Fooled Me Twice Pt. 06

She moved up, mounted my cock, and began fucking me, raising her hips, then relaxing and letting her pussy slide down. Up and down she went, and I told a lie earlier; I could feel the sides of her pussy, and Liz was tight and felt perfect, and she started moaning and smacking me on the chest with her fists. I'm not sure if I came again as I drifted away.

If I dreamed while I slept, I didn't remember anything when I awoke. The sun was streaming through the blinds, and Liz had just gotten out of bed, a movement that probably woke me up. I was face down in the middle of a wet spot, and I felt like a skin suit, with no skeleton, like limp skin to hang up in the closet. With great effort, I got up and stepped on a damp washcloth covered with my cum. She must have cleaned me up before she sucked my cock that last time.

I staggered into the bathroom and joined her in the shower, and Liz was very touchy-feely, soaping my body up, scrubbing me, shampooing my hair, and washing every part of my body. Then she smacked my butt and told me, "Shave, get dressed, and off to work with you to make some money so we can afford the baby you planted in me last night. I'm at my most fertile time of the month, so in case I'm wrong, don't exert yourself much today and be home at seven." And then she pushed me out of the shower.

I sleepwalked while shaving and getting dressed, evidenced by my socks not matching.

I was an hour late, and my co-workers let me know. When Carmen asked if I knocked up Liz last night, I thought, 'I need to keep the three of them apart.'

After lunch, I had a skype call with dad's California friend and a couple of scientists who work for Lockheed Martin. Besides myself, Uncle Bob, Dad, Carmen, and Lorraine were in our conference room, which had a giant flat screen. The discussion was about getting the government out of the space business. Stevens A&D's area of expertise was in the design and production of solid rocket engines and ion propulsion, Lockheed Martin with their substantial manufacturing capabilities, and our friend's Space-X Corporation with his team of top-notch programmers and his advanced astronaut training. If we merged into a loose consortium, the governments only hold over us, budget money, would be reduced, and other major companies and countries would be filling up our e-mails trying to join us.

We all agreed that there was plenty of money to be made and no need for one company to do everything alone. We talked about the next step; returning to the moon to create one or more bases, to prospect for metals, minerals, and ice. Then we could begin smelting ore and manufacturing components for new spacecraft and engines to explore the solar system. My dad threw out the suggestion to try manufacturing silicone chips in near-zero gravity.

The other topic of discussion was building a large spacecraft for crewless exploration of interstellar space, not constricted by needing to maintain an artificial environment or wasting space carrying food for astronauts who would die thousands of years before reaching another solar system.

I quickly shifted the discussion of unmanned exploration onto a different tangent. "Why not explore where we can make discoveries that benefit our home planet and search for new resources we can use almost immediately?"

Looking at the big screen, I could see understanding nods, so I continued, "Instead of sending a crewless spaceship into interstellar space to fly away and never return, why not build several ships to survey the 'Oort cloud' or the 'asteroid belt' for resources we could then collect and send quickly to the moon or Mars for processing."

Someone said, "Damn good idea, kid; our planet does not have infinite resources."

For the next forty minutes, thoughts were tossed around and discussed, and the level of excitement was something you usually don't see coming from scientists. We concluded the video conference by agreeing to meet again in person at a space symposium next March at Lockheed Martin's headquarters in Bethesda, Maryland. Dad's friend offered me a job, and Uncle Bob cut the video feed.

*****

Home again, and I walked through the door at 7:01 PM. The house was too quiet, and I could see the bedroom door was closed. So now, what do I do? Liz said to be home at seven, and I was. Oh well, if a door is closed, I'll open it.

When I opened the bedroom door, the vision in front of me differed from the sight that greeted me last night. Liz was naked on her side with a ball gag in her mouth, a blindfold covering her eyes, and her arms were behind her back with hands matched up. Each finger and thumb pair was tied together with a piece of string. Her wrists were also bound together with thicker twine.

One thing is for sure, Liz didn't do this to herself.

From her wrists, continuing up her arms, thicker twine was wrapped tightly around both arms every six inches, even when they weren't touching each other. Ending just below her shoulders, the ovals of cord pinching the skin on her arms, were connected by a long piece of string tied to each binding on her arms. It appeared this was done to keep any bindings from sliding down her arms.

