Submission: An Erotic Journey...

Turning him easily by taking his hand in her's, they entered the bedroom. She walked him to the bed and his shins hit the bed rail with a thump. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean it."

"It's nothing. What do you want me to do?"

"Turn around and stretch out on the bed -- you know, your favorite position." She said with a smile in her voice.

When he could feel the bedposts with his hands he laced his fingers around the wood and waited. He felt the bed moving but could not see what was going on. When his right wrist felt the soft silk scarf he smiled. She tightened it and threaded it around the bedpost. Snugging it tightly, she repeated the motions on the other hand.

Alan had already stretched out his legs when she forced them back together. He felt her strong hands bring them to cross and nearly ejaculated when she tightened the belt around his ankles. She pulled it tight -- but far too loosely for Alan's desires -- and snapped the buckle shut. In all of his dreams, he imagined he was tied in bed with a beautiful woman about to perform wonderful and exotic ministrations on his body.

He felt the bedsprings relax as she stepped off the bed. She was moving around the room, but he did not know what she was doing. There seemed to be the sound of her shedding her clothes and he smiled. He felt the bed move as she placed one knee, bent over his bound body, and kissed him gently. He started to respond but she moved away. The next thing he felt was her breast being inserted into his mouth. He sucked hungrily.

She instructed, "Not so hard. I like it gentle." He stopped his torrid motion and resumed a steady soft sucking. His tongue flicked the nipple and her breath caught ever so slightly in her throat. When she began moving away, he tried to follow. But she was gone.

Suddenly he felt something he had never experienced in his life. Her moist lips closed on HIS nipple and began sucking. He felt her tongue moving and his erection became stronger. She reached her hand to his penis and began softly stroking him while sucking on his nipple. The effect was devastating. His hips began bucking and he was writhing on the bed trying to increase the pressure of her hand. It didn't work. She simply stopped moving her hand and removed her lips. Every once in a while -- never at regular intervals -- she began to masturbate him again. When his breath would start to quicken, she would stop.

The time between stimulation and rest seemed interminable. His hips bucked their protest, but she never increased the frequency of the action.

She felt simply ridiculous. It was one thing for the scene to happen spontaneously, but quite another to plan it out for over two days. The scarves she had purchased were handy and fit into the pockets of her robe. If only he could see how ridiculous he looked. She had purchased the scarves at the bargain basement department of a discount store. From her perspective they were simply hideous -- yet they did the job admirably. If he could have seen . . . ah, but, she had taken care of that problem, hadn't she? The slow masturbation, as it was described in the book she had purchased, was working well.

The funny thing -- even though she didn't feel capable of admitting it -- was that she was beginning to enjoy herself. The feeling of sexual power over another was heady. They had talked for over three hours before sleep on Friday and she still didn't totally understand. But, at least she was willing to learn more. Even now, with her husband bound before her, her mind was traveling a few of the pathways she had entered in the last thirty-six hours.

On Friday, she had repeated the actions of the previous day. After dropping the kids off, she returned to the computer room and researched. She must have looked at hundreds of web sites. She had carefully downloaded articles that didn't look "Too" sick and read some of them. Though she was a long way from the dominatrix of her husband's dreams, she was learning.

Four

Beginning to tire of the game, she removed her hand from his penis and stood on the floor next to bed and thought about what should she do next. The feeling of deciding what the next step would consist of was a heady brew and she drank readily. It was beginning to dawn on her that her husband had given her the most precious gift he could -- himself. Feeling the power and commit-

ment was bringing her to the final stages of arousal.

Still, she wanted to begin to receive her own gratification. She thought about some of the images she had been watching over the computer and most seemed too severe. In her mind, it was time to get on with it.

Alan felt her take the scarves from the bedposts and felt disappointment begin to settle. While she may have been becoming bored -- he was not. In all of his life he had never felt more alive. He was thinking of protesting when she said, "Sit up, please. He did as he was told and felt his left wrist being pulled behind him. The long scarf was pulled tightly in front. As the scarf tightened he felt his wrist being positioned just above his right hip. The right other wrist soon rested in a similar position on his other hip and he felt her tie the scarves together in front of his stomach. He tried to move his arms and was unable. They were locked and secure in their bondage.

