Chapter 4

However, that one incident which occurred between Gwendolyn and Horace was very much out of Horace's nature. He wasn't the sort of man who asserted himself.

Although he had reacted in a rush of impulse and spontaneity, once that spontaneous moment was gone he felt awkward and horribly embarrassed that he had done anything of the sort.

He untied his wife and he rushed out of the apartment. He didn't return that night and he didn't return the following night. The next day the woman was planning to call the police and report her husband missing. She had put off doing that because she was worried about what she would tell them if they were to ask her, "Why did he leave?"

She didn't want anyone in the world to know about her humiliation and shame.

Yes, Gwendolyn had felt physical excitement when she had been tied to the bed. She had felt the same sort Of heat deep inside her cunt as she had felt years before when her father used to spank her over his knee. But, she had hidden it then.

The thing that troubled her was that this man, her husband knew that she had enjoyed being humiliated and disciplined and bound to the brass headboard.

Her husband returned late in the afternoon that second day. He was still dressed in the same clothes he had worn when he left the house. He was unshaven.

As soon as she looked into his face she knew that she was going to have things her own way. He had the look of a frightened rabbit about him. He didn't dare meet her eyes.

"Yes," she said in a withering tone of voice that cut right through him.

"Please," he whispered under his breath. "Please let me come in."

"I can't hear you, Horace. You're whispering in a very soft voice."

"Please. . . Would you let me come in and talk to you?" He looked up at her and then looked away quickly.

"Come in," she said. "I'll call the police to remove you if you do anything I. . . "

"No. No, don't worry about that. I won't bother you or do anything you. . . "

"Do not interrupt me when I'm speaking, Horace." Her voice was harsh and clipped. She timed her words. She purposely interrupted him. She wanted to manipulate him into his usual place.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, scarcely a whisper as he hung his head.

"I can't hear you, Horace. You'll have to speak up." She felt as if she were in an ancient jousting contest. She knew that she was the victor. She knew that she was just sadistically jabbing her weapon at her fallen foe, enjoying it as he squirmed.

It was Horace himself who had made himself the victim in the game with his wife. This was, apparently, the relationship that he needed. It was the one he had chosen.

"Can you forgive me, Gwendolyn. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to get so angry, to get so carried away as I did when.. . th-the other night. . . with you."

Once more he hung his head down and looked at his clenched hands.

"Why, Horace?" When she spoke those clipped words, he looked up at her.

The man was shaking his head. He didn't understand what sort of response his wife wanted from him.

"Why should I forgive you, Horace? What advantage will it be for me? Shall I give you another chance to share the pleasures of my body and then, perhaps, attack me again on some drunken night." She knew that he hadn't been drunk. She also knew that there was very little chance he would ever get up the guts to attack her again. But these seemed like good accusations.

"N-no, Gwendolyn. You know that I won't do anything like that. I mean, I did that but. . . I.. . I.. . Oh, Gwendolyn. Take me back. I'll be good to you."

She was a very beautiful woman. Actually Horace wasn't really as unattractive as he thought that he was. He had a low opinion of himself and he never imagined that any woman as beautiful as Gwendolyn could be interested in him. "Please," he sighed to her softly.

"There's no advantage for me to forgive you, Horace," she said, folding her arms over her beautifully formed breasts. "I suggest that if you really mean it, if you really, really mean what you're saying, that you get down on your knees and beg me."

For a moment he looked her in the eyes as if he expected that she was going to laugh and tell him that she had only meant it as a joke. But when he met her eyes he saw that she really meant it. He suddenly realized that he was looking in her eyes and that she was angry. He looked down at his own hands once again, grown less bold.

"You can either get down on your knees or get out of the apartment."

That was quite an ultimatum to be coming from his own wife. But, the man did it. He slid off his chair as if he were some kind of lizard and he slid onto his knees in front of her. "Please," he whispered softly. "Please take me back, Gwendolyn."

"Lick my shoes," she said. "Then maybe I'll forgive you for the fact that the strap broke on my very best pair of brown shoes. That was all your fault."

She pushed her dainty foot directly into his face and he stuck out his tongue and brushed it against the leather of the shoe. He tasted the warm surface and as he inhaled he could smell the aroma of the woman's foot inside her shoe.

He felt a rush of passion that went directly to his loins because of the flavor and the smell of her foot. Horace shivered all over his body because of that hot passion.

Then he was slobbering all over the leather of her dainty shoe.

She kicked him in the mouth before pulling her shoe back. He reached up and was rubbing his jaw.

"Now," she said pulling him up by his thinning hair. "What do you want, slave?"