Her knees were bent, and thicker pieces of rope tied her calves and thighs tightly together. All excess string or rope was trimmed neatly at the knots. Taking this all in, I noticed her breasts were tied tightly at their base and were a deep red, and a twelve-inch binder for snack bags was pinching both nipples. There was a piece of paper on the bed next to her, and I picked it up to read,

"This is promised treat #1. You have until 7:35 to fill this worthless cunt with two loads of cum. At that time, an alarm will go off in the bathroom, and a woman dressed in black vinyl will come out and cut me loose. She's the one who tied me up, and I'm not in danger, although I'm probably in a lot of pain. I don't want to hear anything from you about involving someone else; there's no video, and you'll never meet this woman again. If you fail to come twice, I get to do the same thing to you, and I'll use fake cock #5 that you never felt in your ass. Now move it, hubby, and make sure you knock me up!"

Good grief, this woman gets more bizarre every day. Should I run away or fuck her? Little Marty answered that question, and I quickly stripped before forcing him between her pussy lips, squished together and oozing her natural lubricant.

As I thrust in and out, the sensations overwhelming me were due to the sadistic tendencies I have responding to the visual in front of me. With my mind numbed by my wife's submissive side, I masturbated using her pussy until I came violently while keeping my cock buried inside.

As I recovered, I kept staring at that clip on her nipples, and the shade of purple her tit was turning. I could never inflict such pain on any part of my wife's body or mind, but she did it to herself, so it was okay if I enjoyed the view.

Is that normal thought for a husband, or was I a sociopath?

Determined not to face strap-on #5, I dipped my right index number into some of the cum escaping between my cock and her pussy walls, then buried that finger in her ass. I could feel movement around my cock, probably squeezing contractions, so I pulled my finger out and lubed up three fingers. Thrusting all three past her sphincter, Liz began to shake and cum, and I didn't care. Instead, I focused on the sights my eyes sent to my brain, the darker colors her tits were changing into, and that binder painfully pinching her nipples.

Still erect, I fucked her tight pussy like a man possessed by demons and shot my cum inside her baby cave a second time. Thankful I wouldn't have to face cock #5, I considered pulling out and freeing my wife.

Then I closed my eyes, and different visions and sounds flowed back to my conscious self; her behavior on Valentine's day, her blowup at the mall during Christmas, and that horrible GNO fiasco, and I wanted her to suffer a little more.

Praying my heart wouldn't give out, I continued fucking that warm, wet, slippery tunnel while wishing I was responsible for her purple tits and swollen nipples. No compassion or love was felt, no pity or thought about her discomfort; I brutally ravaged her cunt until 'the' feeling began in my scrotum, growing and expanding, and right before I came for the third time, the alarm clock went off in the bathroom. I heard the door opening as I threw my head back and roared, feeling a tremendous orgasm ripping through my groin.

I felt hands on my right arm pulling me back, and a voice told me, "You did well. Go take a shower, and she will join you." Then I was gently but forcefully guided into the bathroom, and the door shut behind me. I stepped into the shower, turned the water on, and let it stream over my face and chest. After a minute, I turned and let it pound my back.

Then I started to cry because I felt ashamed.

I heard the door open, then the shower curtain was pulled back, and Liz joined me. My eyes immediately focused on her tits and her swollen nipples. The purple coloring of her breasts had faded to dark red, but her nipples were swollen and throbbing. Her arms and legs had lines on them where the ropes were tied, and the bite mark from last night was starting to bruise.

As if nothing strange took place in the bedroom, Liz let me wash her body before returning the favor. While drying off, she informed me she had a craving for Italian before heading into the bedroom. Following her, I dressed, and she put on a long-sleeved pantsuit. Then I drove to our favorite restaurant where I had veal Parmesan, and Liz wolfed through two plates of spaghetti and meatballs.

Later, when we crawled into bed, I had to ask, "Who was she?"

"1-800-BDSM," then she kissed me good night and said, "That's two I owed you; you'll get the other two tomorrow night, during and after the party."

