The woman was stretched out on the large bed. With each of her wrists strapped to one of the sides of the headboard and each of her ankles strapped to each of the sides of the footboard, she was stretched out as wide as she could possibly go.
She was terrified because only the thin fabric of her nightgown covered her nakedness.
Standing over her were the robbers who had been ransacking the house. One of them pulled on the arm of the other and said, "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."
"Hold on." The man who stood his ground was rubbing the front of his pants.
"We don't have time for shit like that when we.. . "
"What's the matter? Do you hear police sirens or something?" Saying that, the tough stud pulled open his pants and exposed his erect prick. Then he leaned forward and, with one deft movement of his hand, he pulled up the woman's nightgown. She felt gooseflesh on the insides of her thighs.
"There's one more valuable thing in this house that we haven't taken yet."
No matter how she tugged on her bonds, she felt helpless. She was tied too tightly to the bed.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
The man rolled his desk chair backwards toward the door of the library and then he pulled that door open so he could shout, "Pamela, I want to see you this instant."
His wife rushed down the hall an instant later. She slid into the library, smiling.
"Look at the bills here," he said, pointing to his desk.
Pamela looked at the mess on top of the desk and stopped smiling. 'There were so many things we needed for the house, dear, and I knew that if we waited . . . "
"How are we ever going to have any kind of decent life if you insist on living beyond our means?"
She looked down at her hands which she clasped in front of her and then she softly said, "You're the one who wanted us to move into this great big house, Douglas. I said that it was more than we needed and that we didn't have enough furniture to fill it."
"Pamela, this house is an investment in the future. Do you know what's going to happen to the price of real estate with the current costs of building what they are? The value of this house is going to skyrocket. But, what about this coat rack for a hundred and twenty dollars?"
"It was a designer piece and if it's going to be the only thing standing in that great big foyer that we have out there, people will see it when they come in and.. . "
The man's jaw was set on edge as he hissed, "That's enough, Pamela."
"I don't mean to make you angry with me, Douglas, really I don't, but.. . "
He stood up and said, "You're going to have to be punished, you know."
"Punished?" Pamela looked into her husband's eyes. She felt a strange little thrill rushing up through her body when she repeated that word. It was an exciting notion to her. , "And it's up to me as your husband to decide on the nature of your punishment."
Douglas seemed very thoughtful. Pamela remained in the same pose she had assumed, with her hands folded in front of her and her eyes down on her joined fingers. She knew that Douglas was surveying her, assessing her. She enjoyed that feeling.
Her upbringing had been very strict and severe. Her father was a harsh disciplinarian and she had felt his loss very deeply when she was a teenager. Somehow, although Douglas was youthful and handsome, still in his middle twenties, he was similar to her father.
Perhaps it was the incredibly light blue eyes. They were almost clear, almost the color of a brisk autumn sky or the color of ice that is beginning to melt. His eyes glinted and reflected the light, always able to intimidate his beautiful young wife.
For, although she was already a wife, Pamela was quite young. She was only nineteen and would soon be twenty. This large house on a relatively small plot of land in the expensive suburb her husband had chosen for them was quite a chore for any girl of her age, and she didn't do everything as well as Douglas wished her to, but she tried ardently.
Pamela believed that keeping the house for Douglas was. her mission in life and succeeding at that mission was all she ever hoped for. Therefore the use of the word punishment was not at all alien to the girl, not at all surprising to her ears.
Besides, this is not a contemporary couple being discussed. Pamela and Douglas stood together in that library as vital and youthful and sexual as any two people ever were, but there world was not our world. The time was many years ago when everyone was old-fashioned. Discipline was a way of life then. Fathers took canes to their children and even to their wives.
And, in that time, perhaps a half-dozen decades past, the world was divided into two parts. There were the wild people, the people who went to the sort of parties where illegal alcohol was served, the people who believed in 'free love' and other wild notions. And then there were the decent people. Douglas and his wife, newly accepted in the community of Shady Hill, certainly fit into that second category. , The two of them were as decent as any couple ever was. Pamela was joining the correct charities in town and Douglas had just joined the board of his father's bank.
Besides that they looked so beautiful together. Douglas' hair was corn silk blond. It was soft and straight and swept across his high forehead. His face had the handsome good looks that marked his Nordic heritage. His nose was, in a word, perfect. His jaw jutted just enough not to be ostentatious.
And he had been a top athlete when he was at Princeton. He was a fine specimen of young manhood.
The bride he had taken one year earlier, just after she finished her time at the girls' finishing school where she had studied, was his perfect mate.
Pamela's hair was long and straight and of a lighter shade of blonde than her husband's. She wore her hair up during the day and she let it hang down at night.
Her body was shapely, but it still wasn't the fully rounded woman's body it would be one day. There were still signs of the lithe girl's body it had been just before.
As she stood in front of him in her white dress which showed her body so well, he considered what he wanted to do to her and he found himself thinking about sex. There was still sunlight coming through the windows. This was a Saturday afternoon.
He felt very guilty that he was thinking about having sex with his wife even though it was the middle of the day, and yet he couldn't help the notion. As he considered a proper punishment for her, he could only think about her hot and tight slit which accepted his throbbing manhood each night.
"Up to our sitting room, Pamela," he said as he walked past her and exited the room first.
She obediently followed him up the stairs to the sitting room. The master bedroom suite was done up as so many of them were in those days. There was a large sitting room that one entered immediately upon arriving in the suite. Then, to the right there was a small bedroom which was Douglas' room, and to the left there was a large and ornate bedroom which was Pamela's room. Pamela's room got the first morning sunlight.
Douglas' room was furnished with a fairly large single bed. It was sparsely furnished with masculine and Spartan choices. Pamela's room was furnished with a large, king-sized bed. Quite simply, it was considered improper for a wife of Pamela's class to even know what the inside of her husband's bedroom looked like. He came to her and knocked on her door when he wanted to fuck. She had the option of saying yes or no.
Now, as the two of them entered the sitting room and she turned toward him, the man pointed toward her bedroom and said, "I want you in your room now."
He followed her into the room. It was the most lavish in the house.
"Look at this room! Look at the expensive wallpaper that you got! Look at the heavy silk you used for the drapery! Look at these crystal lamps and this marble nighttable!
"No one shall see this room but the two of us, Pamela, and the servants who clean it. By what right did you spend this money on your bed chamber?"
Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes as she turned from him and softly said, "But, Douglas, in here we shall share some of the most cherished moments of our marriage. Would you deny me this bit of frivolity when, in fact, we're dealing with.. . "
"Stuff and nonsense. I'll hear none of this. Pamela, I demand that you remove your frock."
"My frock?" she asked, her blood beginning to boil at the thought of exposing herself so.
The curtains were drawn apart and although she knew that there were no neighbors who could see into the window, the thought, of having sex while sunlight was pouring into the window seemed very wicked indeed to the young married woman.
They were scarcely thirty years away from the era of Queen Victoria in England and it was not a time when such things were done lightly. She looked up into her husband's eyes and she saw the stern expression there, so like her father's.
She reached around behind her and struggled to unfasten the stay at her neck. She never thought to ask her husband to help her do such a thing. It would have been demeaning.
Once she opened that snap, she proceeded to open the series of buttons that was fastened down the back of the dress. She slid it forward so that it came down her arms. Then she was revealed for a moment to the waist. She was wearing a satin chemise that glistened in the light.
She stepped out of the dress and was revealed in the slinky satin chemise that was outlining her nipples and her breasts and her light colored stockings and her white shoes.
"The chemise," he said, motioning upward with his hand.
Pamela peeled the chemise up her body and revealed her breasts. They were rather small, not as large as she would have wished them to be, but they were beautifully shaped, almost like the rounded portions of a split cantaloupe. Her nipples stood up high and proud when revealed.
She was wearing a white garter belt with a series of garters that held up her stockings and she was wearing a pair of satin underpants. They had little short legs on them which had frills running all around the bottom. The girl moved nervously from side to side, taking her pose with her hands fastened together in front of her.
"I want you to take them down," Douglas said, pointing to his wife's satin underpants.
She felt the heat and the tingling sensation rising in her body.
"But, Douglas, it's the middle of the day. It wouldn't be decent for me to.. . "
"This is your husband's command." He had the power to command like that because he knew that in spite of everything else they lived by they were also ruled by the notion that the man was the master of the household and that his word was the law.
She wriggled out of the undergarment and then stood in front of him in just her garter belt and her stockings and white shoes. She wore the garter belt under her panties so that it was easier for her to go to the bathroom without having to unfasten her stockings.
As she stood in front of her husband, she felt the way he was looking at her and she was too shy and modest to look back at him. She had seen herself naked in the mirror and had enjoyed the sight of her nakedness. She knew that there was a wispy patch of blonde right at the lips of her cunt. She could tell that her husband was looking right at that spot.
Then he glanced away from her and he looked at the bed. His wife had just had it delivered the previous week. Then there was a problem with the mattress and it was only the previous day that they got in a proper mattress. This bed had been the biggest expense of all.
But, as he looked at it he knew that he couldn't scold his wife about this choice. He had gone with her to the furniture store to pick it out. But they hadn't chosen a mere bed off the floor of the shop. They had given a special order to the man in charge and it had taken months to get to them.
This was a hand-wrought brass bed. Even in this room, which was done in yellow and was cheerful and bright, the brass tubing that made up the headboard and the footboard stood out, shimmering as if there were darkness and contrast all around.
"I want you lying on your back on this bed, Pamela," the man commanded.
Swallowing hard, the girl said, "It is the middle of the day, Douglas, and we. . . " Then she blushed, unable to finish the thought.
"Do not be smutty, Pamela. Remember, 'Honi soit qui mal y pense,' my dear."
She got on her back and then he commanded, "Your arms above your head, Pamela."
As she put her arms up, he left the room and when he returned a moment later she was still in the same position. It pleased him to see that the girl knew what discipline meant.
He was carrying a bunch of his old ties. They were school ties which were still left in his closet. He considered them a little too flashy and juvenile for him now that he had his position at the bank and if he had thought about it he would have thrown them out.
But, now that he was finding a new function for the ties, he was glad he hadn't thrown them out.
He pulled the first tie around both of her wrists, deftly making the sort of knot he had learned to make as a Boy Scout. Then he tied the tie to the headboard of the brass bed.
Lying on her back, the girl realized that she was helpless then. Her husband was right over her. She thought she was going to cum immediately as she thought about the situation.
But, he did not pounce on her just then. He took one of her legs and he pulled it up in the air. It was her right leg and he pulled it up over her right shoulder so that the ankle was to one side of her. The girl did not resist. She knew this was part of her husband's will.
He took another of his ties and he tied it to that wrist and then tied it to the headboard.
Then he quickly pulled her left leg up so that it was spread out toward the left side of her body. He was even quicker about tying that ankle to the headboard because he had experience with the other limbs. Now the woman was completely immobile.
She looked up at her husband and she blushed. Even though he was her husband and even though he had been having sex with her for a year, he had never seen her in this sort of position. He had never seen her sex organ exposed that way. Now that she was lying with her weight resting on her shoulders, her arms over her head, exposing her breasts and underarms fully, and her legs pulled up in the air and spread wide apart so that her pussy was open for view, she was terribly aware of the sunlight that streamed through the window and lit up her body.
Her husband's fingers lightly grazed the flesh of her spread pussy, but he pretended that it was an accidental touch. Her entire body shivered and quivered in response to that light touch of his fingers. He pulled his hand away from her body immediately. .
But, she could already feel the moisture that was welling up in the slit of her cunt. She could feel the moisture that oozed over the sides of her hot twat.
She looked up at her husband in a longing way, as if she were asking him to fuck her. But he merely turned away from her. He wanted to lecture her and found it impossible to do when she was looking at him in that way. "You shall stay there at my whim, Pamela."
"For how long?" she asked with a slight note of terror in her voice.
The terror replacing the lust he had seen in her eyes pleased him. He turned back to face her and smiled, "You shall stay there until you learn to be a responsible wife for me, Pamela. Since you saw fit to spend so much of my hard-earned money on decorating this room, this shall be a prime opportunity for you to look at the room for a long time."
Then he rushed from the room. He went down to his library where he was working on the finances for the month. But, he couldn't concentrate on a thing. His cock kept on throbbing inside his pants. He was pressing the ball of his hand down against it, trying to get it to calm down.
But, no matter how many columns of numbers he looked at all he could see in front of him was his beautiful wife. He saw her as he left her, as he knew he would find her. She was spread open and her delicate sexuality was exposed, pink and wet and ready.
He had been aware of the wetness at the lips of the delicate slit, but he hadn't said anything at all about it. He was aroused knowing that she was aroused. But he knew that proper women of that era did not admit ever having been sexually aroused.
And yet, he had to consider it. He had to admit it to himself. The idea of having his luscious young wife tied up in nothing but her garter belt and stockings, helpless to fight off any invasion to her feminine charms, was a very exciting notion after all.
He saw the white flesh that was pulled so tautly over the rounded softness of her body.
And, every so often, he looked out the window, waiting for the sun to set. He knew what he would do after the sun set. There was a knock on the door of the library and it distracted him.
Douglas pulled his chair against the desk so that his erection wouldn't show. "Who is it?"
"Cook, sir," the woman's voice said as she turned the handle and entered the library. "Excusin' me, sir, but I don't know what you'd have me prepare for dinner and I can't find the missus. Could you tell me if you know where she could be?"
"Mrs. Fairfield is upstairs resting and she is not to be disturbed. Would you please leave something cold in the icebox that I could take up to her later on in the evening. Once you've prepared that you can leave for the day. Thank you."
Then he turned back to his desk and continued to wait for the sunset. He kept on thinking about the things he would do to his wife once it was dark outside. But, then he couldn't think of it. He kept trying to stop himself from having those thoughts.
Finally it was dusk. He lit the lamp that was on his desk and decided that was the time when it was okay to start the sexual action upstairs. By the time he actually got to sex it would be fully dark. He justified all this to himself, since he was from an age and a world where such things needed to be justified. Giving in to the feelings of the loins would have been considered sinful.
So, he went upstairs and entered the room where his wife had been tied to the brass bed.
She was lying there, trying to doze off, feeling a tingling in her legs because the blood had rushed down from them. But, she hadn't been anywhere near dozing off in spite of her efforts. Being exposed like that on the bed she imagined all sorts of strange things, all of them highly sexual, all of them very arousing for her.
Pamela knew that she was dripping wet by that time. She knew that her cunt was oozing and that the liquid was already flowing into the crack of her ass. She had never been so wet before.
"Now, my dear, I hope I've given you enough time to consider the folly of living beyond our means."
She knew that he. more than she, was responsible for their living beyond their means. It made her angry that he was able to shift the -blame to her and was able to punish her because of that. But, at the same time she also felt the erotic thrill of the punishment she was receiving and since there was that as part of it, she did not complain.
"Sir, I've learned my folly. I'll economize all I can on everything."
He unstrapped the belt from around his waist, tossing his jacket onto a chair. He stood over her in his vest and tie and once he had pulled the belt off he doubled it over in his hand.
She could feel her flesh tingling when she looked at the belt. She remembered times when her father had used his belt on her as well. The smell of leather always made the flesh inside her pussy tingle with hot wetness. This evening was no exception.
"What is this I see?" the man asked, rubbing his finger against the lips of her pussy just as if this was the first time he was seeing the glistening wetness there. "You haven't soiled yourself, have you, Pamela?" He brought the finger to his nose.
Glaring down at her in a very accusatory manner, he hissed, "This wetness is not the aroma of urine. It is the aroma of female sexuality." He was glad to see that his wife was blushing.
Shaking his head, the man said, "Perhaps we have discovered a more severe demon inside you, Pamela. It may be one that must be beaten out of your system."
With that, he raised the leather belt over one shoulder and slapped it down across the cheeks of her ass. He watched as the bright pink line appeared just below the girl's wet pussy lips. The pink turned quickly to deep purple and then started the slow process of turning white.
He aimed the leather strap again at the fleshier portion of her ass cheeks. It cut right across and made an even more vicious pink mark against the pure white flesh.
Pamela was biting down on her lower lip and putting in a great deal of effort not to cry out in pain. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears as she looked up at her husband.
The third stripe he slammed across the delicately white cheeks of her ass went in a slightly different direction. It cut across the first two stripes and where it passed the other two welts immediately started to form. That was when she clenched the cheeks of her ass together.
That was something the man couldn't resist. As soon as she clenched her ass cheeks together he slammed the leather belt in the other direction so that it cut right across the fleshy buns.
She was struggling in her bonds and then her husband stepped back. He felt the perspiration on his forehead because of the sexuality of his bound wife. He couldn't hold off any longer.
He quickly removed his vest and his tie, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. He turned and saw that there was night showing through the drawn curtains. It didn't matter to him that they were not shut. He pulled off his shirt and dropped his pants.
Then, as he was standing over the bed, he slowly unbuttoned the one piece cotton undergarment he was wearing. Pamela, bound to the bed, could see the clear outline of his erection through the fabric. She could tell that it was hard and she could even see a little drop of wetness that was staining the front of the white cotton union suit.
He peeled the undergarment off and worked it down his legs, letting his prick wave in front of him.
Then he knelt over his wife on the bed and stroked his erection as he raspingly said, "I am your husband and I shall have my sport with you, woman."