"W-want? I want you to f-forgive me and t-take me back," he stammered.

She paused as if she were thinking about it. "Maybe." Then she was silent and he was waiting for her to continue. Her fingers were still holding onto his hairs. "I want you to pay me back for everything you did to me. Remember, an eye for an eye. . . "

"Anything." It was something he exhaled rather than something he spoke.

"You bet your balls you're gonna do anything I tell you to do."

She let go of him and walked toward the bedroom as she snapped, "Follow me."

He crawled on his hands and knees. It just seemed like the only position for him to take. And then he knew that he was facing the side of the bed. He was still on his knees. She stood over him and snapped, "Strip. I want you naked when you serve me, worm."

"Y-yes, ma'am," he softly whispered as he pulled on his clothes.

He tugged off his shirt and pants and his undershorts in less than a minute. When he was completely naked, his dick was standing up completely erect. The woman reached down and brushed just the tips of her fingers over the stiffness of the flesh as she laughed, "It looks to me as if you're hot for this humiliation, Horace." Her voice was a mocking sing-song.

"Put your hands up here, clasped together," she commanded.

He reached his hands up to the side of the brass headboard. He was still on his knees right next to the bed. The woman grabbed one of his ties that was over the back of a chair and she quickly pulled it tight around one of his wrists and then around the other one.

She tied the tie in a knot around both of his wrists and then tied it around the vertical pole that made the side of the brass headboard. The man's hands were now bound to the brass bed. He looked up at her with his big, sad eyes, knowing that he had to await her command.

Sensually, slowly, she moved away from him and his eyes followed her.

Gwendolyn started to peel off her clothes. She was stripped to the waist. She caressed her breasts and worked her fingers across her nipples, making them stand up erect.

Horace's mouth fell open. He had never seen such a lewd display from the girl he had married.

She leaned over him and offered her breasts to him as if she wanted him to suck them.

But, just as his lips moved close to her already erect nipples, she pulled her body upright and smacked him across the face. "You didn't ask for permission, you naughty boy."

"P-please, ma'am, permit me to suck on your tits! P-please. . . ? "

She looked at him, chuckled a little bit, raised her eyebrows, and said, "No."

The man grew beet red as his wife taunted him and laughed at him.

But, as she looked down his body she saw that his cock pulsed all the same. He was turned on by his predicament, the situation he had brought upon himself, and he couldn't hide it.

She was soon naked except for her silk underpants. They were pink and they were clinging to her fleshy hips. She spread her legs and started to finger her moist pussy lips.

Laughing as she moved closer to her husband, the outline of her pussy slit was already emphasized inside the clinging pink fabric. The moisture that oozed from the cunt lips was drooling over.

She spread her legs apart and stood over him as she hissed, "Take down my panties."

"Your panties, ma'am? M-my hands are tied together and I c-can't. . . "

"Fool," she snarled as she slapped him across the face. "Use your mouth."

Then she started to tickle her tits as she positioned herself in such a way so that he could get his lips at the waistband of her panties. He pulled on the clinging fabric and it took him some time to get them down off her shapely hips.

As he slid the panties down his upper lip curled inside out and rubbed wetly against the smooth flesh on the girl's belly. Then he could feel the curly pussy hairs rubbing against the wet flesh on the inside of his upper lip. He could feel the rubbing, the crinkling of the pussy hairs.

Finally she was able to work her legs back and forth so that the panties fell to the floor.

"Okay," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading her legs out. "Eat me."

Her husband had sometimes licked her pussy in the past, but he had only done it for a minute or so at a time and then had never brought her to climax. Besides, all he had ever done was to work his tongue against the outside of the pussy lips.

Now, as she grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and pulled his face against her cunt lips, his lips felt the wetness that was already there. "Give me your tongue."

He pushed his tongue into her hot and wet cunt. He could feel the moisture that was there and then he could feel the pussy lips slapping shut around his invading mouth muscle.

"Work that tongue. Lick out the inside of my pussy, you little worm."

Horace followed her command. He couldn't deny her power over him. He felt that he was her slave.

His tongue pushed up and then relaxed. He was flexing and relaxing his mouth muscle right inside the hot folds of her cunt lips. Then he pushed forward and he felt her interior pussy lips parting in front of his thrusting tongue. He could feel the wet flesh of the inner labia clasping around the tip of his tongue no matter which way he moved it.

He could also feel her love button which responded to each little pressure of his tongue against the depths of her body. The two of them were locked together in a hot and wet embrace.

