Illustrations by Robert Bishop

Originally published in Bound To Please Vol.  1, No.  11

Scanned by EKrayon; Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: M/f, bondage, consensual, collar, cuffs, chains, hobble

She smiled and added, "0f course, you may define the term differently than I do."

Here in her luxurious country mansion, I was finding it difficult to reconcile Mrs. Spurwood's calm words with her appearance, which definitely suggested that she was being abused.  For one thing, she was not seated as a normal hostess would be, instead she was kneeling subserviently on the floor.  For another, she was not dressed like a chic, suburban housewife.

Instead, she was virtually nude her only clothing being the chains and straps that so severely restricted her and at the same time displayed her ripe, mature body in wanton exhibition.  I mentally catalogued her bondage while she enjoyed my obvious fascination.

A high iron collar was snug about her throat, forcing her chin up arrogantly.  Her bare, velvety breasts were full and firm, jutting out like fleshy turrets above a broad leather belt that cinched her waist to breathtaking slenderness.  From each side of the belt, a braided leather strap ran down the furrow between thighs and tummy to pass back between her legs, emphasizing the lush prominence of her pleasure mound and squeezing her clean-shaven love lips into a lascivious pout.

Her wrists were connected by a short chain across the front of her body, and sturdy leather cuffs buckled just above her elbows were linked by a short strap across her back so her forearms were held tight at her sides.  The body straps were fastened taut to the strap between her elbows, forcing her to rear her creamy hips back saucily.

On her feet were tiptoe sandals equipped with six-inch stiletto heels, and a short, heavy chain linked the great iron cuffs about her ankles.  Her legs were long and shapely.  I liked the way she clamped her thighs together as she knelt.

"Do you like my outfit?" she asked finally, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"I-er-well, it is-uh-it's certainly different," I managed to reply.

She chuckled huskily.  "At least you're not trying to call the cops, the way some men would.  But what did you expect?  As you know, Brent and I both like my being in bondage and there's no law against that, is there?" As I nodded slowly, she added, "So why don't you just relax and enjoy it too?"

Hell, I was, I was!  It was simply that I hadn't been prepared for this.  My reason for being here was to do an exclusive interview for Bondage Bulletin.  I had really expected to focus the story on Yvonne's husband, but business had called him out of town this morning and he had phoned to say that I could interview his wife without him.  She would be expecting me, he said.

Expecting Mrs. Spurwood to receive me under relatively normal circumstances, I had driven up to the mansion at two in the afternoon and was whistling when I rang the bell.  But when the great oaken door opened, I almost went into shock.  Yvonne Spurwood had greeted me warmly in the outfit just described!

Speechless, I stepped inside the door and then watched stupidly while she closed and locked the door with her hampered arms.  Ignoring my wide-eyed stare, she smiled and said cheerfully, "Won't you come with me to the living room, Mr. Morgan?  It's this way."

She turned and moved ahead of me with quick, mincing steps.  I thought my eyes would fall out of my head as I watched the graceful undulations of her trimly rounded derriere.  She was obviously accustomed to her ankle chain, for not once did she stumble by trying to overstep its ten-inch limitation.  Her tawny skin was flawless and her raven black hair made her almost impossibly lovely.

In the living room at last, she gestured with her head to a deep leather armchair.  "Won't you sit down, Mr. Morgan?  Or perhaps you would like to look around while I fix you a drink."
"Er, thanks," I stammered.  Then I recovered a shred of poise and said more firmly, "Straight scotch on the rocks, please.  And yes, I think I'll look around."

"Make yourself at home," she smiled graciously.

I shook my head in wonder as she moved smoothly toward the kitchen, hips swiveling under the tension of her body straps.  I must be doing something right to deserve this!

The room was richly decorated with bondage materials.  There were incredibly detailed paintings, beautiful color photographs, bizarre bondage implements displayed as object d'art, and of course shelves and shelves of bondage literature.  The collection must have been worth thousands of dollars.

Breathing hard, I had seated myself by the time Mrs. Spurwood returned.  This was my first chance to observe her closely from the front, and the view was delightful.  Her deep, luscious breasts swayed gently, her hips rolled with graceful rhythm, and she had no difficulty at all in maintaining perfect balance atop those remarkable heels.

She said apologetically, "Sorry to have taken so long.  With my arms fixed like this, it takes a little longer to get things together."  She held my drink in one hand close to her waist, but even in this bondage she hadn't spilled a drop.

I noticed that her other hand was empty.  "Aren't you going to join me?"

She shook her head in polite regret.  "Oh, no.  A slave does not drink with a Master."  Then, to my surprise, she dropped carefully to her knees in front of me.  I looked at her in astonishment as she explained, "Brent ordered me to serve you just as I would serve him, so I want you to treat me as your personal slave today."

I took the drink and stared at it, unable to believe my ears.  She went on, her voice pleading.  "I really do enjoy being a slave girl, you know and with my husband out of town for the day, I get lonely without someone to serve."

