Biggest Risk of My Life Ch. 02

I did warn you that this tale would begin slowly. Also that it would contain elements bridging three categories: Loving Wives, BDSM and Non Consent. Chapters 2 and 3 and beyond will, perhaps, provide what many of you are clamouring for; a tad more stimulation.

However, I do read all comments; simply ignoring those that rant and rave. The ones that boomed out at me were the ones that were clear and concise. They said "Wrong category".

So I thank you all for your feedback and still welcome any future comments you may make. If you thought Ch. 1 was in the wrong category then Ch. 2, 3 and 4 might result in me being tarred and feathered by the militant irate trolls worked into a frenzy by my audacity to produce a piece that delved into darker areas. Things that both the husband and the wife get up to. Clarity reigns in the last chapter story line about the loving husband and wife but, by then, it will be too late to return to Loving Wives category.

Therefore, Non-consent/Reluctance it will be from now on. At least, for this story line.

For the big Arnie fans of Loving Wives category I say, "I'll be baaacck!"

Now... on with the show.

LS

*****

Planning was something I was good at and I began making a list of everything I would require and then began filling it over the following week.

Camera, for video and stills. Check.

New sim cards that could be discarded later. Check.

Dark, disposable clothing. Top and trousers. Purchased while away facilitating a course in the next city. Check.

Medical gloves. Box of 50 purchased for cash in a supermarket. Check.

Two Balaclavas. One for me initially. One to place on Christina. Check.

One Airline Sleeping mask for Christina. Old one I had borrowed years ago from some broker friends. Check.

Wrist cuffs that can also join together to form handcuffs. From my box of toys. Check.

Deodorant spray completely different from my normal spray. From a Dollar store for cash. Check.

Aftershave. Far different from my normal. Also purchased from Dollar store. Check.

Mini electric drill and two hooks. For use above door frame. From garage. Check.

Ankle cuffs. (If required) From box of toys. Check.

Lengths of nylon rope. For tying up, if required. From box of toys. Check.

Assorted toys: vibrators, dildos, clips, pegs, clamps, anal plugs, love beads, ben-wa balls, mouth gag, candles and lighter. Plus a few other assorted toys. All from my box of toys. Check.

Scissors. Dressmakers, heavy duty. Just in case required to remove clothes. Check.

KY jelly, sun burn cream. All newly purchased from store for cash. Check.

Condoms. (Damn, I can't leave any evidence of DNA.) Store for cash. Check.

Cotton Buds. To place in mouth to disguise speech. Store for cash. Check.

Looking back over the list I realised that many of the items were automatic choices for my little doctors bag of delightful toys that I had used when entertaining my threesomes. "Be prepared" was not just a Boy Scout motto. That was why the bag was left locked in a small storage locker I had "inherited" from the previous apartment owner. Christina didn't even know it existed.

The role play games could go in almost any direction and I was versatile enough to have the "equipment" required for all but highly specific scenarios.

My equipment was ready. I was ready. Now we just needed a confirmed day/date. Christina's days off were Sunday and Monday so the ideal time would be a Sunday late afternoon or evening. I would arrange to have off the Monday.

It was simple enough to let Christina know I would be facilitating a course on the Monday out of town. This was something I was often required to do. I would need to fly there on the Sunday afternoon, returning late Monday evening.

Finally, it was all arranged and it being Wednesday, I just had a few days to wait before my plan would be unleashed on my unsuspecting wife. I think I changed my mind three or four times before the fateful Sunday descended upon us.

...

Full speed ahead and don't spare the horses.

One large problem did present itself. Home security. The previous owner had taken security seriously and had installed state-of-the-art systems. Alarms, both loud to scare off burglars and silent ones that were dispatched off to Security companies who monitored such things.

As an intruder I would have to devise a way in to the apartment that avoided the security systems. Even more difficult than one would think.

When I left for the airport, Christina would drive me and drop me off. Naturally we would have locked up when we left, including activating the alarms. Getting in then would be almost impossible. So how was I going to get in without breaking the system?

