tagLoving WivesTwo Red Shoes

Two Red Shoes

bymr. robinson©

The rope descended, thick and taut, from a hook fixed to a beam in the ceiling, its strands spiraling down, down, down to the place where her delicate, white fingers curled around it and gripped it tightly as she pulled herself up to relieve the pressure of the handcuffs on her wrists.

The cuffs were attached to the rope with a metal ring placed just above the point she could naturally reach with upstretched arms. The position was perfectly calculated. Though the cuffs were lined with soft fur, the weight of her body would pull insistently against her wrists, gently stretching her wrists and shoulders in a way that would grow uncomfortable after a while. She would relieve the pressure by lifting her heels off the ground to stand on her toes or by supporting her weight with her arms by pulling herself up the rope slightly.

But Barbara could sustain neither position very long. Her legs or arms would begin to ache and she would relax and let the rope carry her weight again. When the bite of the cuffs became too uncomfortable, she would begin the cycle again.

The effect was delicious. When Barbara stood on her toes, the muscles of her calves and thighs tightened into series of wondrous curves like the ones created by stiletto heels, flowing from her slender ankles up her legs to her knees and then broadening slightly as her thighs – tight and muscular - disappeared under the bottom of a white mens dress shirt that concealed her most secret place – but just barely. When her legs could no longer hold her up, she pulled with her arms which arched her back in a way that emphasized the soft roundness of her bottom and pulled her breasts up firmly and pressed her hardening nipples against the soft cotton fabric that still concealed them.

Only the lower two buttons were fastened and the front of the shirt gaped and closed as she shifted her position, offering fleeting glimpses of her white breasts and sometimes a flash of areolas and nipples, now reddening and erect despite – or perhaps because – of her discomfort.

Barbara pushed up onto her toes again to loosen the cuffs and then held her breath as she strained to listen for any sound, but there was none, or at least none that she could hear. When the blindfold was tied, soft plastic plugs were placed in her ears and then secured with the cloth that held the blindfold in place. She could neither see nor hear anything. And that more than her discomfort filled her mind. She was tied, nearly naked, unable to do more than shift and sway and unable to see or hear anything around her, unable to tell what might happen next. She was helpless, vulnerable.

And that was frightening, and yet, somehow, exciting.

Maddeningly so.

The waiting, the anticipation always drove her crazy.

And Stan knew it. He was so cruel, deliciously cruel, but cruel nonetheless.

So how would it be this time? How long would he make her wait? What was he doing? Was he just watching silently, fascinated by the bound and helpless form of his wife, reveling in her discomfort and growing arousal? Was he standing naked before her masturbating as he tried to read her thoughts?

The first time he just took her roughly, tearing open the shirt – even though it was one of his favorites – and running his hands all over her naked body, pinching her nipples and cupping her bottom before hoisting her up and then letting her slide down onto his throbbing penis. He held her back against a wall and thrust violently a few times before exploding inside her. The fantasy was powerful, its fulfillment even more so. Then he let her slide back to the floor still bound and hanging from her bonds. When he recovered he cut her down and laid her on their bed and made love long and slowly, savoring every stroke.

Another time, he gently unbuttoned the shirt and splayed it open to reveal her breasts. He caressed and suckled them, Barbara's nipples growing hard and hot in his mouth as he began to caress her thighs and the place they met. He slid to his knees and used his lips and tongue to stir her passion to the brink. Then he stopped and pulled away, leaving Barbara clutching her thighs together trying to finish what she was denied. Then she could vaguely hear the opening and closing of doors and a voice -- or was it voices? She waited, now both wanton and angry at being made to wait. Then he was back, but something was different. It was cologne. He never wore cologne. Why would he put it on now? And his touch was different somehow rougher and yet strange and insistent, probing everywhere as though it was the first time. It was odd and exciting and soon tilted her toward the edge again but this time she would not be denied. When he entered her she bucked and pumped as hard as she could. As she felt the orgasm rise within her, all she cared about was release. He didn't need to do all that stuff, she was there. When it was over she realized that he had tried to fool her into thinking some stranger was taking her but had failed miserably. It hadn't even occurred to her. They both had a good laugh over it and then made love again until they were exhausted and fell asleep.

