Beer Bottle Tops

My husband is a runner. Every morning he runs to the train station, four miles there and four miles back in the evening. He keeps several suits and shiny shoes at work and you can see him at half past seven in his Lycra. Today he wasn't going to run home. I parked my car near to the station; you get two hours free in Aldi, although I wasn't buying anything today. I kicked off my shoes, locked them in the boot and set off home, barefoot. 5pm and traffic was building up. I set a reasonable pace as I wanted to get home in an hour, although I was slowed a little by a few stretches where the Tarmac was rough. The last mile was through the park and I could have walked on the grass, but I didn't. That would be defeating the object.

I go barefoot a lot, but after four miles, my feet were sore and I was glad to get home. Ten past six. Peter's train should get in at twenty to seven and he should arrive here just before the hour. All the preparations had been made, but I didn't want to start too soon. This was a torture that I'd tested and, after half an hour I was begging to be set free. But that time I'd not walked four miles in bare feet.

The ladder into the loft was down and I climbed through the hatch. It was quite a warm day and the air temperature was pleasant. I hate to be cold. I took off my jeans and shirt, leaving them in a pile, then added my bra and pants. Finally I lay my glasses on top of the pile. I used to set a timer that turned the light on and off and use a combination padlock but, as I got older, my eyesight deteriorated and I found I couldn't see the dials very well without my glasses. And glasses don't go that well with bondage. I had to use a new release mechanism; my husband. He never complained.

In front of me was a wooden board, an inch thick and twelve inches on each side. Glued to the top were dozens of bottle tops, spiky side up. Each one a from a beer that I had enjoyed. I didn't think I was going to enjoy this as much.

First, my ball gag. I bought this from a pet shop and it had a little bell inside. More pain, more struggling, more tinkling of the bell. I strapped that in place and pulled a blindfold over my eyes. The next part had to be done quickly or I would bottle it.

In the middle of the wooden board was an eye bolt. A carabiner fastened that to a pair of handcuffs. I stepped forward, onto the spikes , bent down and locked the cuffs around my skinny ankles then stood up and reached up for the second pair of handcuffs that hung from the rafters on a chain. Click, click and I was committed to half an hour or more of pain. Trains never arrive early.

Now the spiked edge of the bottle tops was starting to bite into the soles of my feet. There was enough slack in the caribiner to let me lift my feet, one at a time and shift position slightly, but each time I did, the pressure on the other foot inflicted worse pain. I started a dance of pain, already wanting the suffering to stop. I'd chosen handcuffs to fasten my wrists as I wasn't able to take any pressure off my feet by hanging from them. The dance got progressively more desperate and the gag wasn't enough to silence my pitiful crying, but there was nobody to hear it.

Originally I was going to use a dildo or strap a vibrator to my leg, pushed against my pussy, but that had been vetoed by my mean husband. This was to be pure suffering, and suffer I did.

I didn't hear him arrive home and the first I knew was when he ran his finger down my spine. For a moment I forgot the pain and moaned with pleasure, but the spikes kept biting. The cards had defined what happened next. I had separated out the hearts from a deck of cards and each one was assigned a different torture. We were planning to attempt to work through the whole suite in one go, but right now, that didn't sound like a particularly good idea.

I heard the scrape of chair legs, then the clip that fastened my hands was released, followed by the one that locked the ankle cuffs to the board. But I still couldn't move. An arm behind me and one under my thighs lifted me off the board and I cried even harder with relief, although the tears were being soaked up by the blindfold. It wasn't over yet.

He set me down, kneeling on the wooden chair. It was quite sturdy and only just fit through the hatch. I leaned forwards and he released one wrist, then refastened me, the back of the chair under my breasts, my hands locked to one of the spines near the bottom. Something was attached to the chain between the ankle cuffs, locking them in place. Gentle fingers circled my nipples and a finger rubbed my clit. Perhaps he was going to have mercy.

But no, the kind fingers stopped, leaving me frustrated.

"Are you ready?"

No. "Yes, I'm ready." What would happen if I actually said no. We'd agreed that, no matter how much I begged, the next phase of the torture would continue.

A leather belt slapped down on the soles of my feet and I shrieked. Before I could say anything coherent it came again, harder. Again and again and I did another dance of pain, my backside bobbing backwards and forwards helplessly. It got a few swipes and one or two cracked across my pussy. A different pain, but no better and probably no worse.

I begged. I promised all sorts of deviant behaviour, I promised to be his slave for a week, I threatened him with vicious payback in the middle of the night, but there was no mercy. Finally he said "Fifty." That was what we had agreed.

He removed the drool covered gag, but not the blindfold or the cuffs, and left me in place for fifteen minutes, to experience the aftershock. He'd wanted to release me and hold me tight while I cried, but I'd asked him to abandon me. I wasn't sure why.

"My wrists are sore." I said, when he came back. He unfastened then, then tied my elbows together with soft rope. His fingers were gentle again on my tits and pussy and it only took a few seconds before I came, an explosion that felt like it was taking my head off.

When I was released, he wrapped me in a thick soft blanket and lay next to me until I was able to climb down the ladder. In the shower he rubbed soap over me and kissed the pain away. I felt much better, although my feet were sore, so I got down on my knees.

Don't try giving a blow job in the shower. I nearly drowned.

Love Clare

X

You can also leave your feedback & comments about this story on the Plaza Forum

25.09.15