Benefits of Hindsight Ch. 01

It's all too easy to be wise after the event, but I can't help reflecting on how many opportunities you had to avoid ending up like this. I'd ask you whether you're thinking the same thing, but your reply would be distorted by that ball gag in your mouth. Plus I'm not really interested in your views tonight. Girls who let themselves get tied up over their own dining room table can't really complain if they're not consulted about their opinions.

But since you're not going anywhere in the near future and I'm not in any rush, you'll just have to forgive me a few minutes of musing on the chain of cause and effect which led us here and how easily you could have broken it at any point. Of course, you'll have to put up with me perching beside you on the edge of the table while I do so, glass of whisky in one hand and the other resting on your bare arse, but in case you were going to object I refer you to my previous assertion that you have comprehensively waived your right to have a say tonight.

Your first mistake was to move in with me, but I can't hold you responsible for that since there was no way you could have known at the time. It's not like I go around in leather with a set of handcuffs dangling from my belt. In fact the whole thing was innocent on both our parts. My previous flatmate had moved away and I was looking to fill my spare room. Meanwhile you needed a place to live after finishing your studies. We were introduced to each other by a mutual friend who spotted the happy coincidence in our circumstances and we got on well from the start.

The first false step you made was to confide the secrets of your love life in me. I was only too happy to listen carefully while I cooked you a nice meal and kept your wine glass topped up. To be fair to your boyfriend, he had recently moved miles away to a new job and I've never been convinced by the viability of distance relationships. But he really should have shown a bit more passion every other weekend when you met. Sometimes I couldn't help overhearing what passed for sex between the two of you, much to my distress. My only consolation was that it was always over so quickly. So when you told me that he never wanted to take the initiative in the bedroom it didn't come as a surprise. I expressed appropriate sympathy when you told me, with a delightful blush, that you just wanted him to take you in hand and be a bit more of a man about it.

I could have pushed my luck at that point and tried things on, but I was prepared to play the long game. Besides, I've never seen you as the cheating type and I didn't want to be the bit on the side. The opportunity presented itself without my interference when you returned early from one of your visits to his place in tears. It was the worst possible outcome for you. Not only had he finished the relationship, but he had done it because he had found somebody else. Apparently he didn't lack passion, he just lacked passion for you. I couldn't begin to understand the bloke because I had been convinced you were a bundle of pent-up sexual energy just waiting for the right buttons to be pressed from the moment I met you, but his loss was my gain. I was as supportive as I could be and left it long enough to maintain some sense of decency before I made my move.

I notice at this point that my hand has wandered, apparently of its own accord, from its proprietorial position on top of your arse to your butt cheeks, which it is gently caressing. As I do so I can't help noticing that your lovely behind seems to be moving just a little, but unmistakeably in a rhythm with my hand to make the most of the contact. Perhaps you're not so much the damsel in distress in this exchange after all. Could it be that the innocent victim is enjoying her predicament?

I maintain my low-key attentions while I return to my train of thought. While I was waiting after your break-up you made another error. One of the fittings came loose on the window in your room and you asked if I could fix it. I wondered if you had ever seen my previous attempts at DIY, but gamely agreed to have a look at it. It came as no surprise to me that I got nowhere with the window, but as I was leaving the room I noticed a book peeping out from under your bedclothes. It was the notorious recent bestseller which has brought female submissive fantasies into the mainstream. The well-thumbed pages told me everything I needed to know. I'd say it was a schoolgirl error on your part to be careless with such a tell-tale possession, but that would set my mind racing with such indecent images of you that it should probably stay unsaid. Maybe we'll revisit the idea if I find you tied up and at my mercy on a future occasion.

My musings are interrupted by a moaning from your gagged mouth and a wriggling of your arse. It seems that you are trying to get more comfortable, but I can't see what you have to be unhappy about. As far as I can tell, I've been the perfect gentleman. You acquiesced at every stage of your ensnaring and I even wedged a cushion between your stomach and the edge of the table to make things more pleasant for you. What more could you want? After all, you told me you wanted a man to take you in hand.