She stood over him with her thin ankles resting against his hips for what seemed to him, a long time. Then she slowly began to sit. He felt her guide his organ as she continued her incredibly slow movement. He yearned for her touch -- but it was not there. He longed to feel himself enveloped in the moist warmth -- but it was not there.

Without warning he felt her. The touch was as tender as she could possibly make it. His hips bucked and he bobbed up and down on the bed. Still the slow descent continued. When he finally felt her weight settle on his thighs he nearly swooned.

The stillness was overpowering. He tried to sit back but she stopped him with her hand on the back of his neck. Her other hand soon joined the first and began to pull him forward. He soon realized her breast was being offered again and he sucked hungrily. "Slow down. Remember, I like it gentle." Backing off a bit he became conscious of the slow movement of her hips -- as if they were the faintest breath of air on a still morning. He responded by trying to force himself more deeply into her -- but he was unable to move.

The slow dance began to increase in tempo and he felt himself becoming more excited. Still, she was hardly moving and this lack of movement both frustrated and aroused him. The strange dichotomy that vexes all who are seduced by the dark side of sexuality. How can some thing that is so frustrating, and even painful, feel good?

As she sat impaled on her bound husband, the arousal was beginning to become, not just a mild interest but, a need. A need to have him more completely inside of her caressing the secret passages that led to an even higher state of arousal. She removed her breast from his willing lips and pushed his shoulders down to the bed. The motion of life increased. He tried to respond but was nearly helpless to do so. Faster and faster her hips moved and he bounced up and down on the bed to try and help.

She bent forward and took his nipple in her teeth and tugged gently. If he had been aroused before, suddenly he was beyond that point and into a place where he had never been before. Groans of pleasure escaped his drawn lips and spurred her to faster and faster motions. She retained his nipple in her teeth and slowly moved her head from side to side. With a rush of motion -- he was done. She felt him go limp and smiled once more. It really did feel good to be in so much control. She had managed to keep him on the verge of orgasm for nearly an hour. He lay back on the bed and sighed.

Carefully untying the knot over his navel, she released his hands. His first action -- which actually surprised her -- was to remove the blindfold. She had assumed he would do something to remove the bonds still in place over his ankles. He pushed the scarf over his head and then removed the belt from his ankles. With a tremendous sigh he stretched his legs out until they nearly hung over the edge of the bed. He rested for a moment while she had left the room and headed for the shower.

Removing the scarves was much more difficult than he would have believed possible. He must have stretched the thin fabric and tightened the knots. With a smile on his face he continued to work on the knots as the minutes slipped away.

Catherine returned from her shower and saw him rubbing his wrists. The thin material must have bunched and there were deep indentations on his wrists where the scarves had cut into his arms. She looked at him as he rubbed his hand over them to try and bring back the circulation. "Doesn't that hurt, Alan."

"I suppose."

"But if it hurts, why do you want me to do it?"

"Are you really interested?" He said with a small grin crossing his lips.

"Yes, I am. I keep having trouble trying to explain how pain can be confused with pleasure -- to me they seem opposites."

"I understand what you mean, but what exactly is pain? Can you tell me? Look around you. People everywhere are performing activities that give them pain. Can you tell me the runner who is exhausted and still continues running is not feeling pain? Think of the athletes who, even though they know it will hurt, sacrifice their bodies for the good of the team. Yes, I guess it hurts, but it also feels good. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense. But, sometimes you just have to accept the world the way you find it."

"I don't get it. Are you saying that sometimes it is pleasurable to receive pain?"

"I don't know if it is quite that simple. I suppose on one level that might be true. But pain without pleasure is meaningless. There must be two parts to make the equation balance. If the only thing we could look forward to was pain and misery, it is doubtful that anyone would ever engage in such activities. Instead, the pain must be accompanied by some aspect of pleasure. But, that is another subject. What is pleasure?"

