FREE SEX STORY

	SOLITARY CONFINEMENT by Kevin Dowling When we're in the mood to play, my wife, Terry, uses the slightest excuse to become Mistress Theresa, her dominant alter ego. For my part, I must admit that I'll transgress from time to time just to warrant one of her punishments, especially since I know it will usually include some form of bondage. Sometimes I'll forget to pass on a message from one of her friends, or leave my dirty clothes lying around, or neglect to mow the lawn. That's why when I spilled my wine on the floor one night, shivers of excitement ran up and down my spine. It was Friday, the end of a long week's work for us both. Terry had rented an Adam Sandler-Drew Barrymore movie, hoping that a few laughs would help us to wind down in readiness for the weekend ahead. As for me, I'd stopped on the way back from the office to buy a bottle of our favorite red wine. It went really well with the pasta that she'd cooked for dinner. Maybe that's why I had one drink too many, which caused my glass to slip. Though it somehow didn't break when it hit the hardwood floor, the red liquid spread everywhere, like blood leaking from a bullet wound. Quickly, I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a huge wad of paper towels, part of me hoping that my wife wouldn't find out, and part of me hoping that she would. Regardless of what I actually wanted, I was too late. Silence had descended upon the house; she had switched off the TV. Then I was summoned back into the living room with a single word: Slave. The hairs on my arms and legs stood on end as I meekly wandered back. Already Terry looked different, and when I glanced down at her feet I realized why. She had put on her five-inch stiletto heels, which made her tower above me by at least four inches. Pointing at the crimson puddle, Theresa beckoned me forward. "Lick it clean, slave," she said. So I moved toward her and got down on my hands and knees. Then I removed my shirt when she told me to. Finally, I leaned down and began lapping the red wine off the floor. The intoxicating liquor had no effect upon my senses, because I was already feeling blissfully heady from my wife's exquisite show of power. In a few short minutes, I'd gone from watching a video to prostrating myself in front of my mistress. As I licked up the spilled wine, I began wondering what the extent of my punishment would be. Perhaps cleaning the floor would be all that was asked of me, or maybe Mistress would take me to the dungeon to administer a level of correction that would ensure I'd never make the same mistake again. As I awaited her next move, I ran my tongue along the floorboards with all the ardor of the most willing slave in the world. There, in the shadow of my glorious mistress, I gave my all in an attempt to atone for my clumsiness, my wrongdoing. But despite my frantic efforts, I was barely making any headway. The floor seemed to be just as wet as it had been when I had started, my tongue only spreading the ruby liquid further. Understandably, that didn't make my mistress very happy. She started making tut-tut noises, her disapproval abundantly clear. I knew then that I was destined for the dungeon, since my efforts to make amends by simply licking the floor clean were failing miserably. Now, it was just a case of waiting for Theresa to give me a definite sign. She lingered for a while, obviously enjoying the sight of her obedient slave down on his hands and knees between her thighs. Then, I felt the tip of one of her high-heeled shoes tapping against my chin as she used her foot to lift my face. "Meet me in the dungeon in five minutes," she said. Without even stopping to think about it, I heard myself saying: "Yes, Mistress." Then I waited for her to leave the room before making my way downstairs. When we'd first bought our house, the tiny basement below the kitchen had been set up as a laundry room, with a washing machine and a dryer. Terry had seen its potential right away. Within weeks of moving in, she'd moved the washer and dryer into the garage and sent away for a set of four chains, which she'd made me fix into the four corners of the wall farthest from the entrance. I was then told to stand against that wall while she adjusted their lengths. On the day of the incident with the wine, as I awaited Theresa in the dungeon, I imagined how she'd attach the chains coming from the bottom corners of the wall to my ankle cuffs. Then she'd fix their length so that I was forced to stand with my legs wide apart, enough to make it slightly uncomfortable if I were to remain in that position for any great length of time. The cuffs of the top two chains would then be attached to my wrists, so that my arms would be reaching diagonally toward the corners of the room. The whole effect was to chain me so that my limbs were arranged to look like the letter X. In the past, my wife had left me like that for long stretches of time, so I always felt a high degree of arousal