Bound on Display

The dirty girl comes out, delivering summertime Friday night fun

Male/female - married - bondage - gagged - tied -submissive - punished

The naughty girl comes out, sometimes when I least expect it. Like this evening.

We had a nice dinner out, the first in weeks. It's beautiful summertime here, and I choose a fashionable sweeping sundress, strappy high heels, and chunky dangling earrings. My hair was up, in a way that kept me cool; it was also a stylish 'do that I knew he loved. We sat at the restaurant's lovely outdoor dining patio. I was the perfect good girl, enjoying a night out with my attentive, wonderful husband.

Scandalously, I felt a few hungry eyes on me, scrumptious looks from the surrounding male diners. That gave me a thrill. Maybe that was the seed.

Because soon the naughty girl came out. She waited until the wine in our glass was about one-third remaining, and then (bitch!) she carelessly moved our arm. The glass shattered on the bricks, liquid splashing, shards flying.

Oh, everyone was very nice about it. The young busboy swept it up with professional precision. The smiling waiter even gave me a free glass of wine. But my cheeks burned with embarrassment at the other patrons' stares. And the angry glare from my husband could only mean one thing, once we got home. I quickly drank the second glass, drowning inhibitions and preparing for the next phase of our evening.

At home, he was no-nonsense, stern in his direction to wait on the couch while he went upstairs. I didn't even loosen a high heel or remove an earring. I knew what was coming. What I deserved. Alone, I sat primly on my warm hands, my nipples stiffening in the lacy bra.

Bad girls need to be punished.

Oh there was a lot of rope! I prefer the leather cuffs; they are more comfortable on my thin wrists. Not an option that sultry night. He cinched my wrists together behind my back, and then wrapped more rope, wind after wind, halfway up my forearms. My arms were welded behind me.

"You embarrassed me and you embarrassed yourself," he hissed. He is a good man, my handsome husband. He is outwardly shy and I know he hates public spectacles. The naughty girl is well aware of that. I started to apologize, but from the aggressive tug of the ropes, any plea was pointless.

He pulled me across the room to a spot in front of our brick fireplace. Another rope went over a beam, and he worked it under my arms and armpits, then slightly hoisted me up.

Next was to tie my feet. I marveled at his use of the long thin cord, passing it under my arches, effectively tying my shoes to my feet, and binding my ankles together.

I was like a feminine bundle of laundry hanging from a peg. Defenseless, I was supported by the harness under my arms, standing erect on the balls of my feet. I could just slightly lean back on my thin high heels for added support.

"I tried to be good, honey. I dressed nicely for you and we had such a good time -"

"I'm not going to have you whining," he said, grabbing up the big red ball and straps. Within seconds, the ball was in my mouth seated behind my teeth. He set the straps under my dangling earrings, along my face. I was glad I had my hair up, as in the past he really fumbles with buckling the straps, even capturing and pulling my hair.

I was truly tied and gagged now, strung up, my arms behind me, ankles lashed together, and quite unable to make more than a whimper. He glared at me, then left the room. I twisted in my bondage, pulling, testing the ropes, and finding no relief at all. I was helpless, but there was more. I could feel the hotline that runs from my stiff tits down to my weeping, hungry pussy. I could feel my face flush.

Bad girls get what's coming to them.

My dear husband returned, this time with a cold beer in his hand. He flopped into his recliner, pointed the TV remote, and soon was running a filthy adult movie.

From my tied up vantage point, I could see it at an angle; I certainly heard it full force. In minutes, two harsh women with enormous breasts and bad fashion sense were sharing a bed. They began meticulously pawing each other over the strains of an awful musical score.

I twisted in my bondage, very aware that I was part of my husband's visual entertainment for the night. My pussy ached, weeping into the tiny thong panties I worn for him that evening. Unfortunately, my mouth was watering, too; I kept trying to hold my head back, to catch my own drool. But soon drool forced around the big ball, dripping onto my beautiful floral dress. So embarrassing for me.

I tried to be good, I really tried. But the naughty girl betrayed me. And naughty girls earn humiliation.

Abruptly, he got up and grabbed more rope. What was he going to do to me now? Length after length of cord passed above and below my breasts, and he pulled the ropes into a tight chest harness. My summery dress didn't unbutton on the front. If it had, my bare tits surely would be on display for my perverted man.

On the TV, the lucky blond had a breast jammed almost completely into the mouth of her brunette friend, who was simultaneously jacking fingers into the blonde's willing snatch. My pussy ached, I was aware of my own musky scent; certainly the glow on my forehead and face showed my helpless distress.

From a glance at my husband's summer weight trousers, he was very much enjoying himself.

My man deserved a good show. I found I could shuffle slightly and use the overhead rope to ensure my balance. I worked myself around slowly, giving my horny love the complete picture. With unbearable slowness, I shuffled in a clockwise pattern. Soon he saw me in profile, my bound tits forced out front, my arms trapped behind my back, holding my gagged mouth erect. More scuffling. Now the view from the back, as I twist my hands in my bondage to show him how tightly I am held. I moved from side to side, trying to give me a picture of my firm ass under the drapery of the sundress. He could see my thin heels from behind, and how perilous I was balanced upon them.

