“Answer me the way you’re supposed to.  With Master in there somewhere, and loud enough for me to hear you.  Do you understand me, cunt?”

“Get the dishes done.  I’m cooking dinner.”

“I want the Under the Bed Restraint System… under the bed.”

“Get the cuffs on so we can adjust it.”

“I’ll be paddling you with the new frat paddle from Maui Kink tonight.”

“I’m going to hurt you.  I’m not going to stop because you want me to.”

“@insatiabldesire will be gagged and likely strapped down.  Should be fun (for me, hah)”

“You’re not going to like it.  It’s going to be too much.”

“Find the zipper hood and the gag, and lay down on the bed.”

Only… 

He didn’t really want me to lay down, as was proven by:

“Get over here, and get that cock in your hands.”

And while I stroked His stiffening member, He stuffed the gag in my mouth and yanked the hood over my head.

It wasn’t so bad, last time.  Remember? But last time, you were beyond wasted.  Alcohol tends to have that affect.  Which is why you should have been more frightened, not calm. False logic.

And my breath quickened.

NO.  Fuck you.  We can do this.  Calm down.  Breathe. It’s getting warm in here.  That doesn’t mean we’re suffocating.  Slow breaths. No… I can’t… You can.  Slow.  Even.  Breaths.

I barely registered Him velcroing my hands into the system.  Barely noticed His knee lodged firmly between my thighs.

Can you swallow? I dunno.  Can I?

And I tried.  And almost choked.  And almost panicked.

He was pretty much ignoring me.

And why shouldn’t He? There are times when I am not His devoted wife.  I am a blank canvas.  A piece of property.  Something for Him to beautify or destroy or both or whatever pleases Him.

A hood that mostly covers the face solidifies that.  I hear all my seasoned friends and hood junkies going, “Duh!” but while I knew that was one of the purposes, it didn’t truly sink home until I was there, feeling it.

“I want a smaller hood.  I’m going to have to use the spandex hood and that silk blindfold.  I think you could see during some of that.”

But I’m not sure I even opened my eyes during any of that.  I was terrified.  I had it built up so much worse in my head.

“I think I’ll be treating you more like a fucktoy.  I think it’s time to get you back where you belong.”

And the vision behind my eyelids as I close them to the monitor (The radio’s too loud to talk to each other without yelling.) is of Him holding my head under water while I thrash and fight to gain the slightest bit of purchase and desperately needed air.  Like He did last night, only the water was His cock blocking my throat and nasal passages.

“Yeah, that’s it.  Choke on it.”

I shoulda seen it coming the night He offered me a “snack” and pushed His limp dick to the back of my throat.

“Can you let me get hard in your throat? Do you think you can do it?”

And I was almost immediately choking and sputtering.  But, like a champ, I went back to it.  I don’t know what else to say, except that shit tickles.

He paddled my ass, rotating between each cheek and both at once, in sets of ten (though I swear a couple of them had at least eleven), and I yanked at the restraints with all my strength.  They didn’t move.  Sportsheets, you win.  I’ve been dying to find a good substitute to rope that could be left in place and hidden easily, and there it was all along.  And now it’s on M’s bed.  I’m in trouble.

He climbed between my legs, and slid His cock inside.  And in that position, it was a rather tight fit.  But once He was all the way in, it was like we were made for each other.  Everything slid into place.

When He was finished, He began unvelcroing the cuffs and I know I sighed in relief.  Then His mouth was touching my ear, and He breathed:

“I’m turning you over so I have more to play with.”

A paddle to the tits.  No big deal.  Oh shit.  My legs are open. Yeah, I’ll say, oh shit.  He wouldn’t.

But it wasn’t the paddle.  It was the buggy whip.  And He would.  Matter of fact, He loves it.

And while I laid there helpless, He whipped me from shoulders to toes between bouts of fucking me.

“Yeah, that’s it.  Cry, bitch.”

I never know when it’s okay. It’s always okay.  It’s not always okay.

And I choked back the sobs while He pumped His cock in and out of me and whipped my tits.

Almost. It’s not possible in the bedroom.  The back neighbors would call the police.  But it’s so much more comfortable in the bedroom. We need our own place.

“You wouldn’t even care if I took my cock away right now.  You don’t even care that it’s there.”  He said as He lit fire after fire in my tits and shoulders with the buggy whip.  And I bucked my hips up to capture as much as I could of the cock He was holding just close enough for me to slide my pussy lips around.  Reaching.  Trying.  As He laughed.  And whipped me more.

Dear sweet Jesus, almost.

“I think you can take eighty, next time.”

Next time.

“I think I’m going to treat you like not much more than a fucktoy for the foreseeable future.  If you have something to say about that, you’d better say it now.”

I’m sure I’d have all sorts of things to say about that if I thought about it.

“I’m going to keep doing things like last night.  Every time I get you where I want you, something interferes.  Not this time.”

I’m going to hold you to that.