Pamela remained silent, it was a must, and pretended that she was merely giving in to the will of her husband. But, all the time she could feel the hot blood rushing through her veins. She was turned on, she was really stimulated by the position she was being forced to assume.
Now, as her husband leaned over her bound body she felt the head of his cock pressing against the lips of her pussy. She shut her eyes. There was nothing she had to imagine. She was really bound to the bed, naked but for her garter belt and stockings, and the cock was spreading her open.
The lips of her cunt were quivering, were shaking as if they were petals of a delicate flower, petals that threatened to fall off with the slightest rush of the wind.
And then the cock head was inside the welcoming and wet cunt lips. The man could feel the body heat that surrounded the head of his cock. The cunt lips had shaped themselves right around the flared head and it was holding that shape as if it were making a mold of the cock head.
Then the man pushed forward into the woman's body and he could feel the inner labia spreading open with the pressure. He could feel them permitting his prick to enter the hot folds of fleshiness. He pushed forward and the boner slid into the depths of her wet cunt.
He could feel the hot flesh that was deeper inside her pussy being spread wide apart by his invading prick. He grabbed her upturned ass in his hands and he could feel the coarse lines that he had left there with the fury of his leather belt.
She winced in pain as she felt his hands touching the very spots that had been left so raw and bruised by his earlier mistreatment. And when she winced like that, responding to the pain, the pressure of her cunt tightened around his erect penis.
He could feel the pulling sensation and he was off as if he were a racehorse.
Pulling his dick back out of her hot hole, he slammed it forward again and then he could feel her pussy flesh pulling together in a way that he could not mistake.
Douglas was aware of the way his wife usually had orgasms. She had a very sensitive pussy and he knew that he often brought her to orgasm. The pulling of the flared head of his cock against her clitoris was enough to excite her wet pussy flesh to the final implosion.
But, now that he was doing this out of fury, now that he was responding with indignation to the fact of her wet pussy, he pulled his throbbing prick immediately from her hole.
"How dare you, woman? Have you no shame?" he asked in a low voice.
She blushed. She understood what he was talking about. They were both from the same society, from the same background which believed that women must not enjoy sex. She knew that he was reacting to the fact that there was pleasure welling up in her cunt.
And it was a strange throbbing sensation in her cunt due to the fact that she had been left unsatisfied for such a long time. She wanted to get it over with! If only one hand had been free while she had been bound nearly naked to the bed she certainly would have touched her pussy. If she could only touch herself for half a minute she knew that she would cum.
But, bound to the bed in that way she was helpless to go against her husband's will. There were stronger bonds as well. She felt bound by her family, by her restricted world. Those bonds held her to her husband's will even when she was not tied to the brass bed.
And now her husband was kneeling over her and stroking his dick.
"I did not know that my wife had a sluttish nature when I took her."
"Sir, you do me a great injustice. You know that I was pure and ignorant when we married."
Tears slid slowly down the girl's cheeks as she protested, looking up at her husband.
"I say that you have a sluttish nature, and do you deny it?"
She turned her face away from him. She had been taught basic precepts about sex, even though it was a subject that was never discussed in her home. Somehow, perhaps through osmosis, the girl had been molded in the Victorian mold of her parents.
"P-please," she whispered, believing that his accusation was true. "I c-can't control my nature, sir. It's the fear. It's fear that makes my body react so to your touch."
He pressed one finger firmly against the wet and steaming lips of her pussy as he softly sighed, "This is not the feeling of fear, woman. This is a different feeling."
Then he moved forward on the bed. He had heard about something that sounded deliciously wicked. But, he had only heard about it being done by whores and low-life girls. Now that his wife was bound to the bed, hand and foot, he didn't see why she was any better than that.
After all, he had been taught that there were two types of women. There were whores and there were virgins. Now that his wife was no longer a virgin and no longer acted like a virgin, he could only think of her as a whore. It was the fault of his education that he did so.
His knees were on either side of her breasts, actually jabbing into her armpits. He lowered his torso into a squatting position and then his erect cock was right at the woman's lips.
"Sir," she said, her eyes wide. "I do not understand this rude action."
She turned her face to the side. She longed to look at the cock at this close range and yet it terrified her to do so. It terrified her that her husband would accuse her of further misdeeds if she were to do so. So, she shut her eyes.
But it was her husband who, pulling on her hair, turned her face toward his prick.
"You are going to take it in your mouth and give me my pleasure that way."
She gasped, "Sir. I've never heard of such a barbaric thing in my. . . "
Before her protest could go any further, she found herself forced to perform that barbaric act. The head of the cock was pressing her tongue down in her mouth and she started to sink her teeth slowly against the sensitive flesh. But then she felt her husband's hand on her hair once again. He pulled her head a little and snarled, "If I even feel your teeth, you shall regret it eternally."
That was all she needed to hear. Pamela was brought up with strict moral rules, but she was brought up with fear of authority more than anything else. She was brought up with a good deal of respect for authority and she couldn't imagine going against her husband's will.
So, she felt the cock sliding into her mouth. She could taste her own pussy on the thick prong. She had sometimes smelled her underpants when she took them off. The aroma of her own sexuality, however powdered and perfumed it might have been, was an erotic delight to the girl. Now she was aware of the actual flavor that was on the stiff penis.
When the cock pushed forward she could feel the flared head of it rubbing against the roof of her mouth. Then it pulled back and she felt the massaging that was beginning on her tongue.
Her husband, kneeling over her face, was starting to fuck her throat. But, he was going slowly at first. He pushed a little more of his dick into the hot confines of her mouth and then the broad, mushroom head of his prick slapped against her throat.
She felt the pressure against her throat muscles and then she felt the muscles repelling the invading slam of the cock. She gagged and choked and he pulled his dick back.
For a while he just played with the head of it inside her lips, but he never pulled it back all the way. He never took it all the way out of her mouth. It didn't matter though. She had been bound to the bed for hours in that position already. There was no way she was going to get away until he had taken his pleasure.
He was slamming his dick in and out and in and out of her throat. He could feel the hot wetness as the saliva kept on building up in her mouth. He could feel the wet friction as the speed of the movements increased. He never imagined that anything could be so erotic.
It wasn't only the physical pleasures that were thrilling Douglas. He was a man with an appreciation of man's finer points and he realized that any jungle animal could enjoy this same pleasure of friction and wetness in a willing throat. He was excited by the situation.
Here was his wife, a beautiful girl from the cream of society, and she was bound in her stockings and garter belt, her pussy oozing with steaming juice and longing, and he was forcing her to suck on his cock. This was the first time that Pamela was doing anything like that.
He reached down and he was feeling the sides of her face. He wanted to remind himself that it was really her down there. He wanted to remind himself of her perfectly sculpted features of her clear and smooth white flesh, of her high cheekbones and her bright eyes.
Douglas was constantly reminded of those beautiful lips, those pouting lips that were so totally, so willingly, his. He was pushing more and more of his stiff cock into her throat each time he pushed forward. He could feel her throat muscles responding to the pressure of his erect penis and yet he always stopped just short of making her choke.
Pamela was aware that the thrusts would begin viciously enough and then would become a little slower at the very end when he was trying to tell when he should pull back.
Her tongue was tingling because of the way he kept on moving backwards and forward across the surface. She felt as if he was scraping a layer of flesh off her mouth muscle.
Douglas reached up and started to feel the silk of his wife's stockings. They were wrapped around the soft flesh of her legs as if they had been painted on. It was so soft and so wonderfully feminine. He reached down and felt her garters, pulling on them and letting them snap against her fleshy thighs.
He heard her sighing a little each time the garters snapped. He could feel her body quivering a little bit. She gasped a little. His cock kept on moving in and out of her throat. Waves of pleasure were rushing up into his body, rushing up to his balls, up to his spine and to his brain.
And the brain was sending back messages. His body was pumping even more spunk and his dick was as stiff as an iron spike. It would have to explode soon, that was for sure.
He was slamming so hard up and down on her face that the springs of the bed were creaking even though it had been slept on for less than a week and the mattress had only been used for one night. His cock was moving as if it were a metal rod being driven by a powerful engine that was hidden somewhere in his thrusting hips.
Actually it was the muscle power of his hips that was permitting him to fuck her face that way.
Each time he slammed forward now she could feel his balls slapping against her chin and she could feel his pubic patch grinding down against her nose. Her nose was itching, but that itching was just a further inconvenience of the problem of being bound to the bed.
She couldn't even breathe most of the time and when she did manage to get a breath fast enough, before his cock slammed down into her throat again, she only smelled the aroma of the sweaty male crotch that was right over her face. The stiffness was really pushing into her throat.
The man had felt the responsiveness of the throat little by little. He had been aware of the fact that each time he pushed into his wife's throat she was able to take a little bit more of his long and stiff dick. He pushed hard against the depths of her throat and then she could feel that it was lodged there for a long moment. There was stillness.
None of his limbs moved. His body was absolutely still. Of course, since she was tied to the bed she remained still, unable to move from her stationary position.
And then, after that instant that might have lasted only ten seconds but seemed like an eternity to the girl, she felt something move. The length of his cock pulsated up toward the head and then the flared head of it spread wider than it already was.
A thick glob of male spunk shot out of the cock head and slammed against the depths of her throat.
It happened so fast and it was such a sudden surprise that there was no chance for the woman to respond to it. Her husband's cum was sliding down her throat. She tried to block the passage, even if it would mean choking.
But, fortunately the will for self-preservation was stronger than her moral indignation so she swallowed the gism.
When she made the swallowing movement her throat muscles massaged the flared head of the cock and pulled even more of the cream out of the length of the shaft.
The man felt the erotic massage and then his hips started to rotate in a slow tempo, mainly so that the head of his cock would be sufficiently massaged so that he could get the rest of the sperm out of their storage compartment and down his wife's throat.
And then, as soon as he felt the passion in his body beginning to disappear, he slid the full length of his cock out of his wife's throat. He looked down at her for just an instant, but he was too ashamed to face her. He was ashamed and also terrified of what he had just done.
He turned his back on the woman and ran out of the room. She started to sob immediately. She was still strung up in that awkward position, still attached to the headboard of the brass bed.
Eventually, her weeping brought her husband back into her room. She saw that he was completely covered in his most conservative dressing gown. He picked up his own clothes from the chair and floor just as if he were ignoring the presence of the nearly naked, bound woman.
Then he held them over one arm and silently, without making reference to her crying and without making reference to any of the shocking things he had just done to her, he untied her arms and then left her room as quickly as he could. It was up to her to untie her legs and she fumbled with the ropes for a moment.
The first thing she did was to rub her wrists and her ankles to get the circulation back in them. But, the second thing she thought about was her pussy. She had been left so horny, so hungry for satisfaction. Her husband had truly been sadistic in the fact that his discipline did not leave any room for his wife's sexual satisfaction.
In point of fact, part of the fury that rose inside him was due to her sexual excitement.
It was a strange, a curious time in which the two of them were living and neither of them imagined that things would change with time. The woman looked at the door and turned the lock so that her husband could not return to the room. Then she hobbled into the bathroom, hobbling because her legs were now unused to walking after a day in the strange pose.
She refreshed herself a little, thankful for the indoor plumbing in spite of the terrible expense that had been. She stood in front of the washbasin and used a cloth across all of her sweaty body and then she admired her nakedness in the mirror.
Her thoughts returned to her pussy. She locked the door of the bathroom. Now she had at least two locked doors between herself and her husband. She started to finger her pussy, shutting her eyes and remembering the way she had felt when she was tied up on the brass bed.
It was such a sexual thrill for her, although she could never admit that to a soul. She could feel the pulling, the wetness that was deep in her hot cunt as she thought about the masterful way her husband had stood over her, the way he had forced her to do what she feared doing.
She had three orgasms before she could leave the bathroom and then she had to wash up again because she felt herself covered with perspiration. She never left her room that night, in spite of the fact that she was very hungry. She was too frightened of everything that had happened.
And so, all alone in the night, she curled up in her large brass bed, the only witness of the oral rape she had suffered earlier that evening, the object that had shared her humiliation.
CHAPTER TWO
There was something special, something very special about that brass four-poster bed.
It was more than the mere look of it. Each of the brass posts was topped with a delicately sculpted crown. The posts at the four corners were thicker than the other brass bars which interlocked to form the heavy metal latticework that was the bed frame.
There was a horizontal bar across the top of the headboard which was, perhaps, three feet above the level of the bed, giving it a very impressive appearance indeed. And then there were a series of narrower brass bars that formed the back of the headboard, all of them running vertically. The foot of the bed was similar to the headboard, except lower.
But, to say that there was something special about the brass four-poster is not to comment on its workmanship or its craft. It was something that Douglas and Pamela might have thought privately, each in the depths of their secret thoughts, but was something they would certainly have denied to each other, something they never could have admitted.
Was it possible that an object could influence people?
Puritans throughout the ages have urged the banning of pornography for fear that people's actions would be influenced by reading such things. However, perhaps they would have been better advised to ban brass four-poster beds, or at least this particular one.
That incident which occurred between the two young marrieds was not quickly forgotten. It left a strain on their relationship. For a week, the woman refused to permit her husband into her room. She merely locked the door and did not respond when he knocked.
She was hungry for sex, a fact that she didn't dare to admit. But, she also didn't dare to satisfy her hunger with her husband.
Finally, he stopped her just as she was about to enter her room and demanded, as he worded it, his "conjugal rights as her husband and provider." Put in such a pragmatic way, the woman felt helpless to protest. It was with fear and a touch of excitement that he escorted her into the bedroom. What if he did the same thing again, she wondered.
Actually, she knew that if her husband did the same thing again she would certainly
But, they went through their usual sexual routine. She changed into her nightgown, out of view of her husband, and he went to his room to change into his pajamas and robe. She was under the blankets when he returned. He turned off the light, climbed under the blankets and they fucked.
It was quite uninspiring and for the rest of their marriage it remained that way.
Throughout the rest of their marriage, the woman never again tasted sperm. She never again was required to give her husband a blowjob. That first situation had been all.
However, once in a while, situations would erupt between them!
The next one occurred a few months later. They were settled into the house and they went to a party which was given by some neighbors. It was a dinner party in the evening and there were about ten couples altogether. It was quite elegant.
However, the punch was very strong and a number of people, including Pamela, became quite giddy and merry.
There was a particular man, an older man who held a local political office, who was paying a great deal of attention to Pamela. He was joking a good deal with her. There were some people who whispered behind their hands about the camaraderie that was being displayed between one man's wife and another woman's husband. However, most of the people at the party were sufficiently mature to recognize that these were just two stuffy people blowing off steam.
However, after dinner, when the men retired to one room for brandy and cigars and the women retired to another room for quiet talk, Douglas was annoyed to hear some of the men talking about his wife. He was beginning to boil over the fact that his wife had made a terrible display of herself. She, meanwhile, was feeling relaxed and wasn't at all concerned about her actions. She had no idea that her husband was so angry.
He knew that it was too early to leave and that he couldn't make a scene at the party and make matters worse than they were. So, he was containing his temper and permitting it to grow well out of proportion. Then the women joined the men in the sitting room.
It was the waning hours of the party. Douglas was distracted. One of the older women was asking him about his work at the bank, a terribly boring subject.
He didn't notice that his wife had joined the older politician on the other side of the room and that this politician had given Pamela one of his cigars and had lit it. She took one puff and started to cough. There was general laughter and merriment around her. .
Then she took another puff. But, before she could comment on her accomplishment of puffing on a cigar without coughing, her husband had rushed across the room and grabbed her by the arm. There was a stunned silence in the whole room.
"I wish to apologize for my wife's vulgar actions here tonight and can only beg your pardon."
That was all that was said. Then he pulled her right out of the room and right out of the house without another word to their hosts or anyone else.
Pamela started to weep even before they had reached their car. "Douglas, it was all in fun. I didn't do anything that was too. . . " She began in a very weak voice.
"Silence, woman. If you wish to shame yourself in front of the entire town you may do so any day of the week, however as long as you are my wife you shall not bring shame on my name. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Pamela?"
Her eyes went wide and she started to weep out loud in spite of his protests that she be silent.
It was barely three minutes before he pulled the car into their own driveway.
"Pull yourself together, woman. I want to see you in your bedroom ready to be punished."
"Punished, Douglas?" Once again there was the combination in her. She felt the sexual thrill coursing through her and she felt the fear of her husband that she knew so well.
His words had sounded like a threat of divorce to the woman, and this was an age when such things were not done lightly. But, then again, this was an age when women did not smoke cigars.
She went up to her bedroom and changed into her nightgown. As she stood in her dressing room she looked in the mirror and reached one finger down to press it against her pussy lips. She could feel the heat that was deep inside her body, but she tried to hold it back.
What if her husband saw how sexually excited she was? Would he add to her punishment? Would that, in point of fact, add to her sexual excitement? She thought of touching herself and bringing herself to orgasm before seeing her husband, but she didn't dare.
She heard the loud banging on her bedroom door and she proceeded, like a woman sentenced by a judge, to let her husband into the room. He strode in wearing nothing but his dressing gown. She could tell that he had nothing on beneath it and she was shocked.
"Remove that right this instant," the man snapped harshly.
She slid her nightgown up her body and revealed her nakedness to her husband. He stood in front of her as if he were assessing that nakedness and then she felt a further tingling in her pussy.