I overslept and was late again, and everyone I interacted with had to comment about that fact.

I let Carmen and Amara leave at twelve-thirty and followed them at two.

I was feeling pretty good the rest of the way home. Liz's vehicle was gone, so I pulled to the end of the driveway because we were driving her SUV to the Hilton. I ate a bowl of cereal and then wandered into our bedroom. My tux was hanging on the back of the bedroom door, and I sat down to think about the last two nights.

I heard the front door open, so I went to greet her.

She was a vision of loveliness, and I had to ask, "Did you have a spa day, baby?"

"Yes, I did, plus hair and makeup. So what do you think, sweetie?"

She wore a dress with short sleeves, and her arms looked perfect. Her legs still had some redness, but I suspect she'd cover that with stockings.

We sat and talked about the last two nights.

"I have to confess, Marty. I researched online, and that's where I came up with the ideas. The props, well, I didn't throw away all the toys you bought."

Once again, she changed the subject by asking about the conference call at work.

After telling her how great I was talking to scientists and engineers, I meekly asked her, "Are we okay, Liz? Is everything all right with you?"

I never got an answer.

Liz didn't want to shower, so I gave her a sponge bath, and while drying her, something in my underwear got painfully stuck. When I slid my hand down my pants to adjust something, Liz laughed and increased my torment, "Now you have to dress me, Marty, lingerie first."

I accomplished my mission with great difficulty and pleaded with her, "Let me call Dad and tell him I'm not feeling very well. Right now, that wouldn't be a lie."

That wasn't happening, and we drove off to the party, me in my tux and Liz wearing a single-shoulder navy blue evening gown with a slit in the side, and well, it embarrasses me to think about it, but it went up, pretty high.

At the party, we mingled, with Liz drinking some white wine, and I nursed a glass of sparkling water. The tables were round, seating eight per table, and family and management couples sat at different tables with people they didn't work with. Liz and I were at a corner table on the opposite side of the room from the entrance. I was facing the room, and the two seats to my left were empty, only because the number of employees and guests, divided by eight, had a remainder of six.

The dinner menu looked delightful, with four courses, including salad, soup, entrée, and dessert, served by the friendliest waitresses and waiters in Greenville. After a salad plate was placed in front of me, I felt a hand on my crotch, and I hoped a mystery guest wasn't kneeling under our table. The hand fumbled with the button on my pants before pulling down the zipper.

I was wearing boxers, and the floating fingers of one hand fished my stiff prick through the hole before letting go. It was Liz. I scooted my chair forward until my stomach was tight against the table and then rested my head on my left hand, over my elbow on the table. I forced myself to look normal as the fingers stroked, rubbed, and pinched my cock; while their owner was chatting with the young wife of one of our new machine shop fabricators, Adam and Kelly, something, I think.

My untouched salad plate was removed, and the soup was served, cream of potato. I forced myself to smile as I looked around the room, trying to see if anyone was staring back at me. I was leaking pre-come, and a thumb was spreading it around the head of my cock. Making me cum in public was the third promise Liz made to me, and when I remembered the fourth promise awaiting us later tonight, a thought crept into my mind. I hoped Liz was looking forward to getting whipped erotically later tonight. I had no desire to hurt her.

My fake smile was getting harder to maintain, especially with all the thoughts I was letting run rampant from memories to spur my balls to a swift and satisfying conclusion. As I struggled to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, I could see my wife's empty bowl as she continued talking to her neighbor. After nodding that I was finished, my soup bowl was removed, and the waiter inquired if something was wrong?

I mumbled something about an upset stomach and butterflies.

The fingers were spreading the pre-come flowing out all over my cock, and then her left hand made a fist around my rod and began an up and down motion. I was dying, no, floating, and I wanted to scream or pound my fist on the table, but I forced myself to maintain that stupid fake smile.

The end was near, and a picture appeared in my mind that triggered Mount Marty to erupt. Marty, you are one sick bastard and a hypocrite. The image was Liz and the two strippers posing in my living room, and in all honesty, if they had winked and asked me to come dancing with them, I would have said yes. Then I'd have thrown so much money at them that all four of us would have ended up in my king-sized bed for a week.

