Ann: The Married Years Ch. 38

He took her mouth, possessing it with his. She fell into his body, allowing him to envelope her in his big, muscular arms. His tongue probed her mouth, and she found herself forgetting to breathe. It was as if he'd sucked the oxygen directly from her lungs, his kiss all consuming. It wasn't until she felt his hand on her ass that she inhaled, her chest pressing into his. His fingers pushed up her shirt, brushing the bare skin just above her waistline at the small of her back, and she realized what was happening wasn't an erotic dream.

Her palms found his ribs, moving toward the center of his chest. Parting the front of his robe, she touched his smooth, muscular body. Moaning into his mouth, she let her hands drift down; trailing lightly until they met resistance. Unflustered, she untied the sash, opening the front fully, resuming her unguided tour of his torso. When she reached his boxers, she hesitated for just a moment, unsure of how to proceed. They were in the front lobby, and while it was early, they were still in the open. Alicia could return at any moment for all she knew.

Resisting the urge to lower them, she instead reached inside the opening, searching. Her tiny fingers found his shaft, grasping it gently, feeling it grow.

"Mmmmm...." she moaned again, pulling back from the steamy kiss. "It feels so thick, James."

"I wouldn't know," he mused, "It never occurred to me to worry about something I can't control."

"I trust if you can't control it, you still know how to use it," she smiled, pulling out into the open so she could see it.

"I imagine that's up to others to judge as well," he said, pulling away. He turned to head upstairs, leaving her standing there wanting so much more.

Calling out, she tried to remain cool when she was suddenly running very hot. "I hope I get the chance."

"Be ready for when I need you, Miss Evans. Oh, and leave a couple washcloths outside my door. I might need those in a little bit."

"We still don't have phones. How will I know when it's time? That is, if you want me to do this."

"That's what these are for," he said as he held out his mobile. "The wave of the future, remember? Leave your number with the washcloths. I'll contact you when I want you upstairs. And it's not if any more, Miss Evans. You're paying for the room. The least I can do is let you sleep in it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything was happening so fast Ann wasn't sure what was going on. One minute, she's anxious to find out why Neil's mobile phone woke them up so early and why he abruptly left the room; the next, he's back, and she finds herself face down on the bed with her hands cuffed behind her back.

She picked up on the part where he said there had been an ice storm overnight, and that sort of made sense. When she had tried to turn on a light while Neil was out of the room and it didn't work, she assumed somehow she'd just got the order wrong, turning on the lamp when she needed to flip a wall switch, not bothering to keep working the premise to make sure. Instead she'd picked up the phone in the room and the line was dead. It had her confused, yet she somehow figured it was part of whatever he was doing... all part of some elaborate plot that went along with the Bond theme of their weekend.

It still could have been, considering how he'd come back in character, taking away her toy gun in a powerful move before throwing her onto the bed and pouncing on top of her. Holding her captive at gunpoint, he accused her of sabotaging his efforts to eliminate the villain in their mock adventure, questioning why she didn't return to her seat at the theatre in time for him to pull the trigger.

She reveled in the fact that he was picking up where they sort of left off the night before, going so far as to use a scene from the movie they were loosely basing their weekend on. But in License to Kill there wasn't a power outage and the phones weren't down, so there was no reason to believe he would have gone to such lengths to have them both turned off just for a motive to wrestle away her gun. His reaction felt real, though, as did his threat to harm her unless she explained the truth as to why she wasn't back in time the night before. But he could have done that when they returned from the theatre, or any time since.

She thought about other Bond movies, thinking it was possible that he drawing inspiration any one of them to continue to have fun. After all, it was about being Bond. There was no hard and fast rule discussed that said everything they did could only be from one movie. He'd already shown that he was thinking along those lines by using the assassination scene from The Living Daylights as the basis for going to the play in the first place. He'd combined the two pictures. Who was to say he wasn't going to use ideas from any of the ones in the series?

