The Misadventures of Mrs. Taken

Commanding her gaze, I waved to the various items on the bedside table veiled by the black satin drape. In movements so slow they were almost painful, I pulled back the drape for her to see exactly what I had in store for her. "Pick one," I said in the deepest, huskiest voice I could muster.

Pick one? I eyed the items on display and wondered just exactly what Jack had planned for each and every one of them. Some of the items were obvious. In this day and age, who didn't know where a dildo went? Others were a little less clear as to exactly what their purpose was. But, I couldn't help it, in a moment as serious as this seemed to be, my eyes landed on the spatula with the red ribbon tied to the handle, and upon seeing it, I cracked a smile. Nope, I wasn't going there, not with a kitchen spatula anyway. But, he was asking me to choose the means of my own destruction. What would it be? The miniature vibrator? The eight-inch purple sex toy? The nipple clamps? Ice? The flogger? The tube of something slippery? The blindfold? The handcuffs? How was I going to decide?

Going completely into character mode and pulling upon every literary piece of smut I had ever read, I cast my eyes to the floor. "Perhaps, you should decide what I deserve, Sir."

At the breathy exhale of the word Sir from Janie's lips, my heart pounded. That was all the permission I needed to do what I wanted to do. Gathering up the red ribbon that had secured the box shut, I took her wrist in my hand. The bed was old and made of thick wood. The four posts gleamed dully in the dim candlelight. I really wanted to make this a birthday neither one of us would forget. "Your safe word is Abigail."

"Abigail? That's my mom's name."

"Yeah, and nothing is as effective at getting me out of the mood as the mention of your mother. Now be quiet and give me your wrist."

"You're tying me up?"

"Yes." I wrapped the red satin ribbon around Janie's slender wrists and lifted her hands above her head. Figuring out where to tie her was easy. The four-poster bed made an excellent hitching post. Janie was skittish and nervous, her skin rippling beneath my fingertips as I inched my fingers up to check the slipknot.

My heart was pounding. Where was Jack? The Jack I knew at any rate. Who was this imposter that had replaced my usually mild mannered husband? It was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers meets Fifty Shades of Grey. My mind was racing almost as fast as my heart. I really didn't expect this BDSM experiment to go as far as it had. I most certainly did not anticipate getting tied to my very own bedpost with the ribbon off my birthday present.

There was a book I'd read a long time ago about a woman who was handcuffed by her husband. I couldn't remember how the book ended, but I remembered he'd had a heart attack after handcuffing her. He was dead in the floor and she was handcuffed to the bed and could not get free. I could not imagine the humiliation of being discovered by my kids dressed like I was, tied to the bedpost, and with the assortment of kinky toys Jack had on display on the nightstand. "Jack, what if you have a heart attack or something? I need to be able to get loose."

"It's a slipknot. You can free yourself anytime you want. But, the question is, do you really want to?" I asked. Janie nibbled her lip in contemplation as if she really were going to make a run for it. I had been so sure she would be into this that I hadn't considered the possibility. She had asked me to choose an object from the nightstand, so I did. I clicked on the vibrator and ran it down the valley between her breasts. "Do you, Janie? Do you want me to stop?"

What did I want? I had been fantasizing about this for years. I had read every erotic romance novel I could discreetly get my hands on. The scenarios were trapped in my head and here he was, Jack, in the flesh and so ready and willing to bring them to life. I trusted my husband, after thirty years as man and wife, how could I not? In bed, I had always been unrestrained and free to do as I pleased. Could I give over complete control to the man I trusted most in the entire world and if I couldn't what did that say about me and about us?

The buzzing of the vibrator over first one nipple and then the other was maddening. I curled my toes into the pointed tips of my shoes and took a deep breath. Jack was patient with me, but then again, he always had been the patient one out of the two of us. The word Abigail was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. Did I want him to stop? Yes, a part of me did, but no, the bigger part of me did not.

