The Poker-Night Prize · Part 1

The Poker-Night Prize · Part 1 (1/2)
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One That son-of-a-bitch! That rotten bastard! When this is over, I swear I’m gonna choke him in his sleep! These wonderful sentiments, directed straight to my husband, went through my head, while I lay in a dimly lit room on a giant, shitty guest bed. Jeez, I can’t believe I let my folks and my friends try to sleep on this monstrosity. This was another intrusive thought that jumped in while I was trying to focus ALL my hate onto my husband of 14 years.

It was a Friday evening sometime in the summer. I liked Friday evenings in the summer, but I hated this particular one. This one was gonna go down as the Summer Friday She Went Crazy On Everyone in the House. You’ll see the full, bloody documentary on streaming channels soon.

The guest room was in the basement, and it was, until tonight, one of my favorite rooms. Our basement was fully finished recently, thanks to asshole-hubby, and he did a wonderful job on this room. He actually seemed to pay a little more attention to this room than he did to the rest of the basement, or the rest of the house, or the garden, or the lawn or anywhere else in recent days. My parents visited as soon as the basement was done, and they said the room was quiet and comfortable. Friends on their way to the coast stayed a night soon after and said the same.

There was nothing really special about the room. It had a small antique dresser, a comfy easy chair in the corner and a big, queen, four-poster bed from god-knows-where. Hubby found it, the prick. It was actually pretty nice, and god-damn, was it sturdy! Must have weighed a ton. I remember when he brought it home, he would NOT let me help. It was in pieces, and he was a sweaty, cranky mess when he finally set it and put it together. I remember nuts, bolts, brackets and other hardware on the hallway floor while he grunted and cursed through a closed door. I noticed a lot of wire and cable, too, but I thought it just needed a lot of reinforcement or something.

So, there I laid, on a bed that could support an elephant, with a dim lamp throwing soft light and shadows across a small, elegant room. It could have been charming and restful, except for the GIANT, RED BALL GAG stuck in my mouth, strapped there with tight leather thongs buckled both on my face and harshly at the back of my neck and also under my chin. My wrists and elbows were smashed together and tied tightly with white cotton rope. My ankles and legs, above and below the knees, were also snugly tied with more rope and cinched to keep tender spots from rubbing.

More fucking rope was looped neatly around me, above and below my tits, and over my shoulders, pinning my arms and pulling my shoulders back so my rack stuck out. The last piece of rope was pulling my legs bent behind me with my ankles connected to my wrists, looped several times for strength. Hogtied, I was, ladies and gentlemen, by the man I married, and who will soon be either in a hospital or a cemetery. If I get free, that is.

I was taking a break from struggling to think my murder-husband-thoughts and admire the “outfit” my husband chose for me. I also thought back to how the evening began. I had started the evening earlier in a flimsy bath robe, getting ready to shower, when I was playfully wrestled to the ground and tickled by my man-child husband. This play happened only occasionally, and when it did, I fought and laughed and squealed and immediately lost all my strength, which wasn’t much. I was an attractive, petite brunette with a toned body and great, fake tits, but the running and Pilates had never made me strong, just tight. He had me by half a foot and a hundred pounds. He worked out. His job demanded fitness and strength. He conquered me easily. I was toast. I was also very turned on.

He had me on my stomach. He was on his knees and he held me down with one hand and jerked the bath robe belt off first and then the bath robe. Whoop! Gone. He then took the belt and both my wrists, put them all together, behind my back, and easily tied me up in a flash. Then he grabbed one ankle, brought it behind me and thwip! tied that up to my wrists. I laid there, panting and giggling with hands and foot tied and one leg bouncing around. We’d played these games before. I usually got annoyed, sometimes angered by his incredible strength, but also seriously aroused. I was very sensitive everywhere and not slow to orgasm.

He rolled me over onto my back, kissed me, and stroked my face and neck, moving down my chest to play with a nipple and squeeze a breast. Then, he asked if we could play dress up. I was uncomfortable, but getting in the mood quickly, so I said sure, big guy, knock yourself out.