While she was sure there was likely a scenario in one of them where a phone would be dead, or the power would be cut off, or both, she couldn't recall it specifically. Then again, why would he have specifically mentioned an ice storm? As much as she loved to think he could have deliberately found a way to have the room darkened and isolated on purpose, she was certain that was his way of telling her they were truly stranded, and he was going to make the best of the situation.

The phone call ran back in her head. She'd been woken from a sound sleep in such an alarming way that her motherly instincts kicked in. It was just like hearing Owen in the middle of the night. She began listening intently to determine if everything was fine, or if she was needed. The details of the conversation were vivid in her mind, even though she'd only heard one side of it. What she remembered more than anything was him mouthing to her that Owen was fine.

"He wouldn't have done that if it was just part of this game. He's being honest about the ice storm," she concluded. "We're really stuck here."

It certainly made more sense than him going to the inn and asking them to turn off the power and the phone to the room, although there was little doubt that he could have. When it came to their games of passion, he proved to be just as resourceful as she. That notion made her sigh happily as he maneuvered her on the bed.

She relaxed; content in that she knew her son was safe, and no doubt having a great time. While she missed him immensely, it helped knowing he'd never experienced separation anxiety like some of the other kids in their play group, Cynthia, the girl he was having a weekend play date with being one of them. Owen was a joyful child, filled with adventure and confidence, much like his parents even at such a young age.

"I bet he's having a blast," she grinned.

That thought quickly vanished as Neil lifted her ass into the air, dragging her knees across the sheets.

"I wonder what he has in store for me today," she dreamed, closing her eyes, her grin becoming more of a wistful expression. It wasn't that her mood was changing as much as the unsettling feeling in her stomach of facing the unknown.

When he first jumped her, taking the gun away in a swift, acrobatic move, he turned it on her, asking pointed questions as to why she hadn't come back to her seat on time. His grilling caught her off guard, and she couldn't improvise an answer that made sense given the plotline they had been following. He responded to her stammering silence with an ominous promise to 'get to the bottom' of her absence. Along with that statement came a sudden turn; he'd flipped her over and cuffed her hands behind her back.

She closed her eyes when he lifted her ass into the air, her chest and shoulders pressing against the mattress. "He's going to get to the bottom of it all right, with mine."

Now at his mercy to a point, she trembled, not having a chance to work herself into the frame of mind to be punished. Then again, this wasn't Annabelle on the bed, and she wasn't submitting to him. He was Bond, and she was his partner on a mission, at least up until the point where he began questioning her loyalty. It had never occurred to her that she should be fighting back, trying to escape. But when she felt a rope against her ankle, she flinched, pulling her leg from his grasp.

His response was to simply straddle her torso, sitting on her while he wrangled her legs. He found it interesting that she'd packed two new packages of clothesline, just like they'd used the very first time he ever tied her up in Colorado. He'd gotten used to using a thicker braid, liking how it marked her body afterward. But this wasn't about bondage. This was about control, and finding the truth. His plan all along was about interrogating her until he got the answers he was looking for.

With each ankle decorated with a length of rope, he went to the bathroom to retrieve some washcloths. Hoping to take advantage of his oversight, she bolted for the door, looking to make a break for it. She wasn't sure what she would have done if she actually got it open. After all, she was in a lodging establishment, and she was naked and handcuffed. But she was back in character and it seemed like the logical thing to do.

No matter; while the doorknob wouldn't have been a problem even with her hands clasped behind her, the latch proved much more difficult. She was fumbling with it when he came out of the bathroom.

His grin showed his real feelings when he saw she wasn't on the bed. "Aw... she's still into this," he sighed, thankful that she hadn't become tired of the adventure she'd started.

A perverse thrill ran through her when she saw the annoyance in his stride. He closed the gap between them in seconds, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a wet bath towel. She felt weightless in his strong arms, her hips resting on his collarbone as he carried her toward the bed. With her ass exposed, she was surprised he didn't take the opportunity to swat it. But she hadn't gotten the point yet.

