All the Bells and Whistles Pt. 02

Author's note:
This is my first story and a relatively long one (60,000 words total), which probably isn't a good thing. I originally started posting chapter-by-chapter but realized it hurt the flow, so I've reduced it to approximately 8 "parts" or so.
The "action" pics up in parts 4 and beyond, so if you're impatient feel free to jump ahead. But if the story matters to you, well, you know where to start.
If the feedback is good, or if I'm just enjoying the creative outlet, I've imagined expanding this into a series focused around the characters as they develop. We'll see.
I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 4 -- Reality Sets In

I came out of the fog of sleep slowly. As I became more aware of my surroundings, I also became aware of the gentle caressing from a hand on the bare skin of my thigh above my stockings. As my vision cleared, I could see my husband standing over me on the bed, waiting patiently for me to wake up.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" I managed to say through a yawn and a stretch.

The chain on my ankle rattled against the padlock as I moved.

He nodded towards the expensive pink vibrator on the bed next to me and said, "Did you enjoy your orgasm?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir," I replied in a mocking tone.

As I spoke I took the vibrator in my hand and stretched my arms above me again, depositing the toy under the pillow as I did. I looked at him as if he was seeing things.

"You can continue this charade if you like, dear, but I saw the whole thing. And I have to say that was pretty bold of you to use a vibrator with the door unlatched."

He held up his phone as he spoke, and to my horror on the screen was a live video image of the two of us. Somehow, he had set up the webcam in the smart TV on the wall to feed to his phone.

"What an evil bastard!" I thought to myself.

So much for being good. I immediately went on the defensive.

"You didn't say I couldn't! And besides, I can hear if someone is coming up the stairs, or at least down the hallway! And I figured the guys couldn't have to go to the bathroom yet anyways -- they're just arriving!"

It was all true. He couldn't get mad at me if I told the truth.

"I didn't say you were in trouble, I asked if you enjoyed yourself," he said as he waited for my answer.

I blushed a little and nodded sheepishly as I said, "It was okay".

"Just okay?" he asked.

I nodded, "You know I prefer it when you're... involved".

I find my orgasms are much more satisfying when they're a team effort.

He smiled genuinely.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. As for being safe because no one could need the bathroom just yet, well, you might be surprised to know that a couple of the guys are more like girls. There have been two trips to the bathroom up here already."

My heart leapt into my throat. Already? Did they see me? I had dozed off; how long had I'd been asleep? What time was it?

I wouldn't know if they had peeked in or not. Dressed as I am, my toy lying beside me, it would have been pretty obvious what I was up to -- even if they hadn't noticed the chain on my ankle! He could see the fear on my face and his grin grew wider.

"Don't worry honey, they didn't act any different when they came down than when they went up. I think you got away with it." he said.

"Well you should have shut the fucking door!" I hissed. "Why the fuck did you leave it open anyways? You said it would be closed! You're such a DICK!"

His grin turned to a frown. "You know I don't like it when you swear. And the door was closed. Granted, it wasn't latched, but one would have had to push it open to see anything, so in my opinion it was closed.

"You'll pay for that mouth of yours though", he said while the expression on his face became stern.

Fuck! In my head I was berating myself for antagonizing him so harshly, despite my actual anger towards him for the webcam, the door, and what I considered two very near misses.

To my surprise, rather than make things worse for me, he turned his attention to my fettered ankle and withdrew the key to the padlock on the ankle cuff from his pocket. With practiced ease, he inserted the key and twisted, and just like that my ankle was free. I didn't dare move though; I was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

He turned and looked at me as he flipped up the front of my ridiculous, frilly pink lace apron and unhooked the end of the leash where it connected to the top of my panties. Then he traced his finger from there all the way up the length of by body, between my breasts to the base of my throat, and he hooked his finger under the leash where it connected to my choker and drew the full length of it out from under my apron and into his hand. He then gave it a firm and not-so-subtle tug.

"You've had your nap, now it's time to get up," he said.