He jumped up and ran to the closet. Coming back, he had a pink sack and my black leather heels, the 5-inch stilettos with the platforms and thin ankle straps. Weird, but okay. I never thought he had interest in my footwear. He dumped out the bag next to me, got down and untied my ankle, thankfully. Untie my hands and let’s get it on! He didn’t. I saw a new pair of black fishnet stockings, a garter, and something else. A flimsy bra, maybe? My girls were D-cup (okay, C-cup) and needed some beefy support, but whatever.

He was excited as he fumbled with the lingerie. He was actually pretty good at putting the stockings on me and the feeling was sexy and erotic. They fit perfectly. He slipped on the garter and clipped the stockings on like a pro, nicely handling my upper thighs and ass way too much. This also got me hot, and a little wet. I wanted my hands free, dammit. They were under me, and I needed them to take hold of my guy’s cock, rock-hard now in his little gym shorts, and jam it inside me for a few hours.

He took the last thing, which was indeed a little black bra and pulled me up to sit. He got behind me and, again like an expert, wrapped it over my tits and under my bound arms and clipped it. The thin straps went over my shoulders and clipped home in the back. Whoa, wait a minute. This thing was different. The thin, mesh, see-though cups had nipple holes! This was new. My husband was a pervert! A pervert with great taste in lingerie and a skilled hand in putting it on. I became as suspicious as I was horny. The bra felt exquisite and fit perfectly as well. Open air on my hard nipples was new and pleasurable. He got up and looked at me with wide, hungry eyes. He said he had to watch a lot of online videos to learn how to do this. Okay, I wasn’t suspicious anymore, just extremely aroused. Good boy! Now untie me and let’s fuck and then let me shower. Jeez!

Things took a turn at this point. When I said my guy looked at me with hungry eyes, I was not kidding. He looked as if he had really, really great plans for me, and he did. He grabbed me by my upper arms and stood me up. He grabbed the shoes by the straps and then whoop! Lifted me over his shoulder and headed out of the bedroom like a thief. My head swam and all I could get out of my mouth was, “HEY, WHOA!” Down to the new basement we went, my hands were still tied.

I was shocked and startled and a little pissed as we headed down the stairs. I kicked and bucked a little bit, but the man had hold of me like a sack of marshmallows. The last thing I saw as we headed to the guest bedroom was a round, green table set in the middle of our awesome basement rec room – a poker table with poker chips and poker cards and all the shit. That particular Friday was motherfucking Poker Night. Into the bedroom we went, and the door slammed shut behind us.

Two Hubby threw me (okay, he set me) down on the firm bed and I worked to get in position to speak some “stern” words to him. I didn’t want to talk (curse) on my stomach, or lying on my back, but my bound hands limited how I could move. As I squirmed to sit or maybe kneel and face the asshole, he was also working on something under the bed. A black duffle bag hit the bed next to me as I sat up and tried to get my hair out of my face. As I faced my husband, I noticed he had something in his hand, some sort of gear. The only words I got out were, “WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” He was on me in an instant.

It happened fucking fast. I suppose the dickhead was watching more than lingerie-selection and stockings-installation videos. Add bondage, rigging and ropework to his fucking playlist. He reached for me and got the back of my head and thrust a red rubber ball into my mouth. It pushed past my teeth and stuck there. Before I could even think about blowing it out or pushing it out with my tongue, he had the leather straps behind my head and buckled loosely. I fell over, shook my head, but he was over me and got the strap tightened against my neck. It pulled on my hair painfully, but he gently but firmly pulled my hair away and out of my face. Done yet, asshole? Nope.

With the strap now against my neck and under my hair, he tightened the fucker one or two more notches. It was tight and big and slick. It pressed my tongue down and tasted like a balloon. I shouted for him to go fuck himself and all that came out was bubbly mush. I was silenced.

The gag had little buckles everywhere, so hubby got to work buckling a leather thong across my mouth down to my chin, buckled on each side. Then came the fucking strap that went under my chin, buckled again on the other side, and made me chomp down on the ball, silencing me further.