This was never about her being disobedient, although she'd failed to return when he wanted her to at the theatre, thereby ruining his imaginary master plan. It was about discovering what her motives were. She wasn't about to be punished. She was about to be tortured in the context of their playful game. And he was going to do it in the most unconventional way.

It didn't seem that unconventional, at least at first. She found herself back on the bed in the same position she'd been in before, face down against the mattress, her breasts pressed into the sheets. Her knees were bent, her ass high in the air as he quickly tied off one of the ropes to a post at the foot of the bed. He didn't bother to use a washcloth on the first one, wanting to make sure she didn't attempt to flee again.

Tying the second one, he used the padding Brooke had requested, securing her foot in place, pulling it wide, but leaving the tension on the rope loose. She found it odd, since she'd be able to straighten her leg out, the effort to restrict her seeming a bit pointless, at least until he pulled out more rope and cut it into several lengths with a Swiss army knife. At that point she realized all she could really do was lie down flat if she wanted; she wasn't going anywhere. Not with both her ankles tied to the foot of the bed like they were, no matter how taut the ropes were. The handcuffs behind her back would see to that.

He re-tied the first rope to the bed, adding the only other washcloth he had. Once done, he was able to relax with her now tethered in place, and he went to the door, opening it to find several fresh ones neatly stacked on the floor, along with a note.

Reading, he let out a warm laugh before placing it on the desk next to the bag from the night before; the one containing Ann's dress and the T-shirts she purchased. "This could turn out to be an interesting day," he smirked.

There was a great deal of conjecture in that thought, as the day was really just beginning. And like Ann, it was nothing like he thought it would be when he woke up. He embraced the new developments, making the best of the hand Mother Nature had dealt them.

Returning his attentions to the tight-lipped spy on the bed, he set about finding ways to make her squeal, in more ways than one. Sure, he wanted to know why the mission failed and if she had anything to do with it, but mostly he wanted to make her squirm and scream in delight as he found new, delicious ways to make her cum.

The ropes he attached to her upper thighs, near her crotch, brought more thought to the way he was securing her to the old, sturdy frame of the bed. He brought the other ends of those ropes to the posts at the head of the bed, stretching them tight before tying them off over the washcloths. In doing so, he pulled her knees wider, spreading her legs more, and it made the rope on her lower leg become tight; the slack taken up. When he finished with her other thigh, her rump was still high in the air, but her legs were now effectively hogtied in two directions, holding her firmly in place. The only movement she could manage was to lift her torso vertically, which she did with his help. She was on her knees, but she was upright for the moment.

She trembled when she saw his determined look as he went about his work, fashioning two more ropes. It seemed certain he was going to somehow tie her upright as she was, and he'd begin some kind of torturous abuse on her ass to get her to spill whatever 'secrets' she was supposedly keeping from him and MI6.

It came as a bit of a shock that he made slip knots at the ends of the two ropes he was working with, unsure of just how that was going to help him bind her arms, what with the way her wrists were already clasped behind her back. Then she realized in horror that he had no intentions of using them on her arms at all.

Widening the opening of one of them, he placed the lasso he'd created over her left breast, tightening it at the base, cutting off the blood flow. It quickly began to swell and change color, her nipple becoming alarmingly engorged with milk to the point it throbbed.

"SHIT!" she winced, her teeth clenching as she adjusted to the pain.

Doing the same thing to her other breast, adjusting the knot in the rope to make sure it was in the same direction as the first, he went about fastening her tits to the bed as well. But he didn't leave her upright. Instead, he bent her again at the waist, her back perfectly parallel with the bed as he tied off the loose ends on the same posts at the head of the bed that were binding her thighs. Her useless arms rested on her back, her tits hanging below like the udders of a cow desperate to be milked.

Her mammaries took on a darker tone, her overall tan unable to hide the purplish hue. As they swayed beneath her, they began to throb along with her nipples, their weight somehow seeming heavier than ever.

"And here I wanted bigger tits," she growled, her plight setting in. "Fuck! Does he lie awake dreaming up new ways to tie me up?"