"I want you face down on this bed. Put your hands up over your head."
The girl did as she was told. Her husband positioned her so that her knees were drawn up under her body and her arms were stretched up over her head. He quickly took a tie from the pocket of his dressing gown and he used it to tie both of her wrists to the headboard.
Once her wrists were tied in that way she felt particularly helpless. She looked over her shoulder and watched as her husband tossed his dressing gown off. His naked body was revealed in all its glory. His cock was waving, partially hard, in front of him.
Then, just as he was about to let his dressing gown fall to the floor, he pulled something from the belt loop at the side. He had stuck his riding crop into the belt loop.
When the bound woman saw her husband's riding crop and realized how vulnerable her position was in relationship to the man and the weapon, she tensed up and pulled on her wrists. But, she knew that it was futile to react in that way. She was not going to get free.
"I'll teach you what you'll get for shaming me in front of the town."
"N-no-o-o-o!" she cried out. "I didn't shame you in front of. . . "
Before she could finish the sentence she heard the whistling sound as the riding crop sliced through the air. Then she felt it slamming hard against the cheeks of her upturned ass.
Her entire body tensed up but there was nothing she could do. There was no way she could cover her white, defenseless flesh. As much as she squirmed in her bonds, she knew that she was tied to the bed and she was going to stay that way as long as her husband willed her to.
There was now a bright red mark across the cheeks of her ass. It glistened in the light of the room.
She looked over her shoulder and she watched the riding crop slicing through the air a second time. "You will never shame me again!" her husband screamed as he forcefully brought the leather strap down against the fleshy cheeks of her buttocks.
She sobbed loudly as she felt that second lash of the riding crop against her delicate flesh. It was a stinging sensation that coursed up through her body. She especially felt it right in the walls of her pussy which were quivering in response o the painful blows.
Pamela couldn't understand the feelings. She couldn't understand why she was sexually aroused due to the pain of the whipping she was receiving. It was a fact. That was all.
She spread herself out on the bed, pressing her body down against the bed. But then her husband grabbed her hips and raised them up, pulled them toward his whipping strokes.
Then a series of slashing blows landed on the cheeks of her ass. The man kept on slamming the riding crop in one direction and then in the other direction. He was slicing painfully at the cheeks of the girl's ass and there was nothing she could do but to hide her head in the pillow and whimper.
And then the slicing blows of the riding crop stopped. She was frozen in that position for a long minute. She was holding her breath. Then, slowly, she looked over her shoulder.
Her neck felt stiff. It was rigid due to the tension that had filled her body during the whipping.
Now, as she turned to look at her husband, the first thing she was aware of was his throbbing erection, looking bigger and more menacing than ever before. That amazed her. She realized that she wasn't the only one who was erotically stimulated by the whipping.
Of course she couldn't admit that to him and he couldn't admit that to her. But they were both feeling the same thing at the same time. If she was getting sexually aroused by being whipped, then he was getting just as aroused from whipping her.
She was turned on by the masochistic pain and he was turned on by the sadistic act of inflicting pain.
Now that he had stopped whipping her, he tossed the riding crop to the side and ran his fingers tenderly over the cheeks of her bruised ass. She was in such pain that even the soft movement of his fingers against the flesh was more than she could stand.
And yet, even as she squirmed and writhed in her bonds she knew that there was more to come.
He got into position behind her and he pulled her hips up into the air, spreading her legs.
She then felt the head of her husband's cock pressing right up against the lips of her pussy. But it was pushing at the cunt lips in an upside down position, in the opposite position from the one she was used to. Now it was the sensitive flesh on the underside of the prick that rubbed right along the woman's clitoris. She felt the pulling.
As her clitoris got more and more excited, growing larger and fuller and firmer, the man could feel the massaging that was rubbing right up against the flesh on the underside of his dick. It was sexually stimulating him as he pushed forward and he knew that it would feel even better when he pulled back.
He pushed all the way into her hot hole and then he remained there for a long moment.
It was tighter than he had ever remembered it being. He knew that it was because of the tension that was in his wife's body due to the punishment he had just handed out.
For all the delights that there were in total relaxation, there was certainly something to be said for tension. In this instant it was tension that was making the cunt so juicy and warm, wrapped tightly around the throbbing penis.
He pulled back and he could feel the sliding, the pulling, the rubbing against his glans. She could feel the tugging of her cunt flesh.
And then he started to move in and out of her tender cunt. He seemed to be enjoying the tension even as the woman tried to relax so that it wouldn't be so difficult for her to get fucked. If he didn't enjoy the tension, then why would he have pulled on her painful ass cheeks each time he felt her beginning to relax. He even slapped her bottom.
He started to fuck her slowly, pulling the full length of the dick all the way out of her pussy and then slamming it all the way into her. He seemed to be savoring each movement.
And she could feel the massaging of the flared head of the cock. She could feel the juice that was oozing out of the depths of her pussy and she could feel the way that the juice was being rubbed back into the walls of her pussy by the moving cock head.
He knew that she was excited and so he became even harsher in his fucking. But the harder slams of his cock only added to the excitement of the pussy flesh. She even found herself pushing her butt backwards and pressing herself hard against his body.
And then he pushed forward. She pushed backwards. He felt his cock expanding and she felt her pussy walls collapsing around the invading shaft of the prong.
Then he was shooting into her. She could feel the hot wetness that splashed and slapped against the depths of her cunt. He could feel the juices that were mingling and oozing around his stiff boner. His dick kept on throbbing and her cunt walls kept on pulsating and undulating around his hot cock. The two of them were locked together like that.
And the orgasmic pleasure that they both felt was very great indeed.
It kept continuing. Each time his dick would throb it would cause a further reaction in the walls of her cunt. Each time the walls of her pussy would react and pull tight it would suck a little more juice out of the length of his cock.
The two sex organs almost seemed to be doing combat with each other when suddenly the man pulled his prick out of his wife's hole with one thrusting move. His cock was free of the confining tightness of her pussy. There was a little more juice that splashed out of the throbbing cock, even as he grabbed it with his hand to try to stop the pulsating.
That additional juice splashed against the battered ass cheeks that he had so recently whipped.
The heat against her bruised flesh was enough to make Pamela forget the pleasures of her orgasm. She was inhaling sharply through her clenched teeth.
As she looked over her shoulder she was aware of the fact that her husband was putting his robe back on and preparing to leave. "D-douglas, will you untie. . . ? "
"Tomorrow morning," he snapped as he left the room and slammed the door.
The woman was left there, truly at her husband's will. She was bound to the brass four-poster, helpless as she felt the chill in her fingers due to the tight ties around her wrists. She sobbed for a while and tried to cry herself to sleep.
Eventually the alcohol she had at the dinner party proved to be enough so that she was able to drift off into a sound sleep. That, at least was a comfort to her.
And that proved to be the comfort in Pamela's life. She lived in a polite society, a society which did not admit that there were alcoholics in their ranks, that did not admit that one of their number could have a disease and could need help.
So, she went along in life without any help. She complained of headaches and whenever she complained of a headache she would go upstairs and lock herself into her room and take out a bottle of the brandy that she kept for such occasions.
She was much too polite to drink real drinks. She would have been shocked at the thought of a woman in her social group having a cocktail. But, brandy was different. Brandy, as far as she was concerned, was something that helped calm her headaches.
Of course it helped calm her headaches. She would eventually pass out in a drunken stupor.
There were further incidents in that very special bed with her husband. Most of the sex they shared was merely for the function of getting his rocks off. Usually it was the same humdrum thing. The lights would be out and he would stick it in until he shot.
But, there were other incidents that were similar to the one on the night of the dinner party. In fact, those incidents were very similar to that first one. Usually it would be something that would happen while Pamela was drinking and there were other people there.
Sometimes, deep in her heart, she knew that she was purposely creating an unpleasant situation, knowing that her husband would have to punish her.
Of course, these things did not always happen with great frequency. There was a time of more than a year when there was no bondage and no punishment at all in the household.
Pamela was pregnant with her first child and then she was nursing the baby. She was treated with kid gloves because the only concern that Douglas had then was for his 'heir' and for the future of his family name. Pamela felt as if she were merely a breeder.
Things got back to normal though once the baby was starting to grow, once there was a nurse in to look after the baby. Then there was a second pregnancy which ended with a miscarriage. That changed the whole tone of the house for a long time thereafter.
The first baby was placed on a pedestal. Pamela managed to keep her husband out of her bedroom for more than a year after she lost the baby at birth.
In other words, it was a marriage that progressed through the years. Both of them grew, both of them went through changes. Whether the two of them matured is another question. Neither of them ever came to terms with the sexuality that had haunted them.
Even when they went for two years without having an episode of bondage and discipline, something would happen. There would be some incident provoking it and soon enough the woman would be in bondage once again and she would feel her husband's lash on the flesh that was healed and white once more. But even when they were older and they shared the same thrills again, neither of them was ever able to admit the truth of the matter.
Neither of them could face each other, neither of them could face a mirror, and say the words, "I enjoy bondage and discipline." Perhaps, more than once, each of them blamed the bed. If it weren't for the bed, none of this would have been inspired to happen.
And, of course, this remained the most secret and the most hidden part of their relationship. This was the side of their marriage that no one ever saw. It was the dark side that they even hid from themselves. And yet, it was the side of their sexualities that was always in their dreams, that was always haunting them and filling them with longings.
In that way they were perfectly matched. In the fact that they never fully enjoyed the bondage and discipline because it was mixed with so much guilt, they were also matched.
And so their marriage lasted, the house grew older, the brass four-poster was regularly polished and after each cleaning the mistress of the house, Pamela, no longer a girl, would remark, "Look at that. It's as glistening as it was the day it was new."
CHAPTER THREE
It wasn't long after their twentieth wedding anniversary that Pamela was placed in an institution where she could be looked after. Her drinking had gotten too terrible.
Also, since there was a depression in the country, the family wasn't in the same condition it had been in when Pamela and Douglas had been newlyweds. The house no longer had a look of luxury. With two grown children there it had a look that was rather a mess.
Because her mother was 'away for a rest' as it was euphemistically worded in those days, Gwendolyn didn't have much of a wedding. It was a small affair in the front parlor of the house, a room that looked as if it were going to crumble into dust at any second.
Her husband was a quiet man. He was a few years older than she. The girl was only nineteen. She had been out of high school for a year and hadn't yet worked a day in her life. Her father was so ambivalent about raising her that he was driving her crazy.
On the one hand, Douglas had really felt the pinch of the economic depression and money problems were very severe for him. On the other hand, he had old-fashioned notions about decorum. He had certain notions about a woman's proper place in society.
It would have been to Douglas' advantage if Gwendolyn had gone to work behind the perfume counter at the five and dime store. That was the only job she was offered in the course of that year. But, he wouldn't hear of it. Even though his cuffs were all frayed and his salary was lower than it had been ten years earlier, he couldn't stand the thought of his daughter in that menial position.
So, the girl ended up as her father's housekeeper, a position even more menial and degrading for her.
She didn't love Horace Kramer. He wasn't an especially handsome man. But, she married him because it was the only way she could see of getting out of her father's house. She gritted her teeth over everything that happened to her. The day of her wedding she never smiled. Her fury at her father for the seedy affair he gave her as a wedding could not be placated.
Horace was nearing thirty and he still lived with his parents. He had also seen the sense of marrying Gwendolyn. It would be a chance for him to have a home of his own. She knew how to care for a home since she had taken her mother's place in the house.
But, there was also something else that he felt for Gwendolyn. He couldn't exactly call it love. Of course he had never had sex with her prior to their marriage. He had never dared. But, what he felt for the girl was a great degree of lust.
He didn't care that she never smiled. He didn't care that she always seemed as severe and as unpleasant as her father did. Other people would have looked for merriment in a girl of nineteen, but not Horace Kramer. He was excited over her pouting look, thrilled by her tensed chin and her lowered brows. She disapproved of everything. He was turned on by that.
On the day of the wedding the girl expected that her father would present her with some sort of wedding present to start off her married life. He called the newly married couple into his library and he sat, leaving them both standing before him.
The girl knew that he had some money in the bank and she wanted to get it. She figured that he could come across with a few hundred to start them on their way.
Instead the man began, "I've decided to get rid of this house. Now that you're leaving and it's just your brother and myself I can't see the sense in keeping this big place."
"But, surely, sir," Horace said, meekly, "I was hoping that your wife would be. . . "
"That's a subject I'd rather not discuss." It was easy for the man to intimidate Horace. It was easy for anyone to intimidate Horace Kramer. Douglas continued, "Even now, before I've sold the house, there are things here that are not needed. I've decided that, as a wedding present, I'm going to give you the bedroom set from your mother's. . . "
Gwendolyn turned and walked out of the library, slamming the door as she left.
The two men were silent for a moment. Horace turned red. Somehow he always felt to blame for embarrassing circumstances. "I really appreciate this gift. It's wonderful. It'll really help the two of us start our married life right, sir." Horace shook the man's hand.
And so, Gwendolyn and Horace moved to an apartment that was closer to the city, closer to Horace's job. The bedroom set was much too large for the apartment. Gwendolyn was quite unsentimental about selling the dressers and night tables and lamps to a junk dealer. But, when she found that she couldn't get a good enough price for the bed, she kept it.
It was, after all, an especially beautiful bed. There was a new mattress on the bed and, once the girl got a little cream for the brass and polished it up, it looked like new.
So, the dingy apartment of this newly married couple had the completely incongruous brass four-poster in the bedroom. It was the one article of furniture that seemed so fine, so elegant compared to everything else in the place.
Gwendolyn kept the apartment spotless, since she was compulsive about that.
If she was compulsive about anything else, it was her complaining and bitching.
"Look at this shit. I can't even buy a decent dress for myself."
"There's a depression going on, honey. Everyone's in the same boat and. . . "
"Well, I don't like the boat. Keep your hands off me if you can't do better than that."
"Wh-what are you saying?" Horace's eyes grew large and moist and round.
"I'm saying that I don't feel like performing my wifely duties unless you can perform your duties as my husband. Don't stare at me as if you didn't understand, Horace. If you want sex with me you can just go ahead and earn enough money so that I'm more inclined to give it to you."
The man couldn't believe what he was hearing. Gwendolyn slammed the bedroom door. She had been a virgin when she married Horace. She hadn't had a mother to help prepare her for married life. Horace was clumsy and inexperienced. It was an awful honeymoon.
As for Gwendolyn, the only thing she knew was that it didn't feel good to her. She didn't like the pressure. She didn't like the sensations involved. Horace didn't know anything about foreplay. He didn't know about working his wife up to a wet frenzy so that she could take his cock in her pussy. He just pushed it in and worked it around and around, pulling at the tender flesh inside her slit as he tried to fuck in and out of her hole.
The girl had been touching herself from an early age. She had felt urges in her body. She had felt desires even before she was old enough to understand those desires. Now that she was older she understood them. She knew that she longed to feel a man inside her body.
But, the dreams that she had when she shut her eyes and touched herself all seemed pale when she was together with Horace. She had no desire to see his naked body. The feeling of his penis inside her body didn't thrill her even as much as the feeling of her own fingers.
Sex, for the young married girl, didn't seem to be worth the effort.
And so she put it in the form of an ultimatum to her husband. If he could earn more money then she would let him into her bed. There was no lock on the bedroom door, but when she shut the door, Horace didn't dare push it open. That was not his nature.
Gwendolyn was content with fingering herself. Even though she had been married for only a matter of a few months she enjoyed her hand more than she enjoyed her husband.
Their relationship took on a decidedly chilly edge. He came home from work. She fed him. He brought her his paycheck. There was little hope of his making more money. He worked as an accountant for a firm downtown. He was making the same salary that the rest of the battery of accountants made. It wasn't much. He knew that if he asked for more they would either laugh at him or kick him out. There were others who would take his job fast enough.
In April, he thought to himself, people would need help with their taxes those who made enough money to have to pay taxes. But that would mean a dollar here and a dollar there. That would be very little money indeed. And, in the meantime it would be a cold winter.
Horace wasn't a man with many friends. He had no friends close enough to discuss his private affairs. There was no one who knew about his wife's unpleasantness toward him.
This was his secret and it ate away at his brain. It had been a month since he had fucked his wife. He had always been rather apologetic from the time he had first had sex with her on their honeymoon. That was his nature and that made him odious to her.
Gwendolyn hated weakness. Her mother had been weak and, deep down, the girl hated her mother for that flaw. If her mother hadn't been weak then she might have been raised differently. If things hadn't been the way they were, she wouldn't have been so miserable with her father.
Now that Gwendolyn realized the flaws in her husband, she didn't have anywhere to turn. Divorce wouldn't be any good at all. She wouldn't be able to support herself. She didn't have any skills that would have allowed her to work. She hated Horace, but at least she had a place to live, she had a home, she had the outward appearance of a marriage.
It was rather sad that a girl who hadn't even reached the age of twenty should settle for so little.
She also had the large brass four-poster bed. That came to mean something to her. She came to value the bed. It was elegant, the only elegant thing in her shabby life.
And then, a month after she had kicked her husband out of the bedroom and onto the lumpy sofa, she was in for a surprise. Horace had been growing more and more silent to her as the days passed. He had been acting in more and more of a surly manner, less apologetic for his behavior.
