by Jeff Sinclair

llustration by Tarsis

Originally Published in Bondage Life No. 41, August 1990

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: M/f, D/s, bondage, games, cuffs, spreaders, gag, teasing, denial, X

Anthony Brandon climbed out of his car with a weary sigh, looked down at the briefcase in his hand, and considered throwing it into the back seat and forgetting it until Monday.  He kept bringing too damned much work home - surely he could steal just one weekend to spend with Heather?

It was tempting.  Though he loved being his own boss, he hadn't counted on bringing home quite so much paperwork when he launched his own brokerage firm.  Partly, he knew it was his own fault; he had a staff of six, now, but he still hadn't learned to delegate.  Between them, his people could easily handle everything in his briefcase, except that he knew exactly how he wanted it done, which made it seem simpler to do it himself.  And that was stupid - why hire people and then not use them?  But that was the way it was.  And how it would probably stay, he thought sourly.

His hand twitched, on the point of discarding the briefcase, but then his grip tightened resignedly.  Why fool himself?

He locked the car and ambled across the lawn, a tai1, loose-limbed man with a pleasantly unremarkable face who was getting a tad thick about the middle these days.  All this overtime was cutting into his jogging as well as his home life, he thought wistfully as he opened the front door.

He opened his mouth to tell Heather he was home, but it shut with a snap as he beheld his living room.  He stood in the doorway for several minutes, stunned, staring about him in disbelief, before he roused and stepped inside, closing the door shakingly behind him.

It was appalling!  Bookshelves had been emptied, their books strewn about in wild abandon; the scattered cassettes of his meticulously organized videotape collection dotted the carpet; chair and couch cushions were everywhere; and the coffee table was buried under a blizzard of newspapers, paperback novels, and about a week's worth of his own dirty shirts.

He picked his way through the wreckage and glanced down the hall to the dining room, wincing as he saw a matching scene of wild disorder, then turned in a circle, surveying the living room more closely while other emotions began to trickle through his shock.  Only planned, purposeful action could reduce Heather's normally immaculate home to such a wasteland, and it must have taken her all damned day to do it!  And, he thought with a slow grin, he knew why she'd done it, too.  Heather could be diplomatic when she chose, but she also believed in the sledge hammer technique when he did something really stupid.  Judging by the carnage about him, she must figure he'd been about as stupid as anyone who wasn't brain-dead could be.

He shook his head and held his briefcase out at arm's length, then chuckled and opened his fingers.  It dropped onto the cushion-less couch with a thump, bouncing on the springs, and he snorted.  Heather was right, he decided; that briefcase could damned well just sit there!  He had things to do... once he got his hands on his minx of a wife.

He chuckled again, then waded through the wrack and ruin to his den.  He was almost afraid to look, but the damage there was purely cosmetic.  None of his important papers or computer disks had been touched, and he opened a desk drawer confidently.  As he'd expected, she'd been very careful to leave that drawer undisturbed, and he withdrew the handcuffs with a smile.

---

"Oh, Heatherrrrrr!  Where are you, dear?"

Heather Brandon covered her ripe mouth against a giggle and scurried across the bedroom, quiet as a mouse.  She'd watched from the window as Tony crossed the yard, then cocked her ears for his reaction to her... surprise.  Now she heard him climbing the stairs, and his sugary sweet voice didn't fool her.  No siree!  She knew that cat-in-the-canary-cage tone.

She got down on her hands and knees, wriggling her way into the hideout she had provided herself.  Heather was small and slender, barely five-four and scarcely a hundred fifteen pounds, able to fit into an extraordinarily tiny space when she had to.  Like the space she'd left between the mattress and the bedroom wall when she tore the bed apart.

She hid carefully, and her eyes gleamed as she twisted a lock of silky black hair about a finger, peeping out through her artfully hidden spy hole.  Tony wandered through the house, no longer calling her, and she sniffed.  Did the dummy expect her to make it easy for him?!  She loved him, but he could be amazingly stupid - and the hours he'd been working were a case in point.  She loved his determined, talented ambition, but his career wasn't just cutting into their love life anymore.  She didn't like the office pallor he was developing, and he was getting further out of shape than he thought.  It was time to shake her beloved numb skull back into a proper perspective.