Perhaps I can do something to distract you from any discomfort. I take a sip of my whisky, leave the glass beside you, then slide off the table and fetch myself a chair. Placing the chair directly behind you, almost between your splayed legs, I sit down and pick up my glass once more. I take a moment to admire your body from this ideal vantage point, thinking of the number of times I've stolen glances at those long, toned legs when you've worn short skirts or slipped out of the bathroom clad only in a towel. I don't need to be furtive about it any more because there's nothing you can do to object. Each of your slender ankles is firmly attached to a table leg by a pair of police-style cuffs which are proving just as effective at holding them there as they would be at securing a prisoner's hands. My view is made even more perfect by the fact that your feet balance uneasily on a pair of your sexiest high heels and your legs are encased in a pair of sheer black stockings. I savour the view of the suspenders stretching over your butt cheeks and connecting your stockings to the belt around your waist. They are pulled deliciously tight by the involuntary spreading of your legs and the whole ensemble frames your most intimate area to perfection before my predatory eyes.

You were certainly dressed to kill earlier tonight. I found it hard not to gape when you emerged from your room in a stunning red dress, all made up and ready to go. Little did I know at that point that you were wearing stockings underneath, rather than tights. But now those stockings and your shoes are the only garments you have left. Other than that you are completely nude. I've allowed you to keep these items only because they add to my viewing pleasure. The rest I have stripped from you.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I was reflecting on the mistakes you made to get yourself into this mess and how easily you could have avoided it. Meanwhile I was going to take your mind off any discomfort that you might be feeling in your position. I reach from my seat on the chair behind you to caress the inside of your left thigh, enjoying the sharp intake of breath I hear through your gag at the other end of the table as I do so. I run my finger up towards your sex and back down the other side, repeating this motion a few times, getting tantalisingly closer to my target until eventually I make contact with something unmistakeably warm and moist. Your juices are betraying your submissive excitement to me and at that moment I know that it's not just my bonds that hold you tight. Your body is my toy to play with as I will. I emphasise my victory over your independence by tracing my finger upwards to stroke your clit, very gently for now, enjoying the slick, silky sensation created by your body's arousal. Your breathing becomes more ragged as I do so and I detect the first whimper of desire from behind that gag.

I keep you simmering away like this with the action of my finger while I finish my historical analysis of the situation. You were so kind to agree to accompany me tonight, but in retrospect you have to accept that it was another link in the chain which led to this. The event was a work social commitment which I was expected to attend, strictly black tie, and I didn't have a date. I even engineered things so that it was you who suggested we could go together, just as friends, of course. I accepted gratefully and we had a great evening. We ate, we drank, we danced, we flirted, you drank some more, and before we knew it we were getting a cab home.

The nightcap was my suggestion, but you really should have seen through it as a way to lower your inhibitions some more. My proposal of a game of cards was even more transparent, but by then it was as if you were wilfully participating in your own entrapment. Instead of refusing and going to bed, you giggled and asked what the stakes would be. From there it was all too obvious for me to moot the idea of a strip forfeit for the loser of each round. I made sure I chose the game and that it was one which was familiar to me and not to you. I carefully avoided looking too good so as not to put you off. After teaching you the rules I won the first hand but chivalrously insisted that it was a practice round only. I let you win the second and told you that as the winner you could choose which item of clothing I should remove. I lost my bow tie, but set a precedent with which you could hardly argue later. After that it was like taking sweets from a baby. One hand later your dress hit the floor and my lower jaw nearly joined it when I saw your stockings and suspender belt. But I regained my composure and within a few minutes your bra and panties were discarded, you were dressed as you are now and I had lost nothing further but my jacket and cummerbund.

Even then you could have saved the situation and gone to bed with nothing but your dignity lost. But when I won the next hand and you reached to remove your shoes as the next logical item I stopped you. 'I have a better idea,' I said. 'Keep them on and I'll give you the chance to win everything back in one go. I'll even do all the chores around the flat for a month if you win.'