whenever I walked down the stairs. Now, that degree of excitement went leaping right off the scale. This crime seemed far greater than any I had committed before, so I was convinced that the punishment would be similarly severe. While I waited for Theresa to come down the stairs, I stripped naked, since I knew that was expected. As a slave, it was my duty to lay myself bare before my mistress. I soon began to shiver, partly due to the lack of heat in the basement and partly due to my wife's impending arrival. Then I heard her stiletto heels drumming out a warning signal as she made her way to the dungeon, and a moment later, she came into view. Theresa's voluptuous body was clad in a mixture of leather and silk. Her corset and garters were made of leather; her sheer black stockings were silky and smooth. I longed to run my hands over them, but knew it would be some time before I'd earned that chance. "Move back, slave," Theresa ordered, pointing toward the farthest wall, the one with the chains attached to the corners. She then demanded that I turn around so that I would be staring directly at the brickwork. Without question, I turned my face away from her, and then I heard the sound of the chains rattling as she began to render me captive. She bound my ankles first and then my wrists, pulling each chain tight so that I was left with only the slightest amount of room to move. The chains on my arms had no more than an inch or so of give, while I couldn't move my legs at all. I was totally imprisoned, forced to stare solemnly at the wall in front of me. That added an extra, tantalizing element to the proceedings, since I had no way of seeing what was going on. All that I could do was to listen, so I tried to pick up clues that way. I heard a cupboard being opened and then the swish of a whip lashing through the air. Next, I heard a slap as the whip was tested once again, this time most likely against the palm of Theresa's hand. After that, there was a moment's silence, and then I heard her heels drumming out another warning as she walked toward me. As Theresa moved closer, I steeled myself for a lash from the whip. However, my mistress surprised me. Going only by what I could hear, I'd had no way of knowing that she had also picked up a set of nipple clamps. Her breasts pressed against my back as she reached around my body and fixed the first of the clamps into place. The metal teeth bit into my nipple, causing me to moan. Mistress didn't like that. She scolded me for making too much noise. Suitably chastened, I dug deep into my reserves and somehow managed to resist the urge to cry out, as the second clamp was fitted into place. It wasn't easy, though, since the clamps had sent the most exquisite pain shooting through the flesh of my upper body. It felt almost as if they were conducting an electrical charge between them, sending volts of energy shooting back and forth across my chest. The pain was intense, but it was far outweighed by the pleasure I felt in knowing that I deserved it. If anything, I felt unworthy of such punishment as my mistress was administering, and I thanked her for her attentions thus far. Then I closed my eyes and focused on remaining silent while I waited for the endorphins to kick in. Theresa, however, didn't wait, and delivered the first lash of her whip. I was unable to hold back the groan that fell from my lips when the thin strip of leather caught the center of my left buttock. I heard the swish as a second lash followed. This one caught the tops of my thighs, producing an even louder groan. "Are you sorry for your actions, slave?" Theresa asked me, but before I'd had a chance to answer, the whip was hitting my flesh once again. I could picture the lines appearing on my thighs and asscheeks as they received six more quick-fire lashes from the leather strop. I couldn't contain my desire to moan, which only served to incur the wrath of my mistress all the more. Theresa repeatedly called for silence, but with a lash of the whip prefacing each of her demands, I found myself unable to comply. My nipples were still smarting from the clamps, and although I was starting to get a buzz from the endorphins, it had come at a time when Theresa was using the whip more freely. As a result, I kept on moaning, until one especially forceful blow to my thighs caused me to shout out an obscenity. The whipping stopped in an instant and then I heard Theresa rushing up the stairs. When she reached the kitchen, the door to the dungeon was slammed and locked. Suddenly, I was facing a spell in solitary confinement, with my arms and legs still chained, my nipples clamped and my ass throbbing. How much time had passed before she returned is almost impossible for me to say. Chained up in the basement, I lost all sense of everything other than how it felt to be bound against the wall. When I eventually heard the door open again, a profound sense of relief came over me. And, in my joy upon hearing my mistress