The Poker-Night Prize · Part 2 (2/2)
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sh! I was going to literally die.
He brought the phone up to my face. I shut my eyes. I swore then that I would never, ever, ever look at myself tied up and gagged this way, then I opened my eyes and looked at the photo hard. I saw a woman in black lingerie and white rope everywhere. I saw lovely tight legs in gorgeous high heels, the ropes making great curves even better. I saw big, frightened eyes, flushed cheeks, and a face half-covered in leather and buckles. Hair everywhere. Round tits held by soft mesh, nipples out, hard, and yearning. Sweat and shine in all the right places. Shitbrains was right, I looked sexy and firm. Any man would want me. Oh yeah! The picture made me forget for a second that I was soon gonna get majorly doinked by one, or more, of my husband’s FUCKING POKER BUDDIES!
Anger and fear rushed back into me like I was set on fire. I was getting ready to start the big fuss, when he grabbed me and pushed me onto my belly. I decided to stab him with one of my high heels, but I was hogtied, so I just waggled my feet in the air, heels to the sky. I caught a glimpse of my feet and they looked spectacular. White rope on the ankles, black fishnets, and high, black leather pumps is one sexy sight.
Doofus took a pair of curved stout scissors from his pocket and SNICK! Cut the hogtie rope. My feet fell to the bed. I was flat again. My leg-ropes loosened a bit and that also felt good. He rolled me roughly onto my back and shoved me around until I was in the center of the bed. Weird again. My arms were pinned under me, and the other ropes made my tits stick out and up. The air on my nipples was great. I was starting to feel better when Buttkiss looked at me and said, “don’t fight me. I gotta get you set up.” Just what in holy hell did that mean?
His scissors went SNICK! And the ropes on my ankles were severed. The duffel bag appeared some time ago, and he reached in and brought out two leather cuffs. Oh, fuck no! He had them buckled firmly on each ankle in no time. My knee ropes wouldn’t let me get away. He grabbed one ankle and moved to the bed post. Reaching down the post, he fiddled and brought forth a snap hook on a cable! As he pulled, the cable click-click-clicked. He pulled just enough to SNAP the hook onto the ring on my ankle strap. He reached down again and I heard a louder CLICK.
He cut away my knee ropes, which felt good. He moved to the other bedpost. My other foot tried to commit murder as my leg kicked out at the bastard. He caught my ankle easily. I was pathetic. Again, a magic cable and hook appeared out of thin air and got right the fuck onto my cuff. He admired his handiwork. My ankles were secure but not tightly stretched out. That would come later. My legs were wide open. I’m small, the bed was big. Bad things could now be done easily to my poor little cunt, and there was nothing I could do about it. Even through the shock of being spread-eagled on a giant bed with leather cuffs and a cable system that had been installed inside a FUCKING BED, I looked at my cuffed feet in heels and thought they were even sexier than with the white rope. I was fucking hopeless.
After grabbing two more cuffs from the bag, dirtball sat me up, cut the rope from my wrists and buckled on the cuffs after some weak fighting from me. My elbows were still tied tight. He messed with the left bedpost and yep, a cable and snap and a loud CLICK and I was hooked. Right side bedpost, exactly the same. I sat there partially cuffed and partially tied and he walked to the end of the bed, took out a remote from the bag and dropped the bag on the floor. With the remote in one hand and his scissors in the other. He looked at me and said “Don’t struggle, you could get hurt.” Then he went around to my back and cut elbow rope and chest ropes. I was now rope-free but cuffed, and my favorite face-eater leather and rubber fucking gag stayed on. Yay! He clicked the remote and I almost lost my mind.
An electric motor kicked on under the bed and the cables jerked and began to retract. I was being stretched. My weird guest bed was an automated, kinky, winch-powered, bondage torture platform! The cables and cuffs moved slowly toward the corners of the bed, and I knew immediately that any resistance from me would be futile. I laid on my back and brought my feet and arms as close to me as possible. Fuck. There was not enough slack for me to try and unbuckle anything. I was surprised how heavy and black and ugly and leather-smelly the cuffs were. They were snug on my limbs but not constricting. I could tell that they would not give to any strength I had, nor would they allow me to slip or slither out of them. They kept moving to the bedposts, spreading me out, and I pleaded through the gag. Doctor Evil watched, amazed, and held the remote pointed right at me.