Suddenly, she leaned down to kiss my feet in an unmistakable act of submission.  Then she sat back on her feet and said softly, "Being my Master gives you the right to do anything to me: Brent always means that when he orders me to serve someone else."

Her lovely eyes, looking hopefully up at me, left me no choice.  It simply wouldn't be polite to refuse Brent Spurwood's offer!

I put my glass down carefully and said firmly, "All right, Yvonne, I'll be happy to accept your husband's generosity."

She grinned happily.  "Thank you, Master.  You can't imagine how boring it gets when I can't have a change of bondage now and then, or how frustrating it is when there's no one to appreciate my body and take advantage of my helplessness."  She paused, wriggled her hips enticingly, and then leaned forward to shake her shoulders so her breasts quivered in open invitation.

"I'm sure we'll get along splendidly," I told her.  "But first, I need some information for my article.  You stay where you are and answer all my questions, and then we'll see about livening things up for you."

"Yes, Master," she breathed gratefully.

I got my notepad and pencil.

Age?

Twenty-six.

Height?

Five feet, five inches.

Weight?

One-thirty.

Measurements?

With corset on, 40–18–36.

Married?

Four years.

Children?

None, and had tubes tied to prevent worry.

How long interested in bondage?

Since age 16, when cousin tied Y up for fun.  Discovered bondage literature at 18, experimented with auto-bondage, joined local Bondage Society while in college.  Became bondage model at 20, moved to West Coast after graduation.  Met husband through Los Angeles B&D group, married him soon after.

Parents' attitude?

Parents dead in private plane crash when Y was 18.  Independently wealthy since then.  No brothers or sisters.

Husband's background?

Brent five years older than Y.  Parents wealthy, lost at sea when he was 15.  Yale, Wharton School, manager own investments now.  Has developed his skills all around the world; now one of top experts in US.

Social life?

Only with other B&D couples and groups.  Occasional flying trips to bondage affairs on the East Coast and in Europe.  A few three-day parties here for carefully selected guests.  Generally, content to remain at home under husband's control.

Household servants?

None.  Y does all housework and cooking, always in bondage, and enjoys it.  Even some gardening, which accounts for tan.  Sometimes husband brings a girl home for a few weeks to be Y's companion in slavery: twinning, competitions, 69's, etc.  Nice change of pace.  No one else here now.
Favorite form of bondage?

(Y.  ponders, smiles).  Prefers variety more than any particular form.  Discipline helmet fun once in a while; wears body strap often (or twin straps like today when she'll be alone for a long time); boots, corsets, all types of severe arm-bondage, hamper bars just about any kind is good as long as it is strict.  Even likes nipple clamps now and then.

Why is crotch shaven?

So hairs won't pull and because it increases sensitivity.

What does husband do when real punishment is needed?

(Y grimaces).  Has lots of methods: strenuous exercise in heavy bondage (mill wheel and treadmill in basement); a horse-tail whip; and prolonged physical stimulation without relief (example: rigid spread eagle for three hours with itching creme on breasts and pussy).

Other activities?

Y manufactures much of own bondage equipment under husband's direction: leather, rubber, wood, even iron.  Extensive workshop.  He designs most things (example: new jaw-spreader gag) but sometimes lets her invent something for herself (most recent: waist-stock).

Would you say that your husband abuses you?

"Well, no," Yvonne Spurwood said thoughtfully.  I wouldn't say that Brent abuses me..."
Yvonne's eyes were glowing with excitement as I closed the notebook.  The detailed recital of her situation had aroused her and it was clear that she was ready now for something more than just talk.  As a matter of fact, so was I!

Still kneeling, she asked shyly, "Won't you change my bondage now, Master?  Your slave girl will be grateful for some different restraint, as severe as you wish, of course."

"Happy to oblige, slave," I told her.  "But first, you'll have to lead me to your collection."  Her sensuous lips curved in a radiant smile and she rose smoothly to her feet.

"Follow me, Master."

She led me along the hallway to another room, tripping and stumbling in her eagerness.  My hands itched to grab those silky ass cheeks but I decided that could wait for a while.

The room was devoted entirely to bondage.  Cabinets lining the walls contained all sort of masks, gags, cuffs, chains, straps, ropes, belts, boots, and a lot of things I couldn't identify right away.  There were posts, stocks, a pillory, and chains hanging from pulleys, as well as a crotch bar and a leather cot equipped with restraining belts.

She looked at me expectantly while I surveyed the room's contents.  I decided it would be useful to keep her still while I explored the possibilities.  "Go over and stand facing that pole," I told her.  She obeyed quickly, and I pulled her wrist-chain up to loop it over a hook that was as high as her breasts.

This pulled her hands up harshly, making her lean back at the waist so that her groin was forced hard against the pole and she had to clamp it between her thighs.  She moaned once at the uncomfortable pose but then remained silent while I selected a new bondage outfit for her.

---

Brent was due back by seven o'clock, so I put her back into the bondage she had been in when I arrived and helped her lie down on a sofa in the living room.

I thanked her for the interview and she said she hoped I could come back soon and interview her again.