by Kay Jaybee
Title Page
TIED TO THE KITCHEN SINK
Kay Jaybee
Publisher Information
Tied to the Kitchen Sink
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Kay Jaybee 2014
The right of Kay Jaybee to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Tied to the Kitchen Sink
‘Hi, you must be Will; Happy Birthday.’ The girl smiled a dazzlingly set of white teeth in his direction, as she turned her head away from the washing up.
Will stopped dead. He had gone through Ben’s back door into the kitchen, expecting it to be deserted as usual; but it wasn’t.
It wasn’t her smile that caused Will’s feet to feel as if they’d become super glued to the floor, and his trousers to tighten. It was the fact that she was stood there, smiling at him in long black high heeled boots, and absolutely nothing else.
‘You look pale honey,’ the girl’s eyes twinkled, ‘why don’t you have a little sit down over there’, she pointed to an armchair in the corner of the room. ‘I can’t join you I’m afraid’, she raised her hands, revealing long thin silver chains attaching her to the taps. ‘I’m tied to the kitchen sink at the moment.’ As she laughed, the dark pig tails which hung down her back quivered against her bare flesh.
‘Um, well, I...’ Will stumbled over his words as his eyes scanned every inch of her. ‘Where’s...?’
‘Ben?’ she finished for him. ‘At the pub. He thought you would enjoy your birthday present more if he wasn’t here. I’m Karen.’
‘Karen?’
‘Are you okay? Ben seemed to think that I was exactly what you wanted for your 21st. If not, perhaps you could unlock me.’ She indicated a small pile of keys on the table, conveniently placed next to a pack of three. ‘Ben said that you fantasised about finding a woman tied to the sink.’ She looked up though her fringe with mock shyness.
Will was torn between simply walking out, untying the girl or...who was he kidding? His head swam with erotic images. She was real. He’d already pinched himself and this was not a dream. His dick stirred as he stared at her.
Tall and slim, her tanned skin shone against the dull kitchen units. Will focused on the soft flesh that appeared out of the top of her killer boots. He could almost taste her already.
‘Who are you?’ Will took a deep breath and walked towards the sink. ‘Why the hell not?’ he thought ‘It is my birthday.’
‘I told you, I’m Karen.’ She sighed as he trailed a finger around her neck. His hard, denim encased, cock rubbed against her arse as he stood beside her. ‘A friend of Bens. You thought I was a hooker?’
‘Well I...’
‘You aren’t the only one with fantasies you know.’ She stroked his cheek with her polished silver nails. ‘I’ve seen your picture on his mobile.’ She turned as much as her tethers would allow and ran wet hands over his thin shirt. ‘Now, I think that’s enough questions. What would you like to do for your birthday?’
She looked at him beseechingly. ‘Are you going to leave me tied here to do all this awful washing up Sir? Or are you going to let me have a little lie down on that nice table? Or maybe a rest in that armchair?
Will smiled; so, Ben had explained his fantasy to her. He was in charge. He stripped off his damp shirt and stood next to her in just his jeans. ‘I think you should stay exactly where you are until all that work is done don’t you?’
‘Oh Sir, but I am in so much need here, and the water is making my skin all dry.’ Karen looked up at him though her eye lashes.
‘It’s like acting out a bad porn movie.’ Will thought. ‘Fantastic’. Karen turned her back on him and continued to wash up the dirty dishes that Ben must have ignored for days.
His hands shaking slightly, Will privately thanked his friend before he reached around her; tentatively placing a hand on each breast his fingers gently circled her firm tits. He smiled as he felt her body shiver. ‘I think it would be best if you didn’t make a sound. Do you understand?’ Karen inclined her head, and managed to stifle a cry as Will began to flick his fingers hard against her nipples.
Will stepped back, and ran his hands down Karen’s smooth back, dipping his fingers into the top of her boots; he began teasing the skin between them and her rounded arse. Suddenly, he badly wanted her to be less perfect. She was too neat, too willing. Looking around the room Will spotted a tub of cooking utensils. His eye fell on a wooden spoon; he grabbed it and started rubbing it against her flawless buttocks.
Karen shifted back slightly towards the feel the wood. Will could see she ached for more attention, the skin around the top of her legs glistened as sticky liquid oozed from her pussy. He swung the spoon and hit her hard. If she wanted to get closer to the wood, then so be it.
Karen yelled out, earning herself a second smack. ‘I told you to be quiet.’
‘Sorry Sir, you took me by surprise Sir.’
Will admired the criss-cross of red marks that the spoon was making on her cream skin. Each time he connected the wood with her arse she groaned, but to the satisfaction of his straining cock, she didn’t move away, in fact she was pushing her arse out further and further, making it an easier target. He gave her one final strike.
Will took several steadying breaths. He would have loved to have ripped his jeans off and thrust into her there and then, but as much as he wanted to fuck her, he didn’t want it to be over, and he didn’t think she did either. Anyway, he hadn’t completed his fantasy yet.