Nope. Never. I had never in my life been tied and spread onto a bed with bondage gear. I had no previous experience in the complete and utter vulnerability of this experience. I was dressed seductively from head to toe, displayed for any man or woman to have complete access to my entire body. Even my (fine) ass could be violated in this position, if a person wanted to badly enough. My excellent gag made sure that whatever pain or torment befell me, my objections would be stifled to nothing more than breathy moans and grunts. Oh, man, the emotions I had made me dizzy.
The remote in my husband’ hand apparently could control each cable. My arms were spreading out faster than my legs and I was just about fully spread. Then, the mad scientist worked each cable separately with the fucking remote, pulling me here and there until, at long last, I was firmly spread-eagle in the center of the bed. There was very little play in my limbs. I jerked and pulled and wriggled, huffing and growling. I glared at the man, slicing him open with my eyes. Was I pissed off? Most definitely. Was I scared? Yes, mostly thinking about his comment about other men having me. Was I in pain? Not even a little bit. Was I aroused, horny, and turned on? Yes! I won’t lie, yes, all of those, so fuck you and fuck him.
Speaking of fuck him, the sumbitch had his phone out again and Clish! Clish! Well, don’t just stand there asshole, lemme look at the fucking pics! Again, I saw an exceptionally sexy woman spread out on a bed in fuck-me clothes and shoes. My tits looked awesome in the bra, not sagged to the sides like if I was braless. The angry look in my eyes was hot, and I wished I could see my whole face. The gag did push my cheeks in and up a bit and I suppose it looked pretty sexy. Yes, I made him show me both pics for comparison. I’m not stupid.
I wanted to be set free from the bondage as much as I wanted to be hard fucked and groped without mercy. My first orgasm earlier was physical and emotional, which was great. It was like a really tasty cocktail, and those usually made me want another, stronger one. I squirmed in my bonds. I was still a little wet and tingly down there, which surprised me. I looked at hubby with pleading eyes and thought “c’mon dude, fuck me, eat me, do something”. He was going for something else under the bed. He said “the boys’ll be here soon. These might be fun while you wait.” Fat chance, asshole.
I flailed and kicked as he dropped more gizmos on the bed. Two more fresh nipple-bots, a bit thicker this time, some nylon straps and a shiny black thing. It was vibrator size, but oddly shaped. Like a thin, tall, wide-brimmed little top-hat! The brim was about a quarter inch thick. “We invented it in the lab at work.” What do you fucks do all day, jack off and vibe each other?
It was wiggly, like silicone. It wasn’t rigid like a rabbit. It seemed floppy and pliable. The cylindrical (hat) plug stuck out from the middle of the oval shaped (brim) flat piece at the base. I had no earthly idea how it would feel inside me, but I knew it was going in. This is gonna blow!
Madman got to work. Lube here and there, clippy’s on the nippy’s and the black top-hat thing right the fuck straight into my hole. A nylon strap went around my waist. Another velcro’d at the back, then down between my legs and up and velcro’d there. Black Thingy was now plastered to my crotch, with the black base nestled firmly on my pussy lips and the squishy plug pretty far up in there. I was disappointed. At least a rabbit could reach to my clit. Your invention sucks, genius. I growled and fought the whole time, but the bondage didn’t give one inch. Bip! Boop! The shocks and quick-vibes to my hard (again) and tender nipples were stronger than before, and even more enjoyable. Then the black bastard fired on, when hubby dubby clicked his remote. I had no idea.
I do love a good vibrator. I have two. I keep a little one in my purse, for when I’m out. A quick buzz on the clitoris, in the car or in my office, helps make a bad day better. I have a bigger one in my bathroom that I use while sitting on the toilet. I work that thing hard with both hands, in and out and all around. I come, I do my business, and I move on. I think of my husband’s hard body and, well, his smaller-sized but very capable cock, most of the time.
My body froze when the black-bomb quickly warmed up. It jumped into action with what I guessed were a billion moving parts. I screamed into my gag and hubby said “Awright, I guess it’s working. See you in a few.”