It would obviously depend on what Christina did after she left me at the airport. If she drove straight back home she would then deactivate them. I could then enter via a little system I used so I could go running, entering via a sliding French door onto our patio. I hated having to carry keys with me when running so had worked out a way to enter the locked apartment, once the alarm system was deactivated.

But if Christina decided to go shopping or visit her friend Julie or even visit her family (I was sure she sneaked away at times to visit her mother but I pretended to not know. Well she is her mother and I hadn't locked Christina in a cage.) I would be stuffed.

Only thing to do would be to wait it out in the rental car until she returned. I had arranged to pick up a rental at the airport. Possibly the only chink in the plans that could be traced back to me. (Yes, I know. It only needs one piece to bring my alibi crashing down and getting me convicted. But what could I do? I didn't have false ID's like some spy!) There was only one way in to our street and I could position the rental to watch the street entrance until she returned.

When it was time to leave on Sunday I pick up my overnight suitcase that mainly contained my change of dark clothing, shoes and all the larger toys I might use. Together with my laptop bag, minus the actual laptop but filled with the masks, blindfold and smaller items I would need, I set sail to what could be the doom of our marriage.

...

I turned the rental into our street and drove slowly past the apartment. Not so slowly as to arouse suspicion but slow enough for me to see if her car was in the garage. It wasn't. Meaning I had a wait in store.

In hindsight, the tension breaker of waiting and relaxing in the rental enabled me to calm down. My heart had been beating so fast and so loud I was sure I would either have a heart attack or some local resident would hear it as they drove by and investigate. Luckily the windows were darker or tinted or something so people couldn't see me "loitering with intent" in the car.

I mentally crossed "Burglar" off any future career moves. LOL. I'd never survive the preparation period, I quickly decided. My tension dropped with the humour.

Finally, after about two hours, Christina's car drove by. This was it. The operation was a "Go". I knew she would have a shower or bath before eating dinner and relaxing for the evening so I had to move quickly.

It was getting dark as I exited the car and walked down the street carrying my bags. No one was around. I slipped past the line of garages around to the side of my apartment complex. Now I was shielded from any views. I had gone through this process mentally many times and strangely, once the process started, I felt no real nerves or tension.

I changed into the dark trousers, top and shoes, spraying liberally with the deodorant and aftershave as I did so. I then slipped the balaclava over my face and finally, donned the medical gloves and inserted the cotton buds into my mouth. I'm sure my face looked like a giant chip-monks, I chuckled. Now I was ready.

The patio French door slid back quietly and I slipped inside. I was in. There was no sound but I hadn't expected there to be. The entire apartment was sound proofed. One of the many alterations the previous owner had made. Now it worked to my advantage.

I made sure I had the wrist cuffs, the second balaclava plus the sleeping mask in my hands as I crept up the stairs to the second floor where our master bedroom was situated.

Now my heart was beating a lot faster and I could hardly breathe as I climbed closer and closer.

I moved into our bedroom and could now hear music playing in the ensuite bathroom: the sound of a hairdryer occasionally drowning out the music. When it stopped, she would be ready, I decided.

I moved to the side of the ensuite door and waited.

The door opened. She walked out a few paces; then I was behind and on her.

I thrust the balaclava slightly twisted, over her head and pulled down. The eye sockets were not lined up so she was blinded. She was so shocked or stunned that she didn't even scream. I grabbed her by the arms and manoeuvred her over to the bed and pushed her, face down, up onto the bedspread. Now she was screaming and shouting in a muffled way.

I held her body in place as I pulled one arm back and around, placing the wrist cuff on it. Then the second arm and repeated with the cuff. It was then easy to snap them together. She was secure.

I then slipped the sleeping mask over her head, positioning it over where her eyes would be. It was but the work of seconds to align the balaclava so that the mouth slot was over her mouth and she could breathe more easily. I didn't want to suffocate her accidentally.

Unfortunately this also meant she was able to scream freely as well. So she did. Damn, I thought, she sure had lungs on her. Slowly she started to say a few words.

"Help me. Please don't hurt me. Please. You can have my money. I won't say anything. Please."

Obviously it didn't come out quite the way I've written it but unless you could hear the actual volume and identify the pleading noises and sobs that also emanated, you couldn't really appreciate the situation.

