All the Bells and Whistles Pt. 04

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 10 - Another Explanation

Once again I cursed myself for being in this situation. Believe it or not, this too was my own fault, and I knew it.

You're probably thinking that I sound like an abuse victim, with my attitude that the punishments I receive are somehow my fault. However, that is not fair to my husband, and I know it. It is my fault that he felt confident enough to re-fold my panties in a very personal way before stuffing them back into my mouth.

I can explain.

When we started playing together (I don't mean sleeping together, I mean playing -- the games started way after the sex) we eventually realized that he gets a special satisfaction from having something in my mouth. Basically, he gets off on gagging me.

He has explained on more than one occasion that it is a very powerful act to him; if his partner can't talk, she symbolically loses her ability to communicate, which is a very submissive state for any person, man or woman, to be in. Hence, based on his kink for having a submissive partner to play with, he really gets off on placing something sexy in my mouth. The sexy part is important though; dirty socks, random objects, or other abstract items don't have the desired effect. Panties -- if they're clean from a practical point of view -- seem to fit the bill nicely though.

He also enjoys using proper gags, such as you might find in the dark corner of a sex shop. However, I'm not a huge fan of those, and as a result they don't usually feature prominently in our casual encounters. As a result of this, the only item that fits the criteria and is typically available to him is, as you would expect, are my panties.

I don't mind them to be honest. It makes him happy (and noticeably harder!), and they're way more comfortable than a ball-gag or similar contraption. And the obvious, logical reaction to the "Gross!" factor that some people might feel is the fact that the only time my panties become an option is when they're basically fresh. Let's face it -- the evidence of my arousal (and sometimes his arousal) are often on them, but that same evidence is getting into both of our mouths if the foreplay is half-decent anyways, so panties dampened by my excitement really aren't any different. But if you find it gross, well, I really don't care.

Anyways, back to why wet panties should be folded a certain way before being inserted into my mouth.

Most of our lovemaking is not full of lingerie and punishments and kinky games. Shocking, I know.

Let's be honest here, nobody has time for that, at least not all the time. More often than not, we're making the most of a quiet evening, like I'm sure all couples do. Sometimes on those lazy nights I want a bit more from him than I'm getting, and in order to get that I have to indulge his kinks at least a bit. Everyone does it, I know I don't have to explain it to you. Sometimes it's a bit of dirty talk, sometimes it's more. As I mentioned earlier though, I'm not the greatest communicator in the bedroom, and that includes talking dirty. It just isn't my strength, I'm too shy!

So anyways, when I want more, I have to encourage him. I'll usually send him a signal somehow that I want more, and his solution is often to point out that if I can't say anything helpful (i.e. talk dirty to him), maybe I shouldn't be able to say anything at all.

Being that a lazy roll between the sheets is not exactly the setting for a pulp-fiction-esque ball-gag, I usually feel his hand rooting around in the sheets until he comes up with my discarded panties. He eventually puts them where he thinks they fit best, and I get what I want: a noticeable and very satisfying surge in the size of his contribution to my pleasure.

One night I was feeling acutely disappointed by his enthusiasm. We played our lazy little game of cat and mouse until he had rounded up my panties and laid them on my chest as he casually screwed me in a spooning position. He could see that I was teasing him more than usual, antagonizing him as an invitation to shut me up. Somehow, he came up with the rather bold idea that I should shut myself up, and that he would give me all I could handle if I did.

For some reason I was much more confident than usual, and so I took the bait. I took the panties from where he had laid them on my chest -- a pair of cute, silky pink panties that I normally wear as pyjamas, and I began to fold them while he watched. I grinned very mischievously and took my time doing it, making sure he could see that I was being deliberate.

Now, before you judge me for what I did next, you must know that I was REALLY horny, and I wanted a lot more satisfaction that I was getting from his casual spooning.

So, I folded those panties carefully, his hips moving slowly against mine as he slid in and out of me in a rather uninspired fashion. But I felt him begin to grow inside me as he watched what I was doing.

First, I turned the panties inside out -- they were hardly damp from our limited, lacklustre foreplay, but it was the thought that obviously counted. Then I proceeded to fold them down to a manageable size, all the while keeping the damp portion on the outside of the folds.

He didn't say a word as he watched me do this, but the look on his face was one of pleasant shock.

When I finally placed the folded panties in my mouth, damp side down, I simultaneously let out a muffled grunt of discomfort. My dirty little trick had brought him to his full potential, and he thrust just a little too hard at that moment. I got everything I wanted on that lazy evening, but I had also set a ridiculous precedent for all future uses of my panties...

So, when I say it is my fault, I mean I have no one to blame for his perverted preference but me.

With my panties now back in my mouth, he smiled at me -- just to piss me off, I'm sure -- and told me to "Stay" once more. For a split second I contemplated blurting out a muffled "Fuck you" in response, but thankfully I didn't act on the idea.

He disappeared into the closet and came back with what I recognized were the rest of the matching set of slim black cuffs, one of which I had worn while chained to the bed only a short while earlier. He walked past me to the bed and unlocked the fourth cuff from the chain and then returned to me. Without saying a word, he proceeded to fit one to each of my wrists and then he knelt to add one to each ankle. They were all secured with tiny padlocks.

