Nothing Less

by Reese Gabriel

  “This stuff is for restraining females, Wendy, females like you,” I explained, grasping both her wrists.

  Wendy shook her head and started fighting me. I allowed myself a minute to look her up and down, from her flat belly to her perfectly proportioned C-cup breasts. She really was a pretty little thing, even more so when she was angry. “Johnny, please, you’re hurting me!” she cried. “Stop this, right now!”

  I pulled her arms up over her head, just high enough to immobilize her and get her attention. “It isn’t going to stop, Wendy. You are going into bondage tonight, so you may as well get used to the idea. None of this will hurt, honey, as long as you do exactly what I tell you,” I said soothingly. “Now the first thing I need you to do is to lay down on your tummy for me, nice and still--can you do that?”

  Wendy tried pulling her arms down, but discovered she was my total prisoner. Reluctantly, then, she gave her assent.

  “That’s a girl,” I encouraged, releasing her.

  The little pouty look on her face was adorable as she put herself into position, arms at her side, legs together, lovely backside curving deliciously up at me. I swallowed hard as I ran my hand down her shapely left leg and over her tight little calf muscle. It wasn’t going to be easy to keep my resolve. Who could blame me? If you had the third runner up Miss Texas 1998 helpless in your bed feeling all guilty and horny, you’d have it rough, too.

  “I need you to cross your hands behind your back, now, Wen. And your ankles, too.”

  She gave an indignant sigh and then submitted. I was so hard now, I thought I might burst. To keep my focus, I worked out possibilities in my mind of how to tie her. A hogtie was probably best, and for a first-time experience of restraint, that wouldn’t be too traumatic for her. It was good I had the Velcro, because if she started fussing, old-fashioned metal cuffs might chafe her.

  If it sounds like I know a thing or two about tying fillies, it’s cause I do. Wendy had been exempt so far, being the love of my life and having me wrapped round her little finger. Unlike my Houston buddy, I’d never tried any formal S and M type stuff, but I did have a thing for bondage. Just ask Betty Jo Carson, my first girlfriend. She spent most of graduation summer roped up at the old barn, my cock plugging one or another of her sweet, pliant eighteen-year-old orifices.

  I did Wendy’s wrists first, wrapping them individually and snugly in the nylon

  bands. You gotta love the sound of Velcro closing on a girl’s limbs! They were the kind that just hooked together, so I could restrain her quite easily, though I planned to give her a minute or so just to get used to the feeling of them on her wrists before I connected them.

  “I can’t breathe,” she complained.

  Smoothing down the folds of the comforter and carefully arranging her gorgeous yellow hair behind her neck and out of her face and mouth, I said, “Is that better?”

  She shrugged her shoulders like a petulant child. Suppressing a chuckle, I went ahead and connected the metal clasps, confining her hands. Not wanting her to cut loose on me, I wrapped the whole thing with a nice layer of trusty duct tape. Wendy pulled at the thing as soon as I was done. Her motion was both fierce and totally ineffectual.

  Very quickly now, I fitted the ankle straps and connected them, too. With a single palm on her gently sloping back, I was able to keep her down and under total control. The trick was to stay one step ahead. I don’t think she even saw it coming when I lifted her legs and pushed them back against her butt in preparation to link her wrists and ankles. Though a lover had never tied her, I do know she was raised on a ranch and had a pretty good notion about hog-tying.

  “Johnny, this isn’t funny!” she informed me as she tried to push herself forward. Giving up on this, she tried to free herself by pitching from side to side. I let her do this a little while, mainly because it was fun to see her break a sweat and get her hair all tussled.

  The whole time she was writhing back and forth, she was talking to me, alternating calling me nasty names and promising me incredible acts of love making if I’d let her go. I had to give her posterior a good-natured slap. Could this tied up, trash-mouthed angel on my bed be the same beauty queen I’d fallen in love with at first sight down at Mickey’s Tavern two years ago? Men were drooling all over her that night, as always, and I was pretty surprised she even gave me the time of day considering my twice-broken nose and lanky neck. She said it was my eyes and my sense of humor that won her over. Nobody was more shocked than I was when she accepted my marriage proposal six months later.

