by Jeff Sinclair
Illustration by J Kendall
Originally published in Bondage Life No. 45 August 1991
Scanned Transcribed by guardian46wStory Codes: M/f, bondage, bdsm, cons, rope, gag, leather, predicament, toys, leash, chain, rom, X
Her ankles were crossed and tied with equal neatness, and a cord ran from them to her wide leather collar, bending her forward as it drew her feet in close and opened her thighs wide. She would have considered lying down, but Scot preferred to be able to enjoy her full loveliness whenever he glanced in, and she was positioned in the exact center of her bedroom floor, facing the door. A long cord tethered her left knee to one leg of the bed and another ran from her right knee to a dresser leg, and he'd drawn all the slack from each of them before he left.
She stopped squirming and sat motionless once more, listening to the rain lashing the windows. He was up to something special. She'd known he was working on some sneakiness for over a week, but he was disgustingly good at keeping secrets. Which, she admitted, was just as well. She was incorrigibly curious, and she'd been trying to figure out what he intended for days. It would have been dreadful if she'd actually found out and spoiled her surprise, of course, not that fear of success had stopped her from trying, that was part of the game after all, but the way he was taking his own sweet time, promised something truly... memorable.
She'd taken pains to be beautiful for him (and, she acknowledged, for herself), and she knew how the short knit dress made her look. Her summer tan hadn't had time to fade, and the stretchy white fabric clung like a second skin, dazzling against the darkness of her flesh. It was a simple, saucy little thing, backless, with a single button behind her neck to support its top, and the soft, firm swells where breasts merged with rib cage peeked out past the sides of that same tight little top. The hem was barely lower than her crotch, showing off her white stockings' tops and flashing her garter clasps as she moved with hip-shot, sultry grace, trolling for her husband.
Then, finally, he folded his newspaper and hauled his lanky self out of his armchair, and she whirled instantly to face him, hot-eyed and poised for flight on the balls of her feet. But, he only smiled that lazy, teasing smile and stretched with a huge yawn, and she blushed as she realized how he'd tricked her into betraying her own eagerness.
She glared at him hands on hips, and tried not to giggle as he returned her smoldering glance innocently.
"I knew you'd agree," he said, with another ostentatious yawn. "Anyway, it may liven up this boring weekend," he added with a grin, and ambled out of the room while she stared after him, trying to decide whether to kill him or laugh.
"Scot!" she said in a long-suffering voice, and he turned that innocent expression on her once more.
"Look at the carpet, you dummy!" His gaze shifted to his footprints and then back to her, politely inquiring, and she swelled with indignation. "It's going to take me forever to get that mess out of it!"
"Men!" Naomi's voice was withering. "We've got perfectly good hardwood floors, and if you're going to insist on covering them up in wall-to-wall carpet, the least you can do is help keep it clean!"
"You," she said dreadfully, "are a lazy, worthless, chauvinistic schmuck. A schmuck and an ingrate. In fact, while I'm on the subject, you're also a clod, a schlemiel, and a jerk. Not to mention a crude, sloppy lout who doesn't understand the first thing about housework, since you never do any!" She paused, checking back to see if she'd forgotten anything. "Oh, yes. You're also a dumb, insensitive, nerd wimp, and you certainly don't deserve a lovely, sexy wife like me."
"Because you're too stupid to respond to my rude, accurate, mind you, but rude, assessment of your total lack of character in appropriate fashion, you imbecile!"
"Exactly," she said, kicking off her shoes for better traction and backing away with the light of battle in her eyes.
"Something like that," she murmured, backing further. "Not, of course, that I intend to submit to your horrid demands meekly!"
Naomi dodged with a gurgle of laughter, slender legs flashing as she bolted through the house, and he thundered after her. His legs were longer and he was faster on the straightaways, but he was also bigger and less maneuverable, and she'd played this game too often. She knew every handy obstacle to slow him down, and she wiggled her bottom impudently as she slid nimbly between the dining room table and the buffet, gaining a larger lead as he slowed to negotiate the narrow passage. She fled before him, laughing and alive, flaunting her challenging beauty and daring him to capture her.
She fled back into the living room, squealing with laughter as he overshot the turn and bounced off the foyer wall, then slid to a stop as he stumbled slowly through the arch behind her. He was limping heavily, bent forward and clutching his knee with one hand while he grimaced in pain, and she started toward him in concern.
"I think so," he moaned, "but it feels... " she stepped even closer, and her perfidious scoundrel of a husband suddenly uncoiled and catapulted toward her, arms spread wide, "...just fine!" he finished with a shout of laughter, and she screeched in outrage as his arms ensnared her.
"That's not very nice," he said, the severity of his reprimand sadly eroded by the laughter in his voice.
"Nonsense," he asserted, forcing her left wrist down and pinning it against her side with his knee. "It wasn't 'cheating.' It was a stratagem."
"Well, listen to you! Just because you lost, you have to go complaining about 'cheating.' Really, Naomi! You ought to cultivate a more mature, impartial view of these things," he admonished, and her bound arms jerked, driving their elbows back at him until he caught them and tied them, as well. "There!" he said then. "That's a nice beginning."