There was a splash of water and foam as Karen dropped the saucepan she was trying to clean; her legs were shaking. He could see she was as close to the edge as he was. Right now he wanted to see just how close. ‘Keep working miss.’ Karen obediently thrust her hands back into the water, the chains clanking against the contents of the bowl. ‘Whatever happens, I want you to keep working.’
He knelt behind her and cupped a hand between her legs, pushing them open slightly; Will felt them quiver against him. When he took his hand away Karen moaned at the feeling of loss. Will no longer cared about her being silent, and quickly replaced his hand with his tongue, taking one long, leisurely lap at her pussy, before kissing her clit over and over again.
The contents of the sink clashed together as Karen dropped what she’s been cleaning. Her body bucked against the cupboards as she came against his sucking mouth.
Will tore off his jeans; he couldn’t wait much longer. She was willingly being his birthday present, and he was damn well going to enjoy every second of this fantasy time with her. Pulling on a condom, he pulled her back towards him and slipped inside her. ‘Oh God,’ he groaned into her ear. She felt tight around his cock as the last moments of her orgasm ebbed away. ‘Ready for another one?’ he whispered against her ear.
‘May I talk Sir?’ Karen asked quietly.
‘Oh yes.’ Will began to move painfully slowly against her, his balls gently swaying as he glided in and out of her soaking
snatch.
‘Then please sir, when you have shot your load inside me, may I be untied. I have something for you.’
Will couldn’t reply, what the hell could she have for him that might compare to this? He increased his pace, faster and faster, banging into her with all his might, his hand reaching between her legs. When his fingers found her clit he was rewarded with a scream of satisfaction, as Karen thrust herself back against him, frantically trying to keep pace. Finally, Will let go, he grunted into her hair, his weight forcing her as far down as her restraints would allow, as she shuddered against him.
It took a few seconds before he could move; the force of their fuck had made his head spin. He pulled away, easing Karen back to her feet, and resting her against the cupboard whilst he disposed of his condom and grabbed the keys for her chains. He undid the tiny padlocks, and Karen rubbed her wrists. ‘Happy Birthday’ she said as she walked away from him. Reaching down underneath the table she pulled out a neatly wrapped present. ‘I think you should have this now’ she said as she perched on the edge of the table.
Will looked into her lust filled eyes before attacking the wrapping paper. Inside there was a long candle and a small box of matches. He looked at her, confused. She smiled up at him. ‘It is traditional to have candles on your cake. However, Ben didn’t get you a cake, he got you me. I wonder,’ she said as she lay back onto the table, spreading her legs out in front of him, ‘if we can find any place around her that could be used as a candle holder?...’
Becky
Regardless of my warnings she had applied for the administrative assistant vacancy at the office where I work. Perhaps I was wrong to be wary. Becky had always listened eagerly to the tales I told, before dismissively saying ‘Don’t be ridiculous, that sort of thing doesn’t really happen,’ quickly followed by, ‘so what happened next?’ Maybe I shouldn’t have told her anything. It’s too late now.
Becky’s face looked as if it would remain in a state of shock forever. Her grey skirt was hunched around her slim waist and her thong lay in tatters after its surgical removal with the boss’s scissors. She stood stock still as the correction stool was placed reverently in its familiar position in the very centre of the office.
She kept repeating over and over again, ‘It was an accident; an accident. I never meant to spill the coffee. An accident.’ I felt for her as she blinked in disbelief as her fellow workers followed their boss’s instructions and came to stand around her and the stool.
‘Bend.’ It wasn’t a request. Our aging, but terrifyingly fit boss was ordering her without even raising his voice. I willed her to do as she was told, for her own sake.
‘Bend now.’ Becky could feel the danger of refusal in the air, we all could. It was almost tangible. Our colleagues were barley breathing as they focused on the stool. Most were thankful that it wasn’t them, some had been so broken by submission that they wished it was.
Unsure of exactly how to position herself, Becky clumsily lowered her waist over the wide wooden seat, holding herself steady by grabbing the legs with her out-stretched arms. With his usual economy of movement the boss shifted her further onto the stool so that her arse was deliciously exposed, while her legs balanced precariously on her high heels. Then he fastened her taught limbs in place with thick black boot laces, carefully designed to cut into the sinner’s skin should they wriggle too much.
Then he paused, turning his back on the young woman who was still battling to comprehend how accidentally slopping a mug of coffee could result in such chastisement. The boss went to the cupboard in the corner of the room. When he returned he was holding a long thin white cane.
Becky’s eyes never left the cane. Her face had taken on the paler of a ghost as the final shred of hope that this was all some sick initiation ceremony dissolved. What the hell would have happened if she’d spilt the whole cup of coffee?
The first crack across her tight pale buttocks was drowned out by her shocked scream. Yes, it really is happening. I warned you.
The second, then the third, left smart red lines as they connected with her prone arse. Becky’s screams were reaching epidemic proportions and the boss was obviously getting bored of the noise. Stopping to undo his tie, he wrapped it into a makeshift gag and swiftly tied it around Becky’s flushed face.
