the mind–jellying intensity of his tenderness as he concentrated all of his attention on the task of bringing her bound passion to glorious fruition . . .
But right now Catherine had a few other things on her mind. Not that her insistent lustiness was ever far from her thoughts on nights like this! But it had been two days now, and the scent of their shared passion was thick in the small room. She knew they were going for a record – a full week in bondage for her which, to judge by the past forty–eight hours, promised to be a most rewarding experience all around. But somehow she hadn't quite considered all of the aspects of a solid week in bonds. A few of them were forcing themselves on her attention just now, however. Like just how in hell was she supposed to bathe when she was leashed and chained to the bed?
She sniffed the room – and herself – loudly, and her forehead wrinkled wryly. The question was more than academic, given the strenuous nature of the last two days. She needed a bath, but there was no way she could even ask Ralph about it until he got around to ungagging her again. The sound of the door reclaimed her from her thoughts and she rolled her head, eyes bright as they turned to Ralph. He stood in the doorway, smiling tenderly at her, entirely naked except for a towel folded over one forearm.
Catherine laughed through the gag and shook her head at him. She couldn't help it. He looked much like a naked maitre'd! She saw his own eyes dancing as he chuckled back at her, and that only made her laugh harder. She didn't know how long she lay naked and giggling in her chains, but finally Ralph put on a mock–stern look and advanced on her frowning.
"My dear," he said sternly, "you smell like a whore house on Saturday morning, do you know that?"
Catherine widened her eyes and then batted her lashes at him, shaking her head innocently and mumbling through her gag.
"Well, you do," he said virtuously. 'f on the other hand, am clean and sweet smelling. Sniff." He held out his arm and she dutifully sniffed, snuffling loudly above the gag. The clean smell of soap and the subtle aftermath of a hot bath came to her, emphasizing her own unwashed state, and she blushed slightly. Her smooth thighs shifted against one another and she tried to close her chained legs in a sort of instinctive reaction. It was strange. Somehow the fact that he was clean while she was not was like a subtle extension of her bondage, some sort of indefinable superiority on his part. Part of her resented it, but most of her was
"See?" he demanded, drawing himself up haughtily. "Nice and clean. And since I will accept only the best in slave girl, I insist that you bathe, too. So go do it."
She wrinkled her bird wing brows at him and rattled her chains almost petulantly. Just how in hell did he expect her to do that, she wondered? She enjoyed it when he cast her in the role of slave girl, but fair was fair! If he wanted her to go bathe, he'd have to unchain her. Which, of course, would be a violation of their ground rules and end their record–breaking attempt.
"What's this? Disobedience?!" He shook his head forebodingly, screwing his face up into a scowl which was only partly spoiled by the laughter glimmering in his eyes. "Insubordination, that's what it is. Gosh, slave girls just aren't what they used to be! I remember when my father the pasha used to give orders. None of this lying about like the lady of the manor then! I just don't know where this modern generation is going." He shook his head and tsk'd loudly, and Catherine rattled her chains more loudly, hard–pressed not to burst back into silly laughter.
"Well," he said finally, "I suppose if I want any"thing done around here I'll just have to take care of it myself." With those words, he tossed his towel aside and walked over to the bed. Catherine raised her head, staring down the length of her naked body as he unlatched her ankle cuffs from the corners of the bed and locked a shorter two–foot chain between them. She fluttered her feet vigorously, jingling the chain wildly, and he swatted her soft belly playfully.
"None of that now, Wench!" he growled threateningly, and she shrank back against the pillow, closing her eyes in mock terror. He growled again – a more satisfied sound – and freed her right wrist from the bedpost. Then he turned her unceremoniously over on her belly and unlocked her left wrist, pulling both arms behind her and latching her wrist cuffs together with a padlock. She felt the cuffs against a naked spine warm from the bed, and the metal was cool and hard, sending a stab of heat through her belly.
"Much better," he murmured just loud enough to be certain she heard, and then he unhooked her leash from the bed and tugged her up onto her feet.
Catherine swayed slightly as she stood. She'd been on that bed a longtime. after all! He supported her gently until she got her balance, then tugged on the leash with a fine imperiousness, and she obediently lowered her eyes humbly to the carpet and shuffled after him on bare, chained feet.
She felt the familiar delight of parading nakedly through the house at his heels. How odd that her fierce independence delighted in the moments when it could hide itself in assumed subservience, she thought for the thousandth time.
He led her down the hall and through the bathroom door, switching on the light as they entered. She could feel the lingering warmth and humidity of his own bath hovering in the air about her like the silken kiss on her velvet skin, and she gloried in the sheer voluptuousness of the sensation. The empty tub still gleamed under a thin film of unevaporated water, and Catherine's curiosity roused as she wondered if Ralph was really going to turn her loose so she could bathe. She really wanted that bath, but she didn't want to wreck the great experiment by being released!