Her thighs moved together and then she was rubbing the soft flesh on the insides of her thighs against both sides of the man's unshaven face. That massaging motion made her even hotter and she could feel the heat in her pussy walls that seemed to urge more juice out of the depths of her body, seemed to make the walls of her cunt even thicker than they had been, and seemed to clasp around the tongue, holding it prisoner in the hot confines of flesh.

She pressed her thighs so tightly together that she was nearly strangling the man.

He tried to pull it back, but the cunt lips were holding onto his tongue with an amazing power.

And the woman started to hump up and down on the man's face, started to press back and forth against his face. His nose was buried in her pussy patch. He inhaled and could only smell the aroma of her cunt.

Of course, more than anything else, there was the flavor of her cunt. He could actually feel the moisture that dribbled and slid along the surface of his tongue.

Finally, once her cunt lips had relaxed, she was able to slide off his face. She pulled back and looked down at him. He tried to wipe his wet mouth off against the hair on his forearms. Since his hands were tied to the brass headboard, he couldn't use his hands to wipe himself.

She had a contemptuous expression on her face as she glared at him. He felt her contempt cutting right through his body. But even as it was cutting he felt it getting him hotter.

Looking down at his cock, she saw that it was stiff and fully bloated.

First, she touched it lightly with her fingers. The man shuddered all over and she laughed. Her revenge seemed very sweet to her, very sweet indeed. She pushed him down onto his back.

Only he was unable to get down on his back completely. His hands were bound to the vertical post of the headboard. His hands, therefore, were up over his head. He was dangling from them.

He felt as if his arms were being stretched from their sockets because his body wanted to descend into a completely relaxed position, lying out on the floor. But his head and his shoulders were hovering, tensely, right off the floor as he looked up at his naked wife.

She spread herself out over his body so that her right leg was to one side of him and her left leg was on the other side. As she tickled along his sides and up under his armpits with her toes, he squirmed and tried to suppress his laughter for fear it would encourage her.

Now she squatted down over his cock. She stroked the dick and then pressed the head right up against the lips of her pussy. She spread open her cunt lips so they could accept the dick.

Then she squirmed so that she would be able to get the broad head of the mushroom cock right up against the interior lips of her cunt. Then she pushed down. The first thing she could feel was the way her body spread open and permitted the flared head of the cock to rub moistly against the insides of the walls. She felt the tunnel being spread wide.

And then the full length of the bone was all the way inside her body.

The cock started to move around and around. But, it was because of the way her body was moving on it. She was forcing the cock head against the different sides of her cunt. She was working at massaging her clitoris to get the peak of excitement in her body.

And then she started to lift herself up and then to drop herself down on the cock. She was working her cunt up and down on the fuck-pole. The flared head of it massaged up and down against the insides of her cunt and that was what counted for the woman.

"I'm using you, Horace. You're not fucking me now," she announced triumphantly. "I'm using you."

"Yes," he murmured in a breathy way, closing his eyes with the passion.

And then she felt his cock pulsating at the base. She knew that he was on the verge of an orgasm. She sadistically pulled off the fuck tool and rested herself between his legs, fingering herself seductively.

He opened his eyes wide. "Wh-why did you do that?" he asked suddenly.

She slapped his face and hissed, "I will be addressed with respect, you worm."

Lowering his eyes, he softly asked, "Why did you d-do th-that, ma'am?"

"I'm here for my pleasure, worm. Your pleasure doesn't count. Now, shut up."

She paraded naked around the room, exhibiting herself and exciting the man. She sometimes fingered herself and there was nothing that the excited man could do but to pant and stare at her.

Then she would leave the room for a long period, knowing that she was driving him wild, knowing that he was terribly uncomfortable with his arms up over his head, being stretched.

When she came back into the room, after listening to her favorite radio show, she was still naked. But now she had put on the shoes with the highest spiked heels that she owned.

She dug one of the heels against one of the man's nipples. She hadn't said a word to him. This was a pure action, an action that announced her sadistic intentions.

He writhed on the floor and his mouth opened to a wordless scream.

Then she used the other heel and dug it in against his balls. They moved fluidly in their sacs. He pulled his legs together but managed to get kicked right behind the balls first.

Pain was rushing up through his body and the woman was still laughing. She squatted over his cock again, but this time, due to the pain and discomfort, he had difficulty getting hard.

But, the tender touch of her elegant fingers over the stiff flesh of the dick was enough to get him hard again. She pressed the stiff head of the prong against her cunt lips and slid down onto it again. She started to ride his cock just as she had before.