She responded with her own unpleasant demeanor. She had more experience at being unpleasant than he had. He came home for dinner and she slammed the plate down in front of him without a word. She could tell that, as he ate, he was deep in thought.
The two of them had not even had the decency to exchange a hello that evening.
When he finished dinner, she did the dishes. He stood behind her and softly said, "I would like to have a talk with you, Gwendolyn." His voice seemed to be quivering.
"I have to do the dishes," she snapped without turning to look at him.
"After you finish the dishes, I would like to sit down and talk." He was being firm.
"After I finish the dishes," she said, as if that final comment gave her the upper hand.
The man felt awkward, trying to fill in the time while she did the dishes. He had already rehearsed just what he wanted to say to her, but now the words became a jumble.
When she slowly took off her apron and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, she turned to him and waited for him to speak. "Please, sit down. Please," he said, pointing to the couch.
She sat on the couch. He turned to her and said, "That couch isn't very comfortable."
He waited until she responded. But, she didn't say a word. She just looked at him with that same glare that he had come to know so well, the glare that made her lips very thin and made her eyes into narrow slits. Her jaw line was set and hard as granite.
"The couch isn't comfortable," he repeated. "And it's been difficult for me to sleep on it."
"Buy a new one," she said in a low and mean voice. She knew she was needling him.
"Now, Gwendolyn, you're not being fair to me. You knew before we were married what I earned. You knew the kind of apartment we could afford. Look, this depression can't last forever and. . . what the hell do you expect of me?" He screamed the last line at her.
Her eyes went wide, shocked that he had raised his voice that way.
She stood up and snarled, "You can't use that tone of voice to me."
Then she turned toward the bedroom, but just as she was about to go into that room the man grabbed her upper arm and pulled her. She looked at him and hissed, "How dare you?"
"You're my wife, that's how I dare!" he announced, a wild look in his eyes.
She remained perfectly cool, at least in her outward presentation. "Let go of my arm."
"No!" he said, tossing his head back. "You're my wife and. . . "
Gwendolyn spit in his face before he could finish the sentence. That really caught Horace off his guard. He started to stammer. He tried to organize his thoughts. He tried to respond to her. But, he couldn't think of anything to say. He slapped her and she pulled away from him.
She ran toward the bedroom. That had always been her sanctuary. She didn't stop to think, this time, that there was no lock on the bedroom door. It hadn't occurred to her that her husband, when he wished to, could just push the door open. This was the first time he had dared to push the door open that way. She was on the far side of the bed.
"You get out of here! Do you hear me?" She waved her hands at him. "Get out."
"This is my bedroom. You're my wife. I pay the rent on this apartment."
"You're a shabby little man and it sickens me to think that I ever let you put your hands on me in the first place. Do you hear me? It makes me sick to think that you ever touched me."
"Well, I'm going to make you even sicker because I'm going to touch you again."
He leaped over the bed and grabbed her before she had time to move. He pulled her onto the bed and he slammed his weight down on top of her. She kept trying to scream. He slapped her and she bit his hand as if she were trying to bite a piece out of it.
"You little bitch. You married me, you little stinking bitch. You married me."
"No-o-o-o! Get your filthy hands off me, you worm. Get away from me."
"My hands are filthy?" he howled at her. He pushed her dress all the way up and his fingers pressed hard against her pussy lips. He jabbed his fingers against her cunt lips.
She pushed her legs together to try to push his fingers out of there, but she couldn't.
"I'll show you!" he said, as he looked at the headboard of the brass four-poster.
Holding her down on the bed with the weight of his own body, he reached over to the side and he grabbed a dirty pair of his wife's stockings. She screamed when she saw what he was holding. "Those are my best. Those are my only silk ones left."
But, he ignored her cry. He wrapped the stockings firmly around both of her wrists, intertwining them and tying them around one of the vertical bars of brass that made up the headboard of the bed. She struggled to pull her hands free, but the stockings had been pulled taut and turned into a silken rope that held her hands in place.
She could feel the coolness of the silk and the chill of the brass against her wrists.
Once her wrists were tied like that, over her head, the man pushed her dress up on her body and revealed her panties. She wasn't wearing any stockings or garters that day. She had just been in the apartment, cooking and cleaning and listening to the radio.
He pulled down her underpants. She spread her legs so that it would be difficult for him to pull the satin garment down her legs, but the man ripped the cloth and pulled it right off her legs. When he did that, Gwendolyn really became frightened.
Her husband was not the sort of men who would rip articles of clothing. He was the sort of men who always apologized for everything. He apologized for fucking her. But now he was not being at all submissive and gentle over the fact that he had ripped her underpants.
The way he was touching her pussy lips was always quite different for him.
From the time of their honeymoon, he had always touched her cunt lips as if he were frightened to touch her there, as if he fully expected that she would tell him to take his hand away from there.
But now his fingers were digging right up against her flesh. He was pressing both hands against her cunt lips. His fingers were digging right into the tender flesh of her pussy. f
Her legs spread. She couldn't help herself. She opened up wide apart.
The man on top of her pulled one of her legs up in the air. She was wearing shoes with ankle straps. He quickly opened the ankle strap and then he pulled it around one of the vertical bars of the brass headboard. He reclosed the ankle strap. Now her right leg was up in the air and helpless. Her left leg was flailing around. She didn't want to give.her husband a chance to get that leg also. But, without any other limbs to defend herself, there was little she could do.
He pulled her left leg up in the air and performed the same bit with that ankle strap, attaching that foot to the brass headboard. The girl was doubled over and her ass was jutting out, bare, toward her husband.
She still had all her clothes on except for her underpants. But, her dress and everything else was pushed up above her waistline. She was sweating because it was so heavy there.
With her ass jutting out toward him, her husband slammed his open palm across the cheeks.
Gwendolyn clenched her ass cheeks together and cried out in pain.
"How can you? You beast! You animal! How could you do this to me?"
"If you'd been spanked as a little girl maybe you'd have grown up right."
That really made Gwendolyn freeze up in response. She had been spanked by her father. Horace was acting self-righteous and was diagnosing her. His diagnosis happened to be completely wrong. It was tenderness she had missed, not spanking!
His open palm kept on slamming against the bare cheeks of her bottom. She kept turning her head from side to side, trying hard not to cry out. She was determined that she would not beg him to stop. She wasn't going to be brought to the point of begging him.
So, again and again his hand slapped against her ass cheeks. The flesh on his palm was already tingling because of the constant battering that he was giving her. But, at the same time, she was feeling the pain all the way into her bones.
It seemed as if the pain were vibrating and reverberating through her body as he spanked her.
His open palm slapped in one direction and then in the other direction.
Horace felt a thrill as he watched her ass turning bright red under the attentions of his slapping hand. He felt the blood rushing to his cock and he knew that he wanted to finish this punishment in a sexual way. He knew that he wanted to hurt her with sex.
This was a new notion to him. Actually, it had been tucked away in the back of his mind from the first time he had been aware of sex. He had often thought of sex as a mean and hateful thing. That was what he was taught as a child. It was dirty! It was nasty!
But this was the first time he was ever acting on that impulse. This was the first time he was actually pushing forward and doing what he wanted to do, letting his impulses and his emotions take over, flaring out at his bound wife with all his anger.
With all four of the woman's limbs bound to the brass headboard, and her ass cheeks glowing red from the pain of his spanking, the man slid back off the bed and started to strip out of his clothes. He had always been so shy, even after marriage, that she had never actually seen him completely naked with all the lights on.
But now she got quite a view. He dropped his pants and shorts and revealed that, although his hair was receding and his face was very stark and white, his body was very trim and well-muscled. He was a well-built man and his cock was already long and threatening.
He pounced on top of her and pressed his dick against the lips of her pussy.
"You pig. You disgusting pig," she snarled as she turned her face to the side.
He felt the rush of tension that passed through her body as she struggled to get her hands and legs free. That rush of tension made her even more appealing to him.
Reaching down, he spread her cunt lips open and pushed his hard prong between them. He could feel the moist lips wrapping themselves around the head of his cock as if they were made of warm clay that was forming a perfect mold of the flared glans.
Then he pushed forward. The mushroom head of the cock pushed right up against the delicate interior lips of the pussy. He could feel them spreading open in front of his thrusting attack. He pushed forward and then he felt the full length of his boner sliding all the way inside the hot pussy. He brushed his cock past the clitoris and slammed the head of it against the depths of her hole.
Then he started to stir around and around. He wasn't fucking her yet. This was what he usually did. She wasn't wet enough. He couldn't actually pull out of her hole and push back in because there just wasn't enough lubricant. He was just pushing his cock around in the hot hole.
But, before he had done that for two minutes, the pressure of the pussy flesh around his hard-on was enough to bring him off. He stopped all movement and started to shoot in her hole.
Gwendolyn was really disgruntled then. Not only was she furious about the fact that she was tied to the bed, but now it appeared that she wasn't even going to get her sexual satisfaction.
She felt the cock pulsating in her cunt. She felt the hot cream that was covering the walls of her tender pussy. And then the staff of the prick started to push in and out of the hole once again. The cock was sliding in the tightly clinging hole.
Gwendolyn was amazed. Her husband had just cum but he was starting to fuck her again. Apparently the bondage was something that really turned him on enough.
That thought passed through her mind quickly and then she let it go away.
There were other things that concerned her. She felt a tingle each time the cock pulled back out of her pussy. She felt the way it was sliding against the delicate flesh along the bottom of her hot hole. Then she felt a slamming that took her breath away when the cock pushed back into her.
The man also enjoyed it when he pulled out of her. He could feel the moist flesh that massaged against the bottom of his cock head. He pushed into her only to pull back out.
Back and forth and back and forth he was working his hard dick. His own hot cum was serving as a lubricant for the fucking he was giving her hot box. He was spreading the steaming gism against the walls of her spongy pussy flesh. The juice of her body was mingling with the juice that had splashed out of his. His cock was harder than it had ever been.
She had kept on pulling on her arms and legs and trying to get them free. Finally one of the straps broke on one of her shoes. Her right leg came free and she flailed it in the air.
Gwendolyn slammed her heel down against her husband's rapidly moving ass cheeks. He slammed his dick in and out of her and he felt even more encouraged because of the pressure of her heel against his ass cheeks, digging into him and pushing him on to a more rapid fuckin tempo.
Then he slammed forward and he tossed his head back as he felt the cum shooting up the length of his dick.
CHAPTER FOUR
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.
CHAPTER FIVE
Fred Colby wasn't aware that the junk man had designs on the brass bed himself. He passed the store the morning after the bed had been acquired. He stopped when he saw the bed.
His wife, his lovely wife, had often told him that there was nothing more sensual than the idea of a brass bed. It seemed like the height of elegance to her. And this brass four-poster was so obviously a work of fine craftsmanship, so obviously a work of excellence, that Fred knew immediately that he had to have it. But, he walked past the store.
Perhaps the bed wouldn't be there the next time he passed. He didn't know about that. But, this had only been one glance he had gotten of the article of furniture. It hadn't grown on him yet. But, that night, on his way home from work, he passed it again and stopped again.
He didn't mention anything to his wife, but he knew that their anniversary was that month. It would be quite a lovely gift for their anniversary. The next morning he rushed to the block where the store was. Of course it hadn't been sold since the night before. The store had only just opened. He went into the store. There was no bickering. He bought it.
The junk man had promised himself that if the brass bed had stayed in his store for more than a week he would take it home for himself. He felt a little disappointed that it was going to leave. It was a beautiful thing. But, shrugging his shoulders in a philosophical manner, he wondered if perhaps it would have been wrong for him and for his wife.
He had the bed delivered three weeks later, on the day before their anniversary. It was to be their special celebration and it was a very beautiful night that they shared.
When they were both naked and she was spread out on her back with her husband's trim body on top of hers, he pulled her hands up over her head and held them there. She squirmed and struggled in his hold, a little surprised as her wrists pressed against the cold brass.
She pulled her hands away from the headboard and looked into his eyes as if asking a question. It was an embarrassing question that he didn't wish to answer. He kissed her.
But then they squirmed around a little bit more. She spread her legs and he reached around and grabbed her ass. Lifting the cheeks of her ass up off the bed a little, he slapped her right there.
Pulling away from his lips, her mouth opened and she looked at him, wide-eyed.
Once again she was asking him a question with her eyes. He kissed her again.
Then he positioned his cock against her cunt lips. This had started as a beautifully pleasant experience, and he didn't understand why he felt so tense right then. There were urges in him, urges that he knew had existed before that but that he had never acted on, which he felt were bubbling to the surface, which he felt were overflowing in his body.
He couldn't help himself as he pushed deep into her body and then pinned her. There was nothing too unusual about the way he was lying on top of her on the bed, but in his mind he knew that he was pinning her down, he was holding her down on the bed, holding her in place.
Almost as soon as he had his dick inside her pussy and had started to fuck her, he smiled and felt his balls pull against his body and then he felt the pulsating sensation at the base of his cock as the gism sped up the length of the thick prong. He shot deep in her cunt.
She felt herself being filled with the gism, just as she had felt herself being pinned down on the bed. She had read her husband's mind. She knew that she had been raped by him, that, in his mind, he had been holding her and using her viciously.
But, neither of them said anything. It was something that happened in their minds.
Sometimes she would raise her arms up over her head as if she were stretching and her husband would grasp her hands tenderly and massage her wrists, holding them right along the vertical bars of the brass headboard. He knew what she was doing and she also knew what he was doing. They were both getting excited over the same thing.
Neither of them had the courage to call it bondage, neither of them had the guts to actually use any bonds, but they were both getting off on the pleasure that ran through their bodies in response to this.
Was it the bed that had influenced them? They both laughed when they spoke of the bed and said that it made them feel sexy. But, they both knew that it wasn't a joke. It was something they meant very deeply, something they really shared with each other.
Fred didn't go away during the war because he was older. He was in his forties and he had a rather important position with the government. The apartment that he and Valerie shared was quite spacious and elegant. She was one of the leading ladies in the society world.
And she always dressed the part and played the part. Once the war started she had to keep her clothes of a simpler cut because it was considered ostentatious to wear flashy things. But, there was no way that Valerie could keep from announcing that she had a lot of money.
Actually, Fred had been the young chairman of the board of a major American corporation. He now worked on the government board that administered all the rules of the same industry he had once spearheaded. It was part of the government effort to make America function again.
But, the war was doing that all on its own. The economy was back on its feet in no time.
Fred was torn between his old company and his government post. He felt that he could make a killing in private enterprise and he was really hoping that he could play both ends against the middle.
He hoped that he could secretly get back control of his company and still remain on the regulatory commission. That way he could make all the regulations to his own advantage and really clean up financially. He justified it as the spoils of war.
But, soon after the anniversary gift his marriage with Valerie cooled off quite a bit. He had to travel all the time. First there were meetings in Washington. Since he worked out of New York instead of Washington, this was merely an inconvenience. But, when the meetings grew into weekly events the inconvenience multiplied.
Then he had to go to meetings all across the country and he had to travel to Canada and to South America. He was gone for a month at a time.
When the two of them went to bed again it was usually rather tepid.
Fred had found women, usually hookers, during his travels. Valerie had tried going along with him two or three times, but he was always so busy and so harried, and so on edge no matter where he was, that she found they were merely fighting and that was no good for his work.
So, she stayed home. Her more fashionable friends suggested that she take a lover, even suggesting she find a slightly younger man who was a little hungry. "You know, you can always say that he's your appointment secretary. That's what Millicent calls her young man."
But, Valerie was an old-fashioned woman. She had been true to Fred. It wasn't a very difficult thing to do. She was from a generation that had taught her that she should love her husband. Whether or not she loved him was debatable, but there was admiration there.
He admired the way she looked, the way she handled herself so well in society, and she admired the things he accomplished and the power he wielded in his life.
At least they had a marriage based upon admiration, which was more than many people get.
She had suppressed her own sexual appetite from the time she had been a girl. She had been a virgin when she married and, even though her particular social group did not look down upon extra-marital affairs, she had remained true to her husband.
Mostly it had been fear of sex that had made her that way.
It seems like such a short time ago and some people might consider it a fiction to say that a sophisticated and worldly woman such as Valierie Colby could have been frightened and inexperienced in such basic ways. But, keep in mind that researchers tell us that even the first lady of the United States during that decade, a very respected and intelligent woman, did not know the first thing about birth control and merely had to cease having sex with her husband for fear of more children.
Valerie knew that her husband had never gotten her pregnant. The two of them had discussed that matter and were too embarrassed to take it to a doctor, although they did take it to a minister during the early days of their marriage. She feared that if she fooled around with a lover she would get pregnant by him. There was still a strange code of propriety.
And so, although she had sexual fantasies, although she went as far as flirting with handsome men when she went to parties, she never took it beyond that point.
The woman was beautiful. She was nearing forty and was still one of the most admired women in society.
She had kept her shape since the days of the twenties when she had been a slim flapper. Her legs were long and her neck was very long and thin. Her reddish blonde hair was swept back and up and clipped relatively short, which made her pixie-like face even cuter.
Her turned up nose and her green eyes betrayed her Irish origins and made her very endearing and adorable although she was such a mature woman.
And her maturity had done her no damage at all. Her breasts were as rounded and nearly as firm as they had been when she was twenty-five. Her waistline was still as narrow, and while it was true that her hips were an extra two inches wider than they had been when she was in her late twenties, that fuller roundness was very sexual to many men.