I watched your face as the idea ticked over in your mind. 'And if you win?' you asked hesitantly.

At that point I knew I had you. 'You have to do exactly as I say for the rest of tonight,' I replied with a grin.

The hand was a tough one and at one stage you had me worried, but I pulled it back from the brink and laid the winning card with a triumphant chuckle, watching you taking in the realisation that you were now mine to command. 'So what do I have to do?' you asked with a tone of resignation. 'Give you a blowjob, I suppose.'

I looked at your pretty lips and felt my cock stirring at the prospect of sliding into your warm, inviting mouth, but I'm not that predictable. I thanked you for the tempting offer but told you I wanted you to put on my bow tie instead, which seemed insane, but there was method in my madness. You raised your hand to your neck with a bewildered expression, but that wasn't what I had in mind. 'Give me your hands,' I instructed, and when you reached them towards me I tied the silk tightly around your wrists, glad that it was a proper bow tie and not a pre-knotted version. It probably ruined the material but I was past caring. It was all for the greater good.

I will never forget your face as you took in your new-found restraint. The bow tie was hardly the most effective bond ever invented, but it did the trick of getting the message across to you of what I had in mind. Your expression changed quickly from confusion to a half smile of conspiratorial anticipation as the truth sank in. All this happened while you were still kneeling on the floor where we had been playing our card game. You looked beautifully innocent and at the same time obscenely suggestive as you looked up at me with your hands lashed together in front of you.

'Ready for a new game?' I asked.

'I don't think I have a choice,' you replied. 'I'm all yours.' They were the sweetest words I ever heard.

I had to leave you briefly to get some supplies, but you were still there when I returned and you didn't seem to have made any efforts to escape. If anything, you looked more into it than you did before. Your nipples were noticeably more erect yet it certainly wasn't cold in the room. I was also pretty sure that I spotted you jerk your bound hands up from between your legs as I entered. Had I really caught you getting yourself off on being tied up by me? I pretended not to notice to avoid embarrassing you. Besides, I had far more humiliating plans for you to put into place.

............

So now you're trussed up like a Christmas turkey and it's way, way too late to object. Your trim upper body is pressed down against the polished table top on which we've shared so many meals. I bet you never predicted you would grace it like this. I notice your breasts are trapped beneath you and wonder if you're glad now that they're not too big. I know you're sensitive about their lack of size, but I've always found them perfect. Your wrists are still bound by my bow-tie, but the loop is now cinched tight by a length of rope. The other end of the rope stretches in front of you and disappears under the table, where I have attached it securely. The effect is to pull your arms forward, force you to bend over the table and drag your body down to a horizontal position on your stomach. Your feet are still in contact with the floor, but your legs are spread and anchored to opposite sides of the table by my cuffs, leaving your pussy and butt completely vulnerable to whatever I have in mind. The piece de resistance is the combination of your body position and the fact that I have kept you in your heels. They push your pert arse upwards so that it is the highest part of you and present it involuntarily for my delectation. I always think a woman looks at her best from behind when her head is below the level of her arse and, with all due respect to your lovely face, you are confirming me in that view tonight.

The ball gag is my personal favourite of the supplies I have used on you. I've owned the rope and cuffs for a while and you are not the first woman to feel their snug embrace. But the gag is new. I bought it specially for you, choosing red because it always fits the mood. I unwrapped it for the first time as you watched in fascination before I moved behind you, slipped it over your head, drew it into your obediently open mouth and buckled it tightly at the nape of you neck, drawing your hair aside as I did so. There's nothing quite like a gag to express submission, especially a ball gag. I'm not sure whether it's the humiliation of being forced to wear something designed purely as an instrument of sexual enslavement, or the way it parts your lips so suggestively, or the fact that you can only speak in unimaginably erotic, incoherent noises when wearing it. Whichever it is, there is no doubt in my mind that no matter how tight the bondage I inflict on a woman, she will always be a great deal more helplessly mine once I've stuffed her mouth with a gag. My cock was already firm inside my clothing, but I felt it try to force its way up and out as I forced that ball between your luscious lips.

