All the Bells and Whistles Pt. 06

Chapter 16 -- Round Two

The first thing he did when he returned was reach between my legs and shut off that infernal vibrator. The second was to remove the waist chain altogether. Next, he freed my arms and then my ankles, then my wrists and finally my collar. He didn't unbuckle my gag, to my disappointment; I wondered if he had locked it, like everything else he had made me wear to that point.

He held out his hands and eased me to my feet, my legs stiff from the prolonged restraint. The only sounds that I made came from the bells on my panties, as if they were being resurrected, and the sound of my breathing made louder as I could only breath through my nose.

Once I was standing, he ran his hand down the side of my face and smiled at me affectionately. He tucked another unruly wisp of hair into my headband and kissed my forehead. Then he led me to the bed and helped me up onto it, the sound of the bells was smothered into submission as I first sat and then lay back on the bed. My hands went to my crotch, and gently straightened out my panties. It felt good to be able to touch myself again, but the agony had lasted far too long for me to even consider more than that.

He smiled as he watched my hands make the adjustments. "Are you okay?"

I nodded dramatically. It was good to be able to move my head again, even if the collar itself was still limiting.

"Well you won this round, baby. You managed to outlast not just the first, but the second poker player as well. They went out on the same hand. Two down, five to go."

Jesus. I couldn't survive much more of this.

I wondered if I would have to tap out. The "game" was always about him playing with me as much as he could without pushing me over the invisible line. But I guess it was inevitable that some games would be called early, neither of us ending up a winner. Normally my part is to play the game as long as I can, and hope that I last until it reaches its natural conclusion. I wasn't feeling good about my chances tonight.

Not after that round.

"You can have ten minutes. I'll text you when it's time to open this," and he tucked a new note into the pocket of my apron and confiscated the first one.

He kissed my forehead, and then planted a kiss directly on my gag. He pushed the kneeling post back against the wall and then left, closing the door behind him. I could hear him talking in the hallway -- passing someone on their way to the bathroom I knew. I lay perfectly still, recovering from the most intense bondage he had ever put me through, and I knew I wouldn't be making a sound.

I folded my arms up to my chest as if clutching something dear to me and I relaxed. It felt so good to have my arms in front of me again, and my legs outstretched. I reveled in the feeling.

On my back the gag didn't seem to make me drool so much, but I found myself sucking lazily at it anyways as I enjoyed my freedom. I had a feeling it wouldn't last.

The ten minutes passed in a blink. Moments after he had left the timer had disappeared from the TV screen. There was only the soft glow from the dimmed lights. The chime from my phone announcing the text message shattered my brief reverie.

I heard the sound of the bathroom door open and yet more footsteps retreating down the hall as I fished my phone from my apron. Funny how the fear of being caught was starting to fade, I thought.

I read his text: Wakey, wakey, beautiful. Time for your second challenge. Good luck!

The feeling of anxiety and trepidation that were so prominent earlier were absent as I opened the second note. It was all becoming very matter of fact at this point.

I bit down on the rubber cock in my mouth as I read the note. A gag of this shape would surely cause me to develop a bad habit; couldn't he see that?

The note read:

Mademoiselle,

Some of the guests may be spending the night, you never know. The guest bedroom is an embarrassment. Ensure that it is ready for them should they need it.

- Make the Bed

- Put away the towels and linens

- Dust

- When you are finished return to the Master Suite and the Master of the House will attend to you.

Merci beaucoup

The feeling of anxiety crept back into my chest slowly this time. My last adventure outside the relatively safe haven of the bedroom had been terrifying, and short. This task seemed like suicide by comparison.

The guest bedroom was at the far end of the hall, at the top of the stairs. It was literally on the other end of the house. In heels and adorned with bells it may as well have been a mile away. There was no hope of covering that distance without being discovered. Even if I did, I would then have to carry out the tasks on the list, without the relative safety and implied privacy of the master bedroom to fall back on. It was a monumental challenge, and it seemed destined to end with my utter and abject humiliation.

