Better than in the Books

I sit on the couch staring at the message on my phone. 'I'll be home soon babe hope you're ready for this' stares up at me, the wink following it mocking me. I cringe. It's not that the sex is bad, it's just that the sex is the same sex it's been for the last four years. I love my fiancée more than anything, but sometimes I long for a little bit more fun in the bedroom and a little less wink faces and missionary.

Absentmindedly, I start to think about the book I'd been reading. I read erotica to take the ebb of the longing away. I live vicariously through the characters in my books, imagining the ruthless protagonists tying me up and having their way with me. In the last chapter I read before bed last night Curtis, a big, dominant cowboy was punishing his submissive for not obeying. The scene was so hot but with Mike sitting in bed beside me I couldn't do anything about how it made me feel.

As I think about the scene from last night I start to feel the tingly feeling in my clit I get when I think forbidden thoughts, like the off-limits world of bdsm. It's something I've always been so curious about, how it would feel to be so vulnerable to one person, to please someone with just obedience, to mix pain with my pleasure. My fiancée grew up in a small, closed-minded town where most people married high school sweethearts and the most adventurous we ever got in bed was the occasional round of anal, usually following a few drinks to make us both more courageous.

My hand starts rubbing my clit from outside my pants, pushing hard against the little bud through my yoga pants. The textured fabric from my thong excites me and I look down to see my nipples hardening, poking through the thin material of the tank top I changed into after work. My free hand pinches one, rolling it between my fingers, feeling it get harder as I put more and more pressure on it. A soft moan escapes as the simultaneous pleasure from rubbing myself and pinching my nipple pushes me towards orgasm.

I'm so engaged in playing with myself that I don't notice the front door open or hear the footsteps from the front entry to the living room. I'm pushing myself towards finishing when I hear him clear his throat. I look up, startled and guilty at being caught. I'm usually so careful when I know Mike will be home soon, but the scene from last night was fresh in my head and it made me careless.

I feel so exposed as I look up at my fiancée. When I first look at him he has the lazy, confident smirk on his face that makes him look so irresistible. It makes me feel even more vulnerable as he takes in my wide-spread legs and hand on my breast. The smirking hardens into something sinister, his green eyes narrowing at me in a way that worries me.

He drops the bag he carries on the ground and covers the room in four long strides. Grabbing the hair on top of my head he pulls back, forcing me to look up at him. My eyes water slightly at the sudden shock of both the pain of my hair being yanked and the fact that Mike did it to begin with. The tears slightly blur the outline of my tall, handsome brunette fiancée and I have to force myself to focus on the picture past his shoulder so I don't start crying.

"What do you think your doing?" he asks me, his voice calm but menacing. When I do not answer, he pulls me up out of a seating position by my hair and shakes his hand, shaking me along with it. "Answer me you little slut."

A tear streams down my cheek. "I was just waiting for you to get home. I-I-I thought I'd get myself ready for you," I stammer out, scared about what has gotten into my fiancée. He never gets mad, or upset even. I didn't like the look in his eyes.

"You were being a naughty slut is what you were doing," my fiancée replies. He picks me up more by my hair and starts walking toward the dining room, pausing to pick up the bag he dropped earlier. "Naughty sluts get punished. I hope your ready for the consequences of your actions."

His words both terrify and excite me. I stumble along behind him, trying to keep up to relieve some of the pain on my scalp. When we reach the dining room he half releases me, half throws me against the edge of the table. I move to stand up and I feel a hand on my back pushing my stomach back onto the table. "Don't move," he growls in my ear.

Unwilling to piss him off anymore, I stay still. I hear a rustling behind me and I know he's doing something with the bag he brought in with him. I wonder what's in the bag but I don't dare turn around to look. He takes his time, and although I'm still scared, the anticipation of waiting has the tingly feeling returning to my clit.