I was now adorned with cuffs and a collar in addition to my maid outfit and the panties festooned with tiny little bells. My earlier feeling of getting off easy had vanished completely.

Without a word he put both hands on my waist -- which was now noticeably smaller with the corset -- and spun me around. He pulled my hands behind me and then lifted them up almost to the small of my back. I could tell by the way his hands moved that he was attaching my cuffs into the lower lacing of the corset. When he finished my hands were locked behind me but held up above my bum and against my back. The position caused my elbows to stick out from my sides a little.

He took hold of one arm and guided me to turn around to face him once more. As I turned, he drew a short, delicate chain from his pocket and knelt in front of me once more. The chain was clipped to first one ankle cuff and then the other, creating a hobble. He stood once more, a look of smug self-satisfaction on his face. If I didn't have the panties in my mouth, I'd have mocked him. If only.

"One more accessory for you honey," he said as he smiled.

Tape I thought. I assumed the last accessory must be tape. Probably a wide strip of black tape to cover my mouth and force me to keep the panties in place.

I was wrong.

He produced another delicate chain from his pocket and reached up to my neck, where he fastened it to a small ring in my collar.

I was a little confused by this final accessory at first -- I really was expecting him to tape my mouth shut around the panties. Besides that, the chain he attached wasn't long enough to be a very effective leash, and he was leaving to go back to the poker game anyways. What could the chain be for?

Of course, I didn't have to wait long to find out. I was standing on the side of the bed nearest the walk-in closet and the en suite. He tugged on the chain to lead me towards the wall that separated them from the bedroom, where there was a hook mounted at shoulder height that normally held my bath robe. It was only a couple of steps to the wall and that hook, at least for a normal person. Hobbled as I was it took many more steps -- each one eliciting the gentle sound of dozens of tiny bells jingling in chaotic unison.

The sound made me flush with embarrassment. Not at the idea of being heard, but because it seemed to be the final point that drove home my ridiculous situation: the cuffs, the collar, the corset and revealing outfit, the gag, the leash, the hobble. It all added up to more than the sum of the many parts. My lover did this to me. It was so outrageous and ridiculous and humiliating and sexy, all at the same time. I loved it, but it annoyed me to admit that to myself, and I definitely couldn't admit it to him.

He continued to lead me with the chain, stepping out of the way as he neared the wall so that I could get closer. When I was only about a foot away from the wall, he relaxed the tension on my short leash and I stopped, but it took another moment for the bells on my panties to go quiet.

I watched -- my face mere inches away from the wall - as he threaded the end of the chain through a loop in the ornate, antique-looking bath hook, and used another tiny padlock to secure it. I was tethered to the wall. That was the final accessory he had for me.

His hand slid up the back of my thigh and under my skirt to cup my bum -- causing the bells to sing once more -- and he leaned in and kissed my cheek. The chain tethering me to the wall mean that I couldn't turn to face him without stepping even closer to the wall to create more slack, so I stood still as he kissed me.

Then he whispered in my ear, "I'm going to go get the poker game started. I'll be back in a while to issue your next challenge. You might want to use this time to think about how you want to play our game the rest of the night. I suggest a little more sportsmanship." He sounded stern.

I heard every word. His comment about sportsmanship was referring to my insolence so far. The ill-advised actions and words that had led to my current inability to articulate myself. The truth of it was my outbursts had been somewhat unsporting by our standards, and in many cases would have shattered the mood and caused a premature end to our game.

As I said before, he plans and executes our games, but I have to enjoy them too. Playful antagonism is encouraged, but harsh criticism usually called for a reset, as it probably meant that one of us wasn't enjoying themselves.

Tonight, I had been surprised and even terrified a few times, and he was certainly pushing new buttons and testing limits we had never encountered before, but I was still enjoying myself. Hell, I had asked for something like this! ...although in my defense my request had come under extreme duress. Still, his comment reminded me that I could end the game in an instant, but it would have consequences that would ripple through future games. Admittedly, I didn't want that.

The sobering thought that had been triggered by his admonishing comment passed through my brain in an instant. He removed his hand from my bum as he said it, and the bells jingling once again reminded me that the games were still on, for now. I snapped back to reality as he turned and left the room, pulling the door firmly shut as he left.

I had been surprised that my guess about the final accessory he had for me turned out to be wrong, but now it made perfect sense.

All the fun he'd been having with me up until now had been planned in great detail by my husband. Here I was experiencing exactly what I'd confessed to wanting during those erotic interrogations of the past; I was tied up while we had guests in the house. This may not have been what I was picturing when I confessed to him, but I guess that's no one's fault but my own.

I realized that my outbursts had probably almost unsettled him enough to call it off and leave me up here to get undressed by myself and figure out how to reconnect the cable so I could watch reruns while hiding from his friends. Instead though he hadn't wavered, which probably took a lot of self-assurance on his part, and he had found a way to punished me in a way that made his point and still allowed me to make mine if I needed to.

I was holding my own panties in my mouth, after I'd been thoroughly played with and then fucked in them. They weren't taped or tied in though -- I was holding them. Now I knew why.

