Duncan Fox: Slave wife

Then, with a moan of total exhaustion, she became as limp as a rag, and her chest heaved as she fought to inhale against his weight. He stayed on her. She whimpered each time an aftershock convulsed her.

Finally she was silent, except for the deep, even breathing of sleep. His prick, now a limp worm, was still clasped by her sodden, hot cunt. Gently, carefully, he eased back off her. He felt his dick slither out of her pussy as he sat back between her sprawled legs.

Her pussy looked fiery and angry. The inner lips were protruding sloppily. A creamy drizzle of jizz gleamed on her blonde muff. The insides of her thighs were flushed, as were her breasts.

For a long time he stood over her. His gut twisted with desire as he studied the ropes still binding her to the bed. Her total helplessness, her vulnerability, stirred a deep, primitive hunger in him. He gazed at her ravaged, helpless beauty for a long time, then yielded to a final mad impulse, and got out the camera. Using just the sunlight spilling over her naked body, he photographed her from the foot of the bed. The Polaroid showed every detail of her nude body. He studied the color photo.

She had no secrets now. Carefully, he put the camera away and hid the picture. She was stirring against the ropes in her sleep.

He untied them from the bedposts. Before he could unfasten them from her wrists, she turned on her side, and curled into a fetal ball. Rather than disturb her, he left the cords on her and slipped out of the room.

He wondered how long she would give him to get his things out.

The whiskey burned like fire as it went down his throat. Grimly, he contemplated the amber pool in the bottom of the glass, then, not bothering to savor it, he downed it quickly. He found himself wishing desperately that Kim had kicked him out after the incident with the ropes. That way, at least he wouldn't be in the predicament he was in now.

When he thought about it, he felt disgust and horror. Kim was waiting for him in the bedroom, and here he was, wearing his robe, slumped dismally in the living room.

It wasn't that he couldn't get it up for her, either. He could. But she now seemed to think that if she bounced and wiggled as he plunged into her steaming cunt that was all he needed. He knew she was faking it for him. He knew it.

"Max, aren't you coming to bed?" she called from the bedroom.

"In a little bit," he answered vaguely, pouring another hefty jolt of Scotch.

If only she weren't so damn accommodating, so helpful and sweet all the time. She was trying so hard to please him – which made it all the worse. It made him feel like a heel and an ingrate. But it just wasn't in him to fuck her when she was so obviously just enduring it.

She appeared in the doorway, belting her robe, frowning with worry. "Are you all right, Max?"

"Yeah," he grunted.

There had been a catch in her voice. She came into the room. "It's Saturday night, Max," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he grunted again. That was the trouble, it was Saturday night.

Kim sat down on the coffee table in front of him. "What's the matter, Max?" she asked, taking the glass out of his hand.

"Nothing," he lied, taking the glass back and ignoring her as he poured some more.

Kim took a deep breath. The rise and fall of her tits made him stare deep into the Scotch. "Don't… don't you want me any more, Max?" she asked softly.

Max shook his head. "Oh, Christ, baby, of course I do. Of course I want you, baby. You know I want you."

He thought how easy it would be to show her how he wanted her, to expose the aching hard-on he was carrying for her. He thought of the reaction he would get. He had seen the fear in her eyes at the sight of his prick when he undressed. He had seen her tense up as she lay there under the covers in her pajamas.

"Then why don't you come to bed?" she asked, resting a warm, soft, loving hand on his to keep him from lifting the drink.

He groaned. "I want you, baby. But you don't want me."

"That… that's not true, Max," she stammered. She wasn't very good at lying.

Goaded, and a little drunk, he decided to challenge her. "If it's true, just pull back my robe!" he ordered, more harshly then he meant to.

She reached tentatively for his belt and then pulled her hand back as if she had touched a hot skillet. "Not here," she said unsteadily. "Not here in the living room. In the bedroom. Someone might see."

"Yeah, sure someone might see. You might," he growled.

She began to crack. "That's not fair," she wailed.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Maybe, maybe I better just sleep in the guest room."

"No!" Her answer was sharp. "No husband of mine is going to sleep in another bed, ever."

"Come on, baby, what's the use?" he asked. "What use is a husband if you don't want him? It's stupid, after all. I mean I can't see… forcing myself on you if you don't want me. And I can't see doing it, every time we do it, there, in the bedroom, in the dark, under the covers like it was something shameful and dirty. I love you, baby. And if I can't give you pleasure, real, honest, pleasure, and see and feel the pleasure, then I don't want to do it at all."

Kim took his glass and poured some Scotch into it for herself. Sitting as she was, knees pressed tight together, leaning forward toward him, he could see the soft rise of her tits in the deep vee of her robe. She sipped the whiskey. He didn't recall ever seeing her drink hard liquor before. She winced, choked, then finished it.

She got to her feet abruptly. "Wait here," she ordered tersely. She left the living room.

When she returned, the lengths of Venetian blind cord in her hand made his heart skip a beat, then hammer hard against his ribs. Just the sight of those dangling white ropes was enough to make his cock drool. He remembered her staked out on the bed as he plunged his cock into her sloppy wet hole. She had bucked under him like a bronco, with honest animal lust. The vision of her bound helplessness did more to boost his lust than the idea of fucking her.

He thought she had thrown the ropes away.

She twisted the ropes in her sweaty hands. "I've been thinking about it and thinking about it," she began. "And every time I think about it, Max, I get sort of an itch deep down in my gut. I want you so bad it hurts, Max. Only, when you're with me, Max, I can't think about it, 'cause I get too scared."

Max held himself rigidly still, almost afraid to breathe.

She dropped the ropes on the table. Then she sank to her knees in front of him and held her wrists out.

"Tie me up, Max," she whispered. Her soft, lust-filled voice raised his hackles. "Tie me up. Then you can do anything to me. Anything you want! And I won't be able to do a thing about it."

Max kept himself from reaching for the ropes.

"And I will want you, Max," she admitted, her voice rich and shaking with an eagerness that made his hair curl. Her lips had never looked so full and flushed and desirable. There was a glitter in her blue eyes that made his balls steam. "Everything you do to me, I'll love," she whispered hotly. "Everything!"

Max was astonished at how steady his hand was when he reached for the twisting strands of cord and untangled one from the cluster. His cock was throbbing. Slowly, very carefully, lovingly and firmly, he tied his wife's wrists together. He looped the cord first one way and then the other, clamped them together, crossed at right angles.

Pushing everything aside, clearing the coffee table with a rush, he picked her up and seated her on it so her ass was almost off the edge. He pushed her down on her back. The horniness and fear in her eyes as she stared up at him made his lust sizzle.

He fastened the free end of the rope from her wrists to the table legs. Her arms were drawn over her head, stretched toward the end of the table. Her knees were bent, and her feet were resting flat on the floor.