I hadn't moved or said anything. Just waited until she calmed down a little, perhaps wondering why I hadn't done or said anything?

Now was to come my campaign. I had decided that there would be no half measures. No overtly gentle, loving type touches. I was meant to be a burglar type rapist, not a potential BFF. I must begin as I meant to continue. I leaned over her, lowered my voice to a deep "devil voice" and, assisted by the cotton wool cheeks, began.

"So my little slut... where are your valuables. You want me to go... where is your safe?"

Between sobs she managed to say, "We don't... have... a safe. Please believe me. (Sob) We don't have one. Don't hurt me... please."

You have to understand, my heart was almost breaking at this point. This was the person I loved... begging for me not to hurt her. The pain I was causing her actually hurt me. But no, I must move this along. I hadn't come this far without seeing it through.

"Everything ... valuable... we own... is in a... Bank security box. I can't get it. It's a joint box with my husband," she sobbed. "We... both have to be there. Please let me go."

"Well slut, where is your husband?"

"He'll be home soon," she lied. "He is... working late. You have to be gone... before he gets here. Please. I won't say anything. I won't," she pleaded.

Interesting. My quick witted wife was still able to think on her feet, even in this situation.

"My wallets... in my purse... on the dressing table. Take it. We don't have any other money here. Please... don't hurt me."

Letting her think I was complying with her pleaded request, I got off her. "Don't move, slut," I ordered. I walked over to her purse and extracted her purse. There was only about $50 in it.

"$50 slut. You expect me to settle for 50 dollars? What else do you have for me?"

I looked back at the bed. She hadn't moved. I now took stock of what she was wearing. She must have completed her shower and got dressed before drying her hair. She was barefoot and had on a knee length, summer weight skirt plus a type of peasant blouse, her standard top she wore when relaxing around the house.

I walked back over. She was trembling and continuing to sob.

"Where's your booze?" I asked.

"In the fridge... downstairs... in the kitchen," she eventually replied.

"If you want to live," her trembling increased, "Don't move. I'm in the mood to party," I growled back at her.

Leaving her sobbing on the bed, I quickly went down stairs and picked up my two bags of goodies, plus two glasses and a couple of bottles of wine from the fridge. This was going to be thirsty work. I also finally removed the balaclava. It was getting warm and itchy under there and, provided I made sure Christina kept her sleeping mask on, I would be safe from view.

Re-entering the master bedroom, I noted she hadn't moved at all. Time for the next phase.

Part of the control factor of a dominant person is to have a steady, controlled voice. It denotes power and total control. Hence, not using abbreviations with words when giving instructions. More control and less miscommunication. Almost hypnotic in its effect.

Equally, it isn't about aggressive speech. Not giving orders constantly. It's also about bestowing complements at the appropriate times. To reinforce certain actions or results.

Thus the submissive person begins to trust their master. But this can take time and that was something I was short of. I would simply have to task calculated risks.

"Well done, my little slut," I rewarded. "You stayed on the bed. It's nice and comfortable, isn't it?"

"Isn't it, slut?" I reinforced the question when she didn't answer immediately.

"Yes... it's a comfortable bed," she admitted. "Please let me go," she pleaded again.

"But, little slut... it's party time, don't you agree?"

"What was that, my slut? I didn't hear your answer," when she hadn't replied.

"Yes, it's party time," she reluctantly admitted.

After opening a bottle of wine and taking the first few sips, I continued.

"Well, Cinderella slut can't go to the ball dressed like that, can she, my dear?"

Christina didn't know what to say, so kept quiet though she had obviously heard the question.

"We need to see what we have to work with," I stated, not expecting a response.

I walked back to my bag of goodies and removed my electric drill and two screw hooks.

Standing under the main door to the bedroom I drilled two holes in the top of the door frame. Then screwed in the two hooks. Over the previous week I had made a guesstimate at the height required, allowing for her actual height plus the length of her arms, so I knew where to drill.

"Well slut," I asked, "Are you ready for your fitting?"

"What did you do? Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you ask. Just... don't." I think she ran out of words at that stage, not knowing what was happening. Only knowing that, up until now, she hadn't been hurt."