As I completed my rotation, he was rubbing the front of his trousers, a good old fashioned dry hump. If I continued my struggle, putting on a good show, how much longer would he last?

Of course our drapes were pulled shut. I wondered how thin the material was. Could a passerby just glance over and peer through and see the naughty girl on display? What if he rang the bell, to discuss the bad girl with my husband? Maybe he would ask to administer a swift spanking to the captive slave? Would my husband welcome him in, hand him a cold beer?

Changes on the TV now: one of the girls spread wide on the bed, the other knotting her wrists and ankles with long soft scarves. Then - the sounds of wet lapping, and delighted sighs and coos from the supposed prisoner.

But here he was up next to me again - how much damned rope did he have? First, he created a kind of loose belt around me. Then with slow handfuls, he bunched up my skirts ... up, up, up along my legs, and then over my waist. He lashed the mass off. Then, more rope between my legs, on either side of my puffy pussy. His efforts framed the white lacy thong panel. As he harnessed me, pungent wetness ran down my thighs.

I was his captive. I was completely trapped in my husband's demented Friday night fun house. I was unable to move arms or legs, my generous breasts harnessed, muzzled from speaking. My skirts pulled up over my waist, like some teen age whore, my panties on display. Yet my bodily fluids ran freely, betraying me: My face damp with sweat, tendrils of hair coming loose, sticking to my face. My own drool, seeping down my chin, dampening my dress top. And the most feminine of all, my personal wetness running down my legs and filling the room with its heady aroma.

He took a long swig of his beer, leered at me, then squeezed my breast between his strong fingers. I squealed accordingly. I'm sure he was showing me who was the boss. I would never argue the point.

Bad girls need to be punished.

He loosed his belt, and soon his trousers were draped over the back of the couch. His thick cock bobbed as he stood in front of me. On other days, the gag would come off and I would be servicing my husband with my hot willing mouth, arms bound behind me. But how could that happen, tied vertically as I was?

I could smell his beer breath as he drew closer to me, a hand on my ass, my tits pressing into his manly chest. His thick member pressed against my covered pussy, and slipped between my legs. My husband's florid face so near mine as he humped between my legs. I could only stand there and take it, his tightly bound slave. His dick felt good, sawing against my pussy. I cursed my fashion choices - I could have opted for no panties tonight! Why didn't I choose that cute skirt and blouse combination, which could be stripped from my frame and thrown across the room by now!

The girls in the movie had discovered a long fleshy toy and were happily working it in and out of each other's wet pussies. Their loud exclamations, and my husband's hands on my hot body, made me happily, frustratingly delirious.

He pulled away, scowled, and then spun me bodily towards the fireplace. He pressed me, tits against the cool brick, the ropes pulling tighter into my armpits. My cheek against the rough brick, his sticky dick pressed into my hand. I grasped it, arranged both hands around it, and rubbed my husband's member as best as I could. When I paid particular attention to the head, he sighed and huffed like he does when we are in a passionate embrace. On this night, my embrace came from a hundred feet of rope and the hard face of our decorative fireplace wall.

Now, a thick hand on my mound, skimming the front of my tiny panties, a sausage-like finger running across my very pursed pussy lips, seeking my angry puffy clit.

The other hand? At the back of my head - was he freeing my mouth finally? No, he simply hooked two meaty fingers under the strap, pulling the ball deeper into my mouth and controlling my head like a puppeteer.

I squealed under his touch, shaking my head, a desperate damsel playacting at trying to get away. All the while hungrily pulling at my husband's thick shaft with the best effort I had. I squeezed his rod, I cupped his drawn-up balls. And then - a mighty pulse in my hand. My reward? Hot sticky fluid on my hand, fingers and high on my ass, soon dripping and oozing down my cheeks and leg.

To his credit he didn't stop rubbing my clit. He whispered heatedly right up next to my ear, "this is what you get, this is what bad girls get." I wailed into my rubber gag as my body finally crested and unloaded a crashing sustained orgasm.

I slumped in my harness as he loosed the tie at my wrists. Then he turned off the TV, collect his trousers and left me in my sticky predicament, to untie myself. It took a few minutes of contortions and picking at his tight knots. Then I had my mess to clean: ropes to rewrap, ball gag to wash, cum to wipe away. A delightful wobbly punishment for a naughty slut.

Whenever company comes to visit, I admit to a dual thrill. My family and friends admire the beams overhead, and our striking fireplace. The good girl smiles, accepting the compliments. The naughty girl stays hidden, but her face reddens, and her pussy throbs ever so slightly.

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Likes or Constructive Comments always welcome

Also see:

Bound in the Attic

and

Bound for a Good Time