Maybe he'd just cuff her wrists in front of her and let that count? The thought was queerly disappointing. It would be too much like cheating - keeping her nominally confined but actually flee…
Her thoughts took another tack as he led her to one side and looped her leash through the soap dish built into the tile wall beside the basin. He turned away from her and bent over the tub, turning on the taps and sticking a finger under the sprouting water to measure the temperature. Catherine found her eyes lingering on the dangling fist of his scrotum and felt the rush of desire burning in her again. She wiggled in her cuffs and leash, feeling again the delight of experiencing passion in enforced silence, and deliberately allowed her mind to play with her own wanting and his closeness. There was something almost voyeuristic about it, she thought delightedly. Something deliciously decadent. Something...
Her thoughts broke off as she realized he had turned back to her and she had been so submerged in her own dreamy world that she hadn't even noticed. The tub was filling rapidly behind him, the surface of the water vanishing in an ocean storm of white, sudsy foam. He must've dumped two cups of bath salts into it! She watched the mounded suds crest higher and higher with a half apprehensive eye. If they spilled over the edge of the tub...
Ralph seemed to read her mind and chuckled again as he unleashed her from the soap dish and led her closer to the tub. She paused beside it and turned, offering her manacled wrists before her for release and re-confinement. But to her amazement, it didn't work out that way. Instead, his hands closed suddenly on her and lifted her chains and all, over the edge of the tub!
Catherine gasped as her feet went into the water. It was hot - stinging her skin for a moment with a pleasantly fiery kiss. Her eyes were wide as she turned her head to stare at him and he slowly settled her down into the tub. The water lapped up over her hips, the high-piled suds tickling her breasts with tiny, bursting kisses. She wiggled delightedly as she came to rest on the bottom of the tub and he turned off the taps.
Why hadn't they ever thought of this before?! It was perfect! She watched him dip a wash cloth in the water, his face intent, and she allowed herself to lie back in the water, her cuffed hands feeling for the bottom of the tub for support. She was his, locked into his chains, utterly unable to escape, undeniably (if temporarily and joyously) his slave - yet he was her servant.
She closed her eyes, arching her spine to offer her ripe breasts as he trailed soapy water over them. He'd used so much of her bubble bath that the hot water felt thick and slick, more like oil than water, and she felt her nipples pucker stone hard and burning under its kiss. She purred delightedly through her gag as the wet cloth touched her; its nap was soft, hot fur as it glided over her like a feathery lash, stroking and teasing. Her sleek thighs worked gently under the concealing islands of suds, but the water-magnified clatter of ankle chains on porcelain gave her away, and he chuckled lovingly.
Catherine pouted under the gag, her head rolling sensuously as he soaped and stroked her. The cloth slipped lower, caressing her ribs and fluttering belly. She crooned deep in her throat, opening to the new sensation. It was maddening! Gentle and soothing, yet somehow taunting . . . exciting and teasing her! Her amber-bright eyes opened, glittering up through her long lashes like smoky coals, and she thrust her belly against his hand, lifting herself from the tub, trying to bring her burning loins into contact with the cloth.
'Ah, ah, my girl!" Ralph teased, snatching the cloth away in a spatter of water droplets and soap foam. "None of that! This is a serious bathing session, this is!" He shook his head and tsk'd at her again as she moaned only half playfully through the gag, wiggling shamelessly to entice his wash cloth back and lower.
"Such an eager little minx!" he sighed. "I suppose I'd better turn to something a little safer."
She wiggled a little more and then gave up, falling back and panting, savoring the fire crackling in her belly. When she looked down at the smooth, stony-summit islands of her half-floating breasts she could feel the tension burning higher and higher within them. They had never played this particular game before, and the drifting, floating sensation of her lust delighted her
Ralph picked up a plastic tumbler and filled it, sloshing water over her sweat-heavy chestnut hair. She closed her eyes with a little gasp as water ran down over her forehead and eyelids, and then his hands were on her scalp, working shampoo into her hair with a slow, gentle rhythm. Catherine gasped again, her body tingling in astonishment at the sensation of heightened desire that burned down from his touch. She moaned, trembling in the tub. No beautician's touch had ever thrilled her so! But, then, no beautician had ever had her naked and in chains, collared and leashed, floating helplessly in a steam dreamy world of passion, either!
Ralph took his time, making every move of his fingers slow and teasing. He was washing her, all right, but there was nothing impersonal about his touch! Catherine decided it was true that water was an excellent conductor of electricity, for she could feel the sparks crackling back and forth between their wet, soapy flesh like the lightning of desire.