"So how would it be today?" she wondered, shifting from foot to foot trying to find a more comfortable position. "And when will he start? Please, let it be soon."

She would not have to wait long. But while she waited she thought about Stan's preparations today. He had never plugged her ears before and the blindfold was particularly tight and effective. All she could see were the little flashes of light that dance behind your eyelids when you close your eyes, and then slowly fade away to total darkness. And the handcuffs seemed snugger than usual. All this would heighten the feeling of helplessness, that wonderful feeling of having no control – and no responsibility – for anything that was about to happen. With no sight or sound, all of her senses would be focused on touch, exquisitely so. Barbara longed for that touch. She wanted it now. She wanted whatever was to come.

Stan's first touch was a light caress as he ran his fingers across Barbara's cheek and down her jaw line to her chin. He held her chin with his thumb and forefinger and leaned in to kiss her lips gently and softly. The kisses were light and chaste, each a caress and then he began to nibble at her full bottom lip. He caught it lightly with his teeth and sucked it gently at first and then more urgently, before slipping his tongue into her mouth probing her lips and teeth and seeking contact with her tongue. She responded as far as her bonds would allow. So as he pulled away, she was left open mouthed and gasping for more. But she could neither see nor feel him. She could feel only her own desire.

Then he leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek and nose and forehead always making sure he was just out of reach of her hungry, wanton mouth. He loosened the blindfold enough to move her earplug and said, "I love you." in a deep and strange and heartfelt way. Then he replaced the earplug and secured the blindfold again.

Next, she felt his hands slip inside the front of the shirt without unbuttoning it. It pulled taut around her as his arms encircled her. He pulled her firmly towards him and she could feel her breasts flatten against his bare chest, her nipples hardening still more at the contact with his warm flesh. He moved his torso up and down and side to side against her. It forced her body down and strained her wrists against the cuffs but she did not mind. The discomfort was only punctuation to the waves of pleasure at the contact of the two bodies. He kissed her neck as he held her in his grasp and began to grind his hips into hers. She could feel his penis, harder and hotter, maybe even bigger, than usual. Heightened senses? Heightened passions? No matter. She responded, wriggling and squirming, and then humping her hips eager for more contact.

But Stan pulled back and began to undo the buttons still holding the shirt closed. When he was done and she was exposed, he stepped away a moment and then returned to cup her mound and press his fingers -- covered with something wet and slippery -- into her. Barbara moaned and gasped. She loved the feel of the lubricant and reveled at its warm, slippery feel and at the thought that he would soon mount her. She rotated her hips against his fingers as he worked the slippery gel deep inside her.

Barbara was ready and wanted him now. So she was surprised when he stopped and again leaned in to kiss her gently. Stop teasing! she thought. Please now! But he held her face with two hands and again kissed her gently. Then Stan reached behind her with his left hand and scooped the tails of the shirt to the side leaving the round globes of her bottom exposed and beautiful. With his right hand he held her face and caressed her lips with his thumb. Barbara opened her mouth and sucked in his finger. She sucked hard and greedily and would not let go even as Stan tried to tug it away. She devoured it, pumping it in and out of her mouth as though it were his penis.

Then through the waves of lust and passion, Barbara sensed something else. She stopped sucking and tried to focus. It wasn't cologne, but it was something strange, something different. She felt something on her bottom. Stan's finger? A dildo? No. No, it wasn't. No, it was ...

Oh no, it was unmistakable. It was a penis. Thick and hot. And moving.

Barbara's mouth popped open and Stan was sure that without the blindfold he would see her eyes gaping wider still. She was shocked, surprised, angry, and yet tingling with a sexual rush that she had never felt before.

A penis! Whose?