As if to drive home the point, I heard footsteps on the stairs and I listened as they eventually came down the hallway, then fade with the closing of the bathroom door.

I automatically sighed, but the gag even made that unsatisfying.

I thought about the note again. The duster was still on the table under the T.V. Apparently, I would need the duster again, but the thought of having to dust with that thing annoyed me on principle.

As I pointed out earlier, I'm a bit of a neat freak. When I clean, I clean thoroughly, no matter what it is. That includes dusting. Normally I would need cleaning supplies to properly dust, but they were all downstairs in the laundry room. The task was obviously for ceremonial purposes only.

I waited for the poker player in the bathroom to finish what he was doing and head back down the stairs. Once I was sure he was gone, I gingerly stood up from the bed and picked up the feather duster.

It seemed like such a waste to make me dust with this ridiculous prop!

Armed with my toy weapon, and tiptoeing in my high heels, I was ready to tackle the guest bedroom. The only question now was how to get there without being caught.

I placed my hand on the doorknob and listened for at least half a minute, until I was finally convinced that the upper floor was clear of guests. I turned the knob and peered out into the dark hallway...

I could tell you that the journey to the far end of the house was an epic adventure, full of close calls and near misses, but I'd be lying.

Based on the cheers and hollers I heard from downstairs, and my limited knowledge of poker, at least two players were "all-in", and the rest of the table was rooting for their favorites. I could have stomped and danced my way down the hallway and I'm sure no one would have noticed. It was almost disappointing... almost.

The noise from the action downstairs had not subsided by the time I closed the door on the guest bedroom. I was relieved to see that the room was not the embarrassment that his note claimed it was. The bed was rumpled, and you might even say it looked like it had been slept in already, but it would be easy to straighten out. The towels and fresh linens were already folded, but they were simply piled on the dresser. As for the need to dust, it was obviously overstated. The biggest challenge was obviously getting to and from the bedroom.

Was he going easier on me, I wondered?

I had the bed straightened out, the towels laid out in an inviting array on the dresser, the linens in the drawers and I had just begun to dust when the roar went up from the crowd downstairs, followed by clapping and the sound of fists pounding on the table.

Whatever had them worked up, it had obviously reached its conclusion. I could hear chairs scraping across the floor as at least some of the players seemed to be stepping away from the table. The noise subsided dramatically.

Dusting this room was absurd.

Dusting this room with a feather duster from a lingerie store while dressed up like a fetishized maid and wearing bells and this ridiculous fucking gag, was lunacy.

Even if there had been dust to clean in here, the feathers on this duster wouldn't have put a dent in it. At best I'd just be moving it around. At worst I'd be caught doing it.

After a couple of minutes of swishing the duster around the room, moving as little as possible to keep from making any noise, I literally threw up my arms in exasperation and swore through the gag.

I'm pretty sure the whole point of this challenge was simply to send me to the far end of the house, outside the haven of the master bedroom, to risk my humiliation when I tried to complete it.

Now, if you're thinking to yourself "of course that's the point you daft woman!" well, just keep it to yourself.

Obviously, I don't play along in these kinky games for the opportunity to get housework done. He makes the games, and he makes the rules -- beating him at his own game is one of the ways I get my satisfaction. However, being lured into this situation is not my idea of winning.

I had taken the first cautious step towards the door, steeling my nerves for the dash back to the master bedroom, when I heard the beginning of the stampede.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs and voices coming closer froze me in mid-stride. The bells that had been faintly jingling (as I had almost mastered the art of moving without setting them off) now seemed to be echoing off the walls. I quickly tucked my absurd feather duster into the waistband of my apron and then reached behind me with both hands to stifle the bells on my panties. I stood there frozen as the men outside the door reached the top of the stairs. I could make out at least three voices.

"Time to break the seal!" one of them bellowed.