  Other than me being jealous of every man who so much as looked at her, things had gone pretty good up to this point. Should I have been surprised to see her getting men horned up over cyberspace, though? I guess not; Wendy’s always been a flirt, always will be, and when you’re blessed like she is in the looks department, who could blame her? I didn’t want her working and she didn’t want to go back to school, so who was she gonna show off to with me pulling all those double shifts?

  At least over the computer screen, you can’t really cheat. But what was I thinking? If I didn’t get my filly in line now, where would it end? Connecting the two sets of cuffs was pretty easy, thanks to another piece of duct tape. There was a lot of it left, too, along with all the rope, and I figured I ‘d have fun with that, too, once I took care of the next major problem.

  That problem being my beloved’s mouth. Gone was her sweet apologizing and buttering up once she realized she’d been trussed up like a calf. She sounded more like a longshoreman now, and it was grating on my nerves. “Honey, listen to me a moment,” I said, lifting her perfect chin between my fingers to get her attention. “Just listen.”

  Her sky-blue eyes shot me through like daggers. She was breathing heavy, and I was wondering if it was all anger or if there was some sexual heat there, too. Well, we’d test that soon enough wouldn’t we? In the meantime, I had to coach her through her first introduction to your good friend and mine: the garden-variety ball gag.

  “Wendy, part of this deal is going to involve silencing you. You won’t like it, but it’s going to happen anyway. What I need you to do when I get the ball up close is to open wide and take it in your mouth. It’s rubber, and it won’t hurt you. The thing is, when it’s all tied in, you won’t be able to get it out. The main challenge will be swallowing. And don’t be embarrassed about the drooling, that’s normal.”

  I could see the confusion and conflict in my woman’s eyes. She wanted real bad to fight, and I knew there was no way she’d want to be shut up with a rubber ball gag, but I could also see she was extremely reluctant to disobey me. It may have been the effect of the bonds on her, or else my sheer masculine presence, but I could see her resistance crumbling. The best she could manage as she stretched her jaws was to give me one very nasty look, so I would know there’d be hell to pay later for her giving in now.

  Well, maybe there would. Then again, if I did this right, I might just tame her a little bit in the bargain. I don’t think the ball tasted real good, because she made an even worse face as I nestled it into place and started doing up the straps. There were four of them, each with their own little buckles. With a little effort, I got it all straightened out so as not to leave any marks on her creamy skin.

  The only thing left to do now was to collar her. This wasn’t really a bondage thing as much as it was a lesson in humility. Personally, nothing gets me hotter than seeing a beautiful girl reduced to the level of a household pet. If looks could kill, I’d be pushing up daisies right about now.

  Once the dog collar was on her, I decided to step back and admire my work. It was a sight to behold, I’ll tell you. My own Wendy Marie Johnson, hog-tied and gagged, naked on our marital bed, wearing a studded leather dog collar. She was sure taking her punishment well, too. For a wildcat, that is. The thing is, for all her fighting, fussing and fuming, a hog-tied girl can’t really do that much, except to show off how sexy and available she is.

  “Bet your chat room friends would l
ike to see you now,” I observed, deciding to rub it in. Wendy’s muscles froze momentarily in rage and then she started thrashing all over again. I decided it was time to chill her out a little. Settling her on her side, I ran my fingers up and down her captive body, using the kind of light, feathery touches that always drive her wild. Her muffled moaning was mixed with indignation, because she did not at all want to be aroused right now. She was protesting being held prisoner, and she wanted me to know how miserable she was.

  I took her to the brink of orgasm once or twice, but I didn’t let her come. Just as soon as I’d feel her getting close, I’d take my finger out of her and mess with that extra rope I was telling you about. I managed to wrap a whole bunch of it round her stomach and her breasts before looping it back to her captive hands and ankles.