"Pleasure is the stimulation of the brain that causes us to be happy."

"Is it really, Catherine? I'm not so sure of that. Think of the times you have been happy: was there always some reason for your happiness?"

"I suppose not. I mean some days I wake up and feel that way. There isn't any reason for it -- it just is."

"I suppose, Catherine, that is the reason the question you asked almost defies an answer. Doe it hurt? Yes. Does it feel good? Yes. So there you have it: a contradiction wrapped in a an enigma. Nothing makes sense and contrarily, everything makes sense. It is one of the infernal questions that have plagued mankind from the beginning of time: if it feels good once, will it feel the same way again? If an activity can bring us pleasure today, why can the same activity bring us pain on another day? Think of the misery you feel when you realize that something pleasurable is about to end. Vacations are a good example. The first days are wonderful. The middle part is plea-

surable as well. But, as we near the end -- the feelings of grief increase. Why? It simply doesn't make sense on a logical basis."

Catherine nodded, deep in thought, and replied, "Well, at any rate, was it good for you?"

"Great!" He said with a big smile.

Catherine checked her watch which had miraculously returned to her wrist -- she had no memory of retrieving it, it simply was there -- and saw that her mom and dad would be dropping the kids off in a few minutes. That was one of the many things she felt badly about. How could she ask her parents to watch the children so they could have bondage sex? She could never come up the nerve to even hint they were doing anything like that and so had settled telling them they were going for dinner and a movie.

Knowing they would be coming in a few minutes, she began to get her fallacious facts straight so that she could lie convincingly. She removed her robe and began to get dressed in her nightgown. Alan moved quietly behind her and placed his hands on her breasts. She removed them with a start. The feeling of being invaded was strong and she was surprised at the strength of her response. "Alan, don't! Haven't you had enough for the day?"

"Not nearly. Give me another hour and I could do it again." She turned and looked at him. The feelings welling inside were much different than any she had ever felt. Being in control -- dominant -- was a strong elixir. "Well, you will just have to wait until I am ready again, under stood?"

He didn't answer right away but looked deeply into her eyes searching for some sign that would show she was kidding. It wasn't there. Instead of the usual smiling eyes he was met with a cold stare. In that moment he knew that something had changed within her forever. He sighed and with a slow nod of his head he said, "Yes, Ma'am."

He entered the shower and let the water caress his sore limbs. The bondage position with his legs crossed and her full weight on his hips had started to become painful. He knew he should not tell her that -- and he kept quiet. Still, as the water ran over his body he felt the muscles begin to loosen. He started humming a little song. It suddenly occurred to him that he was happy, perhaps happier than he had ever been.

"Mom, dad, did you have any problems out of these two?"

Seely looked at her mother standing tall and thin and laughed. "What do you think we were going to do, mom?"

"You know how you and your brother fight sometimes."

"Well, Catherine, not tonight. They were perfect angels. Did you and Alan enjoy the movie?"

"Yes, mother, it was most satisfying. We really don't get out of the house enough. It is important for us to be together alone -- if only once in a while."

"I understand, dear, I could hardly ever get your father to take me out either. Listen, it worked out really well. If you two want to do this again sometime, just ask. The kids were great. They add so much to our lives."

"We will have to see how things work out. Remember we have the other grandma and grandpa to consider. And we really don't go out that often. As a matter of fact, I can't remember when we last went to a . . ." She caught herself just in time. The words movie was formed by her lips and tongue all that she needed to do was breathe life into them. At the last possible moment she added, "a play or concert."

Her father looked at her with severe eyes. Those eyes that always knew what she was thinking and smiled. He knew something was going on, but was not prepared to bring it up.

"Did you want anything, dad? I can make some coffee or something?"

"No, Catherine, us old people have to go to bed. It is getting late."