The forth lash, the fifth. Becky was biting for all she was worth into the thin strip of material. The humiliation of her situation would surely be going round and round her confused mind, as the silent workforce watched her enforced submission. By the sixth stroke she was hardly making a sound, her concentration on simply surviving the ordeal carrying her on. On the eighth stroke it happened. We all heard it.
She whimpered; her feelings were changing, she was reaching the cross over point between unwanted pain and desired pain. Perhaps I’d been wrong about Becky. Perhaps this wasn’t her first submission. How well did I know her after all? No one here had ever responded that way the first time before. She had seemed genuinely shocked and frightened by the situation, but suddenly I began to suspect she had her own motives for being here.
Her buttocks, now scarlet, bruised and striped gave off a throbbing heat as the boss hesitated. He’d heard the subtle alteration in her voice; he waited just long enough for a tiny sigh to escape her moist lips, before bringing the cane down with precision onto the exact same spot as the previous stroke had hit.
Then it stopped. She was left there shaking and unfulfilled, as the whip was lovingly returned to its home. All of the workers returned to their desks, once again mindful of the consequences of making a mistake.
This was the worst time. During my first humiliation I had been sure it would be the lashing itself that would be the worst thing that could happen. I hadn’t counted on the shame factor. Surely Becky would be feeling it now as the air conditioning wafted across her stinging flesh. Would she be grappling with her thoughts? ‘How had this happened?’ ‘Why don’t they let me go now?’ ‘How will I ever look anyone in the eye again?’ Maybe she hadn’t yet noticed that the people here do not look each other in the eye. In this office the safest option is definitely the meek one.
The blood would have rushed to her head by now. She’d be wondering if there is more to come. I had warned her, and she hadn’t believed me. Or had she? I looked furtively across my desk as she remained motionless, either too scared or too sensible to speak. Even if she was stupid enough to ask how long she would remain there, we couldn’t have told her. It depended on how long the boss and his assistant took in their separate office.
I saw them once. The boss had rightly sensed I was beginning to enjoy my punishments, and had decided a further level of correction was required. I had to watch, helpless, bound to the desk, my arse burning from a thorough paddling, as the boss received relief from the arousal my disciplining had obviously caused him.
I have never heard his assistant speak. She is simply referred to as Miss Harriet, but I have no idea if Harriet is her first or last name. I do know that she loves her work, and guess she fears that he will grow weary of her one day. Perhaps that’s why she never speaks; to keep an air of mystery. All this went through my head as I lay there naked, my weighty tits crushed against the writing surface, my aching legs dangling over the edge, not quite reaching the floor, and my arse smarting as I was kept somewhere between agony and ecstasy.
He hadn’t said anything to Miss Harriet. Just a look at his face seemed to tell her exactly what to do. First she stepped neatly out of her immaculate ‘A’ line skirt, then she slipped off her crisp white blouse. I tried to resist drawing breath as her beautiful bodice and stockings revealed her knickerless, heart shaped pussy. Not that this was on view for long as she bent, without prompting, across the arm of the large black leather armchair in the corner of the room and waited.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She had placed herself in a position of humiliation with every shred of
dignity intact. Her buttocks, however, told there own story. The dark pink welds that neatly criss-crossed her regularly bronzed flesh looked angry. They obviously rarely had time to heal between each assault.
Her master had already taken off his clothes, revealing a well-toned figure for a man of his years. His hard dick showing just how much he had enjoyed my correction. The new paddle he selected for his work had four hard rubber studs encased in a smooth black cover. I was just imagining the agony it might inflict when I saw for myself. Although my view was partially obstructed by the boss, I strained against my bonds so I could see this fascinating creature take punishment simply because she was there and his hard-on had to be dealt with. My boss’s skill with the chosen weapon was obvious. One, two, three, the paddle came down with speed. I could see indents appear in her flesh as the nodules cut in. Yet, despite her already damaged skin, not a drop of blood was shed.
All the time Miss Harriet had made no sound. Her concentration must have been incredible as the vicious strokes lashed her rose buttocks. I counted each stroke as I felt my own helpless, wasted, liquid ooze down my thighs onto the desk’s conveniently placed blotting paper. The secretaries steady breathing had become shallow and urgent by the tenth lash, and his own had turned into an animal grunt as suddenly, on the twelfth, he dropped his weapon, grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him, thrusting his painfully hard cock into her waiting arse. Her cry was more one of relief than pain as he hammered into her.
I lay there desperate for attention, imagining what it would be like to hold the whip hand for a change; to be able to counteract my corrective measures by touching her soft skin, licking her engorged nipples, kissing her panting lips.
Then it was over. He growled his release as she rubbed herself against the chair to bring herself off. Miss Harriet, silent once more, turned and passed him a handkerchief to clean himself up before dismissing herself with an incline of her delicate head. I was left there for another hour. No one touched me. It was a worse agony than the lashes.
