Work Meeting at a Naturist Pool

Too embarrassed, and visibly aroused by the idea of two naked women locking themselves in the bathroom holding a BDSM object, I began to make a long speech in which I apologized for that fantasy of mine that was so humiliating for my wife.

Marina shook her head but did not interrupt me. Instead, it was petite Hilda (that rascally brat!) who interrupted me: she gave me a gentle push to sit on the edge of her king-size bed, and stood in front of me, with her legs spread and her hands on her hips, she said in an authoritative voice:

"Stop the mansplaining. Stop it.

Your wife WANTS to perform in front of other people..." she pointed her two thumbs towards the chained nipples of hers

"... and you WANT to screw her handcuffed.

Stop it. You are too kind to do it, but we have understood your fantasy.

Now stay here on my bed and don't move.

And don't masturbate: it will take all your stamina to make your wife come tonight."

As Hilda said these words, I stared at the golden chain hanging from her nipples, hard as big medieval metal copper nails. It was a mesmerizing vision. I don't know if Hilda had really hypnotized me, but from that moment on my mind was as empty as the shell of a sucked egg. I had no thoughts and may have never uttered another word, I don't remember. I remember images, both still and moving, but I do not remember many words.

I heard them giggling and talking in the distance: I did not understand the words but I understood the tone, which was one of serenity and cheerfulness. Good: my body instinctively relaxed, in the knowledge that the straps were not painful and that Marina was not embarrassed.

Hilda came running out of the bathroom, hopped into another room, then went back inside carrying something in her hand, but I didn't see what. She closed the door and started giggling again.

Marina's voice sounded very happy.

I don't know how long they talked. I relaxed deeply, due to the conviction that my wife was in good hands, my breathing calmed down, and my cock became flaccid again.

Hilda went out again. She took the champagne bottle and opened the cork. But instead of pouring it into a goblet, she placed the bottle on the floor near the entrance door. Then she took one of the three crystal goblets and placed it on a low table, on the other side of the still dimly lit junior suite.

She gestured for me to sit on the elegant leather armchair to the left of her bedside table. From there, however, I could no longer see the bathroom door, although I had a perfect view of the front door. I didn't understand what she was up to, but I obeyed without question.

Hilda murmured something to a domotic device, which responded by playing some songs that were my wife's favorites: among them, many by Gloria Gaynor.

The bathroom door was left open: I heard a person walking stomping her heels on the floor.

The sound of footsteps made me excited.

It was my wife. Naked, aroused, blushing but proud. She didn't need make-up, but Hilda had drawn two black lines above her eyelashes and, holy cow, she looked like an angel to me.

With arms w straight at the side of the torso, Marina walked proudly toward me like a supermodel on the catwalk (at a parade of BDSM items).

Marina wore very thin black lace-up sandals, which showed off her beautiful ankle and her bare toes. The laces covered a tiny part of his body.

The third toe, the longest, wore a silver ring I had never seen, with the letter 'S' on it. Marina noticed that I was staring at the ring, stuck her tongue out at me, and said "I'm your Slave, Master... it's also the title on my tag, look on my neck... I'm a Slave, from the head to the toe." and swinging her shoulders, she showed me a long dangling silver chain, holding a rectangular tag. It read "SLAVE", followed by a drawing of a pair of handcuffs.

The strong heels were not so high as to prevent movement, but sufficient to stretch her calves and buttocks. I found out, when she finally turned around to let me admire the back of her outfit.

So I could contemplate the harness, which started from the collar, ran all the way down her back to the dimples near her kidneys, and left her beautiful ass completely exposed.

Three pairs of straps restrained her arms: the uppermost one between the shoulder and biceps, the middle one just before the elbow, and the lowest bound her wrists.

Hilda had fastened the straps on her, making sure that everything was tight but comfortable: my wife looked at me, turned her face away, smiled at me over her shoulder, and twitched with energy her wrists, to show me that she couldn't free herself.

A wave of feminine eau de toilette swept over me. It was not the perfume I bought her: it was a completely new fragrance, foreign but pleasant. An exotic flavor, in which I could only distinguish Tangerine and Coconut: a smell I had never smelt before, but which from that day on I swore to buy forever, to remind me of the first night with my wifey Slave.