"My dear," he demanded in shock, "can it be, is it possible, that you haven't realized I have deep and dastardly plans for you sweet body?"
"Such a temper," he mourned, and she felt him reaching under the couch cushions. "Fortunately, however, it occurred to me that you might resort to crude verbal abuse, so ..." his hand came out from under the cushion with the leather gag he'd hidden there last night, " " " ...I made suitable preparation to deal with it."
The gag's fat bulb went home, smothering her defiance, and her denunciations died in a gurgle as he buckled the wide strap firmly. It covered her entire lower face, muting her far more efficiently than a normal ball gag, and she went completely limp for just a moment, treasuring the imposition of silence. A sense of her own loveliness, her slender beauty and fragile desirability, suffused her as that loveliness was pinioned by her husband, and she sighed happily. He laughed again, a gentle, loving laugh, and she purred and rubbed her soft, leather-indented cheek against his hand as he caressed her face. He leaned over her, parting her hair to bare the nape of her neck, and she cooed under his gentle kiss, then gurgled in indignant laughter as he took unchivalrous advantage of her docility to slip the collar adroitly about her throat and buckle the strap.
It was quite useless, of course, and his eyes glowed as he bared her full breasts and ruby nipples, already high and tight with excitement. She scolded through the gag as he peeled the clingy knit over her flaring hips, but there was a softness in her scolding. He bent to capture a nipple, popping it into his wet mouth and tonguing it with shrewd skill, and her scold became a sigh. His hands caressed her firm bottom through the thin satin of her panties, and then one hand crept further around her, invading her thighs from behind to cup the hot, damp urgency between them.
Then he stepped back, toying with her panties and devouring her with his gaze. "I'll just keep these," he murmured, wadding them and sliding them into his back pocket. "They'd only be in the way, anyway, wouldn't they?"
"And now," he said softly, "it's time to tuck you away for a bit." She shook her head imploring, snuffling through her gag and rolling her hips seductively, offering herself in shameless bid for his attentions. He couldn't 'tuck her away', not after 'ignoring' her all morning, and especially not after he'd finally captured her so satisfactorily! But even as her eyes and body language begged, she knew he could, and would. And the part of her which longed to yield to him, which delighted in her own submission and the spell it wove about his love, reveled in the awareness. For at the heart of her submission was the knowledge that she had submitted. She'd dared him to take her, evaded him and made him work to get her, but now she was truly his at last, and the game was his to define and pace. She was completely in his power, and knowing that she was, that she couldn't make him do anything – freed her to exult in whatever tender wickedness he perpetuated upon her. She could feel him wanting her, and that, mingled with the sensual impotence imposed by his cords, brought every nerve exquisitely alive, so sensitive even the gentle movement of air on naked skin was like a silken caress as she waited breathlessly to learn her fate.
That had been hours ago, and Naomi's long wait was doing dreadful things to her libido. Parking her like this, trussed up into a sexy little parcel safely stowed away for his convenience while she wondered what he planned, was one of Scot's favorite games, and one of hers, as well. It filled her with fire, and she knew his 'lack of interest' was a lie, that he was as burningly aware of her as she was of him. His pretense of lordly detachment was all the sweeter because they both knew how her beauty called to him.
"Now, Naomi," he said, soothingly sliding the carton into the room across the carpet. "I promised I'd help you with your rug problem, and I have. See?" He turned the box, and she snuffled in confusion as she read its printed label.
"You see, dear," he said calmly, shrugging out of his raincoat and opening the box, "I thought that if I was going to make messes I owed you the very best equipment for cleaning them up again. I figure this will make short work of those nasty footprints in the living room, don't you?"
He chuckled at her struggles and went right on working on the box, lifting out the big castor-mounted vacuum canister and the thick, ribbed hose. He sat, cross-legged, beside the carton, pretending to ignore her as he thumbed through the owner's manual and carefully made certain he had all the attachments. Then he smacked his forehead and shook his head.
He'd left the bedroom door open, and she heard him galumphing down the stairs. Then she heard another door open and stopped squirming and perked her ears. That was the basement door, and his workshop, that marvelous workshop that produced so many interesting bondage toys, was in the basement, which suggested she was about to discover whatever he'd been so smug about all week. But what in heaven's name could a vacuum cleaner have to do with it?
"You see, dear, I actually ordered this vacuum last week," he said. "They had a really good deal on it, it was on sale, you know, and I thought it would be just the thing. And since the price was so good, I bought a few extra attachments while I was at it. Like this one." His hand was behind him, but the stiff loop of a second vacuum hose curled around his back, identical to the long, heavy one draped across the floor beside her. He chuckled at her muffled question, and his eyes danced devilishly.
There were two new holes in the belt, round, perfect holes, exactly the same diameter as the thick vacuum cleaner hose, and he'd threaded the stiff, ribbed tube through them. Three thin straps looped over it, hidden in the depressions between the ribs. Their ends, secured with neatly installed snaps, held the hose exactly centered along the inner surface of the crotch strap, and Naomi quivered in understanding.
"Now let's see how it works, darling," he said sweetly, "Upsy-Daisy!"
