I step through the front door, already sinking into the comfort of home. Then I hear it. A soft scuff of movement. A faint creak on the stairs. My body locks up. Someone is here.
I move cautiously into the living room. That is when I see her. A woman dressed head to toe in black, rifling through my things. She spins around, surprise flashing across her face.
I lurch forward. “What the hell are you doing?”
She does not answer. She lunges. I grab her wrist, trying to twist it back, and for a moment I think I am winning. Then I hear heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs.
Two more women rush in.
“Oh, he thinks he is tough,” one laughs.
“Let us see how tough he really is,” the other sneers.
They hit me at once. Hands clamp onto my arms and shoulders, yanking me off balance. I twist, try to throw them off, but I am outnumbered and overpowered. They force me back onto the couch. One climbs onto my hips, pinning my legs beneath her. Another grabs my wrists. I wrench one free, only to take a sharp slap across the face.
“Enough of that,” the woman on top growls.
Then I see it. A red ball gag in one of their hands.
“No, do not, do not, mmphh.”
The ball forces its way between my lips, prying my jaw open. The straps cinch tight behind my head. I shake my head and grunt, but the gag sits firm, pressing against my cheeks.
“There. Much better,” one coos, patting my face mockingly.
I thrash, shouting into the gag, but my noises are pathetic. They grin and grab the hem of my hoodie.
“Let us see what we have under here.”
I twist and resist, but it is useless. They strip the hoodie off me, then my t shirt, leaving my chest cold and exposed. They shove me down harder, making escape impossible.
“Now let us make sure he behaves.”
My wrists are forced behind my back. Rope slides across my skin, rough and cold. The first loop tightens. Then another. My fingers flex instinctively, but there is no give. They knot it off with quick, practised ease.
“There we go. Nice and secure.”
I strain against the ropes. They only tighten. Helplessness sweeps through me in a hot rush.
They admire the sight.
“Look at him. All tied up.”
“He still has too much clothing on.”
My stomach flips. They are nowhere near finished.
One kneels at my feet, unlacing my shoes. I try to kick her away, but with my hands pinned there is no leverage. My shoes come off. Then my socks. The air hits my bare feet.
“Shy, are we,” she teases as I squirm.
Then someone reaches for my belt. The buckle clinks softly.
I shake my head, grunting hard. “Nnnph, nph.”
They laugh.
“Like you can stop us.”
My jeans slide off. I am left in nothing but my underwear. My face burns with humiliation. I squeeze my thighs together, but they pry them apart easily. Rope binds my ankles tightly together, then another loop goes around my calves.
I test the bindings. Nothing. I am completely immobilised.
Then I see it. A flash of silver. A knife.
A muffled gasp escapes me. My body tenses. One of them trails the flat of the blade across my stomach, lightly enough to tease, not enough to cut. Then she slides it under the waistband of my underwear.
Snip.
The fabric parts effortlessly.
A helpless whimper escapes me as she pulls the last scrap of clothing away, leaving me completely exposed.
“Oh, look at him,” one giggles.
“He is blushing,” the other adds with a grin.
Rope wraps around my thighs next, pulling them snug. Another loop circles my chest, pinning my upper arms against my back. When they have me fully trussed, they roll me onto my stomach. I try to turn away, but a firm hand presses between my shoulder blades.
A final rope tugs at my ankles, bending my legs. The knot draws them up toward my wrists.
The last pull tightens.
I am hogtied.
A long, frustrated moan pours into the gag, but the women only laugh and circle me like hunters admiring their catch.
I strain, twisting, trying anything to break free, but the hogtie holds perfectly. The ropes dig deeper each time I move. I pant through my nose, body arched and helpless.
They crouch beside me. A hand traces my back.
“He is still wriggling,” one says. “Maybe he needs something to really squirm about.”
I shake my head, begging through the gag. They enjoy that.
“Oh, he does not get a say.”
Something presses against me from behind. Cool at first. Then firm. Then inside me. My back arches as the pressure builds, forcing me to take every inch. I groan helplessly into the gag.
“Relax,” she coos. “You will get used to it.”
A click. A low hum.
The vibrations start. Deep. Slow. Unavoidable.
My breath jerks. I try to escape the sensation, but the ropes trap me in place. The vibrations pulse again, stronger this time. My muscles twitch involuntarily.
“Oh, look at him fight it,” one giggles. “How adorable.”
Another click. The intensity jumps. Pulses become waves. Waves become unpredictable surges. I thrash helplessly, muffled moans spilling into the gag as my body reacts without permission.
“He is really feeling it now.”
“He is completely at our mercy.”
They toy with the controls, alternating between almost nothing and too much, dragging every noise from me. Every plea. Every involuntary twitch. I am helpless and they revel in it.
Then one final click.
The vibrations hit their peak. A relentless, overwhelming force. I arch as far as the ropes allow. My breath stutters. My mind fogs.
Just when I think it cannot get worse, the women stand.
“Well,” one says, stretching her arms. “I think we are done here.”
“Yes. Let him enjoy himself.”
“A little parting gift.”
A panicked noise squeezes out of me, but they are already walking away. The door opens. The door closes. Their laughter fades into silence.
Then I am alone.
Bound. Gagged. Naked.
Still squirming against the relentless vibrations.
I moan, trapped in the overwhelming sensation. My muscles tremble. My vision blurs.
I almost do not hear the front door open.
Footsteps. Calm. Familiar.
A figure appears in the doorway.
My wife.
I freeze. A muffled whimper escapes me. She steps inside, arms crossed, surveying my tied, naked, vibrating body with an unreadable expression.
A slow smirk curves her lips.
“Well,” she murmurs. “I hope you enjoyed your treat.”
Heat flushes my face. Shame and arousal twist together as she walks around me, taking in every rope, every knot, every involuntary jerk of my body.
She kneels beside me and runs a hand down my back. The touch makes me shiver.
“Looks like they left you in an interesting situation,” she says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
I cannot answer. My body is shaking with overstimulation. She brushes my hair back and picks up the remote.
“Alright. You have had enough.”
She flicks the switch. The vibrations stop. Relief crashes through me. I sag into the ropes, panting.
She stands. “I am going to bed.”
My eyes widen. I plead through the gag.
She pauses at the light switch, glancing back with a wicked smile.
“Enjoy the rest of your treat.”
Click.
Darkness takes the room.
I groan into the gag. Still bound. Still helpless. Still completely under their control.
And my wife is already upstairs.
D.C. Chayne 