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Nothing Less by Reece Gabriel

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Copyrighted © 2003, all rights reserved.  

       You can call me a hypocrite if you like.  To me, though, there’s a whole world of difference between what Wendy was doing on the internet before I put my foot down and what she does now to please me.

       But let me start back at the beginning.  It all began when I came home early one night from the graveyard shift at the warehouse with the flu.  It was about three a.m. when I opened the bedroom door and found my darling wife of eighteen months backed up to the computer camera, flashing her ass and rubbing her fingers up and down over her gushing wet pussy, all the while talking away about how bad she wanted to be fucked.  It was some kind of chat room and on the other end there were men, scads of them, watching, listening, encouraging. 

       I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  And to think my little choir girl of a bride had put off my frequent pleas to try a little bit of bondage, stating it was too kinky for her!  Too kinky!?  Who was she kidding, prostituting her hot little bod, oiled and tanned, her golden hair lustrous and enticing, nipples all erect and...well, you get the picture! 

       “Johnny!” she gasped, eyes wide as saucers as she caught sight of me over her shoulder.  “What are you doing home?”

       “I’m sick,” I grumbled, shutting down the infernal machine.  “Do I need permission to walk into my own house now?”

       Wendy sidled up behind me, rubbing against me all sweet and innocent.   “Baby, it’s not what it looks like.”

       Not what it looks like?!  I had to laugh at that one.  Exactly what did she think it did look like?  Don’t you just love it how when people get caught red-handed at something and then say stupid stuff to get out of it?  Maybe that fools people back east, but here in Texas, not much gets past us.

       “Let me explain, honey,” she persisted, trying to press herself to my chest.

       “I got eyes, sugar,” I said, holding her at bay with the palm of my hand.  “And I got all the information I need, so how about you sit on that bed till I get back, you hear?  And don’t bother putting any clothes on; it’s a little too late for that.”    

       Wendy nodded, her mouth open, her eyes glazed.  She’d never heard me be this firm before.  A moment later, perched nervously on the edge of the bed my pretty, naked little wife asked in a very small voice what I was going to do.  

       What was I gonna do?  Now there was a helluva question. 

       I had half a mind to throw the computer out the window and her ass out the door, but instead, I went right to the gym bag I had in the hall closet.  The stuff I was looking for was there all right, exactly where I’d left it.  It was real state-of-the-art equipment from a buddy in Houston who was into what he called the “scene”.  I wish you could see the look on Wendy’s face when I dumped the contents next to her: coils of nylon rope, a ball gag, Velcro wrist and ankle cuffs and a genuine half-inch thick dog collar.

       Wendy shrank back on the bed.  “J--Johnny, what is all that for?”

       I had to laugh.  What did she think it was for?  It was my intention to teach Wendy a lesson by giving her a night of discomfort to think about things; that’s what it was for.  What I didn’t realize, though, was that I was about to institute a major lifestyle change for both of us, one that would change Wendy from a run-of-the-mill mate into a warm and willing submissive honey.

       “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 like 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.

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