It had taken all day to achieve exactly the state of disorder she wanted, and she hated to think how long it was going to take to undo it all, but she'd tried everything else without managing to drag him away from that damned briefcase!  This was going to do the trick.  She wasn't often this 'bad', but, then, it was seldom quite this hard to get his attention.

She crouched down as his footsteps paused outside the bedroom.  He opened the door, pushing a wave of linens and dirty clothes across the floor, and she held her breath to keep from laughing at his sigh of resignation.

He stepped inside, and she watched through her peephole, delighted by his exasperated expression...  and even more by the twinkle in his eyes and the handcuffs in his pocket.  So, her dim-witted love had gotten the message, had he?  Gosh, you couldn't sneak anything by someone as perceptive as he.

He surveyed the disorder glumly, clearly considering where else she might be likely to hide, and Heather allowed herself a certain smugness.  It was obvious he thought she was somewhere else, and she certainly didn't intend to make it any easier for him.  After he left, she'd sneak downstairs and...

Her confident thoughts broke off in mid-flight as Tony pounced.  He hadn't even seemed to notice the mattress, and he took her totally by surprise as he whipped it away so suddenly she squeaked.

"Hel...lo, little lady!" he leered gloating.  "Fancy meeting you here."

Heather glowered, screwing her rich mouth into a frown with some difficulty, it kept trying to laugh, and stood with grand hauteur.

"And, what," she inquired, with awful condescension, "do you want?"

"Why, I thought you'd know that, Heather," he said.  His eyes widened innocently, but she'd spent as much time making herself beautiful as she had wrecking the house, and she saw them glow as they devoured her.

She put her hands on her hips, scarlet nails bright, and looked down her straight little nose at him.  Painted lips curled with disdain, and her firm breasts swelled magnificently in the white nest of her tiny tie-cord bra.  Her garter belt and panties gleamed through her short negligee's haze-black smoke, and one long, white-nylon clad lag thrust arrogantly forward.  Her brown eyes sparkled, and Tony recognized her pride in her beauty, and how hard she had worked to be beautiful for him.

"I," she said cooly, "have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking," he explained, "about the condition of this house.  I seem to recall that it was neater than this when I left this morning."

"Really?  I wasn't aware you'd been noticing anything about the house," she replied, and his eyes lit with wry apology.  But he wasn't about to abandon the role in which she had obviously cast him.

"I notice everything!" he informed her.  "Including bad little ladies.  I think you'd be wise to start cleaning this mess up - immediately."

"And I don't think I will," she said, flouncing away from the wall.  He let her, but he also circled to stay between her and the door, and her own eyes glowed.  "I think you should clean it up," she added, pertly.

"Do you, now?" He sidled a little closer and she backed away, lips quivering with suppressed laughter.  "And how do you think a bad little lady who makes messes should be punished, dear Heather?"

"I don't think she should be punished," she retorted.

"That's to bad," he murmured, "because that means you probably don't think I should do - THIS!" and he lunged.

Heather squealed and bounced away like a rubber ball, eluding his first wild snatch.  She dodged nimbly through the wreckage, the tanned satin thighs flashing above her stockings, and tried to dart around him and out the door, but Tony knew her tricks as well as she knew his.  A hand sneaked out, just missing her, and she came to a screeching halt, back pedaling frantically.  He grinned, advancing on her with his arms spread wide, and as calculating light lit her eyes.  She fainted to her left, then dodged the other way as he reached for her, but he wasn't about to be tricked that easily.

She almost made it past him, but his other hand was waiting.  It struck like a serpent, and she squealed again as it caught her left wrist neatly.

She heaved back hard, but he held on tight.  That was one of the things she loved about him; he was strong enough she could fight with all her might, making him subdue her, and never worry about accidentally getting away.