return, it escaped my mind that she was merely coming back to deliver further punishment. It started with a brisk lash from the whip across the tender flesh of my butt. There was genuine force in that lash, as if it was intended as a wake-up call. Subsequently, Theresa reached around my body and fixed a blindfold across my eyes that I could tell, from the smell and feel, was made of leather. Once it was securely in place, she undid the chains and made me turn around. "You are blindfolded because your eyes are unworthy of gazing upon me," she declared as she began to refix the chains, only this time I was facing away from the wall. As she moved around me, she brushed against my cock, which had swollen to its full length. Knowing that I couldn't do anything with it was like torture that was only made worse by her sporadic touch. Once the chains had been refastened, my dick became the main focus of my wife's attention. She ran her fingers over it lightly, teasingly, until I could barely stand it. I longed to reach down and stroke myself until I came, but of course I couldn't do that. Bound to the wall as I was, all I could do was groan, which earned me another quick lash of the whip. Theresa then called for silence, and I heard the whip drop to the floor. She took a step forward so that our bodies were now touching, and then she guided my cockhead into her cunt. She was so wet that my erection slid in easily. Instinctively, I tried to wrap my arms around her, but the chains prevented any such movement. While Theresa began rocking her hips back and forth, there was nothing that I could do other than stand in the position in which I had been chained. A feeling of total powerlessness overwhelmed my senses as my rigid prick pushed in and out of my mistress's cunt. Then came the sting in the tail. Just as I was getting used to the gentle rhythm with which Theresa was pumping her hips, I felt a tightening sensation in my upper body as she began tugging on the nipple clamps. While still working my cock in and out of her cunt, she twisted them around and instantly sent sparks rushing to my chest that were echoed by a heightened throbbing in my balls. I let out a shout as the clamps bit into my flesh. That in itself was enough to cause me further anguish, because Theresa doesn't like me to make any noise at all. I expected her to stop fucking me as a result of my disobedience, but instead, on this occasion, she seemed to revel in the audible demonstration of my pain. Her pussy experienced a series of contractions as it tightened around my cock, which is how I knew that she was almost to the point of climax. With a forward thrust of her hips, Theresa consumed the full length of my dick with her cunt. Then she let out an orgasmic groan that echoed off the walls of the dungeon, a groan I had trouble not following with one of my own. I heard the chains on my arms and legs begin to rattle as the reverberations from the force of that thrust made my entire body start to tremble. Upon hearing-and feeling-my mistress's climax, my dick began twitching inside her cunt. However, I knew better than to come inside her, since she had yet to give me permission to do so. I could not hold out much longer, though, and by remaining impaled on my cock, she was not giving me much choice. With nothing else that I could do, I risked incurring her wrath and started begging to come. "Oh, Mistress, please," I groaned, as the spasms shooting through Theresa's cunt threatened to stimulate me to the point where I couldn't contain myself any longer. "Please, let me come." She took a step away from my body, pulling her pussy off of my dick. But it was too late-I couldn't hold back, and the feeling of her cunt sliding over my shaft set me off. Immediately, a thick, white jet of come came bursting from the slit in my crown. As my juices splattered onto the floor, I felt the nipple clamps being twisted yet again. "Thank you, Mistress," I groaned as the sharp sensation caused another jet of cream to gush from my cock. Theresa's punishment had taken me to the very limits of what I was able to handle, and that fact was made clear by the two enormous blobs of come on the dungeon floor. Once she had undone the chains and removed the clamps from my nipples and the blindfold, she insisted that her slave perform one last task-that of cleaning up the mess that he had made! As I scrubbed the basement floor, my mistress went back upstairs and poured herself another glass of the red wine that had started the whole thing. By the time I was through with my task, she had finished off the bottle. And maybe that was for the best. Already that night I had dirtied the living room floor with red wine and the dungeon floor with my come. I can't imagine what Theresa would have done if I'd been responsible for any further spillage. Probably something very nasty that I would have loved! - JOIN NOW FOR MORE STORIES LIKE THIS! -

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