Her hair, wet from the pool and the steam, had been carefully gathered into a ponytail: a hairstyle my wife often wore years ago, and which in my eyes made her look younger.

Hilda lay down on the bed, two steps away from my chair, and said "I dried your wife's hair, and gathered it into a ponytail, because that way it will be more comfortable in her blowjob.

And easier for me to watch.

But you must not be in a hurry.

Your slave has confessed to me that she likes to dance, and before she obeys your orders and satisfies your sexual cravings, she will now dance for you... to turn you on, and me too, I guess."

The radio was playing "I Will Survive." My wife, naked and handcuffed on heels, danced without any embarrassment and occasionally sang the words. Whenever the song said something bad about husbands, she would silently add "don't" or "not" or "never" with her mouth. But the rhythm was right, so that she could move her hips and legs, dancing on her heels.

She had never danced for me - naked. Nor handcuffed. But she liked it, and I didn't interrupt her with hasty orders, following the wise advice of Hilda who, although she was young, clearly had more experience in this field than we did.

Had her arms been free, Marina would have moved them elegantly, to catch my eye and to fly like an elegant butterfly among the flowers. But now she was tied like a caterpillar: she moved her shoulders, instinctively, but the straps fastened on her biceps and elbows prevented her movements. Sometimes the tension provoked a groan from her, a gentle moan. As soon as Marina noticed how horny I was from her moans, she started to move her shoulders even more on purpose to moan and get me aroused.

Marina followed the rhythm, with spontaneous and improvised steps. But for me it was like watching the most professional dancer in a theatre dancing. With any excuse, she would open her thighs to show me her pussy, or bend forward to show me her rosebud. She went in rhythm with the songs and seemed very confident in her new heels, much more than usual.

My cock was hard and I wanted to masturbate. While pirouetting on her heels, Marina encouraged me with her eyes to take a hold of my cock, but Hilda looked at me with stern eyes and I did not dare.

Marina was sweating, and when she showed her back, I could clearly see that her fingers were twitching, because a harness was a new thing. I looked at Hilda as if to ask if maybe she shouldn't at least loosen the wrist straps, but before I could say a single word, the young woman gave Marina a command:

"Hear me... sweet sweaty Slave. We have a bottle of cold champagne already uncorked... on the floor, near the entrance door. Your... Master, would like you to fetch it. To the beat of the music. Are your nerves strong enough to obey... Master Luigi's Slave?"

My wife nodded without speaking. The first time she heard the word «slave», she twisted her lips as if she had been hit by a whiplash. The second time, a few seconds later, her lips showed a happy smile, and a drop glistened on her lower labia. She turned and shaking her ass to the music, walked towards the door, stomping the heels on the floor.

She bent over in squat, spreading her thighs and showing both her ass and pussy.

Very slowly, she reached for the neck of the bottle. From my point of view, I seemed to see the outline of the bottle's neck entering Marina's pussy. It wasn't possible, because it was far away... but from a distance the image was fantastic.

Hilda said to her: "Very good move, Luigi's slave. Now... please, could you tell us if the bottle is cold enough... if you don't mind?"

Marina spread her thighs wide without speaking. She lowered one knee to the floor, then the other.

Very slowly, she walked on her knees until she touched the icy glass of the bottle.

If she had had a forest of pubic hair, perhaps it would have protected her pussy from the cold glass (maybe not). But her landing strip protected nothing, and in that thigh position, her labia and clitoris would have been exposed to the cold contact of the bottle.

I saw her back trembling at first contact. Her fingers were twitching. She groaned at the icy sensation, sweet but unwanted. She breathed a deep sigh. Her voice still shivered as she said, "The bottle... is... very cold, Master Luigi... do you want me... to bring it now, or do I... have... to stay here more?"

I stared at my wife's trembling back, and my heart wanted to tell her "come back honey, I'll free you now!" but petite Hilda's imperatives rang in my ears.

Perhaps the brat was right, perhaps I had kept a secret too long. My wife was a strong woman who had overcome a thousand obstacles, and it would certainly not be a glass bottle that would prevent her from having a good evening. Or me.

I reasoned quickly. It was Marina who had chosen with which part of her body to measure the temperature of the bottle. She was a famous chemist: she could have guessed by touching it with the tip of her toe.