I didn't hesitate. The look on my face betrayed the anxiety I was feeling for what was coming next as I swung my legs off the bed and pushed myself up to stand in front of him, the leash hanging loosely between us. With my own six-foot height and the four-inch heels he had prescribed (over an hour ago I could now see by the clock) - which I was miraculously still wearing, I might add - I could nearly look him in the eye. The funny thing is, after my profanity-laced outburst and the removal of my ankle chain, I had lost all my confidence and most of my nerve.

He had me standing in front of him, dressed in that ridiculous get-up, with the leash in his hand attached to the choker around my throat only making me feel even more vulnerable. I was genuinely anxious about what he would do to me for snapping at him so viciously -- not because he would ever hurt me, but because I was worried that I might have somehow taken the fun out of the game for him. His face was unreadable, completely blank.

He turned away from me and tugged the leash once again.

"Over here." He said.

I followed on the leash as he took a few short steps towards the corner of the bedroom, where a beautiful, rustic-looking padded bench sat. I had found it months ago in a used furniture store and fallen in love with it. He hadn't batted an eye when I suggested we should get it for the bedroom, and in hindsight that should have made me suspicious. The bronze frame and ornate feet and hardware made it perfect for attaching things, like leashes.

I liked it because it looked great; he liked it because it accommodated his kinks.

He stood in front of the bench and used the leash to guide me in front of him. He pointed down at it and said bluntly, "On the lounge. Hands and knees. Face the wall."

"Hands and knees" was another command he had trained me on. Not as prescriptive as "Attention", but similar in effect. It meant on my hands and knees of course, but specifically with my arms straight, my head up and facing forward, ninety degree angles at my hips and shoulders (something I never managed to get right twice in a row), a definite arch in the small of my back, and of course my legs spread wide enough to leave room for a deftly placed hand.

I obeyed, without hesitation. I was desperate to make amends for my previous outburst, hopefully before he thought up some devious way to make me pay for it.

I took my position on the lounge as ordered, while he paid out just enough slack on my leash to let me. This time I didn't take any chances; I did my best to nail the position, focusing on the arch in my back and the angles, and abandoning all modesty with the placement of my knees. If he wanted unrestricted access to the area between my legs, I wasn't going to protest now. I just hoped my obvious effort to comply fully wouldn't go unnoticed.

I didn't dare look back at his face; I stared intently at the wall in front of me and waited.

I felt the leash go slack as he dropped his end on the bench between my hands. I heard him move away from my side, and then I heard the sound of his belt. He was unbuckling it.

He had never punished me with his belt. The crop? Yes. Bare hands? Occasionally. Even a small leather paddle -- practically a toy -- on occasion. But he had never whipped me with his belt. Truthfully speaking, by kinky-people standards he had never actually whipped me, period. It wasn't off limits per se, but it was certainly a risky endeavor on his part; I would put up with a lot of things, but I also wouldn't hesitate to shut him down if he crossed the line, and we both knew that. Still, I was nervous about the belt. And I certainly didn't think I deserved it. I wanted to protest, but I wasn't sure if that would end the game before it even started, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I resolved to see how far he intended to take it.

I flinched when I felt contact on my bare cheek, but it wasn't what I expected. It wasn't a blow from his belt, it was his hand, and it was gentle. He was caressing my backside, circling gently, moving closer and closer to that most sensitive spot between my upper thighs. I tensed up again though, remembering how he does this; he usually kneads and caresses and strokes my bottom before and between each stroke that he applies.

Sometimes he tries to be clever, to misdirect me with his touch. He'll caress my left check and then pull his hand away and strike my right cheek. It really doesn't mess with my head as much as he thinks it does. I'm a grown woman being spanked for someone's pleasure; that seems to be enough of a mindfuck if you ask me.

While I waited, tense and anxious for the inevitable stinging blow, his hand finally found the edge of my panties, and his fingers gently moved them to one side... then without any further warning his fingers found their way inside me.