I could see the wheels of my wife's mind turning and turning. She could change gears faster than a Ferrari on an open stretch of deserted highway. Did she want me to stop? I suppose, in a way she did. Did she want me to keep going? Well, wasn't that up to me to convince her? I clicked off the vibrator and tossed it to the floor. Running my fingertips along her thighs and stretching my long fingers, just barely tickling all those places I knew she liked for me to tickle, I asked, "Tell me what you want, babe. Green light or red light? It's up to you."

"Green," I gasped bucking my hips against the assault of his fingertips along my inner thigh. "Green." He chuckled at me in that masculine, cocky way of his that reminded me so much of the boy of eighteen I'd fallen in love with so many years ago.

"That's my girl."

I started out slow, just getting Janie used to the idea of being restrained and myself in no small measure used to restraining her. The miniature vibrator did short work of getting the party started, but I didn't think she was ready for bigger and better things just yet. I took my time loosening the corset and working the clasps free. I always was a planner of sorts, not to the efficiency of Janie, but I had chosen a corset with both laces and closures out of simple convenience of getting her naked faster.

There was something to be said for slow though. She was wiggling, closing her fingers into tight fists, and I hadn't even begun to touch her, really touch her, yet. I had to admit I was enjoying the hell out of being the one to set the pace and drive it to where I wanted to go. I worked one breast free and got busy on the other. Janie's nipples were taut and firm against the pads of my fingers. It seemed I wasn't the only one who liked my being in control. Taking one of those ripe peaks between my teeth I worried at the sensitive flesh until she leaned heavily against me and panted in time with the passing of my tongue over her nipple.

We had always been the quiet type in the bedroom. With two kids and a ranch style house with all the bedrooms stacked on top of each other. You learn to be quick about taking your pleasure and you learn to be quiet about it. Well, the kids were grown and we had no particular reason to be quick or quiet any more. Once in a while things would get a little noisy and tonight, that was where I wanted her. I wanted her noisy and shouting all the things a man needs to hear from his wife.

I lifted her leg and positioned her foot on the edge of the bed and damn, was that a beautiful sight. My wife bound by the wrists to the bedpost by a red satin ribbon, her lips plump and swollen from my kiss, and her thighs spread wide, wantonly revealing her innermost self for my viewing pleasure.

I dipped a finger inside of her depths just to see if her responses were an act. After all, she had read plenty of books and she might have just as easily have been taking her cues from them instead of from me. I wanted genuine. I wanted it real. I wanted it to be everything. I wanted to milk every breathy pant, every wiggle of her hips, tremble of her knees, and soft whimper out of her that I possibly could before I even thought about giving into my own needs.

"You're wet," I said. Dipping my finger deeper into her spread wetness, I found the spot we both knew she liked so well. She blamed her lack of response on the plague better known as menopause, and maybe in part, it was. Well, tonight she was having no problem responding to even the subtlest of touches. Maybe, Janie, after thirty years of making love basically the same way, needed more inspiration. I could do inspiration. I could give my wife everything she needed the same way she had always inspired me.

I was going to die. Keeping my balance on a single spiked heel while my hands were suspended above my head by a loosely tied red ribbon and my other foot was planted on the bed as Jack tortured and teased the most sensitive parts of me was killing me. I should have worried about myself having the heart attack in bed instead of him.

After thirty years, he knew my body almost as well as I did. Every couple hit dry spells in their sexual relationships. We were no exception. There were bad days and good days in the bedroom. But, today was going to be a good day, a very good day.

He stroked the spot I so desperately needed him to stroke, driving me harder and faster to the brink. Trying to remain upright on the spiked heel when all I wanted to do was collapse onto the bed and let him have his wicked way with me was harder than I would have thought. It took a certain amount of concentration to stand and endure such a seductive onslaught.

Jack was pulling out all the stops. Kissing me when I needed to be kissed. Stroking me where I needed to be stroked in that instinctive way that long time lovers possess. After so many years of being quiet out of fear of being overheard by the kids, it was second nature to hold back the moans building in my throat. Jack would have no part of that. He stopped just before I came and chastised me. I would make noise. I would moan when I wanted to. I would beg and plead for more. I would cry out his name when I came or he wasn't going to let me come at all. "Please."

"Better, but not good enough," I said. It took everything I had not to give into that one word escaping her parted lips on a breathy sigh. I was hard and aching and damn did a quick romp to take the edge off sound good.