"Walk with me slut," I instructed as I helped her stand up and gently guided her over to stand directly underneath the door, positioning her carefully. "Good girl," I rewarded.

Standing behind her I unclipped where the wrist cuffs joined, moving the right one immediately up to the hook above her, and clipped the cuff to it, locking it in place.

"What..." she began to ask.

"This will make it easier for you, little slut," I explained. "Now keep still slut for just a few more minutes." Well, easier for me, I thought, but no need to get into too much detail, I grinned to myself.

She didn't move as I repeated the action with her left arm. It was strange how people always clung to the flimsiest of hopes if they are offered one. Even if there was no base of fact behind it. If they were given no options they would have done something drastic much earlier.

Now I realised that her legs were free to kick out and I couldn't have that. I walked back to my bags of goodies and extracted an ankle spreader bar. Just the thing, I thought.

Kneeling at her feet I gently attached one side, then the other. Now her ankles were spread apart about two feet; enough to keep her balance but not enough to kick with one leg.

"You have been a good little slut, so far," I said. "Well done."

"Why are you calling me a slut," she asked. "I'm not. I've always been a good girl. Please let me go. My husband will be home any time soon. I won't say anything. I promise," she degenerated into pleading.

Well, she's beginning to recover her confidence, I thought. She's ready for the next step.

"But... we haven't had our party yet, little slut. You agreed to it," I stated, to confuse her.

"What? No... no, I didn't. Oh please let me go. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want but don't hurt me."

"I won't hurt you, my slut," I stated. "So, I can do anything I want, Eh?"

Realising what I was possibly leading to, she quickly responded. "Please... I'm married. My husband will disown me. Please don't touch me... don't hurt me."

I stood in front of her this time. Reached out and began undoing the buttons of her blouse.

Her head suddenly jerked up as she began begging.

"Noooooo. Please noooo. Don't. Noooo," as she realised I wasn't stopping.

Finally the buttons were all undone and the blouse hung apart enough to see the safety quality padded bra beneath. The sobbing had recommenced as she realised she wasn't going to be able to stop whatever I was going to do.

I collected my next tool, the heavy duty clothing scissors. Raising it, I cut the centre of the bra until it split into two. I then used the cold blades to push away the two halves, finally revealing the bare breasts beneath. For the very first time I was seeing them in all their glory.

I was speechless. In complete awe of what my wife had on her chest. If I had to describe my most perfect breasts in the world, in my fantasies, it would exactly match these.

To me, they were perfection. And she had hidden these from me! Why? I couldn't come up with an answer. All this time and I never knew. Perfection.

The breasts were a good B size, I guessed. Perhaps a small C even. Beautiful size and shape. Firm but I knew that from the occasional touch I had managed. Perfection.

Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and kissed a breast. Christina was moving around attempting to avoid me I thought. It simply had the effect of causing the breasts to wobble a little, even as firm as they were.

But what was captivating me even more... were her nipples. They were what is often referred to as "puffy nipples". The areolae and nipple seemed to blend into each other forming a cone. At the top of the cone the nipples almost became like a table mountain. Sort of flat top and quite wide rather than coming to almost a point like many other nipples.

Right in front of my eyes they were practically hardening and enlarging, having been released from the captivity of her padded bra designed to supress them.

"Holy fucking hell, slut. These tits of yours are truly amazing," I spurted out without thinking. "I wouldn't have guessed from those dowdy clothes you were wearing. They are the tits of a true slut and need to be worshiped and pleasured the way they deserve."

The sobbing and moaning seemed to increase as I said this.

"Your husband must be so proud of these. I bet he plays with them every night, eh?" Making a subtle point but not knowing if she noticed it.

I placed my mouth close to a nipple and reached out my tongue and licked it. Once, twice. Then I opened my hot mouth and sucked the nipple in, sucking gently and swirling my tongue around it. Shrieks commenced from up above.

"Nooooo you can't. Please don't. I'll be unclean. He'll hate me. Noooo. Stop. Please stop," and other similar words to that effect. Who was listening? Not me. But then I stopped.