Her hair was heavy and soft with soap, the shampoo foam piled like a high crown atop her head, strands of her hair slipping free to trail teasingly over her shoulders and face, to brush the swells of her breasts. Her entire body was coming alive in an entirely new way, as if every inch of her skin had become an instant erogenous zone. She giggled softly, her smoking brain drifting in a dreamy furnace of lust. Instant passion, she thought hazily. Just add soap and water and lookout!
He bent her forward, sluicing the shampoo slowly from her hair. She felt the hot water sliding over her shoulders and drawn back arms in caressing sheets, and she shuddered in delight at the sensation. Then he was leaning her against the back of the tub, trapping her cuffed wrists between her spine and the porcelain.
"Coming along nicely, I think," he murmured. She knew his tone was supposed to be the teasingly impersonal voice of her "master," but somehow Ralph couldn't quite bring it off. She threw a slow, dreamy glance over the edge of the tub, and the rampant barometer of his eager erection gave the lie to his attempt. "Yes," he went on, "coming along nicely, but it's a little more awkward from here than I expected. Have to do something about that… "
Catherine gasped in surprise as he suddenly slid over the edge of the huge tub, his knees gently opening her submerged thighs. The water level sloshed alarmingly higher, but she ignored it as she felt him there, his skin somehow hotter than the hot water kissing them both. She crooned encouragingly as he made a show of soaping her breasts once more, but there was little hint of bathing in the way he plied his cloth this time. Ralph's breath came quicker and harder, matching her own eager breathing as he caressed her with the cloth, pulling on her nipples through it, twirling it over her smoldering flesh like a polishing cloth. He slid a little closer, his bent knee brushing the arch of her tingling mound, and Catherine jerked as a string of delicious climaxes sparked and snapped through her like firecrackers, rippling her belly a"nd thighs like tiny earthquakes.
Ralph gave a groan of his own, tossing his cloth aside, bending to take her chained body in his arms. Her head fell back, neck arching as his mouth sought her throat above the collar, kissing and nibbling. A dreamy section of her mind wondered what her soapy skin tasted like, but it was unimportant – far away and tiny compared to the gentle, loving kisses driving silver sparks of desire into her flesh. Ralph moved again, sliding lower, his erection dancing over her belly under the water as he adjusted his position. Catherine stroked her soft cheek against his, her gagged mouth pressing against his face in tape–barred kisses. She stroked her captive body against his, opening her thighs wider with loving eagerness. His burning hardness nuzzled, her portals, and then she warbled in muffled delight as he slowly clove her, entering with a slow, agonizing sweetness that tossed her head from side to side in bliss.
And then Ralph loved her, loved her as only he could, in the melting tenderness and fire she found only in her chains. Her eyes were wide, staring unblinkingly into his, clouded with passion and soft with love. She could feel the water surging about them with their movements, could hear it splashing over the tiled floor, and somehow even that added to her need and pleasure with its touch of the bizarre. Not that she cared. She was alone with Ralph in his chains, her fettered, silenced body forced – no, not forced, but allowed – to concentrate fully on the sensations of tenderness and delight coursing through her. She whimpered her pleasure, answered by Ralph's sighs and the mounting tempo of movement as the beloved flesh stroked within her, hard and demanding, yet gentle and giving . She dropped into a world of pure sensation like a drifting feather, dancing on the giddy currents, shuddering with delight, stroking back against her husband in an all consuming communion of shared passion. And when the lightning struck it flared up through her, burning in a single tingling jolt from the soles of her chained feet to the crown of her head, exploding in her brain like a thunderclap. She squealed her bliss, gripping him in the only way she could, squeezing and trembling until he cried out in return and answered her orgasm with his own.
Later, as she lay once more on the bed, its fresh sheets soothing and caressing about her, her tape replaced with a pierced leather gag, Catherine smiled inwardly as she recalled Ralph drying her hair while he stood in the wide pools of water spreading around the bath. His touch had been so gentle! The shared remembrance of passion had echoed through them both, but it had been muted, temporarily satiated – a warm, soft thing that filled her with an aching content. Then he had used the same towels to mop the floor, shaking his head and complaining the whole time about sloppy, careless slave girls, and that, too, delighted her.
She sighed in pleasure and rattled her wrist chains once more, the cheerful ringing notes music to her ears. She had never felt so complete, so fulfilled and yet so washed out and contented, in her entire life. Ralph had out done himself – and he had done it with something no more complicated than a bathtub filled with hot water and bath salts . . . and, of course, the magic of her bondage.
She closed her eyes peacefully as sleep reached out towards her. She knew Ralph would be in to wake her again soon, and she looked forward to it even as she slid into slumber. She was so achingly happy as she lay chained to his bed.
And she had five more days to look forward to! She savored the thought as she dropped into her dreams, but she was absolutely certain of one thing, at least, that needed changing.
A week was an awfully trivial record. She was sure she could go for a whole month if she tried hard and as soon as Ralph took her gag out she intended to tell him so, too!
The End