Wanna know how I felt about being gagged like that? Ooh, boy. I was a small woman with a big voice. I had brothers, so I had a loud potty mouth. I had sisters, so I was a snotty, petty bitch. When dear-heart slid that last gag buckle home, and moved away from me, I spat, I hissed, I growled, I spewed volumes of profanities in seconds. My head rolled and my hands writhed behind me. He only stared at me for a second, then got back to work.

Mr. shoe-salesman then brought up my shoes and, with the tenderness of a toilet-paper angel, had them nicely on each foot. He asked me if the straps were too tight. Aw, you sweet man! You sweet ballsack motherfucker bastard asshole! They weren’t too tight; they looked great with the fishnets.

The bastard only said one thing to me as miles and miles of rope were wrapped all over the fucking place. All of it on me. “I Love You. Stay With Me.” I was finally tied up and gagged, with no hope of getting free. My bondage was secure, tight but forgiving, comfortably-annoying. I was excited and pissed, and horny, and enraged, and wet, and hot and tingly. I bet I looked insanely good.

This is where you first found me. There I was. I hadn’t moved much. Couldn’t. Ass-hat had checked every knot and buckle for tightness and just left the room, mumbling “Just a sec, forgot something.”

The man was a rigging-wizard. I bucked and squirmed and squealed and then got quiet remembering the poker table. Were we gonna play fucking cards now? Dumb thought. He returned with a box in his hand. He removed the contents onto the bed near me and then made world-record time preparing, inserting and attaching things, onto me, and into me. I just laid there, stunned.

First, he squeezed a packet of lube onto a little egg thingy with a wire coming out one end. Bang! He grabbed my waist, pulled me close and SHOT that thing right into my wet pussy. I wailed. I was lucky. It landed in just the right spot. He took two small, blue, round things that looked like little flying saucers and dropped a bit of lube into each. He powered each one on with a tiny “click”, then pulled me up and stuck one on each nipple, right through pretty nipple-holes in the bra. They stuck to me like super-glued pasties. They covered my small, dark areolas, and each nipple popped right into the tiny, oiled cup. Perfect fit! The jackhole was 4-for-4 (hose, garter, bra, and gag ball), the shoes were mine.

I really started to struggle then. The ropes didn’t cut or bind, anywhere. They’d get tight only when I pushed or pulled. The cotton rope gave nicely but held. I craned my neck, arched my back, thrust my groin back and forth and wagged my feet, all while pleading and moaning into the gag. I rolled onto my belly, and the “nipple-bots” and the magic egg made themselves known. A wire tickled my thigh and doofus muttered “oh, yeah, forgot”. He picked up a small box at the other end of the wire and clicked it on. Hello!

The egg-vibe jumped and purred inside me. I jerked and squealed. My hands shot toward to pull this little monster out of me, but they went nowhere. I thrust my pelvis and clenched my (fine) butt cheeks. I sucked some air and just then each nipple-bot shot a tiny spark of electricity inside the nip-cap. I jerked and squealed again! Oh fuck, what was I in for?

Dingus whispered “we invented the nipple pods at work in the lab. They’ll send random pulses of stuff to your titties, there. I’ll be back soon. Enjoy. And he left me there. What a dick-munch.

Three I was furious and I struggled as hard as I could howling and cursing through my gag. This didn’t last. I calmed down mostly because I had two burning questions rattling through my gagged, fevered head: Why is this making me so fucking horny? And is he gonna play poker with the buds all night while I’m in here tied up and gagged?

I checked all of my bondage to find a starting point to work on. I had to stop several times to let the eggy-vibe hum on one or two hot-buttons inside me. The fucking thing was half-annoying, half-heaven. It didn’t have enough rumble to make me come, though, goddammit. The tit-bots, however, were even more delicious. Each one shot a mild shock, randomly, to one of my rock-hard nips, or both at the same time, which was breath-taking. In between the shockers, a tiny vibe would buzz the whole disk sending lovely waves of pleasure through my whole body. My husband was great at doing all those wonderful things to my tits, too, with his sucking, plucking, gentle bites and strong tongue. This was almost better. I could have tried to scrape them off somehow, but I thought, nah, wait until later.