This time, she moved slowly. She wasn't going to bring him to his frenzied orgasm, but was going to take her time to bring her own orgasm on. She could feel the hot and wet massaging of flesh against flesh. She could feel the stiffness that probed at her insides.

When she felt the base of his cock start to pulsate, she stopped riding his cock. She just sat there, with the dick inside her. He would close his eyes and try not to think about sex. Eventually, in spite of the hot and wet confinement of her pussy the man's dick would start to go a little bit soft merely through the will of time.

That was her sign to start riding the dick again. She was being quite sadistic about giving him a chance to cum. She knew that she was keeping him on the edge of complete pleasure and she wasn't anxious to bring him over that edge. That was the most sadistic part of her game.

Then she felt her passion' rising. She knew that he was close to his orgasm, but she was going to beat him. She was determined to. Her pussy flesh pulled together from sheer will and the effort of concentration she had put into it.

Slowly she worked her cunt off his cock. Her heart was beating loudly.

When she looked down at his dick, she saw that it was throbbing and hard.

"This is your punishment, my dear little worm of a husband. You will stay there tonight and you'll keep that hard-on through the night. Maybe in the morning I'll untie you and then I'll give you permission to play with it so that you can cum."

He whimpered a little bit, but when she shot him a nasty look, he turned his eyes away and was silent. She did leave him there all night and the following morning she did grant him permission to play with himself and achieve his own orgasm.

As he splattered his sperm onto his own belly, she laughed at him. He turned red. . .

And that was the way their sex life continued. He was sexually dominated by his wife any night that she cared to do it. Sometimes, when she didn't have the energy she would lie on her back and tell him that he'd better take care of her. He knew that to mean that he had to guarantee that she would have her orgasm before he did.

Since she was never in a great hurry to get such matters over with, it was always up to him to stop fucking her and to start eating her out until he almost thought his jaw was going to be dislocated from the pressure. She had what she needed.

And, strangely enough, he had what he needed also. He had some need to be sexually dominated and bound by a woman. He was getting more satisfaction than he ever could have dreamed of getting in his life. True, it wasn't an honest relationship where they admitted to themselves that they were doing it merely for the sexual thrill. It was shrouded in different power plays that involved their marriage. He was her slave. That was what mattered.

But, since the two of them weren't able to go about their sex lives in an honest and open way they were both filled with guilt about what went on between them. They didn't know that what they were doing was a game between consenting adults. They considered it dirty and never even spoke to each other about the mysteries of bondage and discipline.

And so, after four years of that Horace was almost grateful for the war that came along. He enlisted right away and, even though he was a little old compared to the first string of young men who joined the army, he was in good shape. He was sent overseas.

Once more the two of them never discussed what had gone on between them and never discussed what was on their minds upon Horace's departure. In spite of the constant conflicts the two of them had come to know and understand each other very well indeed. Gwendolyn knew that Horace was going over to Europe in an effort to get killed and end his life.

They both understood that same secret need, but went through the ruse of lying to each other continually. It was the only way they could deal with their lives.

For the last month that Horace was in town, Gwendolyn never tied him to the brass bed. She felt guilty. He was a soldier. He was going to sacrifice himself for his country. How could she tie him to the bed? The answer to that question was that he would have gotten a great deal of pleasure out of it and she would have gotten a great deal of pleasure as well.

Gwendolyn was only twenty-three at that time, but somehow she sensed that she would never know physical pleasure again in her life. She would remarry in time, but things would be different for her. She already had a job working in a defense plant. She didn't need to depend on men for the rest of her life. She told herself that she didn't want another weak man like Horace had been. But, even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

Was it especially macabre of her to be planning things even before Horace was gone? It was such a foregone conclusion for her, she couldn't help herself.

The day she got the telegram telling her that Horace was killed, she slept on the couch that night. She called the junk dealer the same day she called the funeral home. She wanted him to take the bed away. It was the bed she had slept in with her husband and now that he was gone she never wanted to sleep in it again.

The junk man got quite a deal. For the labor of moving that bed out and moving a new bed into the apartment, a much cheaper bed with a wooden headboard, plus only five dollars, he took the beautiful brass four-poster bed that same day. He was delighted with his haul.

And he knew that it would bring in a good amount of money in his store. He displayed the frame of the bed right in the already cluttered window of the place. Even priced at fifty dollars he knew that it was going to be gone very soon. It was a beautiful piece.

But, even more than its beauty, there was something elegant and sexual about it. Was this the first person to actually look at the article of furniture and to think of it as a sexual thing. He started to imagine taking it home to his own wife. What would that do to his sex life?

No. He was not a daring man. He would sell it.