The rustling stops. He steps back towards me. He kneels behind me and I can feel him do something to the bottom of both table legs. He's so tall that even kneeling, he comes up to almost my shoulders so I feel the flutter of activity against me as he works at his task. He stops, and I feel his hands at my hips and I instinctively lean a little into him. He slams me harshly back against the table without moving his hands from my hips. He snarls "I told you not to move slut. You're just making it worse on yourself not listening to me."

With no notice, he rips my pants and underwear down to my feet with one swift movement. He pulls them out from under my feet and nudges my legs wider. I feel fabric being rubbed against my left ankle and realizes he's tying my ankle to the legs of the table. I start to pull my leg away but he reaches up and delivers a quick, hard smack to my bare ass. "Move one more time and I promise you you won't be able to sit for a week."

My body shakes with his promise, reacting to his words. My clit throbs now and I rub against the edge of the table slightly, without thinking, to try and find some release. When I realized that I've yet again disobeyed him, I flinch, waiting fo another smack. But instead of smacking me, he laughs. "What, little slut can't control herself?" he mocks. "I can see how wet your pussy is."

He blows on my exposed pussy and it makes me squirm. He finishes binding my legs and he steps away again. I hear the bag rustle again and then he is beside me and I try to catch his eye. He has two straps in his hand. He ties one to each of my wrists without looking at me. When he is done he takes the ends of the straps and pulls them lengthwise down the table and tying them to the legs on the far side of the table. He steps back and admires his work. He has my top half stretched tightly across the table and has my legs pushed widely apart, showcasing my wet pussy to the room.

Returning to the bag, he grabs more items he had brought home with him. He goes to the side of the table that my top half isn't covering and starts setting things down. I move my head slightly to look up and see what he's doing and my eyes go wide. I never would have guessed my small town fiancée would even know what half these things are, let alone have the courage to buy them.

A bottle of lube, an assortment of types of dildos ad vibrators, a riding crop and a small metal object sits on the table in front of me. Whatever Mike had planned for tonight, he had been planning it for a while.

"Imagine my surprise," he begins, grabbing the bottle of lube and the metal object. "When I go to look at your book library on your tablet to get gift ideas for your birthday and I find it full of smut." He sets the bottle down and I see the metal thing he was rubbing lube on was an anal plug. I tense up, knowing where he is going with it.

"Mike, I don't think I-"

A smack on the table startles me. "Did I tell you to talk, slut?" He yells. "All this time you've played the part of the innocent girl next door but your nothing more than a common street whore. Well, now it's time for you to get what you deserve."

He's moved behind me by now. I feel him position the plug at my bud. He pushes it in slowly, enjoying stretching my tight hole around the width of the plug. The pressure builds until it gets to the stem and I'm momentarily relieved until he decides to pull it back out again to the widest part and hold it there for a minute before pushing back in. Done, he gives it a little smack and it makes me jump.

He goes back to the side of the table where he has all his toys set out with a scrap of fabric in his hand. "I don't want your screaming to alert the neighbours," he tells me, pushing it into my mouth. I realize it's my thong he ripped off earlier and I taste myself on the material. Mike stands at the table and grabs the black leather riding crop. He smacks it against his hand a few times, scaring me. I squirm because I'm not sure this I like what he has in mind here.

"Settle down slut," he tells me, still inspecting the crop. "You'll only make this worse on yourself."

He moved back behind me and I tense, waiting for the swing of the crop. When it touches me softly under the curve of my left cheek, I flinch. He traces the curve of my ass lightly and then up and down my legs.

"You had me fooled slut. Here I spent the last four years thinking that I had the perfect girl, except for one thing; you were such a prude," he said as he moves the crop around on my body. "You never seemed to be interested in anything exciting and I'd have to get you drunk just to fuck that tight little ass of yours. But here you are, a bigger whore then I ever could have imagined." With that he brings the crop down hard on one of my cheeks. I screamed, my thong muffling any sound. He brings three more rapid smacks down on different parts of my ass. I screamed mutely each time as tears started to gather in my eyes.