But before she could ask, Stan laid his finger across her lips as if to say, "Wait." And then he kissed her again to make sure she did.

In that moment, the stranger stepped closer to her, trapping his penis in the crack of her bottom. She could feel his balls at the base of her ass and his penis extending upward – very hard and very hot – nearly to her waist. She felt him grind his hips against her to create the friction he wanted. She could feel his penis twitch; it seemed to grow even larger and hotter with that one simple movement. If not for the earplugs, she would have heard him groan with the pleasure of the contact. He and Stan did hear Barbara's moan at the realization of what was happening and that she could not stop it, and that still more, she liked it, even wanted it.

The stranger reached around to cup Barbara's breasts, his hands covering them with her nipples protruding between his fingers, red and hard nubs that welcomed the feel of his strong, rough hands as he kneaded her breasts and pulled her firmly back onto his penis. He pumped his hips sliding his erection up and down her bottom as though he was fucking her. He was moaning steadily now, but Barbara could not hear it.

But she could feel it. And, oh God, it felt delicious, so good it overrode everything in her that was trying to cry out "No." She did not know who was trying to fuck her. Was sure she did not want some stranger fucking her. Most of all, she did not want some stranger fucking her without asking him to do it.

But here it was. It was undeniable that it felt good, oh so very good. She wanted that hard penis inside her. She hated to admit it, but she did want it. It is so close, she thought. When he pulls back it would be so easy for him to slip down and into her pussy, the pussy that Stan had just lubricated so well. Right now, in this raw, hot moment, she realized that she would ask this stranger to fuck her.

Maybe even beg him to do it.

This stranger's penis was bigger than Stan's. It felt longer, and certainly thicker. Just thinking about its size and heat fanned her desires. Yes, she really wanted to feel this penis inside her. She wanted a vigorous fucking with a big, hard penis. And she wanted it now. "Does it really matter whose it is?" she thought as waves of lust broke over her. "It is here right now. And it has been so, so long."

So even as her lips tried to say, "No," her body said, "Yes."

She was pushing her hips back to meet his every thrust and hoping each time that he would slip inside her. She then felt Stan's hand cup her mound and rub her tingling clit while his fingers played over the opening to her pussy. Things were starting to spin. Her knees were weak and she dangled from the rope in the arms of the stranger consumed only with reaching her orgasm.

Stan jumped up on the back of the couch so he could reach the hook and untied the rope, though her hands were still cuffed together. He quickly grabbed the cuffs to keep Barbara from falling to the ground, and hauled her back upright. Hopping down he pulled her along still blindfolded and uncertain of her steps. She only needed a few as Stan pulled her over the arm of the couch. Stan fell back onto the couch and Barbara pitched forward falling on top of him, her head in his lap. She could feel his heat and hardness on her cheek.

Now she was bent over the arm of the couch with her feet still on the floor and her bottom pushed into the air, ripe and inviting. Stan held the cuffs taut over her head so she could not get up. The stranger stepped quickly behind her and began probing for the opening to her pussy with his still hard penis. When she realized what he was doing Barbara almost involuntarily rotated her hips to give him better access to his prize. As he grabbed her hips, she thought his hands were strong and sure like those of a tradesman, a mechanic perhaps, a bit rough, but powerful and erotic.

She could tell he was shorter than Stan, maybe even closer to her own height. He seemed to stand behind her at his full height, not crouched down. He was a perfect match for this coupling with her. His penis soon found the wet, swollen opening to her pussy and he probed it with gentle thrusts until the hard, mushroom tip settled into the opening that was spreading to welcome him. Another push and it popped inside of her. Everyone heard her gasp at the sensation. Then she began to push back against him, trying to consume his cock as greedily as she had sucked on Stan's thumb. He responded with a thrust that pushed his penis fully into her. Balls deep, as they say. After a moment, he began to move. First slowly with short strokes, then he gradually built up speed, depth and motion. He was fucking her hard now, and Barbara was moaning, even shrieking and thrashing about on the verge of an orgasm.