A few what, hours? days? You idiot. My last coherent thought was that I would have a heart attack if anyone besides hubby-kins came through that door.
There was no more thinking for me. Blacky and the botsy’s were in full stimulation mode. I was pinned and spread and gagged for the rest of my short life. I pulled and squirmed and moaned. My nipples and areolas were stiff. The bra held my tits up in front of me, and I watched them jiggle with each bite of electricity. The sensation was blinding. I wished for a pillow so I could watch more.
Blacky was also quite a ride. The thing moved inside me like it was trapped and wanted out. Knobs and pokers and vibrations and pulses rippled throughout my dripping wet pussy making me sigh and cry and grunt. I was being fucked by a tiny man in a black rubber bag. It was beyond intense. But it was not all blacky had in store for me. Remember, the oval base? The hat brim? Covered my lips? Stuck to me like glue? It was fucking possessed as well.
Zing! While the plug inside me did somersaults, the base came alive and massaged my outer spots like twenty little fingers, kneading me. They were searching, going around and back and forth trying to find the right spot and goddammit, they found it. Once there, it went into overdrive. Oh, shit. Oh my gawd, it’s there, just there, right there, oh SHIT OH FUCK MY CLIT IT’S GOT MY CLIT IT’S THERE OH JESUS! Thumping, buzzing, probing, vibing, sprays of pleasure hit me like a freight train. I threw my legs wide, thrust my ass in the air and sang into my gag.
I have a rather hooded little button. It’s not the easiest thing to find; it doesn’t stick out when it’s engorged. I don’t know how the blacky-base found it, but I really didn’t give a shit at the moment as
Blast after blast of mechanical pleasure ripped through my loins. I usually have a quick orgasm. Penetration gets me off just fine, when I’m in the mood and have some control over who’s doing the penetrating. Clitoris-play is a little better for me. The right touch or rub there can get my motor running no matter what mood I’m in. The right attention there with a finger, then two, then a tongue, can get me off multiple times. Yes, my husband always worked clitoral magic on me. He was the best, the gold-medal, clit-master. Shut up. He was still on my black list.
The black pussy-rocker now had my full attention. I squealed and squirmed in a sweaty fervor and, no matter what, the little black clit-destroyer never left my sweet spot and did not let up. I dug my heels into the bed to get leverage, but I was too stretched to get anywhere. I wanted my hands free so badly, not to escape, but to squeeze my tits and feel the goosebumps all over my body. Minutes flew like hours. A nuclear orgasm was building inside of me, I could feel it, but my bondage was holding it back, despite the fire-hose shower of stimulation smacking my tits and my cunt.
At that point, all of my husband’s poker buds could have busted into the guest bedroom, jumped on me and had their fucking way. Freddy, please rip this gag off and I’ll suck you dry. Gilbert, stick that thick, uncircumcised cock your girlfriend raves about, right in my ass and do not stop ramming. Christopher, you can have my tits for dinner. Get those rough, dirty, car-mechanic’s hands on me NOW. I was oblivious to everything, and was gonna come hard enough to bring the kitchen upstairs down on my head. The neighbors on both sides and across the street were gonna see this house crumple in on itself. I was close.
I was drenched with sweat from the struggle and the vibes and the nasty, sexy thoughts that invaded my mind. I relaxed, caught my breath, closed my eyes and decided to let the machines bring me home. I was in pre-cum delirium, when I heard cuff-master hubby at the bedroom door say loudly “She’s in here, dude! C’mon, she’s all set up for ya!”
The fuck!? Are you fucking serious? Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You’re really going through with this shit? I’m not ready for this! You’re messing with me, right?
I struggled to get my arms free with all my meager strength.
I didn’t want this!
I kicked and pulled my legs as hard as I possibly could.
Did I want this?
I stared at the door dreading (waiting) for it to open. Fearing (wanting) to see who won poker night, who was going to have me.
Will I know him? Shut the fuck up. Will he be hotter than my husband? I said shut up!
I bawled into my gag like I just lost a dog or my best friend.