Despite my struggles, the bondage held. Screams and profanity out of my gag were replaced with soft, ache-full moaning and an occasional “please”, “c’mon dude” and “oh, fuck”. The pussy vibes were nice, but NOT NEAR INTENSE ENOUGH to get me there, even though I usually come easily. “dip-shit didn’t turn it up enough” was both a frequent thought and statement through the gag. I’d squirm, shake and thrust in my bondage, to see if the vibe could land somewhere good and get me off, but no.

I got angry. Why was I so horny and desperate to come, while I writhed around bound and gagged? Hubbo and I were still fairly passionate lovers, for the most part, when we had the time, and the energy. On vacation, sometimes, we would play with sex toys. The last bondage scene we had was vanilla compared to this. He tied me simply with a hotel bathrobe belt, tossed me up on the counter, and ate me out while tickling me with a small vibrator we bought at a gas station. The man could eat pussy. I came easily, and we stripped and jumped in the shower. It was fun. He said he loved it.

I was fucking tied up sooo much more now, but I admit, I had the same feelings now, that I had then, feeling my body get rocked with my hands tied. Now, I was bound tightly, with my most sensitive areas completely vulnerable to any stimulation. Ropes and leather entwined my body, which was covered in the sexiest things I had ever worn. I was gagged so tightly that no amount of arguing, pleading, crying or vitriol could save me. My senses and nerves were turned way, way up.

I was embarrassed at myself, and I started struggling again while the vibes had their fun. The eggy was doing okay but WAS NOT STRONG ENOUGH. The control box was tucked into one of my stockings. Yes, I tried to reach it a hundred times. I would have sucked my fuckwad husband’s beautiful, little cock so hard right now, if he would just turn the fucking thing up to 11!

Speak of the devil. He stepped in quietly and stood at the bed. “Goddamn you look good, Babe.” That’s it. I struggled to move toward him instead of away. I filled my lungs with enough air to blast him into the back yard. My whole body rippled with tension. I flexed my bound limbs in their ropes. He said quietly, “I have something to tell you.” And, Ka-BOOM!

His voice. As soon as I heard him speak, I CAME like a wild animal in a trap. A sharp wave of euphoria shot out from my crotch to my chest and out my mouth, making me shouted OH SHIIIIT into the ball gag and it came out like a long, desperate moan. Just then, the nipple-bots got both nips with a jolt and Ka-BAM! another come-wave traveled backward, through my tits, down to my ass and I farted. I didn’t fucking care. I’d had a LOT worse orgasms in my day. My pussy convulsed and I peed a tiny bit. Whoa. That was pretty fucking good. It was a multi-gasm, the result of everything that had happened to me to that point! His voice, his sexy underwear and shoes for me, his ropes and his bondage, his hungry excitement and his desire to please me. His strong hands treating me roughly. Delicious tremors ran from my head to my toes. Nice one.

I was spent, despite the pussy egg buzzing away. “Wow, cool,” the dipwad said. I panted and sagged. He reached down and took the egg box from my stocking and turned it off, then pulled the mischievous little fucker out of me with a squish. He popped the bots off my nips with a flick. Then he gave me his story.

Honeybunch told me flatly that the boys were on their way over to play some cards. He was “kinda” in debt to them from his latest losing streak, so he proposed that the winner tonight gets ME, and his debt gets erased. He said they all think I’m a smokin’ hottie, so they’ll be playing for real tonight. He asked if I particularly liked any of them, and I went fucking A-Bomb ballistic on his ass.

I bounced on the bed in my bondage and howled objections through my gag. I was sure I had the mad-woman strength to snap rope and rip leather. Tendons in my neck stood out as I pulled and yanked on my bonds. Nothing. I was 100% his, or, I guess, 100% theirs. Now you know why there was so much name-calling.

He reached over and turned on the bedroom overhead lamp. My cute-ass room was awash in bright light. I squinted and tried to get small. Buttwipe said “Holy shit you really look good tied up like that. The dudes are gonna loooooove you. WTF?! What fucking dudes? I moaned again, dropped to my side, then stopped short. He had his motherfucking cellphone out. Clish! Cli

The Poker-Night Prize · Part 1 (1/2)
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