He hummed softly, pausing to kiss a naked shoulder, and then, reached around her, drawing the crotch strap between her legs. She gasped in her nose, jerking spastically, as his free hand gently spread her petals, then she moaned, her head moving in dreamy delight, as the hose nestled inside. His hand slipped further back, parting her satin buttocks, and then he tightened the crotch strap carefully, sealing that ribbed, alien smoothness into her wet softness and burrowing it between the halves of her bottom. She panted, staring down over her jerking nipples with burning eyes as he fastened the buckle and made the hose part of her, kissing her petals ardently and tingling against the hidden pocket of her anus. And then he drew his hands away and stepped back, admiring her as she balanced without support.
Scot chuckled softly, watching her stare down, knowing exactly what was passing through her mind and, as eager as she, to try it out. He knelt behind her once more, untying her ankles, and she moved her feet apart, standing straddle-legged. The hose drooped down behind her and the gleaming metal pipe thrust out before her, and he left her hands tied just as they were.
"There. Now it won't come unplugged by accident or anything," he told her with a grin. "And one of the best things about this vacuum in how long its cord is. With my shop extension cord, we can plug it in the living room, just like this, and reach every room on the ground floor. Won't that be nice?"
The next best thing about it," he said softly, "is the switch. See?" He pointed, and her eyes burned brighter as she grasped his meaning. The switch wasn't on the top of the canister where a toe could activate it. Instead it was a trigger grip inside the handle. With her hands tied, she couldn't even reach it. Coupled with the way he'd anchored the cord, she could neither turn it off nor unplug it. Once he switched it on, it would run until he chose to stop it, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it!
His smile was wicked and tender, burning with sweet, zestful malice, and Naomi trembled in delight as she pictured how she'd look. But then he held up one hand like a stage magician commanding attention and bent over his discarded raincoat. He drew a lumpy plastic bag from its pocket, one that scrunched in his hand, and his eyes danced as he held it up before her.
"This vacuum cleaner," he said proudly, "is guaranteed to pick up shop scrap like nuts, bolts, nails, and even ball bearings. The salesman demonstrated it for me, and I was so impressed I decided to demonstrate it for you, too." He ripped the top off the bag, and Naomi moaned through her gag, shaking her head even as her eyes glowed in delight. He only grinned, and began pouring the marbles over the carpet. They glittered glassily up from the deep shag, flashing like discarded gems, and he scattered them widely, covering almost the entire floor, and cocked his head to study the effect.
Naomi stared at the marbles, feeling her arousal slicking the ribbed hose nestled into her cleft, and then he bent slowly and gripped the trigger switch. He smiled at her, and switched it on.
Scot watched her skin twitch in lustful response to her bizarre lover, and her eyes closed. She rose on her toes, spine arching sinuously, and a soft, fluttering moan burned through her gag. Then he reached out and touched her bare shoulder, and she jerked with a squeak of surprise, a squeak that turned into an incredulous whine as her movement drove the rumbling hose still tighter against her.
He pointed at the marble-strewn floor and stepped back. He seated himself in the chair against the wall, crossing his legs and cocking his head to watch, and she closed her eyes once more, knowing how outrageously, rawly sexy she must look. She leaned slightly forward, centering her body behind the shiny metal probe lancing out from her crotch, and pressed.
It was the most wonderful thing he'd ever thought of! He'd turned a boring, everyday task into a magical adventure in carnality, and knowing he was watching, enjoying her twitching pleasure and gasping moans only made the whole gloriously insane thing better!
Naomi's eyes rounded in delight as the small, glassy sphere leapt from the carpet and clanged and clattered up the shiny pipe, moving like a bullet in the powerful airflow. It smacked solidly into the back of the sharply angled hose where it curved down between her legs, and she squealed from the impact against her clitoris. She spasmed, hips thrusting to the lightning of climax, and it bounced and kicked through the arc of tubing under her before it spat back into the canister. Scot laughed from his chair.
"Perhaps I forgot to mention it, dear," he said sweetly, "but this ..." he gestured at the scores of tiny spheres littering the carpet, "is only one bag of marbles. I brought a dozen of them home with me, and the rest are scattered around downstairs. When you finish here, we'll move down there and let you suck all of them up, as well."
"Better get back to work, dear. At this rate it's going to take you hours to finish, isn't it?"
"Chop- chop, Naomi," he commanded with a bubble of laughter, and she closed her eyes again, savoring every delicious nuance of her predicament, and began to move her vacuum cleaner once more.
Never had the simple, boring task of vacuuming ever been so mind-numbingly wonderful. When she finished, Scot finally pronounced himself satisfied and switched off the vacuum, and then he'd carried her gently upstairs and bathed her before he oiled and perfumed her skin. Now she stared up at him, still gagged, gray eyes liquid in the firelight, and he knelt beside her. He bent over her, his arms circling and lifting her, and her head fell back. Her collared neck arched, and he kissed the base of her throat, moving upward.
His mouth moved against her ear.
"Good." There was a bubble of laughter in his voice. "Cause I've got another little surprise for tomorrow."
"Yeah," he whispered, "if you think your vacuum cleaner's nice, wait til you see the carpet steamer I've got for you!"