Oh please! I do not want one of those men to come in here and FUUUUUUUUCK! A tsunami tidal wave of orgasm picked me up, crushed me into a ball, and tossed me against the side of a mountain! I went blind and deaf. I saw stars and angels. I bucked and thrust and bounced, gasping for air. The next wave sent me floating from the moon back to earth on a cloud of euphoria. After that, sweet spasms and a dull post-cum throb. I was a puddle. A wet lump in bondage and great lingerie. I was going to faint.
I fainted. Passed right the fuck out. My dear husband heard the come-ruckus begin and quietly slipped into the room while I visited heaven and had an orgasm in front of everyone up there. When I was spent, he turned the vibes off, and the sudden quiet allowed me to go nighty night.
I woke up just as my gag was being unbuckled. The ball slid out and I worked my jaw and took in air. The cables were slack and I let hubby undo the cuffs. I was free. He even unbuckled my heels and slid them off. I curled up on my side, amazed at how sexually satisfied I was. I was chilled and clammy from sweat, slobber, tears and cum. Hubs threw a blanket over me and said “Hot bubble bath waitin’ upstairs for ya, Babe.
The journey upstairs to my bathtub was weird as fuck. I was dizzy and wobbly. I kept thinking I would see men watching me, but the basement, and the house, was quiet and empty. After stripping and stepping into my tub, my senses and emotions slowly came back to me.
My pussy ached enough to distract my thoughts, though. Only a severe period or thumping orgasm gave me that sensation. My wrists and ankles were a bit raw, but nothing too painful or ugly. The bath water on my nipples and areolas told me that they would be sore for a while. Did I care? I was plenty upset about the humiliation, the lack of respect and the rough treatment. However, the thoughts about how my body responded to all that confused the hell out of me. I wanted to talk to someone about this. Spill my guts. Let it all out to anyone other than my husband.
So, into the bathroom walked my husband. His story actually cleared up a LOT of stuff inside me. He said his crew at work in the lab invented some “toys” based on some robotic shit they were doing. Technical blah, blah, mechanical blah. He got turned on big-time by the thought of using some inventions on me. A close colleague of his (a seriously handsome and sexy guy) told him of the bondage exploits he and his third wife (major hottie) got into with the toys, so hubby wanted that kind of scene, too.
Well, why the fuck didn’t you tell me you wanted a bondage scene? Why sneak up on me like a criminally-insane maniac? Do you know how that made me feel, you pig? He said, “yeah, but he told me several times that the shock, surprise and fear factor would get you really tuned, so the gear would work better. The toys sense heartbeat and pulse and temperature and shit. They get more active the more your body gets active. Plus, jeez, Babe, you looked good enough to eat. You came, right? You got your rocks off?
“Maybe.” I lied. My pussy spasmed in the bath water. Yeah, maybe five or six times hard enough to scramble my guts and shake my “rocks” into dust. I immediately had two thoughts. One, poker night was a complete stage-show to get me “tuned” to think I was gonna get gang-banged by a bunch of dudes after being nabbed, dressed, bound and gagged. Two, I suppose there are other wives (and girlfriends and mistresses) out there being tied up, shocked, scared, gagged and wonderfully assaulted by little sex-bots from my husband’s fucking work lab. Okay, I could accept all that.
I washed and jammied-up while he made me an omelet and a big, cold glass of white wine. I was quiet and pouty with him while we sat at the kitchen table and looked at each other like we had just met and found each other extremely attractive.
I slept hard that night, with dreams of suffocating, masturbating, and grocery shopping in the nude. I quickly got over being mad at the hubby, probably because, for the next few days, I wore that slutty, slinky, excellent, awful bra with the nipple holes, under my work clothes. Every time my nipples were brushed or tweaked under my blouse, I thought about poker night, and got steamy. I loved my husband and I hoped we could really build on that experience.
Until, that is, I found out the bastard had video-taped the entire FUCKING SCENE, using SEVERAL CAMERAS, showing me AT ALL ANGLES and all stages of being a BOUND, GAGGED ORGASM QUEEN! Oh yeah, and he jerked off to it any and every chance he got. Still does, the prick. I want to kill him.
Or, I could get some revenge…
END
The Poker-Night Prize · Part 2 (2/2)
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