Meanwhile I'm sitting at your business end with a glass of whisky in one hand and the other one teasing you gradually towards orgasm. The noise coming from your mouth is increasing in volume and I need to be careful I don't let you come too soon. It would be a shame to rush things and give you an easy ride. I withdraw my finger, trailing it gradually from your clit and enjoying your whine of frustration as I do so.

The two of us could write a book of advice for young women on how to avoid the pitfalls into which you have stumbled unfailingly tonight. What would we call it? Perhaps something as straightforward as 'How to avoid getting turned into your flatmate's sex slave' would do the trick. It's not very literary, but it would get the message across. Still, something about the way you are responding to this situation tells me that if you could turn the clock back you might just do the same things again in the full knowledge of where it would lead. You're hardly trying to get free. In fact, when I moved my finger away from your sex you desperately tugged at your bonds as you tried to follow it. You poor little thing. All tied up and nobody's getting you off any more.

Maybe I can find another way for you to demonstrate just how much you want to come. Standing up from my chair I place one of my knees between your spread legs, lifting it until my upper thigh comes into contact with your sex. You instinctively take advantage of the contact, rubbing yourself against me in your frantic efforts to relieve your frustration. Your juices go all over my trousers, but I don't care. It will be an interesting one to explain to the dry cleaner. It doesn't seem appropriate to say that I tied a girl up and she wanted to come so much that she humped my leg like a bitch. Maybe I should make you deliver the clothes and explain. Could there be anything more humiliating for you?

But it's time to move things on because I'm ready for some more entertainment. I fetch two further items of equipment. The first is a full-length mirror. It's a free-standing one which we bought shortly after you moved in because you were so grumpy that there wasn't already one in any of the wardrobes. I position it behind you because it's for me, not you. Seating myself once again on the edge of the table beside your arse I check the angle and am pleased that it gives me a full view of your rear end, from imprisoned ankles to exposed butt. I pick up my second item. This is a short cane, of the type used by generations of schoolmasters in days gone by. I didn't let you see it before, but I inform you of it's presence by resting it on your flat upper back. I feel you stiffen as you realise what it is and what I am likely to do with it. This will take things to a whole new level.

Picking it up once more, I draw it slowly down your upper body, allowing its end to tickle you as I do so. I linger over your flawless, delicate arse cheeks, so vulnerable to what I am about to do. Then I slide it vertically down your crack and between your legs, at which point you cannot help resuming your frantic thrustings against it as you seek satisfaction. But I don't leave it there long enough for you to reach any fulilment. I withdraw it, noticing that it is now slick with your juices. I wipe them off on your back, leaving you glistening with the evidence of your own lust. Now I move the cane into the business position, holding one end firmly in my right hand and resting the length horizontally across your arse. I sense you holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable, but I choose to tease you first, slipping my left hand beneath your body to one of your breasts and caressing it. You are so aroused now that the merest touch causes you to moan loudly into your gag and at the moment when your guard is lowered I bring the cane up and down again sharply against your exposed butt. I watch you jerk instantly onto tiptoes in the mirror and listen with delight as your moan of pleasure turns into a squeal of pain, still erotically muffled by the gag in your mouth. I allow the noise to subside and then do the same thing again, this time teasing one nipple and drawing you into the enjoyment of my attentions before curtailing your pleasure, harder this time, with the cane.

I'm almost coming myself at the sheer selfish joy of what I'm doing to you, but I want to prolong this as long as I can. I stand up once more and move to the other end of the table, bending down so my mouth is close to your head. 'Here are the rules,' I begin. 'I'm going to let you come, but every time you make a noise I will punish you. Good girls stay silent. Understand?'