Steeling her nerves, she attempted to prepare herself mentally for the abuse that was sure to come. At the same time, she began running through dialog in her head, hoping to have some reasoning for not returning like he'd asked. Obviously, it was all make believe, but they were so far off script from any of the movies, she was having trouble coming up with a plausible explanation. And it didn't help now that she was bound like she was.

"He's going to spank me until I tell him something," she sighed, more from not knowing what the 'secret' was she was supposed to be harboring. While she wasn't necessarily looking forward to him abusing her rear end, she wasn't dreading it either. She was becoming wet, her thumping breasts reminding her of just how exhilarating she found being bound and helpless. "What the fuck am I going to tell him?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"FUCK!" Ann screamed in her head, the agony pushing her to the breaking point. "When is he going to DO something to me!"

She'd been tied to the bed for almost a half-hour, her body beginning to ache from the odd position he'd somehow come up with. Mainly it was her tits that hurt, the rope lassos constricting tighter whenever she leaned forward to rest her back. And she had to do that, unable to bend up straight. She had tried to hold her position to take the weight off the tethers binding her breasts, but whenever she'd tire, she would have to relax, which forced her upper body to fall toward the mattress and tighten the nooses around her tits.

To make matters worse, she was dripping all over. With the power out, he'd become concerned about heat. The cold outside would eventually find its way into the rooms of the old Inn. Fortunately, the establishment was over two-hundred years old, which meant that every room in the house had a fireplace. He'd been tending the fire he'd built, painstakingly stoking it, adding logs; the heat now radiating throughout the tiny room.

At first, she was relieved, knowing she'd likely be naked all day. But it didn't take long for her to start sweating. Her proximity to the fireplace and the predicament she found herself in formed a sheen on her silky bronze skin. It was incredible how she perspired even though she couldn't move.

Beads began to roll down her forehead, streaming down her chin until it fell to the mattress. Her back was slick and shiny, as was her chest. She was dripping between her legs as well, but it was hard to tell how much was sweat and what was flowing from her mound. The way her legs were spread was doing the same to her labia, flowering open for him. But he ignored her pussy for the time being, his mind focused on something else; another part of her body that was slowly dripping. Well, parts.

"My, Miss Bouvier, you seem to be lactating. Have you had a child recently?"

She wasn't sure how to answer given the parts they were playing. It didn't fit the profile of the character, but then again, who was to say for sure? They never talked about the women that were Bond girls in the movies and whether they were mothers. One assumed they were either always single, or the ones that he bedded that were married had no children to speak of. But that was a silly notion. In truth, they were hot, attractive women, and Bond used them, either for his pleasure, or to gain intelligence or assistance on whatever mission he was involved in. He never questioned if they were mothers because that never mattered to him.

Reasoning in a split second that there had to be a mother among the many women he had slept with, she answered. "Yes, about a year ago."

He looked at the ring on her finger, playing with it. "So, is there a Mr. Bouvier that I don't know about?"

"No. I'm wearing a ring for the same reason you are... to make it look like we're married. And that's because we're on a mission... together! Now let me loose. I'm telling you, I was just late because I got delayed in the gift shop!"

"It's not that easy, Pamela. I don't believe you're telling me everything. For instance, I just found out you have a child."

"That's none of your business," she snapped. "I'm here to do a job. If I tell people I have a baby it can affect my work. You should know better than anyone that we have to keep our personal lives separate from what we do professionally."

He moved next to her, the weight of his body moving the mattress, making the rope binding her breasts squeeze them tighter. She winced, the pain shooting through her body like lightning, heading straight to her pulsing clit.

"Fuck!" she scowled yet feeling her pussy become wetter just from the burn of the ropes.

Her nipples were more swollen than she could remember. Her tits felt incredibly heavy, and they ached. She needed to pump them, having gone far too long since the last time. Between the bindings and the way they were hanging below her body, the milk they contained seeped from them. When enough would pool at the tip of one of her nipples, gravity took over. She was dribbling droplets onto the bed, something he found oddly erotic.