Double Bind

Jack Dempsey sat in the living room with the TV on low, listening to his
pretty wife, Ingrid, rustling and clicking around the bedroom. He thought of
her this morning: a blonde Amazon, pacing beside the bed as if to display
her 5-10, 36-24-36 frame and long leggy stride. For this show, she'd
costumed herself in bra and panties of beige lace sheer enough he didn't
have to use any imagination and a little beige half-slip, so sheer and short
she might as well not have worn it at all. In short, she set his antenna a-
tingle as she had of old, before their marriage got so rocky.

"It's just awful!" she exclaimed, sounding at once bitchy and put-upon.
"It's all dirt and spider webs; and I can't find anything!"

"And you want me to spend my Saturday cleaning it," he said, affably. He
knew a trap when he saw it; and he delighted in letting her spring it on
herself.

"We could play tonight," she said, eyes gone round with innocence and
voice dripping sugar. He returned her innocent stare as if he had no idea
what she was talking about. Still wide-eyed and innocent, she pulled her
cream-colored silk dress over her head; and smoothed it like a glove down
the curves of her body. The dress was sleeveless with tiny pearl buttons at
the shoulders--which was why he'd bought it for her. The silk was almost as
transparent as her underwear. There was just enough substance to the
halfslip that he couldn't see her panties; but he could almost read the
label on her bra. "I suppose there'll be strings attached...." she mumbled,
turning to find her earrings. She'd been grudging in her approval of his
labor; and now he was waiting to see what she'd do about the promised play.
Would she or wouldn't she pay up?

He heard the bedroom door open. His heart rate picked up a little. A waft
of perfume reached his nose. Ah! An auspicious sign. She came striding into
the living room on the click of her black high-heeled sandals. Tapered,
stockinged legs disappeared under the hem of an old, frayed Terry Cloth
robe. Bingo! He'd scored.

"Well," she said, her voice dripping irony. "Are you coming?" Her eyes
were exquisitely made up with false lashes and mascara. He thumbed off the
remote, followed her to the bedroom, and propped himself with pillows on the
bed. Ingrid stood across the room, pulling a gap in the drapes and looking
out as if he weren't even there. Her posture was pure ice. Jack bided the
time. He knew she was fighting down twenty years of "liberation;" and he
gave her plenty of time.

Finally, she heaved a put-upon sigh; and dropped the robe off her
shoulders as she turned to face him. She was magnificent from her frosted
hair to her stocking-covered toes. She wore this morning's outfit. Through
the translucent silk of the dress, beneath the hem of the little half slip,
he could see the strap of a garter-stocking against her jutted hip. Her
nipples had stiffened enough to tent the silk dress and the transparency of
beige lace beneath.

"Is this how you want me?" her voice was haughty with scorn.

"Excellent," he said, reaching into the night stand for his tangle of
ropes and scarves. Her face fell.

He marveled at her sudden shift to disappointment, as if the scarves were
the last thing she expected. Her voice was a plea to soften the hardest
heart: "Do you have to?" she asked.

"Let me see how you'd look if you were tied up," he said. This was the
major turning point. If she didn't comply, it would be whambam, thank-
you-ma'am; but tonight, she was going to comply.

"Jack!" she said. His name was both reproach and plea. Her lower lip
trembled as if she might cry. Little Ingrid had been conned again. Heart
pounding, he arched a quizzical brow. "Oh all RlGHT!!" Her voice was full of
hurt, as if she hadn't expected this at all. Jack didn't care. It had been
three weeks since the last time they "played": and their infrequent sex had
been unsatisfying between. Tonight, he was going to enjoy her.

Slowly, responding to his stare, she brought her hands behind her and
pulled her elbows back as far as she was able. Her soft, wide-spaced breasts
rose as she arched; and he could see the nubs of her nipples slide up the
silk of her dress. A little shudder ran through her as if she felt the
friction. She pouted. "This is uncomfortable," she said.

"You always say that." he said. "Come here." She sauntered to the bed,
her posture making her a little unsteady on her heels; and lay down beside
him, careful to keep her elbows pulled back. "Would a rub make it better?"

"OH YES!!!" She rolled against him, arms flying free of her invisible
bonds and wrapping around him. Jake picked up a scarf, wrapped one slender
wrist, and tied a square knot. "Hey!" she said--playful now. "What about MY
rub?" He wrapped the other wrist. "You know I don't LIKE this!" she was back
to scorn. "Why do you have to do it?" While she was complaining, he tied
ropes to each of the wrists scarves. She never fought or tried to pull her
hand away.