Then the most terrifying thing I can remember experiencing in my entire life occurred. There was a loud "thump" as a foot was planted just outside the door, and then I heard what can only be described as the sound of a beast attacking a doorknob in desperation as the man on the other side of the bedroom door -- the last barrier protecting me from the utter humiliation his gaze would unleash upon me -- took hold of the knob and seemingly tried to tear it clean out of the door itself.

If not for the gag he would have seen my mouth agape in horror. He would certainly be unable to mistake my emotions when he saw my eyes though, which were nearly as wide. The door wasn't open yet, but there was no hope for me. There was nowhere to hide, and no excuse under the sun that could explain my situation.

Surely, I was about to become the most infamous housewife in this small city. I would never be able to show my face anywhere again. I had trashed my limited social life for a cheap sexual thrill.

Fuck. Me.

"Hey, dumbass! The bathroom is that way, and since when do you pull to open a fucking door?! Move along, moron!"

"Screw you! It's not like I got a tour of this place you know. Whatever... I have to piss."

The door didn't open. It might be about to fall off its hinges based on the ferocity of the assault the desperate man on the other side had just leveled at it, but it did not open. I was not the most infamous housewife in the city. Not yet.

I suddenly realized that I needed to breathe. The gag practically forced me to breathe through my nose, but I was terrified of making even that noise, so I concentrated on exhaling the breath I'd been holding throughout that terrifyingly close call, in a calm and controlled manner, and then I inhaled the same way. My pulse was racing, and I was desperate to breathe deeply, but there were still at least two men on the other side of the door. The thought of being infamous was still fresh in my mind, and I resolved that I would asphyxiate myself if necessary, to keep it from happening.

Getting my breathing back under control was a major feat considering the corset I was wearing and the fucking rubber cock that filled my mouth, but I eventually managed.

As my breathing slowed, I was also able to hear more of the conversation between the men waiting just outside the door for their turn in the bathroom. From what I could understand of their conversation the poker game had already created its share of victims; at least one of the men in the hallway was out of the game. I wonder if there was any correlation between his performance at the table and his slurred speech.

I stood there frozen in place long enough to determine that there had been four men come up the stairs and not three as I had guessed. Two of them had had their turn and I could hear them jostling and insulting one another in that way that only men can understand as the made their way down the stairs.

The two men left in the hallway didn't seem to be nearly as desperate to use the bathroom as the first two who came up the stairs, and that fact just might have saved my ass.

I hadn't dared to move since the herd of men had so suddenly started up the stairs.

I was still standing awkwardly like a statue in mid-stride, with my hands holding my bum like a child trying to rescue her bathing suit from a puppy. The discomfort of holding such an awkward position for so long had finally caught up with me though, and I now had to either move or collapse.

Desperate to relieve the ache that had grown from holding my silent pose, I slowly straightened my back, and then began to slide my back leg forward so that I could stand in a more natural position to wait for the coast to clear.

As I finally stood somewhat upright, I didn't notice the feather duster -- which I had forgotten about in my earlier panic -- slip from my waistband. When I think back on it falling to the floor, with the men just outside the door ready to discover me in my all my glory hiding in the room, I always imagine the duster falling in super slow motion.

Of course, it didn't.

It fell like an anvil. When it hit the floor though, it completely startled me. I had been so anxious about being quiet that I hadn't even noticed it slip from my apron. Of course, I did the same thing I always do when I'm startled; I squealed (which might be the only time I have ever been thankful to have a mouth-filling cock strapped to my face), and then I jumped.

When I jumped my feet didn't actually come off the floor, but my hands shot to the front of my chest as if to protect myself from an invisible threat, and that of course released the bells. And then I froze for the second time since those guys came up the stairs.

"What was that? Was that the cat?" The voice came from the hallway.

"It was something. Where did it come from? It sounded like bells; don't you think?" it was the other one responding.

"I'm pretty sure it came from that room." Obviously he was referring to the room I was in.