She had the sort of ass now that the Italian men really liked to pinch.
And, even when she wore a conservative beige suit or a loose-fitting dark blue dress, her pale complexion and her bright reddish blonde hair seemed to complement anything.
The woman carried herself with so much grace and elegance that she made grace a sexual thing.
Each night, left alone by her husband who was traveling in one place or in another, she would dream sexual dreams. Each morning she would deny the truth of those dreams to herself.
After all, she would tell herself, she was a proper woman. She was not some slut who would actually become erotically stimulated over the thought of being tied up to the brass four-poster' bed and having cocks slamming into her all the time.
But, night after night, she continued to dream about the same thing.
The woman went to a psychiatrist, but after six months with the man she had never gotten up the courage to tell him that she dreamt about being sexually bound to her bed.
It all seemed too frightening for her to reveal it to that doctor. She couldn't say it.
And so, it burned up inside of her and made her very tense indeed. She thought about getting rid of the brass bed. She never remembered having dreams like that when she hadn't been sleeping in the big brass four-poster. But, how could she sell it? It had been a gift from her husband to her. She couldn't think of a way to explain it to him.
The woman didn't realize that she would soon find a way to explain it. She would soon have a new and frightening excuse to tell him.
Meanwhile, the war was drawing to a close. It looked as if her husband's imagine wheelings and dealings would soon grind to a slow halt and he would no longer be traveling everywhere.
But, just then, the Truman Committee in the Senate brought charges against Fred Colby. They had been investigating his illegal practices and he would have to go to trial. The trial was held in Washington and, for that event, Valerie had to travel down there with her husband.
She felt more love for him than ever before. Now that he needed her, now that he was no longer the all-powerful, omnipotent man, she really cared for him. She cried at portions of the trial. Newspaper reporters wrote sympathetically of the beleagered wife who was so devoted to the culprit.
The trial turned out to be a long and drawn out legal proceeding which was covered in gory detail by the press. Now that there was no more war to fill their pages and the returning soldiers were in need of jobs, people who had taken advantage of the war were considered to be big news, big villains of the day. Fred Colby was a popular one even as his team of expensive lawyers kept bogging down the proceedings against him.
Valerie kept on traveling back and forth between Washington and New York. One night when she was just too frustrated with the proceedings and knew that the following day would be another pointless day, she made a last minute change of plans and decided to take the train up to New York. She only called one close friend to say she was coming.
"I think I deserve it. I'll wear a veil over my face if you'll pick up theatre tickets for tomorrow."
That night that she returned to New York unexpectedly would turn out to be one she would remember for the rest of her life, one that would permanently burn the image of that brass four-poster bed into her brain and never let her forget it.
It was already late in the evening when she got back to her elegant apartment. She went directly to her bedroom and peeled off her clothes, dropping them on the floor as she went.
There was only one little light burning next to the bed. Actually, the light had been burning all during the time that she had been out of town. She left it on to make burglars think that there was someone home. Burglars, of course, knew that was a New York trick.
She pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and took out the first nightgown that was there. She didn't even pay attention to it. It was white and very plain.
Once she was completely naked, she pulled the nightgown over her head and climbed into bed and turned off the light. She was asleep within ten minutes of entering the apartment.
It was a dreamless sleep. She was glad to be back in her own apartment. She had tried, especially, to turn off her mind to everything that had happened during the previous weeks.
Her husband seemed to have aged terribly because of the pressures of the trial.
It wasn't that she wasn't concerned about his position in the trial. It was that she was too concerned. She knew that, for her own well-being, she needed to get her mind off it for a day.
She wouldn't be any help to her husband if she looked more haggard and upset than he did.
First, his lawyers had convinced the court that he didn't need to be kept in prison because, after all, he was a respected citizen and a man with resources. He wasn't about to run away from the trial. But then the lawyers and the court agreed that the man should be in protective custody. There was a lot of ugliness because of what he had done.
This was the era right after the war. People's wounds were still quite fresh. The pains that people had experienced were still very much alive. A man who had been a war profiteer was quite a villain then and there were people who would have torn him to pieces.
These were all the things, all the pressures that she tried to put out of her mind.
But something disturbed this otherwise dreamless sleep. It was a strange dream that almost seemed like it wasn't a dream at all. She sensed that there were men in her room.
She was sure she heard the words "What's she doing here? She wasn't supposed to be here."
And then she knew that she had, in fact, heard those words. She opened her eyes and looked up and she saw two men who were right over her. She was too frightened to scream. One of them put his hand over her mouth anyway. "Tell us where the jewelry is and you won't get hurt."
Her eyes went wide. She motioned her head toward the dresser. "The middle drawer," she said as the burglar took his hand slightly from her mouth.
One of them went to the middle drawer of the dresser and the other one held onto Valerie, although the woman hadn't put up any struggle to get away. She was too stunned, too frightened, to fight off the two men or to even know what she should do.
"Tell me where you keep some rope. I want some rope."
"Rope? In the. . . kitchen. . . I think. The broom closet next to the pantry."
The burglar had a gun. He pointed it at the woman and said, "Get out of bed and go get it for me." She slowly climbed out of bed and then he followed her, holding the gun against her back as she walked very, very slowly toward the kitchen broom closet.
She handed him the rope and he motioned with the gun for her to go back toward the bedroom. "D-don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me," she whispered softly.
"Get back in there." He snarled. She walked slowly and felt the gun against her ribs.
When she returned to the bedroom she saw that everything from the dresser was on the floor. Everything was scattered. The burglar who had been shuffling through the things held up some cash and said, "Look at this. She had two-hundred bucks hidden there that she didn't tell us about. She was trying to keep it from us, she was."
"N-no. I would have told you. Y-you just asked for the jewelry and I didn't think. . . "
"Get down on the bed!" the man who was holding the gun on her commanded.
She got onto the bed and he pulled the covers off. She felt so vulnerable and so terribly helpless as she looked up at him and tried to clasp her legs and arms together.
He pulled her right arm up at her side and then he cut off some of the heavy rope with a knife that he had in his pocket. He used that rope to tie her wrist to the side of the headboard of the bed. Then he went around the bed and repeated the process with her left wrist.
She was shivering because of the vulnerability that she felt.
Then the man pulled her right leg as far to one side as he could and he used a piece of rope to attach that ankle to the brass footboard of the bed. He did the same with her left leg so that all of her limbs were bound, her body was spread wide open.
She was forming a letter 'X' on the bed, spread-eagle as far as her body could be.
And then she felt the man's hand on the inside of one of her legs. "What are you doing?" she cried out.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" the man snarled under his breath.
The other burglar had his pockets filled with the loot he had taken. He was holding a gun also and he stood near the window as he said, "Come on. Let's get out of here."
"There's something else of Mr. Colby's that I wanna take his wife."
"Please!" she cried out, tensing every muscle in her body as she felt his fingers moving quickly up the inside of her legs. His fingers were right up against her pussy lips.
Only her husband had ever even touched her cunt. She was horrified at the notion of another man touching her there.
Now he pushed her nightgown up her body so that she was naked up to her armpits. The white cloth was bunched up under her arms and she was exposing her beautiful breasts.
The burglar who was leaning over her was running his fingers all over her naked flesh.
"N-no. Please don't do this to me," she begged as tears formed in her eyes.
"Why shouldn't I do it to you, lady? Because you're a fine lady and I'm a ass?"
"I'm. . . M-my husband. . . I mean, I'm a good.. . I'm true to him.. . "
She couldn't put a sentence together. She was stammering with terror.
The burglar who was near the window started to rub the front of his' pants as he softly hummed, "She's really a sexy piece of ass for a woman her age, ain't she."
"You think I'm a ass because I'm robbing you, ain't that it?" the man over her asked.
She shook her head. She wanted to say anything at all to appease him.
"But, that ain't it at all. I'm robbing you but that ain't nearly as bad as all the poor folks that your husband robbed. He's probably gonna get off free because that's what happens if you rob enough! But, bums like me end up in prison." There was a great deal of hatred in the man's tone.
"Please. Just don't hurt me and I won't say anything. Take what you want."
"I'll take what I want," he hissed as he rubbed his fingers against her pussy slit.
He kept on massaging on the supple flesh there as he looked into her eyes. His words were incongruous, not sexual at all. "I was in the Air Force in the war. I might've been killed because of that damn light malfunction that your husband's company let slide. I had a buddy there and he was killed because of it. I know. I was there."
The burglar by the window, although he was rubbing the front of his pants, stopped then and said, "Come on. You're talking crazy now. Let's get out of here. We got the money."
Valerie looked up at that man for help. She actually felt that the man who was holding her jewels and her money was her friend, her savior. She just wanted them out of there.
But the man who was leaning over the woman just snapped at his accomplice and snarled, "Look, if you wanna get out of here you can. I don't give a flying fuck. I've got the wife of the man who killed my buddy in the war. I'm gonna pay her back for it."
"No! Ple-e-e-ease!" she cried out with a pitiful moan.
Laughing, the burglar on the bed with her slapped her tits and said, "That's it. I wanna hear you begging me. I wanna hear you, rich bitch that you are, begging!"
"Come on!" the other burglar encouraged. "You're acting crazy now."
"Shut up!" There was so much hostility, so much fury in the tone of the burglar who was on the bed that Valerie didn't even dare to plead then. She was frightened of him.
In a very soft voice, the burglar by the window whispered, "Don't hurt her, for God's sake."
Then the stud who was leaning over her on the bed started to massage the bulge in the front of his pants as he hissed, "Your bastard husband ever teach you to suck dick?"
Valerie was silent. She had rarely taken her husband's penis in her mouth and she had never done it for any prolonged period of time. It had never been very important to Fred since it was something that he had always been able to get from his hookers.
The man pulled open his pants and then tugged them down along with his underpants. His cock was thick and long and it was already as stiff as a poker. He flipped over into a different position so that his cock was right at her lips and he was leaning over her face.
"Do it!" he growled, pulling at her reddish blonde hair. "Suck my dick."
He pulled so hard on her hair that she thought he was going to pull some of it out of her head. Then he pushed the head of his cock right between her lips. She had her teeth clenched together so that the head couldn't go further, but as he pulled harder on her hair she finally opened her mouth and permitted the cock to enter.
She felt the broad head of the cock pressing hard against her tongue and pushing her tongue down in her mouth and then she felt the flared head rubbing against the roof of her mouth at the same time. It was certainly a very thick cock altogether.
The cock slid forward and the broad head of it slammed against the depths of her throat. She could feel the pressure against her throat muscles and then the cock bounced back after she gagged.
In and out the prick kept on moving and it was massaging her tongue and her throat at the same time. She realized that more and more of the thick prong was pushing into her lips each time the man lowered his hips. His balls were slapping against her chin and his pubic patch was scratching against her nose each time he lowered his hips.
But he was working his powerfully muscled thighs in a quick fucking motion so that he was actually fucking her mouth. He pulled in and out at a steady pace and he maintained that tempo so that it created a moist friction on her tongue, working her saliva into a lather.
She was already able to taste the first traces of the drooling pre-cum that were being massaged into the taste buds of her tongue by the constant movement of the cock.
Valerie couldn't see anything except for the patch of hair that led up to the young burglar's navel. It was then that she realized that this was probably a youth of no more than twenty. He probably only fought in the last days of the war when he was still quite young.
It must have been very difficult for him, she realized even as she sucked his cock.
She could feel her own saliva dribbling down her chin and to her neck. And, of course, that wetness from her mouth was already strongly tinged with the flavor of male cream.
Her throat had relaxed enough so that she could permit the full thrust of the iron-hard cock.
The balls would rest on her chin and the pubic patch would grind against her nose, tickling her nostrils whenever the young man shoved the entire length of his dick in her throat.
And then, even as the man continued to fuck her helpless mouth, she felt fingers against her pussy slit. She couldn't see anything and because she was bound completely to the bed she was really unaware of many bits of information that her senses would have told her.
However, she felt sure that this hand did not belong to the same burglar who was fucking her face.
She hadn't gotten much of a look at either of the men because the lights hadn't been turned on, but she knew that the man who was fucking her face had shaggy, dark hair and had the beginnings of a beard. Perhaps he just had a heavy beard and hadn't shaved recently.
The other one, the one by the window who was now touching her pussy lips, had shorter blond hair and he looked a little bit older than the first burglar.
Now, Valerie realized, she was going to be expected to put out for both of them at the same time.
She could hardly believe the filthy degradation she felt. She felt so humiliated. Since she was such a fine and respected lady, a leader of society, she knew that her body was turning bright crimson at just the thought of any of the other proper people in society knowing that she had had two holes violated at the same time by low-life scoundrels.
And the thought of that embarrassment, that shame, that humiliation, was that she was excited. She was sexually aroused more than she ever expected she would be in her life.
She couldn't believe the wetness that oozed from her pussy lips as the blond burglar touched her there. She had an impulse to pull her legs together, to protect herself from the invasion, to maintain her reputation as a good and proper woman, but when she tried to pull her legs together she was reminded of the ropes that held her ankles to the footboard of the fine brass four-poster.
Pulling on her legs like that made all the muscles stand out against her smooth flesh. It made the ropes cut even deeper into the delicate, white flesh of her ankles. And, yes, it even sent another pang of sexual hunger into her hot loins. She longed for the cock.
And, she didn't have to wait long. Sucking on the dark-haired man's cock had become a routine for her. She was aware that when she breathed she only inhaled the aroma of this burglar's genital area. Now, although she had never seen the cock of the blond burglar, she was feeling it as the blond positioned himself over her spread pussy lips.
Because her legs were pulled apart so wide that she felt like a wishbone on Thanksgiving, her cunt lips were even tensed and pulled apart in preparation for the invasion.
The flared cock head pressed firmly against the pussy lips. It pushed into the hot opening. And the woman felt the heat rising in her body, growing even more intense than it had been.
The stiff boner slid all the way into the woman's bound body. Then she really had both of the pricks all the way inside her. One of the cock heads was tickling the back of her throat and the other cock head was smashing against the depths of her pussy.
Then the hard-ons kept on moving at different tempos. The woman felt as if she were on an ever-changing carousel that kept on spinning around and around. There were so many different sensations all going on in her body at the same time that she couldn't keep track of them.
She could feel the moisture between her legs. She could feel the electrical tension that rushed all through her muscles. She could feel the tingling on her nipples because the dark-haired man's hairy calves were rubbing lightly against the tips of her tits.
Everything was happening at the same time and then she felt a pulling deep inside her body, a pulling that was so strong she was sure it would rip the ropes right off the brass bed.
But, that only served to cut the ropes deeply into her tender flesh. She was cumming and this pain because of the ropes seemed to intensify her orgasm.
It turned into spasm after spasm that seemed to be drawn out due to the massaging the woman was getting from the big cock of the blond burglar. She wished that her body could be free. She felt as if the suppression that the ropes added to her body was making all of the sensations so much more intense that she was going to pass out from the passion.
Normally, during sex with her husband, she would move her arms and legs, she would get to relieve some of the tension that had boiled over from the cauldron of her wet cunt. But, now, bound to the bed as she was, she was constrained. Her muscles were tight.
Everything was centered in her pussy! None of her limbs could move and only her pussy was moving, was responding, and continued to respond as the flared head of the blond's dick rubbed against the walls of it.
She heard a man crying out and she wondered which of them it was.
And then she heard another man crying out. She never even found out which of them had cried out first. She felt the cock in her throat growing thicker, getting engorged as the thick fluid shot up the length of the shaft and splashed out into the depths of her undulating pussy.
Since her cunt was already in the throes of orgasmic lust, the woman was driven absolutely wild by the shooting of the cock inside her hot orifice. The prick pulsated and splashed and with each of those movements she felt a special response in her cunt.
Her breasts heaved up. In. spite of the bonds and the pressure of the two male bodies which were now just lying on her, exerting a good deal of pressure during their orgasms, her body was lifting itself up off the body. She was bouncing like a bronco.
Even while the blond burglar's dick was shooting in her pussy, the other cock was shooting into her throat. She swallowed because she felt that she was going to choke if she didn't release the tension in her throat. Then, because of the movement of her throat muscles when she swallowed she could feel the cock pulsing even more.
The massaging of her throat muscles at the very sensitive moment as he was cumming made his orgasm last even longer than it might have. He kept shooting into her throat.
Finally all three of their orgasms dissipated from sheer loss of energy.
The blond was the first to pull off. The black-haired man who was over her face pulled his dick back slowly and then paused to splash the remaining droplets of cum against her face.
By the time the black-haired burglar had pulled all the way out of her mouth and started to climb off the bed, the woman looked up and saw that the blond had his back turned and was adjusting his pants in the front. How strange, she thought to herself. Here was the only man other than her husband who had ever been inside her pussy and she had never even gotten a chance to see his cock. The blond man had been hidden from her all that time.
The black-haired burglar had been over her face blocking her view of anything else. This was, after all, quite a day for firsts. It was the first time she had ever sucked a cock and had it shoot in her mouth. It was the first time she had ever fucked a man other than her husband. Both of those things, she told herself, she absolutely loathed.
But, it was also the first time she had ever been tied to the brass four-poster bed.
And that was a completely different matter as far as she was concerned. That was something she had dreamed about and longed for. She had wanted to be tied to the bed, although it was a want she never dared to speak and one that she never dreamed would come true.