"Roll onto your stomach," he said. Poor little Ingrid. She thought she
knew what was coming; but tonight, he'd planned a major variation, which was
why her compliance was more important than usual. She was expecting to be
spread-eagled face- down for her rub; and didn't so much as moan pointedly
when he tied soft ropes to her trim ankles. Last time he'd had a decent
tie-up, she'd kicked off her high heels before he wanted her to. This time,
he knotted the ropes inside, brought the ends through her insteps, and up
through the loops around her trim ankles.

"You're getting too COMPLEX!" she exclaimed, perhaps sensing that things
were different this time. Now that he had all her strings attached, he
caught the ropes tied to the scarves that bound her wrists and, pulling her
hands behind her back, tied them together. "THIS ISN'T A BACK RUB!!" Her
exclamation carried a tone he'd never heard before: as if she realized the
"game" was changed and there was nothing she could DO about it.

Keeping the ropes in his hands as a tether, he got off the bed and pulled
her up. The ropes pulling her bound wrists up behind made it awkward for her
to get up; but she squirmed around on the bed, got her legs under her, and
climbed off beside him. In an instant, he did the buttons at her slender
shoulders; and let the silk dress drop. Ingrid laughed a tight, nervous
little laugh. "Am I in trouble?" she asked, lifting her arms behind to let
the dress slide off her body. He brought the ends of the rope from her bound
hands between her legs, on either side of her plump pussy and over her sleek
hips, pulled them to cross in the small of her back, around front again to
pin her shoulders back, and a knot behind her neck.

All the while, she complained in a pitiful voice: "Jack, what are you
doing. DON'T you DARE!!! Ouch! That hurts!" As a final refinement, he tied
another rope to pull the shoulder ropes toward each other in front, brought
it deadcenter through her pussy and tied it off to her wrists. "JACK," she
screeched. "LET ME LOOSE! THIS INSTANT!!!" Ropes trailed from her ankles as
he guided her to the door. Ingred balked; but, helpless as she was, there
wasn't much she could do. "Don't you DARE take me out in the house like
this." Her voice was low, as if she were trying to sound more reasonable
than hysterical--which latter state she had very nearly reached. "If anyone
sees me TIED UP like this, I'll divorce you so fast..."

Holding her struggling shoulders, he propelled her down the hall. As they
reached the living room, she threw herself back against him and set her
feet, stocking-clad legs spread, heels squeaking against the hardwood. "I
Mean it!" The living room was all shadow. There was no one on the street. No
doubt sensing that he was taking her to the den, she tried to run as soon as
she realized there was no one to see her. Watching he was pure joy. The
ropes across her shoulders dug into her collar bones, making her arch her
back. The rope through her pussy made her double forward as if to
de-emphasize her swelling breasts; but the arch in her back thrust them
forward. The little halfslip was pulled up in front and back, but fluttered
delightfully at her hips.

Jack caught the ropes where they crossed in the small of her back; and
held her so she had to drag him across the room. She moved almost in a
swoon, stumbling as if her legs were weak and whimpering as if moving were
agony. The den was split level: hardwood deck coming in, then a pit of soft
carpet around the fireplace. The railing was set in from the edge of the
deck several feet. Jack forced her, struggling body along the edge, spread
her feet, and secured them with the ropes to the railing.

She was pleading with him now, near tears: "JACK! DON'T! PLEASE DON'T!"
He loosed the body harness and spread her arms above her to eye bolts. Then,
to keep her thinking about what their games were for, he tied a rope around
her waist, brought the tail through the crease in her panties and the front
of her half-slip, which was still pulled into her pussy, brought it up
between the cheeks of her delicious ass, tied it off to the eye bolt above
her head, and stepped into the den. She stood there, looking from her bound
wrists to her roped pussy and spread ankles, as if trying to comprehend. She
moaned to herself, as if he wasn't even in the room with her and she was
contemplating what he had done. Which wasn't a bad idea, he thought.

He went to the kitchen; and poured himself a glass of wine. He didn't
have time to sit down before her almost-hysterical voice reached him:
"Jack!!" He smiled to himself and sipped the wine. "Jack!!!" she cried--more
insistent this time. He ambled back into the living room. Through the angle
of the door, he could see her body, fighting the spread-eagle. There was
enough slack that her elbows were bent, not quite at a right angle; and she
twisted this way and that, pulling with her arms and lifting one foot after
the other as if she might shake her ankles free. He approached along the
wall so she didn't see him until he stepped into the room--and she was
looking, straining to turn her head so she could see behind her. " GET ME
DOWN FROM HERE!!" she demanded.

He approached her from behind; and held the glass around to her mouth,
putting his other hand on her soft belly where the rope pulled tight against
the half slip and panties. "Sip of wine?" he asked.

"FIRST get me down." She recoiled from the glass.