"Don't cry slut, it gets you off when you think about your cowboy Curtis tying you up and doing this to you," he continues, bringing more smacks down on me. He peppers the inside of my thighs with quick little sharp hits, working his way down to almost my knees and then back up. "Your pussy is dripping you whore."

He lightly touches my clit with the thick leather strap on the end of the crop, then drags it upwards, sending sparks through my body. When he gets to my pussy, he pushes it in, wetting the leather with my wet pussy juices. He laughs again, enjoying how much he's affecting me. Without notice, he withdraws it and sharply brings it down on my clit. I scream and jump against the restraints as much as I can.

Moving to the side, he takes the thong out of my mouth and pushes the crop into my mouth. I taste myself for the second time tonight, this time the taste of leather mixed in with the taste. He replaces the crop with my thong again and sets the crop down.

"You handled your punishment like a good little slut," he tells me, looking over the variety of toys on the table before picking something out. "I'll let you have a little bit of pleasure."

He had picked two things, a vibrator and a small remote. He turns the vibrator on and positions it at the entrance of my pussy. He keeps it there for a while, teasing me before pushing the head of the vibrator into me, slowly inching it in. It wasn't overly long but it was wide and that, combined with the plug still in my ass, I felt stretched wider then I ever had. When he has the vibrator shoved in, he steps back and takes in my exposed, stuffed holes.

"Well slut, I'm going to go watch the hockey game. You will not cum you hear me? If you are good you will be rewarded but if you cum I will make earlier seem like nothing. Got it slut?" he asks. I nod at him and he walks away, settling into the living room and turning the tv on. I know he has settled onto the love seat so he has a view of both me and the tv so I behave. The vibrator was a small nuisance but I know I can hold out.

After a few minutes it is starting to bother me, but I'm still ok, when all of a sudden the vibration changes. It goes from a low hum to a pattern of strong and weak vibrations. It shocks me and I try to push myself up against the table again with no luck. The strong vibrations send shivers running through my body while the weak ones give me a quick break before the next wave of strong ones. I start sweating with the effort to hold back my orgasm.

Finally, after what seems like forever, but was actually just one period of the hockey game, I heard him enter the dining room again. I felt him remove the vibrator and all of a sudden I felt empty. But not for long. He replaced the vibrator with the head of his cock. He is rock hard and I can feel him throbbing against my clit. He slams into me, making my hips bounce off the edge of the table. He grabs my hair, pulling my head back at an awkward angle, and uses it to help him pound into me. With his other hand he alternates between grinding his thumb onto the plug to push it in more and pulling it halfway out to stretch my hole.

I can't hold my orgasm anymore between him slamming into me, the plug in my ass, and his balls slapping against my clit. Pumping faster, he leans over me and whispers in my ear, "Cum for me you dirty slut, cum for me."

With that final comment to push me over the edge, my body erupts, drug on by the aggressive pounding of my pussy. I contract my muscles over his cock and this causes him to finish. I hear him moan loudly and pump deep inside me one last time. He unloads his seed inside me and I hear him pull his pants up. He walks away and leaves me there, naked, exposed, and dripping both of our cum.

After a couple minutes, I hear the faint sound of our shower running. It runs for a good ten minutes before I hear it stop. A couple minutes later I hear footsteps coming back this way. He comes back into the dining room and undoes my wrist straps. He kneels behind me again and undoes my ankle straps. I feel something warm and wet on my leg and realize he's wiping up the mess I made with a towel. He cleans me and tenderly kisses each of the red welts left by the crop.

When he's done he picks me up and I'm glad he does. My legs are so shaky I doubt I'd be able to support myself. He carries me to our bedroom and gently lays me on my side of the bed, covering me with blankets. He gets in on the other side and holds me. I'm so exhausted, I'm starting to fall asleep.

"Mike?" I say, fighting through the exhaustion for a minute.

"Yes?" he asks, almost nervous.

"That was nice," I answer, before passing out, curled against his chest.