But, was it a dream or a nightmare? Was there any difference between dreams and nightmares? What success does not have its pitfall? What degradation does not have its attractive side?
Yes, she was being degraded, but she could feel the erotic thrill of it all.
She could feel the wetness that oozed out of her cunt and dribbled into the crack of her ass. She could feel her saliva that mixed with the man's cum and oozed from the side of her lips. She was a fine society lady, but she felt as if she were a pig.
The degradation, the helplessness, of being tied to the bed was the lowest thing of all.
Perhaps it was only that it was a change of pace from the woman she had to be all day, that it was a relief from the role she was expected to play in public, that her sexual pleasure was now coming from the fact that she had been treated as if she were the lowest dirt there was.
Why did she feel the embarrassing hunger deep inside her? This bondage! Why was it so wonderful!
Her beautiful brass four-poster, her pride that her husband had given her for their anniversary some years before, had now been turned into a torture rack for the woman. And yet, in the depths of her fantasies, that was what she really wanted it to be.
The two burglars left the apartment quickly. They left the woman lying where she was, on the bed. She was so exhausted that, in spite of all that had happened, she fell asleep.
But she woke early the next morning and started worrying immediately. If she didn't get free from the bed she might die there. No. She knew that wouldn't happen. Someone would find her in time. But it would be horribly uncomfortable if she didn't get out.
And there were other problems as well. With the coming of the morning she felt that she had to pee. But, since she was bound to the bed she didn't know what to do.
Finally, she let it go. She wet herself and prayed that she wouldn't have to lie in it for too long. But then she blushed crimson as she considered the way she would be found.
The phone rang. It rang again. Valerie imagined that it was the friend that she was supposed to see that afternoon. She kept track of the times and the number of rings each time the phone started again. Each time she was trying to get her mind blank so she could just rest and not be too uncomfortable.
But then the phone would ring and she would wonder, again, how long she'd remain there.
It was the early afternoon when the doorbell rang. She started to shout, but she knew that she couldn't be heard. A little later the doorbell rang again. It was two in the afternoon and the woman had been working hard to keep from soiling herself worse than she already had.
But, after this doorbell ringing, the door opened with a key and then Valerie heard her friend's voice shouting, "Valerie." She heard the building manager's voice shouting, "Mrs. Colby!" She started to cry, suddenly feeling as if her embarrassment was going to happen all over again.
Through her tears, she managed to cry out, "I'm in here. I'm in here."
The manager got to the door first, but turned away horrified by the sight of the naked society lady who was bound to the bed. Valerie's friend ran into the room and started to fumble with the ropes. She started to weep right along with Valerie.
"Mrs. Colby?" the manager asked, his back to the room and his professional reserve completely unflustered. "Would you like me to call your family physician?"
Valerie's friend immediately said, "Not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?"
"I assure you, madam, my discretion is absolute." He clicked his heels.
"I. . . was. . . robbed. . . Call the police," Valerie gasped.
"Police? My dear, do you want this thing to grow into a scandal?"
Valerie knew what her friend meant.
CHAPTER SIX
Valerie's friend was a sensible woman and a good friend who shared a similar social position. She called Valerie's family lawyer immediately and had him come over even before the doctor.
The lawyer would discreetly report the burglary, demanding that no questions should be asked of Mrs. Colby. The family was wealthy enough and powerful enough to manipulate matters that way.
Valerie could feel herself going to pieces as the day progressed. She was afraid to turn, afraid to move from one room to the other, for fear that someone would be there to attack her.
Things were brought to her from the bedroom when she asked for them, but she never entered that room again. Someone went into the room and packed her suitcases for her.
That evening Valerie was on a train heading south. She would go down to a friend's place in Virginia. It would be a little rest. It turned out to be a long rest. She sold the New York apartment without even traveling back up there.
When her husband was found innocent of the charges brought against him, even though she knew that he was guilty, the two of them bought a place in North Carolina and settled there.
The furniture from the New York house was placed into storage and forgotten about for many years.
It wasn't until the middle of the nineteen-fifties that a new family lawyer asked about the items in storage in New York. When he remarked, "Get rid of the stuff if you're never going to use it again. It's silly to keep it," the couple took his advice.
He got rid of the furniture for them. There were many beautiful pieces which got a lot of attention from furniture dealers. The brass four-poster bed was neglected by many in favor of the pieces that had certain prestige attached to them.
After the high bidding was done on the Louis XV chairs and the Colonial dining table, the brass four-poster was put into a lot with a bunch of other things from the house.
Granted, the salesmen figured that they would attract the attention of the furniture buyers to that particular lot of items due to the presence of the brass bed. They were right. It went for a good price and soon the bed was featured in an antique showroom in Manhattan.
No one there knew the history. No one had even bothered to mention that this had been the Colby furniture that was being sold. Mr. Colby's name had stopped being mentioned once he was found innocent of the charges of war profiteering, and, since Mrs. Colby had disappeared suddenly from New York and into the backwoods of North Carolina, her name stopped meaning anything in society.
No one imagined the lurid past the bed had had, the way this sensual piece of craftsmanship had driven more than one person mad with erotic passion that grew directly from the brass fittings.
Somehow this bed had inspired thoughts of bondage and discipline in more than one person.
And the bed's life was far from done. It was to see many more owners and more years of use.
Once again, the beauty of the bed was seen. As it sat in the antique showroom there were offers for it. It was soon purchased and it was shipped to the new owners.
"This'll be perfect in the room at the far end," the large woman laughed as the moving men carried the bed inside.
The eyes of the moving men were wide when they looked around them. This was very obviously one of the high priced whorehouses that they had heard so much about on the east side.
The setting was opulent and as they passed different doors they saw different scenes inside each of them. There was no sex on display, only settings. One room was done completely in mirrors and another room was done with pink satin on the walls. Still another room looked for all the world as if it was an old farmhouse with wooden walls and domestic paintings.
It was the room at the end of the hall that was their goal.
The large woman, the one who ran the house, pushed the door open for them. This was the most impressive room of all. The heavy black velvet covered all the walls and was only broken by the clear, frameless mirrors that reflected each other and any image a hundred times.
"I know just where I need it!" the woman said as she ran to the other side of the room.
Although this was the largest of all the rooms, it had the least furniture. The stark look was obviously part of the whole atmosphere of this one, the masochist's room.
The ceiling had concealed lights and was painted in a high-gloss black.
There were, in the room, only two small stools, covered in black velvet, the same as the walls, and two brass stands for hanging clothes. The bed was positioned against the far wall of the room in a position that made it perfectly symmetrical to the room.
"Perfect!" the large woman shouted, clapping her hands. "Worth every penny."
The two working men laughed and told her what a pleasure it was being there. She winked at them and laughed, "Maybe I'll give you a special tip, boys." They giggled, thinking of what it would be. "The tip is. . . never give a sucker an even break." Then the woman laughed hysterically.
She slapped both workers before they had a chance to take offense and said, "Come into the parlor and have a drink with me and my girls. You've done a fine job."
Actually she had no intention of giving them any money for a tip. Actually, although they were of a lower class than her normal clients, she was hoping that since they were men and since they were there she might be able to get them to spend some money at her place.
"Say, what kind of guys want this room here where we put the brass bed?" the younger workman asked.
The large woman chuckled and said, "Didn't you ever get turned on by seeing a big woman in black leather boots with a whip? This is for that kind of scene."
"Wow!" the younger of the two workers said, turning back and looking into the room.
And so, the bed had a new home. It was the most luxurious setting yet. This was surely the ring that was treating the gem as a true gem which was permitted to shine on its own.
The stark contrast of the shimmering brass with the black velvet of the walls made the bed look even more beautiful than it was. It was truly a thing of beauty.
But, it was not a happy home for the beautiful bed. The bed was not content at all with the new surroundings.
It was put to work, earning money, that very first night that it was in the bad house.
The door was pushed open early that evening and a hand turned the lights on very dim. Then the couple entered the room. She had long black hair and was wearing a black dress that was showing ever ripple in her sensually formed body. He was a nervous man.
His clothes were obviously expensive. His suit was obviously cashmere. His tie obviously had a designer's name imprinted in the middle of the design. In other words, he was a very obvious man.
"My name is Serena," the black-haired beauty said in a voice that was deep and musty. "You shall call me Mistress, with a capital 'M', do you understand?" She spoke everything in one breath. It was clearly a well-rehearsed scene that she knew well.
"Yes, Mistress," he said, bowing his head slightly and shuffling his feet.
"I cannot hear you! Louder!" Again it was a rehearsed line.
"Yes, Mistress. Anything you say, Mistress." He fell to his knees and his tongue was on her high black boots in an instant. He was licking at the hot black leather.
"Lick my black boots," Serena hissed, really getting into the dominance aspect of what she was doing. The fact that she was being paid for it was, as far as she was concerned, only right. She believed in female domination. She was a dominant woman who wanted to humiliate men.
That was why she did such a good job of it. She believed that the men ought to pay her as a love offering because they should be forced to prove that they are worms under her feet.
The fact that she worked in a classy brothel was merely a pragmatic consideration. She liked having a clean and secure place where she was able to know that the cops were paid off. In fact, she had sometimes given free sessions to a couple of the policemen. However, she never even told the manager, she had humiliated them and forced them to give her money even though, as cops, they were supposed to get her for free.
Serena knew that any man who chose her had something specific in mind. She didn't smile like the other girls. She stood tall and always wore black which accented her black hair and her pale features. She wasn't sweet and smiling like the other girls.
Any man who wanted Serena wanted to be a sex slave and that was the end of that.
This nervous man hadn't been with her before, but she was glad that she was off to such a good start. He was already sucking and licking on her shoes.
But, it was time for her to move on to the next step. "You may remove my boots, slave."
"Thank you for that honor, Mistress," he said, eagerly pulling at her boots.
She slapped his hand, very hard, and he brought it to his lips as he looked at her. His wide eyes seemed as if they were the eyes of a sad puppy. But, no, that was a bad metaphor. Serena always treated puppies with great kindness and tenderness.
There would be no tenderness for this crawling slave. She brought the toe of her boot right up toward the man's balls and stopped less than an inch away, letting the man know that she had the skill to kick him in the nuts at any time she chose to do so.
"You put your hands there, slave! How dare you try to interfere with my actions."
He was shaking his head and whimpering softly. "And, besides, you're not naked yet. You cannot hope to be given the honor of removing my boots until you are naked."
When the man stripped he revealed that he was really only in his early thirties. It was just his classy clothes that made him seem older and more worldly.
His clothes were bunched up together and he was bunched up and hunched over on his knees.
"Now, get down like a dog and take off my boots through your legs."
He figured out the position she was demanding and he got down with his back to her, grabbing her boot through his legs and pulling on it. "One hand behind the heel and the other hand at the top of the toes. Now pull, slave. Pull off my boots."
As he pulled on her first boot she leaned her ass down on the bed and she dug the heel of the second boot against the crack of the man's ass. He actually felt the tip of her high heel digging in against his sphincter as he pulled one boot off and drove himself back against the spiked heel.
Then she switched feet. This time as he pulled off the second boot he only had her bare foot to press against the cheeks of his ass. But that was sensual enough.
She stood up then and peeled off her dress. She revealed that underneath she was wearing nothing but a black leather garter belt and a pair of high net stockings.
Spreading her legs apart, she pulled on the man's thin hair and said, "Suck my hole."
The man's lips pressed right up against her pussy slit and then he sucked hard, stuffing his tongue into her as far as it would go. She could feel her pussy being spread open by the pressure of the tongue. It was a pleasure for her, but she wanted more.
Grabbing his hands, she said, "On the bed, slave."
He climbed onto the bed and she quickly pulled rope from under the mattress. It was kept there for the times when it was needed. But, she stopped with the ropes in her hand.
"You stay right where you are, slave." This was a good one and he was worth a little effort on her part. She ran to a closet that was hidden in the wall and she pulled out some items she wanted to use. She brought back a bunch of leather cuffs and a riding crop.
Snapping one leather cuff onto one of his . wrists, she pulled the chain around the outside of the brass vertical bar and then she pulled the other leather cuff around his other wrist.
He was bound with his hands over his head. "Okay," she hissed, producing a dildo from underneath the bed. "Now I'm gonna have a little fun with you and see how good you are at being a slave."
She worked the dildo, using a little grease, into the guy's ass. He squirmed as if he weren't willing to take it. But, since he had paid for this session and he had the option to get out anytime he wanted to, she knew that he was willing.
When she pushed a little bit more of the dildo inside his body she felt the man squirming under her. She felt his cock and knew that it was hard. The nerve endings all around his anal opening were being massaged, stimulated by the pressure of the dildo in his ass.
And then, beyond the nerve endings, there was his prostate. His prostate was the spot right behind his balls, where all of his spunk was stored, where it mixed with the thick white cream that helped it to spew out of the hard rammer. The tip of the dildo massaged his prostate.
His cock was stiff as a metal rod and there was white liquid that was oozing out of the head of it because of the pressure against his prostate. The man was going wild as she worked the dildo in and out of the tender hole, knowing just what she was doing all the time.
Then, she left the dildo stuffed inside him with no fear that it would go soft.
She spread herself out over his crotch and then she pressed the head of his dick against the lips of her pussy. She could feel the sensual massage that was driving her wild and then she plunged downward. "Yes, slave. Serve me. Serve me, you lowly, unworthy slave."
"Oh, yes, Mistress. Oh! Mistress! Yes! Oh!" He was writhing his hips up and down as hard as he could. He was slamming the stiffness against the insides of the woman's body.
And then, his arms tied over his head and the woman riding on his cock, he felt her cunt pulling and nipping on his cock and then he started to shoot deep inside her hole.
She pulled off him. This was the problem of being a prostitute and doing it on a paying basis. She knew that there were other men waiting. She had brought this man to his orgasm, which was his goal in paying. There were other men who would bring her money this night. So what if she left this man without having gotten her full satisfaction. She had to get to the others anyway.
And so, Serena ordered the man to dress and she slipped her own dress back on. Then she stood in the doorway and stopped the man from leaving by holding out her hand.
He handed her the forty dollars that was demanded for such a special session in those days. But, she remained where she was and said, "The price here is forty. That is correct. But, if someone really wants to see me again they will give me a little something special so that I remember them next time. . . My memory is apt to wane with so many unworthy slaves."
When she held out her hand to him again, he reached in his pocket and flushed. "I'm a little short right now, but would another. . . uh, ten dollars.. . be okay?"
"It will do for now," she said, holding out her hand and not grabbing for the money.
He rushed out of the room and rushed, ashamed, from the apartment. But, what great harm is there for a man to be ashamed, when he finds great pleasure merely in the chance to be ashamed.
Things went basically like that for the brass four-poster over the following years. Of course, with changes in political winds, the house on the East side was closed. But, another house was opened by the same people on a nearby block within a week.
That was the way things went. At regular intervals a place would close down and another place would open up. The bed would be moved. But, it seemed, each new hope was progressively shabbier.
Oh, it was nothing that was really noticeable at first. Perhaps the first place was only a little bit less than the one before. It was just that after it had been moved ten times even the mute and dumb brass of the bed could tell that it was in a seedier place.
By the tenth move there was formica furniture and patterned, glossy wallpaper.
It was the start of the nineteen-sixties and fashions dictated that everything be sleek and modern. Customers, it was felt, didn't want to see something old-fashioned like a brass bed.
People wanted to see a whole room decorated with plastic. That was the modern thing. It wasn't a putdown to say that something was plastic. Rather, it was the age when plastic was considered the miracle of the world. People laughed at the brass bed.
And even the bed itself missed the initial days, the days on the East side with Serena. At least Serena had always gotten into the scene. Sometimes she would have a customer who really wouldn't do much for her, but she was able to work herself up into a good frenzy because of her love of domination. The bed had never come to truly appreciate that until he had to deal with some of the cheaper hookers who pretended to be dominants and giggled at the men they spanked.
Perhaps, though, part of the thrill for these men who craved humiliation, was that these women who were hookers were giggling at them, putting them down for the things that gave them pleasure.
Of course there was no one who was polishing the bed. The brass had been slammed into many times. It was scraped and scratched where there had been chains and cuffs hitting against it.
It was crushed where it had fallen down a flight of stairs. Actually everyone stopped and admired the bed after the fall. "Look at that.
It's just squashed in over there, but aside from that there's not a mark on it. They really built things to last back then."
"Oh, yeah," someone else said in a bored voice. "But, it's so fuckin' heavy to move." There was general laughter and as they carried the bed out to the moving truck one man told the other movers about this patio set that was made of plastic, that his wife had been able to carry home by herself.
No one could see the beauty of the brass any longer. It was dulled with time and battered. Finally it was not even good enough for a tacky whorehouse. It was moved into a tawdry hotel in the Times Square area. The landlord of the hotel was the same man who owned the whorehouses.
The bed had traveled a long way from the elegant suburban home that it had first graced. It was in a set of little rooms that smelled bad and then alternately smelled of Lysol. No sooner was it placed in the room than a group of people came in.
It was the hotel manager who swept his hand across the two room apartment and said, "This is the room folks." He didn't even sound encouraging about it.
The woman and the man and the girl looked around. "Will this couch be okay for you to sleep on, lamb?" the woman asked the girl who was obviously her daughter.