  By the time I was done, Wendy was the perfect advertisement for bondage. I was sure men would pay real good money to see her too, glistening in sweat, hair disheveled, totally bound up, trails of moisture running from both her pussy and the corner of her mouth.

  “Careful, sweetie,” I teased with a possessive tug on her swollen nipples. “You’re going to get saliva all over your collar and shrink it. If I decide to leash you up in the backyard tomorrow you could get pretty uncomfortable.”

  Planting that little seed in the back of her mind and yawning mightily, I decided to hit the hay. Judging by her groans and renewed thrashing, she wasn’t real happy to be left this way. Well, neither was I, considering how badly I wanted to plow her right now. But a lesson is a lesson.

  Besides, I needed my sleep. Tomorrow was Saturday, and we’d both be home and there’d be lots to talk about. Like how the kind of posing she’d be doing in the future would be strictly in ropes and chains and how her little hands and butt would be under ‘way too much discipline to be messing around, either with herself or anyone else.

  “Sweet dreams,” I whispered patting her ass and stroking her hair the way she always likes. With that, I lay down next to her, raging hard-on and all. A couple of times I had to smack her behind in the night to keep her quiet, but overall she was pretty good. Except for the wet spot on the bedspread. Since it wasn’t pee but something more sexy, I let it go.

  As it turned out, Wendy was pretty eager to get free the next day. So eager, in fact, that when I sat her on the edge of the bed and undid the ball gag she was more than happy to replace it with another kind of pacifier, one near and dear to my heart.

  She was so warm and sweet on my cock. More attentive, in fact, than she had ever been before. I would have happily exploded in her mouth, but I needed the rest of her too much. Wendy’s legs parted eagerly to receive me as I pushed her down onto the bed. Both of us exploded in orgasm on my first stroke, though I was able to stay inside her and get hard all over again in just a couple of minutes.

  This time I untied her and took her on all fours. And can I tell you how good a woman looks submitting this way after she’s spent the night in bondage, totally at your mercy? I think it was pretty good for her, too, because after we were done, she hopped up voluntarily to cook me the breakfast of my life. When she came back in a half hour later with that tray in her hands, beaming at me proudly in her collar, her slinky little body still nude, with those Velcro straps on her wrists and ankles, I knew we’d hit on something.

  When I asked her about her own breakfast, she said she’d eat later, but for now, could she just sit on the floor next to the bed and watch me eat, and while I was at it, could I restrain her again—just a little bit?

  Needless to say, she didn’t have to ask twice. Trading out the Velcro cuffs for metal ones, I put her hands behind her back and had her squat on the floor. The way her knees were spread, it was pretty hard to concentrate on food. About midway through my western omelet, I gave up and made love to her again, taking her right there on the floor, her hands still shackled behind her back.

  It’s hard to believe that was only two months ago. It seems like a lifetime that my beautiful bride has been my willing captive and love slave. Everything is so different. We make love four or five times a day now and Wendy is nearly always in bondage, even if it’s just her collar or the wrist and ankle straps. Our new website is so popular we both quit our jobs, which means I’m able to control her twenty-four hours a day.

  The sexual tension between us is unbelievable. Sometimes I can bring her to orgasm just by putting her into some position or other or even by giving her an order to submit. She is constantly wet and if I neglect her, she is liable to come to me with some device or toy she wants used on her. I have all I can do to hold it together when I see her, silently begging with her eyes as she crawls to me on her knees holding out a pair of cuffs or a paddle.

  Our customers rave, because they know what we sell is the real thing. When I tell Wendy to pose in a certain way, it’s her master talking, not just her photographer. And the looks in the pictures, the way she moves in our videos—that’s the real McCoy. Hard to believe, isn’t it, that two people could find such happiness?