The orders to the slave girl did not explicitly indicate suffering with labia and clitoris. Marina had chosen that position to turn me on. And she had succeeded perfectly.

If I wanted to be nice to her... I had to be hard. OK: bad choice of words. I had to be firm.

All these thoughts in a split second.

I heard my voice say, "Stay there."

She moaned. She began to plead, "Oh, moan... I beg you, Master, allow me to get up, moan.... the bottle is cold and it's making me shiver... Uh..."

Hilda threw a card at me. It said: "Safeword=supercalifragilisticexpialidocious", and then a smiley icon.

The petite brat put her finger over her mouth, to force me into silence, then said: "Does it seem acceptable to you that a slave complains so much if the pain is not... «atrocious»?"

Good shot, I thought. An assist to allow Marina to use the Safeword. OK.

"My good slave, could you name a word that rhymes with atrocious?"

Marina replied without hesitation "Oh, heavens... uh! I'm suffering so much... I can only tell you that the flowers in Heidi's bar were precocious!"

The two of us smiled in silence. Hilda, like a true tormentress, at least three times ordered my wife to retract and advance to interrupt and then resume contact between the glass and the pussy. Silently she obeyed, more hesitant each time.

Only after three contacts, Hilda allowed her to get up and bring us the bottle.

Instead of grabbing it and coming right back to us, Marina let her fingers run down the glass neck, as if it had been a cock, then with her hand clenched into a fist she showed us how she would handjob a glass man. I don't know if Hilda enjoyed the scene, but my cock was about to explode. Every wrist movement caused her elbows, biceps, and even her neck to ache, but she did it to excite me.

Finally, Hilda summoned her.

Marina stood up with the bottle in her hand, and walked elegantly towards us, wiggling her hips in time to the music. She was happy and proud. And I was happy to see her so at ease.

Hilda took the bottle with both her small hands.

Now, the young brat ordered to fetch the goblet, which was on the other side of the room.

Marina twirled in a graceful spiralling dance step, heading for the goblet. But pirouettes must be supported by a balanced motion of the arms, which were instead rigidly aligned with the torso. Marina lost her balance and one ankle bent as if twisted.

I was about to help her but Hilda blocked me with a wave of her hand. "I'm OK," said Marina. With a small jump she had managed to keep her balance, but I could see that she was limping from her left ankle.

Hilda said "Listen to a woman.... I am sure you can handle it," and Marina nodded.

My cuffed wife stood still for a moment, then started walking again, swaying her hips slowly to be admired by us.

When she reached the small table, instead of bending her knees, she leaned forward, showing us the rosebud. It seemed very difficult to grasp the glass, because she remained in that pose for a long time, long enough to make it unforgettable in my memory forever. Then she came back towards us, smiling on her heels.

Hilda filled a goblet for me, and one for herself. Then she fills a goblet to the brim and smilingly tells me "just answer by nodding your head, Luigi. Do you want me to order your handcuffed slave to swallow all this champagne?"

I nodded vigorously.

Marina knelt down, spreading her thighs, to allow Hilda to pour the champagne into her mouth. I looked at my wife in that obscene pose and imagined how she would swallow my cum. Her mouth made the same noises... even gag reflex when she had too much liquid in her throat.

Hilda placed the goblet to my wife's lips. She started softly but never stopped. Marina could not swallow it all, and some of the cold champagne fell on her chin and chest, dripping from the silver chain with her new title, wetting the collar and even the outside of her pussy (the inside must have been on fire by then).

The brat raised her arm, exposing her chained nipples. From above, the champagne formed a cascade: Marina opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, trying to swallow all the dripping liquid.

Watching my wife swallow it all, my cock had become very hard and the tip glistened with precum.

From her bed, Hilda noticed this and giggled: "Well, slave Marina, it seems that your little show has succeeded in arousing your shy husband. Now don't get up, but stay on your knees: we all want to see you crawl to the cock, and see a masterpiece of handless blowjob."

Marina spread her thighs in an obscene position. She liked to expose her body, liked to be watched by a stranger while she sucked the Master. With her thighs spread, every movement was slower and more painful, but she had chosen it. Kneeling down she reached for my cock and licked the drops of precum, flicking her tongue over the frenulum and tip.