"I don't care, Momma. It'll be fine for me to sleep on."
The girl sounded bored. The man was silent. He let the two women argue about the matter. Actually it was only one woman who argued the matter. The woman argued everything. Her daughter always seemed tired, always seemed strung out on something. The man seemed amused by it all.
And so the three of them moved into the little sleazy apartment.
The first night there, as Ella was undressing to her satin slip, Guido, who had an Italian accent, was feeling the cold brass of the bed as he said, "I always wanted one of these."
Ella laughed and showed off her full figure. She was in her late thirties and she could have afforded to lose twenty pounds, but that was what Guido liked about her. He wasn't her husband and he didn't have any attachment to her other than the sexual one at the moment.
"Don't laugh. How do you think you'd look tied up to this for sex?"
"Oh, go stuff it!" she said, laughing a little bit more.
He suddenly turned angry and grabbed her wrists, pulling them over her head. "You don't laugh at me when I wanna do somethin'. You understand what I'm sayin'? "
"The kid'll hear you in the other room," she whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Then do what I tell you to do," he said, rubbing his fingers over her wrists and holding them up near the tarnished brass of the headboard. "You understand?"
"You wanna do that? You wanna tie me up?" Even though her voice was a whisper, there was a squeak to it.
Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a big bandana that he had used to tie around his head earlier that day when he had played softball in the park. Now he used that same sweatband to tie the girl's wrists together and to tie them to the brass headboard.
Ella was stunned by the sudden response of the man. If she had known the history of the bed, if she had only known the history of the bed, then she wouldn't have been at all surprised. This was just another page, another step in the history of the brass four-poster.
Somehow the bed had that affect on people. It brought out the dominant strain in them. Except, of course, for those people whose submissive strain was brought out. The bed, being such an obvious instrument of bondage, loomed large in the psyches of all its owners.
But, for this night the bed merely loomed large in the cluttered room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ella thought of crying out, but she was very much aware of the fact that, her daughter was sleeping in the next room right on the other side of the wall. She didn't want to get the girl involved in her sex life. She always worried about her daughter, having to grow up in the tawdry world she occupied.
So, she remained silent as she was bound to the bed. The man peeled off his pants and shorts and jerked on his dick a few times. It was stiff and drooling, right at the woman's lips. He rubbed the cock head from side to side, letting the wetness slide onto the lips.
"Open up," he demanded as he pushed forward with the stiff prong.
Parting her lips, she permitted the dick to enter her mouth. She could feel the drooling wetness that slid along her lower lip and onto her tongue. She could feel the pressure as the mushroom head of the cock pressed her tongue down in her mouth.
And then the man pulled back. Ella didn't understand it. He wanted to force her. She was cooperating too much to suit him. He wanted to make this less pleasant for her as long as she was tied to the bed.
So, he moved down her body and tossed her legs up in the air. He pressed the broad head of his cock right up against the anal opening. The woman tensed up when she felt that.
Her eyes were wide and she looked at the man. "Wh-what are you.. . ? "
"Shut up, bitch!" he snarled as he slapped her face sharply.
Then the head of his cock pushed forward into the tight confines of her anal opening. She felt her sphincter being spread open by the invading cock and she gasped.
He spit on his palm and then he rubbed more of the wetness around the length of his cock and a little more right at the opening of her bottom hole. He pushed forward.
She could feel the cock entering her, pushing into her, spreading her apart.
Her ass cheeks were pushed wide apart and she felt the pressure in her body. Then the cock shoved once again, and she thought she was going to be pushed inside out.
She struggled, but she was in no position to really struggle. Her arms were tied above her head, her legs were waving up in the air, and her ass hole was getting impaled by the cock.
She had the full length of the prong all the way inside her body. She could feel the broad head of it pressing against her insides and she could feel the scratchy hair of the man's pubic patch grinding hard against the cheeks of her soft and rounded ass.
He grabbed a handful of one of her ass cheeks and he squeezed it hard. Then he slapped it.
Finally, he started to pull his dick back out of her ass and then to push it in. At first he was barely moving his dick an inch in and out of her. He was pulling her anal ring in and out along with the movements of his cock. But, as he continued to do that there was more and more lubrication along the anal tunnel and he was able to actually slide his cock.
Once he started to slide the meat in and out of her hot hole, he could feel the change in the woman's responses. He knew that he was sending a series of jolts up her nerve endings and that the message was going all over her body and then rushing back to her pussy slit.
She couldn't believe the moisture that was in her cunt in response to the abusive treatment that her ass hole was receiving. The cock kept on sliding in and out of the bottom hole and it was massaging the tender and sensitive flesh that surrounded the opening.
The moist friction was driving the girl absolutely insane with passion.
And then the man slammed into her ass hole and he started to shoot load after load of steaming cum into her body. She could feel the raw flesh being coated with the flaming liquid.
He pulled out with a sudden jolt and she flopped down on the bed.
Guido rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket up over him, leaving Ella's body exposed and bound as it had been. "Guido?" she whispered softly. "Untie me, . . Please."
"I'm goin' to sleep. Don't bother me." That was his final word on the subject.
Her first night in her new home, the sleazy Times Square hotel, Ella was left tied to the brass four-poster bed. She wept softly. How did she get into situations like this? Guido, to her, was sexy, and she was willing to do a lot for a handsome man.
Ella didn't think she was as beautiful as she had once been. She had been slimmer when she was a teenager and, to her, teenaged beauty was the best of all. However, she wasn't a teenager and she would never be one again. This gave her very mixed feelings toward her own daughter, Minnie, who was becoming a very beautiful girl although she was kept as plain as possible.
Since her mother always had young boyfriends around, Minnie knew that the older woman was jealous of her and always wanted to keep her down and keep her ugly. Minnie didn't really care. She was frightened of the kind of people who were around her mother. She was frightened of the life that her mother led. Rather than adapting to that life, the girl had built up her own protective wall, a wall that was getting thicker all the time.
Minnie remained as distant as possible from the woman who was her mother. People often thought that the girl was just spaced out or had become somehow distant due to drugs. That wasn't the case at all. Minnie was just protecting herself with her unfriendly attitude.
And Ella was always pulled in two directions at once. She loved her daughter. Minnie was the only good thing she had in her life. But, at the same time, she was jealous and hostile toward the young woman that her daughter was becoming. At the same time she felt that she had certain needs. Guido was one of those needs. But, she did worry about her daughter's well-being.
For good reason also. Guido was not a nice man and he was not a dependable man.
From the day that the three of them moved into the two room apartment there was trouble. "Guido, please put on your pants. I don't want Minnie to have to see you in your shorts."
"What's the matter?" he cried out, drunkenly. "She never seen one of these before?"
Saying that, he pulled down his shorts and waved his partially erect penis at the girl. Minnie turned away and flushed, but she knew that she had gotten quite a good view of it.
Ella and Guido disappeared into the other room and started to quarrel. Minnie wanted to just leave the apartment as fast as she could. But then, her mother came tumbling out of the other room and there was a dark bruise on one side of her arm. She was holding herself there.
"What's the matter, Ma?" the girl asked, standing there, tensely.
"I slipped. . . and fell. Get out of here. Get out, Minnie. I'm okay."
The girl knew that her mother didn't just slip and fall, but when her mother ordered her out of the room she left. She was tense each time she had to leave the hotel. The world was a threatening place to the teenaged girl. Since her world was made up of Times Square with its pimps and its low-life and hookers and junkies there was good reason for it to be threatening.
Minnie found herself wishing she could just retreat into her private world, that she could just build the wall around her as thick and as high as it would ever go so that she didn't have to deal with anything she didn't want to see or hear.
Her mother and the terrible man were making more and more noise in the other room.
At the beginning it was just the sound of movement, the sound of moving springs, and the grunting and heavy breathing that the girl would hear through the wall. When she heard those noises she always felt a hot rush deep inside her body. She was turned on by the thought that Guido, the man who liked to display his body and even his cock for her, was fucking her mother.
There would be a hot feeling deep in her body and then she would reach down between her legs and rub the moist flesh that was there. She could feel the quivering of the flesh.
Her fingers would excite the delicate spots where she was so turned on. Then she would stuff one finger between her cunt lips and rub back and forth against the clitoris. There would be a hot explosion and she would shut her eyes with exhaustion.
That would always lead very directly to sleep. She would have to blot out the scene, to try to forget that she had been erotically stimulated by the sounds of her mother being fucked. She had to make her mind a blank so that she wouldn't have to think about the fact that she was turned on by the man who was her mother's lover, that she longed to touch that man.
She was a typical girl in many ways. She was developing and going through sexual changes.
Things had become rough for the girl. She couldn't make it down a block in the neighborhood without someone propositioning her. She didn't have the nerve to give nasty replies. She would just start walking faster, start to run if that was necessary. Once, two men had run after her, laughing all the way. They kept following her until the girl started to weep.
They stopped, thinking the girl was truly mad with her hysterical weeping.
Minnie felt that her world was closing in on her. The noises from her mother's bedroom were getting worse every night. There were slaps and groans and grunts.
And then, one night, things got too bad. Ella had gone into the bathroom and changed into her satin slip. Guido was in his striped boxer shorts and his athletic shirt.
She started to kiss his neck and he cuffed her with the back of his hand.
"Hey, what's that for?" she called out as she fell backwards on the bed. "Ain't I good to you."
"You? You're nothin' but an old hag," Guido hissed, his mood foul.
It turned out to be just the night that Ella didn't feel she could deal with anything else either. Ella didn't want to have to put up with that sort of shit and she let it be known.
"Oh, yeah? If I'm such an old hag how come you live here with me?"
"You're payin' the rent, ain't you?" he smirked at her as he leaned back on the bed.
"You fuckin' little pig of a. . . " She slapped his face as she spoke.
But he jumped up from his reclining position and he smashed his fist in her face. Her head hit one of the brass bars of the bed.
She screamed out and wrapped her fingers around his throat. Then he pulled her off the brass bed and onto the floor of the room.
"Help me! Help me! Help!" the woman finally screamed as loud as she could.
But, even as she was screaming it, the man was slamming the back of her head against the floor.
The door opened and Minnie entered the room behind Guido. She was wearing the same sort of nightgown, plain white, that she had worn since she was a very young girl.
When she saw the man hurting her mother that way her impulse was immediate.
"You stop that!" she commanded as she landed on his back and grabbed him around the neck. Her fingers clawed at his face. Her nails searched for his eyes. All she knew was that she had to stop him.
But, Ella was already knocked unconscious because of the way Guido had been hitting her head on the floor. It was a simple matter for the powerfully built, partially clad man to turn toward Minnie. He grabbed that girl and tossed her onto the bed. "Now I'll have some young meat."
"No!" Minnie screamed as she tried to pull away and climb off the bed on the other side.
But, the man was too fast for her. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her arms up over her head. He pulled her white nightgown up her body and revealed it in all its naked glory. Then he actually used the nightgown to tie her hands to the bars of the brass bed.
The girl had never before been naked with a man. No male had ever seen her delicately formed tits and her virgin slit. Now, she was completely exposed and, because of the bondage, was completely at the mercy of the man who was rubbing roughly on top of her.
She could feel his hairy chest brushing against her breasts, scratching against her nipples. She could feel the outline of the hard prick through the thin fabric of his cotton shorts as it rubbed against the flesh of her belly. She could even feel the spot of wetness on the front of his underpants, the spot that rubbed against her flesh so sensually.
Then, the man pulled his undershorts down and his cock flopped out to freedom, slapping against her belly.
He was wasting no time with this virgin, giving this virgin no time for herself.
She wasn't wet yet. Hardly three minutes had passed from the time she had been woken up by her mother's cries for help till now, bound on the bed with a naked male's body rubbing against her naked body for the first time in her life. The man slid his dick back and positioned it at her cunt lips.
Then he reached down one hand and pulled her pussy slit apart, as his other arm held the girl in place and made sure that she didn't move around and make it impossible for him to enter her.
He pushed forward with the head of his cock and he could feel the cunt lips spreading apart in advance of his invasion. He could feel the tightly clinging interior lips, the lips that were further inside her body, giving way and, as soon as he had gone that far, he was aware of the delicate wall of flesh that guarded the passage to her virginity.
The virgin sheath had remained unbroken. It was pulled taut across the tunnel of sex. When he thrust forward into her body, he knew that he had ripped her hymen.
She was no longer a virgin!
She felt the rush of heat that pushed into her body and spread into her pussy walls.
She was dizzy for a moment and then she was intensely aware of everything.
Her body felt as if it were being ripped apart and pulled together at the same time.
The thick flared head of the cock was pushing the virgin blood up the length of the fuck-tunnel and it was working the hot blood into the walls of her pussy.
Meanwhile, the cunt walls were growing thick with juice that oozed out of her body. That pearly cunt cream was mingling with her own virgin blood. She didn't realize that it was the blood that was causing the burning sensation against the walls of her twat.
This flesh, deep inside her body, had never been touched by anything before. It had always been safely guarded in the folds of her body. But now it was responding to the movement of the cock head against the depths of her cunt. It was painful at first, but soon there was wave after wave of pleasure. Perhaps the pleasure was nature's way of making sex something that was done in the first place. If it weren't for the amount of pleasure, why would people do it?
But, the pain was pretty awful for the young girl. She was just too frightened. Because she was frightened, because her bondage frightened her even more, she couldn't relax. Her pussy walls grew thick with liquid, but they were always tight. The flesh was being scraped raw because the man didn't give a damn about the girl. He didn't care that she was tight inside and was hurting.
"I'm fuckin' your virgin pussy, little girl. Yes I am." He cried out.
And his hips were moving up and down, very hard and very fast, as he kept rubbing the depths of her cunt with his cock head. He pulled back each time far enough so that the flared head of his cock pulled back right up against the clitoris that was already so excited.
Of course, with that additional friction, the girl's clitoris kept expanding even more.
In spite of the agony that she was going through, she realized that she was going to have an orgasm. She had known orgasms before from the times she had fingered herself, but this one was going to be something incredible. Tears ran down her cheeks. There was sweat on her forehead.
And still the dick kept on moving in and out of her. The man's ass cheeks kept on pumping up and down at a steady tempo, but they were moving even faster than they had been moving.
Minnie didn't even realize that her eyes had been closed until she opened them, looked over the man's shoulder and saw a sight that, literally, made her heart stop beating.
Her mother was standing over the bed with a gun in her hand.
The young girl who was getting fucked opened her mouth as if she was screaming out. Was it for a cry of orgasm or for one or warning? But, no sound came from her lips anyway.
Instead there was a sound that cracked the air. It was the last sound the girl heard. The bullet left the gun and ran right through the man's back and into the girl's arm.
She knew she was wounded. How strange. The heat was the same heat she had felt in her pussy when the cherry had been busted. Of course, it was the feeling of blood.
Another bullet went into the man. The girl was only wounded. He was dead on top of her right at the point when he was about to have an orgasm.
But, the girl never spoke again and never heard another sound. She had finally managed to build her wall as high as she would ever possibly get it, and so thick that no one could get in. She was placed in a very intensive care ward of a mental institution with little hope of recovery.
Guido, the man who did it to her, the man whose own selfish pleasure had been important enough so that the life of a young girl was now sacrificed, was dead. Good.
Ella was acquitted without any trial. No District Attorney would have brought charges against the mother who killed the man who had turned her daughter into a psychotic deaf-mute. But, the woman felt guilty nonetheless. Not that she cared about the charge of murder against Guido, but against her daughter and what had happened to the girl. That last was the reason for her guilt.
Within six months of her daughter's institutionalization, Ella took an overdose of heroin and died in a Times Square hotel room very similar to the one she had shared with Guido and her daughter. She had executed herself for her crime of not being a good mother.
But, what of the bed? Was this to be its ignoble end as well?
The room which Guido and Ella had occupied was now boarded up by the police while the investigation was under way. In the course of that investigation there was one stabbing in the halls and so many regular robberies in the place that finally there were pickets demanding that the place be condemned. No one even bothered to unboard the door of that room at the time that the whole place was torn down.
But, perhaps it was those boards that saved that single room from being vandalized and looted as the rest of the seedy hotel had been during the months, and eventually years, when it was closed.
It remained closed for some time. This was the sixties and everyone was looking toward the South and toward the suburbs. There was no gasoline crisis. People didn't mind traveling to work in a car that was sold at 'no-money-down' and 'twenty-eight months to pay'.
No one was interested in the property. Rents weren't doing well in that area. The bed was left to decay in that room. Mold formed on everything, even on the brass of the bed.
Everything got damp in the winter and got sticky with rot in the summer. The window was closed but a little crack in it let in enough chill for the winters to be icy in the room, while the sun beating through the bare window on this high floor was enough to keep the room sweltering in the summer.
All of the wooden chests were completely ruined in the room. The wallpaper had browned and curled at the edges and come off the badly plastered walls. Actually, although it was filthy, turned green, and battered, the brass bed survived the ordeal incredibly well.
But, then again, it was brass. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, but that was hard to see under the filth and grime of the thing. It was already eight years later before demolition work was started on the building. It was eight sweltering summers and eight freezing winters later when the men smashed through the wall to the room that had been boarded up.
No one knew that this bed had been marked with bloodstains of a murder victim. No one knew the bondage scenes that it had seen. The workers didn't even notice what a beautiful thing it was. They piled the pieces onto a cart with everything else and lowered it down into a garbage dumpster.