Five

Alan pulled the van into the street in front of Catherine's parents' house and the kids ran in. Catherine waited for the door to be opened for her, as she always did, and exited to the curb. Alan closed the door behind her and then quickly stepped up to be by her side. He held the door to the house for her, as he always had, and she entered. The good smell of Sunday dinner filled her nostrils. She said, "Hello, mom and dad, how are you?"

"Fine. Just fine." Her father replied. "I think you mom could use some help in the kitchen."

Catherine placed her purse by the door and hurried off to help her mother.

The roast was sitting on the table tightly covered with the top to the Dutch oven, waiting to be carved. The stove was filled with pots filled with food in various stages of readiness.

"What can I do, mom?"

"Would you mash the potatoes? I have to work on the gravy."

"Certainly. Should I get Alan to cut the meat or does daddy want to?"

"I don't know, ask him."

Catherine left the kitchen and went to her father who was sitting in a large chair in the living room reading the paper. "Daddy, did you want to cut the meat today or should I get Alan?"

"Why don't you get Alan. I am kind of tired and besides, he can do something." She let the remark drop and with a smile said,"Alan, your presence is needed in the kitchen."

Alan checked the children and they had retrieved the box of toys from behind the couch and turned on the television. It was a cartoon show. Seeing they were not going to be a bother, he walked into the kitchen. Reaching for the cover on the roast he picked it up. Just as fast as he had picked it up, he dropped it. The top was hot and he had burned his fingers. Sticking them in his mouth he cursed mildly under his breath. Catherine knew what he was saying but kept her thoughts to herself. To anyone else he was just making some noises. Catherine left the potatoes and walked quickly over to the table. Taking his wounded fingers she placed them to her lips and kissed them softly. "Did you hurt yourself?" She said with a gleam in her eye.

"No, at least not much. I should be fine in a minute."

He continued carving the roast and carefully placed the finished product on the dining room table. Within a few minutes, the family was called together.

Everyone had finished eating and most of the dishes were washed when the phone rang. Catherine's mother answered it and after a moment said, "Catherine it's for you."

Catherine dried her hands and picked up the phone and said, "Hello."

"Hi, Catherine, this is Beth. Do you think you can get away for a while this afternoon to play tennis?"

"I don't know. Let me check."

Catherine placed the phone on the counter and walked into the living room. "Alan, do you mind if I play tennis with Beth this afternoon." She hastily added, "After all, it is a nice day . . ."

"Sure. Maybe I will take the kids to a movie or something. Did you want me to drop you off somewhere?"

"I don't know, let me check."

"Beth, sure. When do you want to go?"

"I guess about any time. Can I pick you up at your mom's?"

"Sure. But I will have to go home and change. I still have a dress on."

"See you in about five minutes."

The country club was filled with golfers and that left the tennis courts fairly deserted. Beth had called for a time as soon as she hung up and when they arrived at the club, they only had a small wait before entering the court. Taking a seat on one of the nearby benches they stretched out their legs letting the warm early June sun caress their bodies. Their tennis skirts were short and accentuated their finely shaped legs. Together they were a study in contrasts. Beth was short and fair. Her long blonde hair was playfully tied in a ponytail. Catherine was tall and lean. She had braided her hair into a French braid. She was nearly a foot taller than her friend.

Beth and Catherine were well matched at tennis and that is why it made the game fun. Both had been on their college teams and were considered excellent players. "How long did you say we have the courts for?" Catherine asked.

"Two hours. You think that will be enough to work up a sweat?" Beth said with a giggle.

"More than enough. I haven't played much lately, have you?"

"Some. Listen, it looks as if the people are done a little early. I guess we had better make that two hours and fifteen minutes."

They began by practicing a little hitting the ball back and forth. After about fifteen minutes they began the game. Ten minutes after she started the game Catherine was drenched in sweat. She continued playing. Beth was giving her a pretty good beating, but as time went on she felt herself growing stronger.

Each minute of the game saw Catherine come closer to beating her friend. Where the first games were ridiculously one-sided. She had even failed to hold service once in the first set. But by the end of the she felt herself getting stronger and Beth was tiring. She looked at her with her blonde hair drenched in sweat and began to smile.