Backboarded & Tormented (750 Words)

This story was written for the 2024 Literotica 750 Word Challenge. Below this line are exactly 750 words.

"Thanks!" she said. Then, uncertainly, "I love...used...ambulance...stuff?"

My unit was finally retiring its decades-old wooden backboards for lighter, lower-maintenance plastic models. I had taken the best one home for my wife. Like her, it was a blonde bombshell, six feet of finely-aged Baltic birch.

"I know how much you like to tidy things away when you're not using them." I winked and watched understanding dawn on her face. Eager now, she oohed as I pointed out the padding I'd added, for comfort during extended use. She ahhed at the felt on the runners, to protect our hardwood floors.

"Could we...?" She looked sidelong at me, her eyes saying what her mouth could not. Initiating was still hard for her. "I'll wear the shoes you like."

"Don't worry about the shoes." I kissed her, reaching for her waistband.

She slapped my hands away. "My legs are gross. I haven't even shaved."

"Your legs tell the story of your life." The lingering muscle of a track-and-field star, the softness of a white-collar professional, the livid stretch marks of a mother of three.

"Flatterer." But she smiled. Instead of slapping my hands away again, she fastened her lips to mine and reached for my belt. We stripped each other with the ease of long practice, lips locked the whole time, writhing against each other.

"Focus!" she scolded.

Laughing, I showed her how to thread the straps through cutouts in the board. There were four, across my shins, my thighs, my hips and forearms, my chest and biceps. Soon, all I could do was wiggle my fingers and toes.

She straddled me, squashing my cock against my belly. I could feel her slick lips parting around my length. She rocked her hips, grinding against me. I groaned.

"Let's...test it?" she panted. "Please? I'll be...as gentle as possible."

She giggled, a bad sign. I nodded eagerly. She draped herself over me, pillowy breasts warm against my chest, and rewarded me with a deep, wet kiss.

She shifted to the side. She stroked my nipple, then pinched, hard. I hissed and twitched uselessly against the unyielding straps.

"Ooh," she breathed, her eyes wide. "You didn't move at all. I wonder..."

This time she used her nails. They cut into me like knives. I gritted my teeth, struggling not to cry out. She liked it when I started out brave. It was about the process, she said.

"Please," I whispered, "somewhere else now?"

"Honey," she cooed. "Of course."

She chose a flap of skin on my arm and looked to me for permission. I nodded.

I soon lost track of time, of everything except her gorgeous blue eyes, her flushed cheeks, her one strand of hair that escaped her ponytail to mat itself against her forehead.

And her hands, of course. I knew where her hands were. They wandered my body, leaving hot red half-moons in their wake. She described them for me, her voice rapturous as she spoke.

"Like hickies." And she kissed one, tonguing and sucking gently.

She knew that pain was best seasoned with pleasure, that endurance required rest. But each time, her eyes soon returned to mine, desperate, pleading. Each time, I nodded. Each time, her face lit up with the purest joy, the purest love.

"Thank you!" She kissed me. And then she hurt me.

Silent tears rolled down my temples. She licked them up, sighing with satisfaction. "So strong," she murmured. "So brave."

Finally, she asked, "Want to see what you've done to me?"

She turned around and backed up. Her pussy gaped in my face, the lips engorged and glistening, the clit already protruding. Her musk rolled over me. I strained upward, desperate to taste. She allowed it. She rode my face to a screaming orgasm.

She drowsed on top of me a while, recovering. Then, as if thinking aloud, she said, "So we know it holds. But is it comfortable for prolonged use?"

I whimpered in dread.

Her eyes lit up as she warmed to the idea. "I could take a bath. Soak, while you waited, helplessly bound. Shave. Put on something nice. I still look all right in latex, don't you think? It covers the stretch marks."

"God, yes." She was breath-taking in latex.

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

Quite the contrary. "Water?"

She got me a juice box. She supported my head as I sucked at the straw. Then, putting the baby monitor by my head, she slid me under the bed to await her pleasure.

The idea of a man being tied down and pinched all over comes from "The Loving Wife" by paltego. Google it if you like your women very affectionate, very sadistic, and not at all faithful. Be warned that in addition to the tagged content, that story also contains scat, forced bi, cuckolding, and MF/m scenes.

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