I gasped aloud at the intrusion, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The effects of my previous arousal and my probably ill-advised -- and definitely unsanctioned - orgasm were still present, and the ease with which his fingers slid inside me made that embarrassingly obvious. Still, they felt good, as his touch always does... good enough that I relaxed for the moment.

Not long after his fingers found their way inside me, he withdrew them, much to my audible disappointment. I felt his body move closer behind me, practically on the bench as well, while his wet fingers traced their way up my bare back, finally ending at my ponytail where they took a very firm hold.

I braced again for the first blow. I wasn't sure how the belt would feel. I wasn't sure how loud it would be when he hit me. Most of all I was worried about how much it would hurt.

Again though, I encountered the unexpected. The next sensation I felt was not the sting of a leather strap. Instead I felt the unmistakable pressure of his erection between my legs. I had been so worried about the sound of his belt coming off that I hadn't noticed that he had opened his jeans as well. He didn't give me any more time to think about it though.

With one hand wrapped around my ponytail and the other guiding his cock, he pulled me back onto him while he thrust his hips forward; all the way forward. He entered me in one fluid, deliberate and forceful motion. He buried himself to the hilt on the very first thrust. The experience should have made me scream, but somehow my voice caught in my throat at the last minute and the only thing that came out of my gaping mouth was a quiet whimper of pleasure.

For his part, there was no grunt or groan or whisper, there was no sound at all; just the sound of him exhaling what seemed like a long and deep sigh.

He continued to hold me firmly by the ponytail as he slowly and methodically took me on that bench. The intensity was almost overwhelming. I wanted to scream at him to go faster, but all I could manage to do was breathe, my mouth wide open and my mind confused as to whether it should tell my lungs to inhale or exhale.

He was even quieter. I didn't hear a sound from him. The pace he set was so deliberate that his pelvis didn't even make that slapping sound against the back of my thighs at the end of each stroke. Every muscle in his body was flexed, and I think he was holding his breath, but he continued to very deliberately fuck me.

It's easy for me to tell how aroused he is just by feel. He gets longer, harder, and just all-around bigger as his arousal builds. I've regularly experienced him grow inside me as he gets turned on. When he is at his highest levels of arousal, it is borderline uncomfortable. I say borderline, because the closer he gets to that line, the better it feels. And there, on hands and knees on that bench, his hand almost painfully gripping my ponytail and his body wound tighter than a drum, I can tell you that it felt amazing. I longed for the opportunity to be able to roll onto my back and touch myself while he screwed me like this. I was imagining the orgasm I could have with him slowly and methodically fucking me like that. But I knew that that was not an option, at least not now...

For all its intensity, the sex did not last long. After maybe a dozen of some of the hardest thrusts I'd ever received, I felt an almost imperceptible quickening of his pace, and then I heard what I swear was only the second exhale of his breath since he started. He pulled even harder on my ponytail and drove himself inside me as deep as he could go and he held us both in that position until he emptied himself inside me.

I have to say, there is nothing I have ever experienced that comes close to the feeling I get when my husband comes inside me. I don't know what it is, and I can't begin to explain it. It is simply, far and away, without a doubt, the sexiest feeling in the world. It must be biological... or something.

I mean, it makes sense that a woman would get a rush out of feeling her partner finish inside her, but it doesn't seem reasonable that it should have such an effect on my psyche. To me it is completely fucking hot, and the sexiest, most possessive and at the same time the dirtiest thing he can do to me.

I felt his considerable weight as he slumped over me, almost collapsing from the effort of his release. He stayed like that for a long moment, draped over me, my hair still twisted in his grasp, his other arm draped across my hips and his cock buried inside me.

When he regained his composure enough to support himself again, he slowly pulled out of me. He used his free hand to gently slide my panties back into place - an almost touching gesture of restoring my modesty. I say "almost" because -- and let's be honest here -- at this point he is still in the process of basically using me as his personal sex toy. The ridiculous outfit, the leash, the trained positions, even the grip he had on my hair -- were all hallmarks of a scenario that was designed almost solely for his pleasure. The fact that I had secretly enjoyed most of it to this point was just a bonus and a total coincidence.