Not for the first time this evening I was faced with the prospect of being discovered. I can tell you the anxiety wasn't getting any less, despite the repetition. I could hear them coming back down the hall, towards the door. For the first time though, I manage to overcome my panic. There was just too much time for me not to take action; I had to try to save myself from discovery.

I was facing the door, only a few paces from it, when I decided to try to make a break for it. I can't say I was thinking completely clearly, because I'd taken two shuffling steps before it occurred to me to cover the bells, and the resultant jingling was now unmistakable outside the door.

"There it is again! There is totally a cat in there! Didn't he say his wife hates cats?"

I had made it as far as I was going to go. I took up my new position hiding in the corner against the door -- hoping that my toddler-quality hide-and-go-seek technique would somehow save me. I prayed that hiding behind the door would be enough.

"Dude, if he has a cat in there you can't open it. I'm allergic!"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I puff up like a marshmallow and break out in hives. It sucks."

"Wouldn't that have happened by now, if there is a cat in the house?"

They were right outside the door, and I could make out every word they said. My jaw was aching, and I realized that I had been clenching down on the rubber cock in terror.

(I told you it was going to foster bad habits.)

"Just leave it alone, it's not worth it. Besides, I'm still in the game!" the one with the allergy was practically pleading.

Funny, I thought to myself, I thought I would be the one doing the pleading!

"Hey you two, hurry up and get the hell back down here, or we start burning your blinds!" the voice came from downstairs.

Apparently, the rest of the guys were getting impatient.

The doorknob never turned, and I wasn't exposed by those men after all.

I figure the fact that they weren't desperate to use the bathroom might have actually been my saving grace.

You see, had the one with the allergies been squirming to use the bathroom, he would have rushed right in when it opened up, instead of keeping up the banter with the other one. If the allergic guy had been in the bathroom when the duster dropped and the bells came to life, there would have been no reason for the other stranger to hesitate about opening the door.

And the time the two of them wasted discussing the issue wouldn't have caused the rest of the players to get impatient. I'm a glass-half-full kind of girl, and I had found a new appreciation for cat allergies.

After waiting for the last two men to return downstairs to the game, I recovered the duster and used my newly developed jingle-bell-maid ninja skills to return to the master bedroom, where I once again closed the door and slumped against it in relief.

Chapter 17 - Relief

I moved to the bed and collapsed onto it face first. The bells welcomed me to the pillowy softness with their now-familiar refrain, and then they too went silent. The rollercoaster ride was starting to take its toll on me.

I felt exhausted all of a sudden. The sexual tension, the arousal, the intoxicating rush that always followed the terror of a near miss was forgotten for a moment. The corset, the collar, the absurd gag, the cuffs, those fucking panties, they all melted away.

The moment of relaxation lasted longer than I would have guessed. No doubt the webcam on the T.V. had shown my husband that I had returned from my "task". I figured he'd have been right along to initiate the next debauched phase of his plan.

But time mercifully slipped by, as I recuperated on the bed, in the same position I was when I collapsed onto it in the first place. For a time, I didn't even think -- I just laid there with my mind blank, my tongue fidgeting absentmindedly with the cock still strapped in my mouth, as if it were entertaining itself.

Eventually I was brought from my zombie state by the sounds of the bathroom door opening and the toilet flushing. There was no sound of footsteps though -- it must have been the ballerina again.

I went through the list of guests that I had identified in the house. So far there was the Ballerina -- perhaps the most dangerous man in the house -- and of course Mr. Cat Allergy, and his partner Curious George. There was Stomper, who seemed to treat stairs as an enemy to be crushed. There were others, but I hadn't bothered to label them yet, and I hoped I wouldn't need to.

After the Ballerina there finally came the sounds of more footsteps -- first at the stairs and then coming down the hall. I didn't worry about who it was, I had been through this situation so many times this evening and come out unscathed that I was starting to get complacent.

The door opened and I turned my head just enough so that I could see my husband standing in the doorway, a smug grin plastered on his face.