With my hands cuffed and held above my bum, and my collar tethered to the hook, there was no way I could pick anything up if I dropped it. I was free to spit the panties out, but I'd never be able to put them back in. If he returned to find them on the floor, the message would be clear, and the game would be over. However, if I wanted to show him that I could be a good sport and carry on, I would have to prove it by holding on to them, as long as it took.

The mind-fuck was starting all over again. Once again, I told myself that I would be good, I would play along, but this time I decided I would try to enjoy it. After all, this was one of my fantasies that was playing out, even if all the details had been generated by him.

And so, I stood there waiting. From time to time I would shift my weight from one foot to the other, never really achieving the relief I sought though, as the hobble prevented me from moving either foot enough to relax the other. I strained to make out the words from the boisterous crowd of men downstairs. I managed to identify a few voices, and I could follow the topics of their conversation for the most part, but I couldn't hear enough to make out the conversations.

My hands fidgeted at the small of my back, and I took it as a personal challenge to try to keep even a single bell on my bottom from ringing when I shifted on my feet. For the most part I was successful.

The most annoying part of my predicament was in my mouth; if you've ever tried to hold something in your mouth for more than a moment, you know what it does to you, it causes you to salivate. Thankfully my gag could be manipulated somewhat. I could even close my mouth completely if I wanted to, but I couldn't stop the saliva from building up in my mouth. I either had to drool, or swallow.

It was rare that my husband took oral sex all the way to the finish with me, and almost unheard of for him to come in my mouth. But now he was probably loving the idea of his seed ending up inside me via a different route than usual, even if the amount in my mouth was hardly worth measuring.

If I hadn't pushed my luck so far at the beginning, I would have considered spitting them out. Under normal circumstances it would get me in trouble, but that was usually part of the fun. Now however, I was out of freebies... so I resigned myself to swallowing.

With no clock in sight to help me measure the time, and all my fidgeting and growing discomfort to remind me that it must be passing slowly, I did my best to guess how long he might leave me like this.

He had said he would return when the game got started, but not being a poker player myself I wasn't sure how long that could take. I did hear them arguing about money -- the general theme seemed to be that the game wouldn't start until everyone had paid, and something called a "Buy back" was not an option on this night.

There seemed to be more details being worked out by the group, and it wasn't lost on me that the negotiations were important enough that none of them used the bathroom. Finally, I heard the voices die down if only for a moment, and then a cacophony of complaints that someone was leaving at what must be an inconvenient time. I heard the throaty scrape of a wood chair being pushed back from the table over my new wood floors and I forgot all about my position for a moment while I swore to myself that if they scratched my floor I'd march down there jingling all the way and kick each one of their asses.

I had sanded and stained those floors myself -- it was one of the few times I ever got on my hands and knees without a riding crop in sight.

The conversation settled back down while at the same time a man was coming up the stairs. I froze in place and considered spitting out my gag yet again. Instead, I focused on keeping the bells silent and praying that I wouldn't be discovered.

When the footsteps proceeded right to my door and it swung open without hesitation, I felt the familiar instant rise of panic somewhere between my throat and my stomach, and my knees felt like they would buckle. I turned to look at the door as best as my tether would allow, and the relief must have been evident in my eyes. It was my husband, back as promised, and he was grinning like an asshole.

"Scared you, didn't I?" he said.

I ignored the comment. Partly because I knew any reply I was likely to blurt out would probably cost me, and partly because my gag would likely muffle it in such a way as to humiliate me and satisfy him, all that the same time.

"Well I'm sure you're going to experience that feeling of panic many times tonight, dear; unless you get off on this more than you let on."

He gently closed the door behind him and closed the distance between us, until he was able to lean against the wall beside me, close enough to touch me if he cared to. I had to turn my head and shoulders as best I could despite my collar and the tether just to be able to see his face.

He looked at me with a mischievous smile and nodded as he said, "Yes, I think there is more pervert in you than you let on..."

My feet were already almost shoulder-width apart, a position I'd arrived at while trying to find some comfort despite my hobble. It wasn't modest considering my current outfit, but the bells had already trained me out of sudden movements, so I hadn't moved since before he arrived. He used it to his advantage now as he moved his right hand between my legs and gently touched me through my panties. I gasped in obvious pleasure.

"Hmmmm, that's not the reaction of an innocent housewife bound against her will, now is it?"

His grin widened as he applied more pressure with his hand.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly and applied even more force with his hand, eliciting what I could only describe as a grunt of satisfaction from my stuffed mouth.

Fuck that felt good!

He continued to apply pressure as he waited for me to acknowledge that I was enjoying this, at least on some level. Making me admit it was probably the most sadistic thing he could do to me, and he knew it.

I finally nodded meekly in agreement, which instantly brought a derisive chuckle from him.

"Glad to hear it, dear," he said.

He turned his body towards me and reached behind me with his left hand, placing it under my skirt and on top of my bell-covered ass. He used that hand to hold me firmly in place and then he started to grind my clit with three fingers in small, slow, deliberate circles. I never did like a light touch down there, and his hand was well-practiced.