She whirled back towards him, long hair flying, and kicked him in the knee, hard.  She used her instep (she wasn't about to bruise her toes, thank you!), and he yelped dramatically, but his grip never relented.  His arm flexed and spun her helplessly, snatching her back against him as his right hand darted around her to capture her other wrist.  She wiggled, kicked, and writhed for all she was worth, but he had her now.  She heaved against him, panting and sweating with exertion, and he simply locked her in place with one arm and drew the pair of handcuffs from his pocket with his free hand.  She squealed in fresh laughing outrage, but it was useless; he wrestled her arms behind her with absurd ease, and the handcuffs clicked.

Heather shivered as the steel closed on her slender wrists.  The familiar electric tingle stabbed through her, hardening her nipples and a strong, damp pulse throbbed between her thighs.  She went totally motionless for an instant, quivering in breathless delight as he stole her hands, and then he set her face down on the bed's box springs.  A careful knee pressed solidly into the small of her back, and he seized her flailing ankles.

"Let me go, Monster!" she panted, whipping like a gaffed fish while her cuffed hands strove vainly to thrust him away.  "Unhand me!"

"You must be kidding," he said mildly, and she squealed in laughing wrath as more handcuffs circled her ankles.

"Release me this instant, you cad!" she commanded, and he chuckled.

"Forget it," he said cheerfully, and he stood.

Heather glared up at him writhing on the box springs as wrists and ankles twisted against their confining steel.  She knew it was useless, but she fought anyway.  She loved the way the cuffs resisted her wildest struggles... and loved watching his eyes glow as she writhed sexily before him even more.

"Beast," she said.  "Bounder!  Bully!"

"You're being noisy, dear," he said warningly, and she sneered.

"Rotter!  Creep!  Schmuck!  Dum urrrk!"

Her catalog of perjoratives ended in a sudden gurgle as he tucked the fat rubber ball into her mouth.  Damn!  She hadn't even seen the gag!  Not that it mattered.  She fought, kicking with her chained feet, but it was wonderfully futile.  He wedged the ball behind her teeth and fastened the harness straps about her twisting head with the skill of long practice, then stood back and regarded her cheerfully as she whuffled furiously, redoubling her struggles until she exhausted herself and lay still, panting through her nose.

"Now," he said majestically, "about that punishment."  She went still, staring up at him, and he smiled.  "I imagine you mean to be stubborn about not cleaning things up?" he inquired, and she nodded defiantly.

"Well," he said, "I can accept that." She regarded him narrowly, suspicions roused by his apparent surrender.  "But in that case," he continued, "I'll have to tidy up, won't I?  And I'll have to make sure you can't scurry around behind me and mess things up while I'm doing it."  He paused, so obviously pondering her fate that she gurgled with laughter, then nodded.

"All right, I'll just have to start by hanging things up.  Beginning," he smiled, sweetly, "with you."

Heather curled instantly into a tight ball, snuffling defiance through her gag.  She wasn't certain what he had in mind, but she'd heard that sweet, reasonable tone before, and she didn't intend to make it easy for him!

She didn't, but neither could she make it especially difficult, given her handcuffs.  He draped her over his shoulder with absurd ease, one hand cupping her bottom for balance, and her eyes widened at how easily he lifted her.  Maybe he wasn't as out of shape as she'd thought!  But her struggles grew fiercer with every step as he carried her to their play room.

He opened the door, and unlike the other rooms, this one was untouched.  Naturally, he thought lovingly; she'd wrecked everything else just to get carted up here; she was hardly likely to have messed up their toys!

He dumped his wriggling parcel gently on the thick rug, pad locked her wrists and ankles together in a hogtie, and strolled over to the built-in closet.  He opened the door and folded his right arm across his body, propping his left elbow in his palm and supporting his chin in his left hand as he studied the neatly arranged ropes, straps, chains, gags, and every imaginable bondage toy.  He held that pose long enough to make his studious absorption completely obvious to his recalcitrant wife, then nodded and began making selections.  He gathered his chosen paraphernalia and turned back to Heather, only to gurgle with laughter as he saw her.

She didn't even look up.  She was too busy squirming for the door on her belly just as fast as she could go.  Which wasn't very fast, but clearly demonstrated her determination to resist to the last ditch, fight to the last round, strive to the bitter end, and other cliches to that effect.