He didn't let go of my hair when he pulled out of me. He held it still in his grip as he stepped from behind me on the bench to beside my head at the other end. Then he used my ponytail just like a handle and turned my face from the wall for the first time since I'd got down on my "hands and knees" and without a word he pushed my mouth onto his cock.

Chapter 5 -- An Explanation

To be clear, he didn't slip his cock into my waiting mouth, he pushed my mouth onto his cock without waiting for me to suggest it was something I'd even consider. He stood perfectly still at my side and - using my ponytail as a handle to control the movement of my head - he slid my mouth up and down the semi-rigid shaft that he'd just finished fucking me with. This too, is my fault, without a doubt. I can explain...

You see, I don't really like the term "giving head" because I don't like giving head. The fact is, I don't like giving any sort of sexual pleasure with my mouth, and he knows this. He knows this because I made it clear to him when we first started sleeping together.

In my mind, performing oral sex is a very slutty thing to do. I don't know why I have such a low opinion of it, I just do. It just seems like such a degrading and debasing act to perform, that I've decided that a respectable woman just wouldn't do it. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that a woman shouldn't do it, or shouldn't like to do it, I'm just saying that I'd be shamefully embarrassed to admit that I like doing it or I'm even willing do it, to the point where I pretty much won't do it.

It's complicated, and I blame feminism!

However, when we first started sleeping together, he started going down on me, and it was good; really, really good. So good, that oral sex from him is the second most likely way for me to achieve orgasm, which is a big deal for me. I'd only had one orgasm with a partner my entire life prior to meeting my husband, which I'm almost embarrassed to say. It might be my fault that my other partners were so inept, but it doesn't really matter -- they were inept, and I suffered.

With the man who is now my husband though, it has always been different. Somehow, he made me feel comfortable enough from the very beginning that I could let go of many of my most obvious inhibitions. He made me feel so at ease that I could actually achieve orgasm.

But I'm digressing.

He started going down on me, and I wanted to reciprocate. But I didn't want to. Well I did, but I didn't, you know? You don't know, of course you don't know, it's absurd. Anyways, the point is I did go down on him. You know; in that traditional way that all girls go down on guys -- he would lay back on the bed and I would kiss my way down to his crotch and then I do my best to pleasure him while not admitting that I am basically simulating my pussy with my mouth, which would be admitting that I am essentially fucking him with my mouth, which is another way of saying he is fucking my mouth, which is depraved. (See, it's all about semantics!). So, I did the girly blowjob thing -- and it seemed okay, but it didn't exactly blow his mind and it didn't exactly make me feel like a sex goddess. Eventually though -- probably because of how unusually at ease I was with him -- I changed the way I gave him head.

One day when he was on top of me, kissing and fooling around, I wrapped my arms around his hips and started to pull him towards my face. He didn't really understand what I was doing at first, but I continued to pull him towards me until eventually his knees were under my shoulders and his cock was resting very suggestively in front of my face. At that point, I let go of his hips and crossed my arms over my head on my pillow and just smiled at him. He hesitated at first, not sure if he understood the invitation I was giving him, but into my mouth he finally went. After some timid thrusting on his part, his hands found their way to my arms and before he really realized it, I had what I wanted. He was straddling my face and whether he knew it or not, in my mind he was pinning my hands over my head. My mouth was his to use, and I smiled up at him -- albeit with my eyes only -- to encourage him. From there on out, it was clear that when it came to oral sex, I preferred that he climb on top and use my mouth. I made it clear that I would rather blow him like that than any other way.

I'm sure my approach to "giving" head is not for everyone, but I like it. The logic may be completely backwards, but it feels like it isn't my idea when he uses my mouth for his pleasure in that way, which in my mind means I don't have to wrestle with the insecurity of feeling like a wanton slut for doing my best to simulate a pussy with my mouth, but that's just me. Trust me when I say I'm jealous of all the women who have the confidence to give head; I don't, so I found a way around it.