There was a large metal thing that was next to the sidewalk. It was filled to the brim with wood and junk and bricks and all the refuse that had been brought out of the building. At the top of it, like a comic crown, was the brass four-poster bed.
It certainly seemed like this would be the very end for the one beautiful bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
But, this was New York. Nothing ever actually got thrown out with the first try.
One of the construction workers on the project noticed the brass sticking up out of the dumpster and looked over the side. "Hey, keep an eye on this while I get my station wagon over here."
The man had his buddies help him put the brass bed, in four pieces, in the back of his station wagon. "I'll be able to fix this up," Ben said. "I'll be able to turn this into something."
Many of the others laughed at that. Some of the others encouraged his efforts.
That night when he drove out to his Long Island home he immediately started to unload the brass bed from the back of the station wagon. His wife looked out the kitchen window and saw what he was doing. "Oh, hell, Ben, did you have to bring home more junk. Don't we have enough?"
"Shut up, Muriel. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, put that old piece of junk over there in the garage."
"Where the hell do you think I was going to put it, in our bedroom?"
"Thank goodness we have a two-car garage, Ben. That's all I can say."
The brass headboard and footboard and side pieces were dropped onto the floor next to all the other things that were there in the garage. There was quite a collection of things.
Once again it was left alone. It was locked inside the garage and no one ever saw it. Ben, the construction worker, didn't do much with the things he saved from the trash. He didn't care if the other men laughed at him. Once a year he always had a garage sale and always made a couple of hundred dollars on the junk he had saved from construction sites.
He kept that part of it a secret from the other men. If they knew the profits he was making, they would start taking things home with them. He liked things the way they were.
But, the bed was given an awful home. In many ways being in the boarded up Times Square room had been better. At least it was surrounded by furniture. At least it was s still considered an article of furniture there. Now it was junk in a garage.
However, even in the garage, the bed seemed to attract trouble of its own.
It was on a late evening that the door in the front of the garage was pulled up. It was dark out, except for the bright, full moon, and the young couple who slipped into the garage did not turn on any light. The girl was holding a blanket but the boy didn't give her a chance to put it down. He wrapped his arms around her body and started to kiss her.
"Joey," she sighed in a sensual way. "Let me get comfortable."
She pulled away from the boy and put the blanket down on the floor of the greasy garage. When she leaned back, she leaned her head against the side of the brass headboard. But she pulled her head away from there. It was a dirty, unwashed surface.
The boy slammed down on top of the girl and started to kiss her immediately.
He seemed to go through a set routine that he had worked out. He started to kiss her and he would feel up and down on her blouse. Then he pushed his hands up under her blouse and he kept on squeezing against her breasts. He pressed hard on her breasts.
And then his hands worked their way down, feeling at the rest of her body. He felt her legs and then moved his hands up inside her skirt so that he could feel the soft fuzz of her pussy patch through the fabric of her tightly clinging panties.
His fingers brushed up and down continually against the soft and responsive flesh. He could feel the moisture that was already seeping through the fabric of the panties.
Then he reached into her panties and he brushed his fingers against her pussy patch. He started to stroke her cunt lips themselves. "Let me do it. Please, let me do it."
"You won't lose respect for me, will you?" she asked softly.
"How could I lose respect for you? After all, we've been going steady for four months. If you really love me you'll let me do it. Anyway, you said that you'd let me do it tonight."
"Oh, okay," she said, sighing softly as she arched her hips up toward him.
He pushed her skirt all the way up and then he worked her panties down her legs very quickly. He wasn't giving her any time to herself. He was ready to go right at it.
Once he had her pussy bare, he pulled down his pants and shorts, leaving them bunched around his knees. Since he was so young, he just didn't know that there was anything more to sex than this. He figured that once a girl agreed to let you do it, you just did it.
His dick was certainly hard enough and as he spread her legs out wide and pressed himself against the tight opening, she bit into the side of his neck and shut her eyes.
He was awkwardly trying to position himself at the right spot and then he pushed forward. He could feel the cunt lips spreading apart and the next thing he knew he gave a shove and he had busted her cherry. She cried out and her teeth dug into his neck.
It was as if she were using her teeth to brand him in that way.
He worked his boner into her slowly, spreading open a little more of her at a time and then he rested his body down on her, trying to relax, as he asked, "You okay?"
She nodded her head and he started to pull his dick back out of her. She could feel the way the flared head of his cock was massaging the insides of her cunt. She could feel the juiciness that was being pulled out of the spongy walls of her cunt.
And he could feel the sensual massage that he was getting as her cunt walls kept on undulating and relaxing and then tightening and sliding against the sides of his stiff prick.
He pulled on her hips and pulled her up a little bit towards him.
Just then, the light went on and it flooded right across them. There, at the side door of the garage, with a baseball bat in his hand, was Ben, the girl's father.
"What the fuck do you two kids think you're doing?" It was a typical insane shout of a parent in such a circumstance and it made no sense at all. But, that was what the man said.
When he swung the baseball bat, the boy who was lying on top of the girl immediately pulled away. His dick was still hard and swinging in front of him. He tripped over his pants as he tried to stand up. The girl screamed in a high-pitched voice.
"Get out of here, you punk. Get out of here or else I'll lose control of myself and kill you."
It didn't matter to Joey that he still had a boner and that he hadn't been able to pull his pants all the way up yet. He ran out of there. Then, the man turned to his daughter.
Beth had been frozen with fear from the time her father had come into the place. Now she tried to get up. She tried to cover her nakedness, but the man was on top of her. He pulled her toward the brass headboard that was lying there. He pulled her hands back through the bars of the headboard and he tied them together near the elbows so that she thought her shoulders were going to actually come out of the sockets. It was a terrible pressure that she felt.
Then the man pushed his daughter down on her face. She hit her forehead against the cold floor of the garage. The headboard of the bed was on top of her as if it were some dark and sinister torture device, something that was going to hold her in bondage.
That was precisely the way it was working. The man was on top of her, he pushed her skirt up, and he smacked her naked ass. Since her panties were already off it was a simple thing to do.
"I didn't raise my daughter to be no whore! You understand me?"
She was weeping and couldn't respond to anything. All she did was howl.
"No daughter of mine is gonna be the town slut and let all the boys fuck her pussy."
"He was. . . the only one. . . Papa. He was. . . the only one."
"I don't believe nothin' that no whore tells me!" the man hissed, his beefy palm hitting her ass cheeks continually. "As long as you're gonna put out like that. . . "
His last thought had been left uncompleted, but the girl knew that her father was doing something back there. She could feel something thick and fleshy against her cunt lips.
His cock head was pushing at her from between her legs. He was going to fuck her from behind. But, he was aiming at her pussy and not at her ass. However, he did grab a thick handful of her ass.
Then the head of his cock disappeared along the route that the teenaged boy's dick had taken just a few minutes earlier. The girl could feel the cock head pushing between her cunt lips. She could feel the pressure of the erect prick that was pushing into her body.
And then the full length of the cock slid all the way into her body. She felt her father's hard belly pushing right up against the soft cheeks of her ass. She could feel his hanging balls slapping right against the soft and wispy hairs of her pussy snatch.
The girl didn't even struggle with her bonds. She wanted to remain in that position. She wanted to hide her face against the floor of the garage. She was being abused and humiliated by her father. She couldn't believe it. It was a horror that she would never forget.
But, Ben chose to pretend that it had never happened. He told his wife that he had caught the girl fucking with a boy. He forbid her from dating any other boys. She was too frightened of her father to go against his word or to accuse him of anything.
He had abused the trust that was given to him the day he became a father.
Unlike Guido who had paid immediately for his crime of harming an innocent girl, Ben would pay a slow price that would cost him dearly over the years. He would have to pay for his one cruel indiscretion with years of his daughter's cold hatred for him.
Once she was old enough to leave home, she left. She never returned, not even for a visit.
But, the bed left long before that. Ben kept busy with all the things that usually occupied his time. If he paused to think, he was afraid he would think about that terrible night and the things he had done to his daughter on the floor of the garage.
So, he felt that he had to get rid of everything in his garage. He scheduled his garage sale even sooner than he might have done it otherwise. This time he didn't haggle so long on the prices. He really wanted the garage to be empty of anything that would bring back memories to him.
The brass bed, now in four pieces that didn't even look like they went together, was marked at twenty dollars and, at that price, everyone was passing it by all day long.
Then a couple drove up in a small car. They walked up the driveway and just looked around at the junk. Then the wife pulled her husband over and whispered excitedly in the man's ear. They looked at each other and giggled. He went over to the brass bed and inspected it.
And then he took out twenty dollars and handed it to Ben. It was the biggest sale of the day.
"Take good care of that bed," Ben called to the couple as they tied the pieces on the roof of their little imported car. "That was in my family for years and years."
He was not beyond lying, even after he had already made the sale.
The bed had sunk through many levels. It had never found the right world for it.
Its first home had been a stuffy place. The couple was too proper to know how to deal correctly with the bondage and discipline impulses that seemed to come to life because of the bed. Because they couldn't deal with those sides of their natures, they had to lash out with hatred. They used anger with each other as an excuse for playing out bondage and discipline games.
Unfortunately, using a shallow excuse like that led to the destruction of their lives.
The same thing had happened to the husband of the second couple to own the bed. Horace Kramer received his pleasure from letting his wife tie him to the bed and from being abused by the woman. But, he felt that he had somehow degraded himself with that pleasure. He felt self-hatred because of the way he got his pleasure and, unable to live with himself, he made his mind up to die in the war. That resolve on her husband's part left Gwendolyn Kramer with a life that would never again know true sexual satisfaction.
Valerie Colby, the third mistress of that bed would suffer a rape at the hands of two veterans who were robbing her apartment. Spread nude and bound to the bed she would be forced to perform acts she had never imagined she would have to perform.
The very thought of the bed would become a nightmare for the woman. She would end up never again able to achieve an orgasm through sex. It took many years of therapy before the woman learned to live with the terrible fears that she felt inside her.
The bed's next home was a imagine brothel where it earned its keep along with Serena, the leggy model with the high black boots and the whip. It proceeded to lesser and lesser homes until finally it ended up in the Times Square hotel where it was the scene of a passionate crime as a mother shot her own lover dead while he was raping her virgin daughter.
In between, there had been many years of storage. There was storage in the locked and chilly vaults where the Colby's placed the bed after Valerie's rape. There was the storage in the awful, dank hotel room that was boarded up for years in the condemned building.
And finally there was the depressing storage in the suburban garage, denigrated to the level of garbage and forced to witness the rape of a young girl by her own father.
Now the bed jangled together on top of the little foreign car. It was heading back toward Manhattan. If it was possible for the bed to have feelings, then it could be said that the bed held little hope for the future, for its future life, for the future of sex. Everyone who had had contact with the bed had been influenced into bondage and discipline sex and none of them had been able to deal with it well. What hope could there be?
But, just when it seemed time for the bed to be ground up into garbage or melted down for the content of the brass, there seemed to be one more home for it. What would this one be?
CHAPTER NINE
The bed was on it's way to a new home. The couple who took the bed home carried it carefully into their walk-up apartment building. Their apartment was on the fourth floor of the building. It was the entire floor all the way through, with windows in the front and windows in the back of it.
They brought the brass four-poster bed to the room that it would occupy.
It was a lovely room, rather modest but certainly attractive enough. There was a row of three windows across the front of it. Those three windows looked out at the street.
One wall, the wall to the right, had a fireplace along the natural brick. The rest of the walls were not in natural brick and were painted in a soft off-white color. There were no drapes on the windows, but just bamboo shades. The only furniture in the room was some white shelving, that was simply boards that had been painted white. All the clothes were inside the large, walk-in closet. That gave the apartment a very neat look to it.
In the middle of the wall opposite the fireplace, there was a mattress on the floor. There was an Indian throw over the mattress. That was the couple's sleeping arrangement.
Once they had the bed up there, they handled it carefully and said all sorts of wonderful things about it.
"I always dreamed of having a brass bed," the woman said.
"This'll take a lot of work, but it'll be worth it." The man started to work immediately. "I'm glad we visited your mother after all. If we hadn't we never would have found this bed."
Even though it was Sunday night, the two of them spent long hours with brushes and with brass cleaner and polish, working off the years of dirtand grease and rust. Sometimes the woman would complain that she hadn't been able to get a spot clean, but the man would always say the same thing. "Don't be afraid of rubbing. This is real brass underneath. This is real quality. You're not going to scratch the brass when you clean the gunk off."
And so, the gunk was slowly but surely cleaned off. They couldn't do it all in one night. But, as they revealed the beauty of the brass bed it was like a wonderful revelation. It was something that the two of them had had faith in and it turned out to be something beautiful.
One day, later in the week, the last day they were working on it, the woman complained that she had not been able to get any part of a particular stain out, since it seemed to be imbedded in the brass.
The man went to work on it and kept on examining it closer and closer. "This is blood. This must've been a hell of a lot of blood for it to get permanently on the brass like this."
They both paused in silence. "That wasn't from some little girl cutting her finger."
But then they went back to work on it. So, their bed had a stormy history? They would add to that history with all of the wonderful times they would share together. push his dick in and out of her mouth. He was face-fucking her in a brutal way and she was gobbling down on his cock, hungry for it.
The balls slapped against her chin and the pubic hairs scratched at her nose. But she loved every bit of it, especially the pressure that was all the way down in her throat.
Then, pulling on her hair, he pulled her face away from his dick.
He pushed the girl onto the bed. "Now we'll see how this does as a bondage device."
"Oh, yes, sir," she said in a voice that was a perfect combination of submission and desire. She immediately got into position and he put the leather cuffs around her wrists, holding them in place and pulling them behind the brass bars of the headboard. Then he pulled each of her legs up over her head and he put a leather cuff on each ankle.
She was spread out and her ass was up in the air in the most obscene manner.
Then, he knelt over her. "So, you're my slave on my satin sheets, in my brass four-poster."
"Oh, yes, sir," she moaned softly as she felt him running his fingers over her body.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. He blew the smoke of the cigarette right into the woman's face. Then he played with the lit tip of the cigarette moving along her body with barely an inch between it and the soft, unspoiled topography of her skin.
She held her breath. She knew that her husband wouldn't really hurt her. But she knew that he loved to tease her. There was something else that she knew. She knew that she got a great deal of pleasure out of her husband's teasing her. It was something they mutually shared.
The lit end of the cigarette toyed right around the lips of her pussy. The heat of it seemed to be drawing more and more juice out of the hot cunt.
"Now, let's try a little advanced bondage on you, slave," he hissed at her in an excited voice.
Her body started to shiver because of the heat she felt inside her cunt at that instant. Her husband used the ropes on her cunt and he actually bound her clitoris. It was complicated for him to do and it was something that he only did after reading instructions about it because he certainly didn't want to hurt his wife in any accidental way.
But, the flesh down there was very sensitive and he had found ways to make it even more sensitive.
Leaning over he started to lick at one of her tits. It began to grow immediately and then he started to bite and suck on it. He kept rubbing his teeth from one side to the other, almost as if he wanted to saw the tit right off her breast.
Her voice was a gasp as she said, "Please. I c-can't take it any. . . oooh."
He continued to suck hard on the tit for another long moment before he released the grasp of his teeth. Then, he immediately started to blow a breeze of cool air on her nipple.
She raised her body up a little bit through sheer force of will. She wanted to push her breast into his mouth because now he was teasing her mercilessly. But, he knew what he was doing. He managed to keep his lips poised an inch away from that nipple.
Then he turned his attention to her other breast. He sucked and then he blew on it, getting it erect and then getting it covered with excited gooseflesh.
Finally, he landed on top of her and pressed his weight down hard. He was humping her and using his cock in a hot and excited manner. He started to untie the bonds that held her clitoris, knowing that it was at a point of higher excitement than it had ever been.
But, before he fucked her, he took the small whip he had taken from the closet and raised it up.
"I'm going to get you heated up enough to take my cock and treat it well."
"Yes, master," Sarah said, her eyes right on him, obedient, made moist with passion.
"Four lashes," he said in a flat tone. "Even though you've been good and obedient, I'll have four lashes for you simply because you need to be reminded that you're my property."
Jim had no way of knowing the history of the bed. The only thing he knew was that as soon as he and his wife had looked at it they both wanted it for the same thing their games of bondage and discipline, the special spice that had made their married life so exciting for them.
There were nights when Sarah dominated Jim simply because the two of them enjoyed that and felt that they became better all-around lovers when they tried everything with each other.
Jim was feeling a special hardness in his cock because of the newness of the brass bed. He wondered what it would be like on the night that he would be tied to the bed, since he knew that night was not far away. But, for the time being, he was going to get all the pleasure he could out of Sarah's bondage.
He pressed himself down on top of his wife and he pushed the head of his dick right against the delicate pussy lips that had already been brought over the verge of excitement.
The bed had a good home. It was meant to be used for bondage and discipline and had always seemed like an obvious altar to those sensual rites. But, in the first sixty years of its existence it had been owned by people who couldn't deal correctly and lovingly with those feelings.
Now, as it entered the nineteen-eighties, the bed was owned by an attractive young couple who loved bondage and discipline and who were both willing to enjoy the thing they loved. No one was going to be hurt. No one was going to be forced to do anything except in pretending.