"Ah, ah!" he chided through his laughter, swooping to grab a shapely calf and tug her back.  Her negligee rucked up, baring her squirming satin bottom and lacy panties, and a familiar pang of lust swept through him.  "That will never do, dear," he told her firmly as she writhed sinuously, chuffling indignantly through her gag.

"I've thought up something special for you, and I'm afraid I insist you try it out."

She said something rude through her gag, but her eyes laughed as he hauled her back from the door, and he paused to tweak the tip of her nose gently.  Her struggles halted briefly and he could almost hear her purr, but then she remembered her role and jerked back, trying to kick despite her hogtie.  He tsk'd reprovingly as he untied the front of her negligee.

"Shame on you!" he scolded.  "Always making such a fuss over little things like this." She growled and tried to flip back over on her front as the laces came loose, but he caught her and she stopped with a gagged squawk as he pulled her gently up onto her knees, instead.  She mumbled defiantly through the gag, trying to wiggle away on her knees, but he turned her firmly and drew the negligee down to hang about her handcuffed wrists.  Lord, she was beautiful!  He stared at her, really seeing her for the first time in far too long, and his heart ached.  She was magnificent in her scanty lingerie, breasts heaving, belly fluttering, the light of battle and the soft, eager glow of surrender gleaming in her eyes.  He was an idiot - an imbecile! - to have let himself forget how much he loved her, and he solemnly vowed never to let it happen again.  And to make it up to her this weekend.

Her struggles paused, her eyes tender as she saw the awareness in his own, and he shook himself and reshaped his face into a scowl as he looped a leather strap about her elbows.  She whined, heaving to escape, but though she wiggled desperately, he tightened the strap slowly and carefully, snugging it down firmly.

Heather had the rare ability to touch her elbows together almost forever, and Tony drew the strap tight.  When he buckled it, her elbows were one.  Her sounds changed as the strap cinched tight, their fire fading, replaced by a softer, brighter eagerness.  She savored the strap's stringency, her eyes smoky with pleasure, and Tony hid a tender smile of his own as her nipples swelled higher and harder, puckering her bra boldly, and he smelled the ripening incense of her arousal.

He hummed as he uncuffed her wrists to tug the negligee completely off, and she offered no resistance as he recuffed them afterward.  He pressed a quick, teasing kiss on the sweet silk of her hair, and she made a soft, happy sound through her gag as he uncuffed her ankles and lifted her to her feet, turning her to face him.  The stress on her arms drew her shoulders back, thrusting her beautiful breasts proudly forward, and he untied her flimsy bra and let it fall to the floor.  Her nipples winked on her heaving breasts, and he held her motionless as he leaned forward and licked them gently.  She crooned, and he sucked wetly, tasting their hot firmness.

She sighed, but Tony was only beginning.  He gave her a stern command to stay where she was, and his partner - a much meeker and more submissive one, now - nodded demurrely.  He knelt, and she peered down over her naked breasts, panting through her nostrils, to watch him fit the spreader between her ankles.

It wasn't the longest one they had, but it was long enough - almost a yard - and it pushed her feet far apart.  Her legs opened, the silken wedge of her loins dark through her panties.  Tony kissed her belly gently, and she sighed in bliss, then made a more indignant sound- a soft, laughing indignation- as he slipped a shorter spreader between her dimpled knees and adjusted it carefully.  Then he eased her back down and she knelt, swaying for balance with her legs wedded together and her arms strapped.  Her eyes were wide and round, now - wondering, trying to guess what he meant to do with her, and the glow of desire lit their depths.

Tony laughed softly, and she twitched in surprise as he used her erstwhile ankle cuffs to secure her wrists to the ankle spreader.  Her arms jerked, rattling the cuffs, and her gagged snuflle was rich with questions which he pointedly ignored.  That was part of the game, and Heather's belly tingled at the casual, off-hand proof of his omnipotence.  He picked up a coil of rope, and her eyebrows rose as he threaded it through her armpits and looped it around her torso snugly.  Not tight enough to hurt - he never hurt her, she thought lovingly - but tighter than normal.  Now what, she wondered, did he have in mind?