It's amazing how you can look at someone your entire life and never really see them at all. I had watched my wife give birth to our kids. I had seen her in health and in sickness. I had seen her shake with laughter and I had dried her tears. I had seen the light flicker in her blue eyes and fade to the point where I thought it was gone forever and I watched the fire build and build in their depths until it threatened to consume her. I had seen her at her best and at her worst. But, watching her standing there, so splayed and perfect, I realized I had never really seen her like this before, not as a woman, so sexy and erotic, and as mine, all mine, before now.

I had shared my wife, with our kids, with her family and her friends, with her career and with mine. But, I had never really had her to myself before now. I had been missing out on so much. "God, I love you."

"Does that me you'll untie me and let me come?"

I pressed a finger to her lips and reached for the flogger on the nightstand. The little vixen wanted an orgasm. Well, she was going to have to earn it. "Not yet."

Other than being slightly amused by my embarrassment, the girl working the counter at the sex shop was very helpful. I went in there with the intent of gleaning a bit of last minute inspiration and walked out with a head full of ideas and another bag of toys. The toys were cheaper on the Internet and I had the convenience of having them shipped to the garage instead of to our home address. Being innocent and clueless about all things BDSM, I had chosen a flogger that looked interesting to me. The sales girl quickly informed me how wrong I had been. For a first timer, she had something a little bit tamer in mind.

She had steered me away from the floggers with the stiff leather tails and beaded tips like the one I had bought online and guided me to the back of the store. She picked out a flogger that was soft and flexible. She said a blow would sting and have the effect I was going for. She advised that it could bruise and possibly break the skin if used hard enough, but it wouldn't cause as much damage as the model I had picked out online. The flogger I had picked out, or so she said, was for the more advanced and we needed a beginner flogger. Beginner. Flogger. Did those two words even belong in a sentence together? And how weird was it that I had actually learned the proper name for the parts of a flogger?

Janie's eyes widened as I dangled the flogger under her nose and gave the handle a flick, slapping the tails against the bedpost. The tails, the soft, flexible leather made a vicious sounding smack as they landed against the wood. I swallowed hard, as did she. The sound alone had me practically pissing my pants and I was the one giving, not receiving. I didn't want to bruise or batter my wife. I wanted to tease and tantalize and work her up into a panting frenzy of feminine desire, not send her to the emergency room.

Gathering my courage, I ran the butt of the flogger over her parted lips and trailed it down the graceful curve of her neck. Anticipation was part of the game. Pleasure and pain, I needed to remember that. Gently as I could manage I swung the tails and aimed for her nipples. The response was immediate. She inhaled a startled gasp and arched her back. Her skin was pink from the blush of arousal, but not from pain.

Her nipples were hard and distended, flushing berry red the way they did when she was excited. Peeling off the corset, I left it abandoned on the floor and guided Janie by the hip until she was facing away from me with her back bare and exposed. Before today, I had never really considered punishment and pleasure in the same context. With her back to me and tied at the wrists, no matter how loosely, she was in the punishment position and I was damned determined to give her pleasure.

"You belong to me. You are mine to do with whatever I please." I wanted to snicker as soon as the words left my mouth. It was probably more to the truth to say Janie owned me. Otherwise, I wouldn't be doing this to her...for her in the first place. I was good with traditional, what the Internet called, vanilla sex. Hell, I'm a guy and who did I think I was kidding? Any sex was good sex. I flicked the flogger's handle and winced as the gentle blow landed between her shoulder blades.

I sucked in a breath as the tails of the flogger struck me between the shoulder blades. It didn't hurt, not really. Stung a little, but it wasn't quite what I had expected. I had delivered two babies into the world and once a woman has gone through that experience it puts pain into a whole different perspective. But, it wasn't true pain Jack was after, and me either, for that matter.