Marina advanced further with her knees and lowered her neck. The movement drew a groan from her, and I saw the fingers of her hands twitch: from my elevated viewpoint, I enjoyed the image of her fully restrained back and arms.

The black heels were visible under her sweet naked buttocks. Rarely had Marina allowed me to penetrate her rosebud in a lifetime, and for a moment the memory of her tight flesh around my cock made me gasp.

With her neck stretched inside her collar, Marina had started licking my balls and sucking them, making many sloppy noises. Tea-bagging had never been a passion of hers, but she knew I liked it when she aroused my testicles: she usually employed her tender fingers, but currently they were restrained far from the target, and so, she could only welcome my balls into her hot mouth.

She sucked noisily and moaned from the constriction of her arms. Marina's moans were joined by murmurs from Hilda, who first started slapping the outer lips of her own pussy, then slipped a Rabbit vibrator all greasy with lube, and squeezed her thighs tight, burying it inside her.

I was amazed because in porn you always see the woman masturbating with her legs spread wide, facing the camera. But I realized that Hilda was not putting on a show for us. She was aroused by the spectacle we were showing her: and she closed her thighs to clutch the vibrator that was buzzing loudly.

Marina began to lick the shaft along its entire length. Now and then she would pull her tongue away and the cock would jerk, then with difficulty, she would catch it again with her lips and start again.

Seeing her efforts made me horny. Normally my wife was a blowjob goddess, but always with the help of her skillful hands, whether caressing my balls, grazing my anus, or with rhythmic strokes along the shaft... she was fantastic.

But handcuffed was something else. It was an effort, dedication, and fatigue. Every step cost her pain, the stiff-heeled shoes did not allow her to leverage her toes, and she constantly tried to free her hands to help herself, struggling uselessly against the laced straps.

Even Hilda, lying on the bed, enjoyed seeing Marina's efforts, very visible thanks to the ponytail hairstyle... every movement of her tongue and every sucking of her cheeks were perfectly visible, and my wife was naked, kneeling, handcuffed, and exposed to a stranger's eyes. Kiss a good friend next to a crowded pool, it was easy, but now...

The radio started playing Marina's favorite song: "I'm a Survivor". Maybe Destiny Child was talking about a divorce, my wife was talking about surviving her illness: that song represented her willingness to return to her job with even more energy. In general, "I'm still here" meant for her "I'll always be with you", but at that moment, with gestures and with her eyes, she wanted to tell me "I'll always be on my knees in front of your cock, forever in all my years to come. Come, for years to come...".

Marina looked up and stared into my eyes when the song came to the verse 'Thought that I would self destruct, but I'm still here / Even in my years to come, I'm still gon' be here'.

With my cock in her mouth, she nodded imperceptibly, without closing her eyelids, as if to say "I swear I will always be your cuffed SLAVE..."

... I felt I would resist for a few more seconds.

I couldn't speak, but I put my fingers on her forehead, gently trying to push her away so as not to cum in her mouth ...

From the bed, Hilda moaned. "No! Don't push your slave away, Luigi... she wants to swallow everything, she showed you with the champagne just now!"

At those words, involuntarily my fingers abandoned the push on her forehead and danced up to encircle the nape of her neck. I grabbed the poly tail and forced her into a sudden deep throat, immediately interrupted by a gag reflex. But instead without stopping to breathe, Marina continued, swirling her tongue and moving her neck back and forth to encourage my cumming.

My breathing was labored. I couldn't hold out much longer. The dancing in handcuffs, the heels, Hilda's presence, the memory of Heidi and Socorro... I couldn't resist my wife's swirling tongue, her moaning, I could not help myself from coming...

I spurted.

I jizzed in my slave's mouth, without warning, without delicacy, without respect.

She was surprised and a drop or two fell from her lip onto her chin and tit. Marina began to swallow it loudly, while Hilda delighted in fingering her clit on her bed.

I perhaps screamed, perhaps gasped, perhaps I don't know. I leaned my back against the armchair exhausted, while my wife rested her head on my thigh. Maybe she was too tired to get up, or maybe she wanted to confirm her submission: we looked like a comic version of the poster of Conan the Barbarian, the old movie, with the upright naked hero, and the (naked) slave girl on her knees with her mouth next to his cock.