Thinking about that image, I took a deep breath and shuddered. Liz must've felt me shaking, so she covered the head with her fingers, blocking my cum from shooting all over my pants. Under the table, I handed her my cloth napkin and tried to help her with the cleanup. Fortunately, after the last two nights, the amount of sperm produced by my balls was reduced due to excess use.

The main course was being served, and the waiters were halfway through the room when Liz dropped my napkin onto the floor and replaced it with hers from her lap. After soaking up most of the cum, she dropped her napkin before finishing the job with some wet wipes from her purse.

By the time pulse, respiration, and blood pressure had returned to normal, our dinner plates were laid in front of us. I was starving and dug in while sitting with my pants undone and my rapidly shrinking dick slumped over. At some point, more napkins appeared, just like that.

Liz whispered in my ear, "Cover up with a fresh napkin, and when you've finished recharging your batteries, put your cock back in your pants and clean up a bit before heading to the bathroom to check your pants. And also, since my hand is clean and dry, pick up the napkins on the floor without making a scene, dear."

Talk about someone who is pussy whipped; my picture must be in the dictionary next to the words. I finished my dessert and then put my trousers back together. After sliding my chair backward a foot, I picked up the gooey evidence and dropped them in a laundry bag, hanging on a cart. Using a napkin and spit, I cleaned up two spots I could see and snuck out through the waiter's door to the kitchen.

When questioned by staff, I improvised by thanking everyone for a delightful dinner before looking for the men's room. My cleanup job on my trousers was good enough, and while washing my hands, I looked in the mirror and smiled. What did I do to deserve the goddess who married me?

I made my way back to Liz as the party moved to the next room, where a live band played dance music from the 30s to the 90s.

Right from the first dance, I could see the Steven's clan was doing most of the dancing, so after exchanging a few words between family members, an agreement was quickly reached, and we all descended on our partners at work. The men grabbed wives and girlfriends, and our wives snagged the men sitting against the wall.

My first partner was Anna Yurchich, wife of Viktor, the supervisor in the machine shop and our first dance was a light waltz to a 40's Benny Goodman song.

"Let me lead, Mrs. Viktor, and shuffle your feet as you move."

In her thick Ukrainian accent, she asked, "You are Alexei's son, no?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm Marty."

"You are good boy."

I kept her out for a second dance, with a little faster pace, but she kept up, all part of Marty's master plan. As we drifted by the band leader, I caught his attention and said, "Next song, slow, please."

We left the dance floor early, and just as we reached Viktor, who had danced with my Aunt Jolene, the band started playing 'Unchained Melody.'

"Viktor, get up and dance with your wife."

"Marty, I can't...."

"Stand up, that's right, hold her as I did, stand close, and slowly circle. Now you're dancing."

Before I could pick someone out, a woman with a baby bump presented herself to me, Liz's friend, at our table, and I led her onto the floor as the Righteous Brothers were fading away.

"Kelly, um, and I don't remember your last name."

"Summerland, Ken's wife."

A ballad broke out, so we floated across the floor cheek to cheek, and she asked a personal question with a smile, "Did your wife give you a hand job under the table?"

It was close, but I didn't stumble and fall on my face. When the song was over, and I led her back to her husband, she said, "I'll take your silence as a yes."

I danced one dance with Liz, and as it ended, she blurted out, "I told Kelly to ask you, what did you say?"

Oh my God, even though I'd like to strangle her, I love this woman so much.

Before we knew it, it was eleven-thirty, and people were starting to take leave of their fellow employees and thanking Uncle Bob and Dad for a spectacular party. When the band leader called out 'last dance,' Liz led me out to the floor, and we kissed for three minutes nineteen seconds which was how long the song, 'Without You' sung by Harry Nilsson but written by Badfinger, took to play.

"I love you, Elizabeth."

"I love you more, Marty."

We left and arrived home at midnight, where once I closed the front door, Liz put her arms around my neck, "Marty, I had a glorious time tonight. The food was excellent, the music was stunning, your co-workers were delightful, and dancing with so many men was fun, especially since I didn't have to slap any of them. They were all polite and spoke highly of you."

Liz asked me, "Are you ready for the last promise to be fulfilled?"