I belonged to him? Well, yes and no. It was obvious with me trussed up to the bedpost and him licking his dry lips and flicking the tails of the flogger so lightly and teasingly against my backside that we belonged to each other. A part of me wanted just a bit more of a bite from the flogger's leather tails. But, the bigger part of me was good, maybe even great, with the illusion he was so willing to give me. I wondered if I was supposed to resist. Jack really wouldn't hurt me and if things did get a little too rough, I had a safe word. I suppose the bigger question was did I want to belong to him? Did I want him to use me? And the answer to that was, yes I did.

Anticipation was killing me. Jack alternated between soft caresses up and down my spine and over my backside and stinging strikes with the flogger. I never knew where he was going to touch me next or when I could expect another teasing blow from the flogger. I moaned and shivered from the sheer adrenaline rush of waiting for what was going to happen next. "I belong to you, sir," I gasped.

"Good girl." I reached up and untied Janie's hands. Massaging the circulation back into her arms, I planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. She was flushed from head to toe and covered in goose pimpled flesh. I was aroused and hard. Somehow, dominating my wife had made me feel ten feet tall instead of my normal five feet-eleven inches. Her hair had come loose from the French twist at the nape of her neck and soft tendrils curled to frame her face. I had no idea of what I was going to do next. But, I had a feeling that whatever it was, she was as eager to receive, as I was to give.

Unable to stop myself and so into my role as dominant. I fisted the remnants of her French twist and brought her lips to mine, claiming them in an eager somewhat vicious kiss. Breaching her lips and forcing them apart with my tongue, I kissed her long and hard. Leaving no inch of her mouth unexplored, I continued the kiss until we both were breathless, wobbly in the knees, and quivering with anticipation. I had to clamp down on the parts of myself that were instinct and pure unadulterated male hormones. I had too many toys yet to play with and a wife so willing, ready, and able. "Tell me, Janie. Green light or red?"

"Green." I barely managed to squeak out the word before Jack was guiding the matching thong over my hips and down my thighs. I was so weak kneed that I had to balance myself on his shoulder to lift first one leg and then the other so that he could remove the panties. I stood there practically naked except for the stockings, garter, and spiked heels. I wondered if he would take those off too or if he'd give into his needs first. To me, hose and heels and garters on or off, didn't matter. I was achy in all the right places and so willing to give my man exactly what he needed.

On my knees and clutching Janie's panties in my fist, I stared up at her. She was a sight. Beautiful in ways I could never adequately put into words. But, I had never had a way with words. In all our years together, she had come to accept that about me. That I was a still water that ran deep. So many times, afterwards, she'd asked me if I enjoyed the sex. Too embarrassed and shy to admit the truth I'd mumble something that would placate and stuff the memory of what we had just done into the good drawer of my mental filing cabinet. She deserved better than that. She deserved to hear exactly what was on my mind.

Janie was shaved bare down there. Maybe, she had done it for the occasion. I hadn't asked her why after twenty years of marriage she had started shaving there in the first place. I had never minded her pubic hair. I had never asked her to trim or shave or wax. I was glad for it now. Sleek and bare, I could see the most intimate part of her in graphic detail. She was wet and her clit swollen, her outer lips puffy and wonderfully pink. "Did I ever tell you that you have a beautiful pussy?"

I blinked, astounded by the words that had just tumbled out of Jack's mouth in a decidedly husky masculine tone of sheer desire. We were not one of those couples that had pet names for their nether regions. In fact, we never talked about those parts at all. If he wanted me to suck him, he simply guided my lips down to where he wanted me to put them. It wasn't that I hadn't tried to add a little spice in the bedroom in that department. Sometimes, a few words of encouragement and dirty talk went a long way. But, Jack simply didn't operate like that and it wasn't like I was a brilliant conversationalist in between the sheets either. I don't think I could say the word cock and look Jack in the eye without blushing.

Jack didn't wait for me to answer him. But, then again, was a response to such a comment really necessary? I thought when I first started shaving myself down there. He might at least mention it. He never had. Thank God he hadn't asked why I had started grooming myself there in the first place. It was too embarrassing. I don't know what made me look at myself down there in the mirror in the first place. I think it might have been a segment on Oprah or Dr. Oz. Something about how a woman should evaluate the health of her lady parts by viewing them in the mirror. The labia should be healthy pink and I simply had to know. Were mine?