"Better get it while you can," he said, his voice even more stern than
he'd intended. She gave a little start. Her eyes whirled around to look into
his with wide-eyed terror, then she craned her neck forward and put her lips
to the edge of the glass. He tipped it; and she drank several good swallows,
as if fortifying herself for the battle to come. She was going to lose, of
course. If this wasn't obvious by now, she was stupid; and she was not a
stupid woman. Hell, she was probably smarter than he was except that, this
time, she'd smarted herself to the end of her rope, so to speak.

"What are you.... " (voice back to the little-girl trying to keep the
game under control, trying to pretend she had actually allowed this much of
it to happen to her.) " ... doing.... " He gave the rope through her slip,
panties, and pussy a slight tweak. "...to ME!!!" she squealed. The eyes she
turned to him were both hot and terrified. All her phony innocence was gone
now.

Jack scissored over the railing; and stepped down into the den. His face
came to about where her ribs divided. Without ceremony, he gripped her right
breast, took a sip of wine, fastened his mouth over her nipple and let the
wine soak into the lacy bra. He got a nice spot of wine on her left nipple
before she jerked angrily away from him, squealing at the friction of the
rope through her pussy caused by the maneuver. He put the wine glass on the
ledge in front of her; and stepped back for a good view. The beige bra was
plastered to her nipples, completely transparent where the wine stains
spread across the material. Her areola, which had been flaccid around her
rigid nipples, tightened to knotted cones and her nipples pushed--
uncomfortably, he thought--against the wet material. Her face was strained
from the shock of what he had done; and as she regained her equilibrium, her
expression turned to fury.

"If you don't UNTIE ME right now, I'm going to SCREAM," she said.

He shrugged. "Go ahead." The den was in the center of the house. He'd
barely heard her in the kitchen.

She stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief, threw back her head and let
out a shriek of anguish that shivered the walls; and it was as if that one
release of genuine emotion triggered an avalanche. She burst into agonized
writhings against the ropes, pulling determinedly at her bound ankles,
jerking furiously with her arms, twisting, struggling as if her life
depended on her getting free, and shrieking bloody murder. Her breasts
jiggled and swayed. Her hips pumped and ground on the rope in her pussy.
Jack didn't know how she could stand the movement of the rope through her
pussy; and, indeed, she couldn't. In less than a minute, she exhausted
herself and broke down crying. He let her stand there, straining with her
arms to pull herself off the pussy-rope, tears running down her cheeks to
splash onto the wine- stained bra. The little minx still had some control.
Her bawling subsided to sobs in seconds; and she looked at him through eyes
whose innocence couldn't mask her despair.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she wailed.

"Tom," he said.

The name brought her up cold. She froze, her face a mask of shocked
terror. Either she was a consummate actress, or she hadn't known he knew.

Her voice trembled. "What about Tom?" she asked.

"As long as you're having your affair with him, our games are going to
get more radical. And more frequent."

Her lips pursed with determination. She gave one last, desperate jerk at
the ropes that held her arms, then broke down completely, sagging against
the pussy rope, and sobbing pitifully.

Jack took her then, leaping onto the stage, slicing the pussy rope with
his pocket knife, flinging the knife across the room, jerking her panties
aside, and dropping his sweat pants all in one fevered move. Ingrid's eyes
widened when she saw his cock, hard above the band of his jock strap--in
their idyllic youth, jock straps had turned her on; but he didn't give her
time to enjoy it. His cock was harder than it had ever been as he drove
himself into her. She jerked, recoiling from the impact of his entry, then
she went all soft, squirming against him as her sobs turned to moans of
passion.

He drove into her again and again, talking to her all the while: "It's
going...." " ... to get...." "worse!" "A lot...." " . . . worse!" Her moans
turned squeals and her squeals, to cries. She humped, she wriggled. She was
actually panting. He could feel her juices running down his scrotum. IT HAD
WORKED! She was hotter than she'd ever been; and as he realized that, he
blew like the top coming off St. Helen's. He couldn't be sure; but he
thought she came with him. He would have sworn he felt the spasms of her
orgasm as he burst into her. Afterward, she hung. limp in her bonds, staring
at him through glazed, frightened eyes.

"My feet hurt," she complained. Her voice wasn't quite a whimper. "It's
no fair, tying my heels on." When he untied her, she flowed onto the ledge
like water and lay there, completely compliant while he tied her hands
behind her with a scarf. She didn't even bitch when he took her to bed that
way; and for the first time in her life, she fell asleep with her hands tied
behind her back. In the morning, he woke to, "Wake up and let me GO!!"; and
he knew no permanent changes had been made. "UNTIE ME right now, or I'm
calling my LAWYER!!" She bitched all through breakfast; and afterward, he
went out to mow the lawn just to get away from her. She'd never divorce him.
She liked the money too well; and there was the prenuptial agreement.... She
was spending a lot; and getting bitchier by the day. He really ought to be
the one doing the divorcing; but after a night like last night, how could he?