  I thank my lucky stars every day for the way it all started, too. To think if I hadn’t busted in on her that one night, I might never have done what I did to awaken my beloved’s true nature. So let this be an example to you: if your girlfriend or wife is on the computer late at night, find out why, and then do something about it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nothing Less

  He will settle for nothing less than complete possession.

  Naked and face-to-face. Man and woman. No compromise, no quarter.

  She tries to fight, but there is nothing she can do—nothing—to win him over or sway the determination in his mind. Her submission is what he’ll have. Mind, body and soul. To touch and play and possess.

  Every woman seeks a master, so it is said. And the harder she fights, the sharper her claws, the more fiery her eyes, the more blatantly she is said to be seeking him.

  “Say it, say the words,” he demands, holding her now at arm’s length, her breasts heaving, her lips swollen and bruised from a kiss half finished. A kiss denied.

  Indignation, rage, futile feminine anger follows.

  What point is there to saying the words? She is wet and in heat, nipples attentive for his touch, inner thighs glistening; of course she’ll accept any terms. Besides, is there anything she could give that he couldn’t take already? Was his strength not clear, as clear as her own weakness, as she stands there, blatantly betraying through her aroused body every code of feminism?

  What more did he want? Of what use was it, what purpose in having her say even one word, save to humiliate herself further, to make her pronounce with her soft female voice what is already known, to lend a rubber stamp to what is already said and done?

  “You will say it,” he repeats, making her squirm, denying her sex, denying her escape, denying everything but what he wills. She moans and she can see his eyes have hardened toward her, closing off from somewhere deep, and she can see his jaw is set and she is afraid because he is no longer tame, safe, predictable. “You will say it because it pleases me to hear it,” he tells her.

  The man holds his ground, pulls her wrists overhead, binding them in place within a single fist. The other hand awaits her decision. The hovering hand. Dispenser of pain and pleasure.

  Barefoot, on tiptoes on the rug, in sight of the bed, stripped of clothes and pride, she stands, the prisoner of a naked man, taken from her life, held now over an abyss.

  Her life flashes before her eyes. Timeless dreams. Damp panty dreams, dreams of dark pirates and braceleted warriors, cruel kings and slavers, forbidden shameful thoughts despised by a cold, mechanical world.

  “Please,” comes her gasping voice. “Let me go.”

  He does not. He stalks, he hunts, he waits. He has known her forever. A cycle, timeless and merciless, her scent upon his nostrils.

  Stalking, hunting, waiting.

  In time he is rewarded. For as mysteriously as it began, her fighting ends. From somewhere within her
, at long last, she sighs with relief. His hand gripping her wrists, which up to now has merely held her at bay, becomes at this instant, her sole support. She swoons, grateful, because in one fell swoop he has made sense of her world, erased her confusion.

  She will say the words, for no other reason than because it pleases him to hear them. And this is her joy, her truth, suddenly discovered.

  More than anything, she wants to please this particular man, to trust his fate to hers, to set sail on the stormy seas of his dark eyes, to yield, to commit to the utter unknown, plunging to the depths of her liquid femininity.

  But what are the words? Strangely enough, they had never discussed a formula. In all their conversations and debates it had never been boiled down so simply.

  The words were up to her. Wasn’t that a twist of irony—this crucial step, left to her; he himself not knowing exactly what he will hear, save that it will be a giving of herself?

  Tell me what to say, she wants to scream. But he can’t—won’t. The submission must be unique to her—only she knows the deepest abasement she is possible of making. Only she knows, ironically, how to enslave herself.

  Lips dry, so dry. She looks up at him, doe eyes pleading, seeking. Pretty cheeks, button nose…why, oh why won’t he accept her cuteness alone, her readiness, her

  unspoken devotion?

  Silently, she begs for strength, and behind the iron mask of the man’s countenance, she reads or thinks she reads what she needs to know from him.

  So many questions: Will you be tender to me, my master, will you bring me joy, will you be both firm and rough, abandoning me never in the heat of my need?

  I am a woman—in all my complexities. Do you know what all this entails?