She tried to fuck him back as hard, but the thrusting had pushed her further on to the couch and she lost her footing, The three bodies were now in an awkward snarl and Stan's grip on the cuffs was beginning to hurt, and not a pleasure-pain hurt but one that needed to stop. But, God, she was so close to cumming.

"Ow. Ow. Wait. Wait," she said.

Stan shoved the coffee table out of the way and they rolled onto the floor, Barbara and the stranger uncoupling in the process. She hurried to get in position so he could mount her again quickly. She wanted it so badly.

It was then she noticed that in all the rolling about, her blindfold had been knocked askew. She could see out of the bottom of it and she could hear a bit, too.

As she rolled onto her back, she realized she could see the stranger's legs. She was right about his penis. It was bigger, thicker and harder. She wanted to grab it and suck it, to feel that velvety smooth helmet on her tongue. And she started to reach for it but her hands were still pinned over her head.

The stranger quickly slipped between Barbara's legs and positioned himself to enter her. As he did, she noticed his shoes, and thought they were unusual -- red sneakers. They were somehow familiar.

Funky, she thought but then felt the tip of his penis, hot and insistent, probing for her opening. All she could think about was how much she wanted him to find it.

And then he did. "Ohhhh!" he groaned as he sank it home.

He pushed her legs wider apart and pulled them onto his shoulders. As he did, she thought there was something familiar about his voice, but it was so husky and thick with lust that it was hard to tell. It didn't matter now. It was time to fuck.

And fuck they did. Hard long strokes, balls slapping on her bottom as she ground her hips upward to meet his every thrust. Faster and harder, until they reached the pinnacle, and her orgasm burst through her body from head to toe. He came, too, shaking and quivering as he pumped his semen deep inside her -- at last.

"Oh, oh, oh. God," he said panting and wheezing.

That voice, she thought, and then slipped back into reverie as the waves of orgasm rippled through her to every extremity and back again. She was weak, exhausted and – for the moment – satisfied. She had forgotten just how good a fat, hard cock and a good hard fuck could be.

She relaxed and drifted as the stranger held her in his embrace and kissed her gently. She kissed him back. She would have hugged him too, but Stan still held the cuffs, though more loosely now. The kisses trailed off as the stranger's penis softened and slipped out of her. She did not want it to end and tried to grip it with a squeeze of her muscles but it just forced his soft and slippery cock out even faster. She already missed its feel.

He rolled off her and in a moment he was rising to his feet.

"Wait, wait," she wanted to say to the man she still had not seen. But she did not. She just lay back in the soft glow, wondering if it might be better not to know.

Then curiosity took over and she craned her neck to look under the blindfold and maybe catch a glimpse of his face as he pulled on his jeans and shirt. But no, his back was to her. All she could see was a shock of white hair, disheveled and messy.

And then he was gone.

She asked, she begged Stan to tell her who it was. He had been inside her. She had a right to know. But he would not tell. He said the mystery deepened the excitement, created a greater thrill. She pressed and he resisted until he made her so frustrated that she got up and left Stan holding his own unrelieved erection as she went to take a shower.

The hot water felt good as she washed away her sweat and the stranger's semen. She basked in the flush of her orgasm and satisfaction. It had been wonderful and exciting and oh so mysterious.

As the steamy stream of water beat down on her, the question nagged at Barbara. Who was it? He was strong and confident. He was taller than she was but not a lot. He had white hair and a familiar voice. She had heard it before. But where? Who was it?

Then she remembered the sneakers, the red sneakers. They, too, were familiar, and strangely so. What was it? Lots of people have red sneakers. But not like these. These were special, they were ... they were red PATENT LEATHER.

She almost slipped in the tub at the realization. Of course! Then she smiled broadly. Stan was wrong. Knowing made it even more delicious, she thought, as another little wave of pleasure zinged through her.

He was no stranger. She certainly would have asked him to fuck her. And, yes, she decided, she would ask him to do it again. Soon.

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