He tied the rope at last, and she squirmed with a delicious little moan, but he wasn't done, and she stared up, whining in understanding and sudden consternation as he looped the end of her newest rope through a ceiling ring.  She shook her head, hair flying in a silken fan, yet they both knew it was a purely formal protest, and his eyes were lovingly wicked as he pulled.  Heather squeaked as the rope tugged, then squealed - a long, soft urgent sound - as her knees lifted from the rug.  She squirmed frantically, toes splayed in a desperate effort to retain contact with the floor, but he went right on pulling and she rose into the air.  She writhed on her rope, and her spine arched dramatically as she spun in slow circles at its end.

He lifted her shoulders as high as his head, then tied the rope, and she wiggled weakly, rotating with her struggles.  Not that wriggling helped!

Her head hung back, arching her throat as dramatically as her spine, and she closed her eyes, moaning softly.  Her bondage was total, but he wasn't quite finished.  Her eyes did not open, busy fingers plucked at her ankles, roping them to two floor rings normally hidden by flaps of rug and snugging the cord tight.  He put little pressure on it - gravity was already dealing with that quite nicely - but when he finished she couldn't even spin.

"There!" he said.  Her eyes opened, staring up at him, and he smiled.  Her belly was concave, her rib cage boldly etched against her skin, her breasts thrusting high and proud, and she saw it in his eyes.  She saw the hunger, the desire, the answering need...  and the determination to make her wait.  The promise that this game would be a long, slow, sweet one - that he would play with her, tenderly and lovingly malicious before he delivered her to pleasure.  She would plead with him, but still he would make her wait, and for all her pleas, that was what she would truly desire.  She knew it.  He knew it.  And because she was right, because he had let other things intrude into the sweet, passionate heart of their lives, he would make her wait a long, long time.
"Now," he said gently, plucking the tied bows of her panties, "about this mess you made." The scrap of lace came away, and Heather moaned as her petals unfurled like an opening rose to beg his touch.  He caressed her gently, and her head lashed, her body jerking between its anchors while her moan turned high and shrill
"None of that, now!" he said sternly, drawing his hand away, and her hips rolled, squirming to offer herself, already frantic with need.  But he only laughed gently and turned to the closet for one last item, and her smoky eyes flamed furnace bright as she saw it.  The vibrator was a small squarish panel, ribbed and nubby, and she whimpered as he switched it on and adjusted it to maximum speed.  He brushed it lightly up the opened triangle of her thighs, watching the satin skin shudder, listening to her whip lash gasp of pleasure.

"I believe," he said, his stern tone marred by the tenderness which softened it, "this should help focus your mind on your sins." She gasped again, then crooned as he strapped it to her pubis.

"Yes," he said more softly, bending to kiss her belly, "I think it will focus your thoughts quite nicely.  And you'll have lots of time to think about your crimes, because I'm afraid I'll have to leave you here all alone for however long it takes me to pick up the mess you made downstairs."

He smiled, and her eyes were dark, bottomless wells of sensual fire.  Leave her while he picked up everything downstairs?!  That would take hours!

"Or perhaps," he said even more softly, licking the sharp girdle of her pelvis, "not quite alone.  After all, you'll have this for company, won't you?" and Heather whined in an anguish of pleasure as he pressed the vibrator for a moment.

Her eyes bulged, body bucking on its ropes, thigh muscles clenching as they fought to press upward.  He laughed, a soft, loving laugh - and stepped back.  Her head lashed, and her blurred eyes saw him by the door, watching her shudder, watching the passion coursing through her restrained flesh.

"I think you'll be ready for me when I get through, won't you dear?" he said lovingly, and the door closed quietly behind him.

Heather's gagged whines and whimpers filled her ears as the fire crawled up inside her.  It was sweet as wine and fire in her blood, and the vibrator sang to her against her flesh.  Her boundless sensuality sprang to full life, twisting her, and coherency vanished into the furnace roaring at her core.

But as it vanished, one last thought came crystal clear.  He was right.  She had reminded him of what was truly important to them both, and she would be ready for him.  Would she EVER be ready for him!

She was.