Suzanne\'s Return

Suzanne’s Return

Part I

By: R.J. Silverwood

(rj_silverwood@hotmail.com)

 

I stood in the middle of the small, musty-smelling, motel room towel-drying my hair as I watched Suzanne twist and squirm, lying naked and hog-cuffed on the bed. I’d give anything to have a picture of this, I thought.  Her wrists handcuffed behind her, her ankles cuffed together, pulled back and pad-locked to her wrist cuffs.  The same padlock was also used to lock both sets of cuffs to a small steel ring, which is anchored to a thick, four-inch-wide black leather belt that encircled her small waist. The belt is buckled in the front, absolutely no way for her to reach around and release it. Being locked to the ring limited the movement of both her hands and feet. The black leather hood enveloping her head was tight and secure.  The leather is soft enough that it conformed to her head and face perfectly.  It zipped closed in the back and locked at the base of her neck with a small padlock.  Her dark hair could be seen curling up around the thickened neckline of the leather hood.  A short, thick penis gag, which was held firmly in place by two hood-mounted straps, was probably too large for her mouth but she seemed to tolerate it ok.  There were no openings in the hood except for a small triangular hole, which allowed her small, straight nose to breath air.  Her head was securely encased in a dark, leather prison.

 

I walked over to the bed and gently pushed my hand between her closed, bent knees. I could hear her quick, shallow breaths between the inaudible sounds coming from the hood as she tightened against the steel restraints.   I waited, holding my hand in place.   After a moment she slowly opened the area between her thighs, spreading her knees as far as her cuffed ankles permitted.  I caressed her inner thighs while directing my hand toward her crotch.   When I was within inches of her womanhood I could feel her thigh muscles vibrating.  The vibrating dildo that I placed in her vagina before I showered was still at a slow, but strong and steady hum.  As my hand reached the strap that secured a hard, rubber butt plug and the vibrator deep inside her I knew they both were serving their purpose.  The leather strap was soaked with her juices and the sheet beneath her was evidence of several orgasms. I tugged on the one-inch wide leather strap that was pulled tight between her legs and she responded with a quick jerk and loud moan.

The crotch strap was fastened in back to the waist strap, pulled tight, between her butt-cheeks, down, under to separate the outer lips of her vagina, then proceeded up and buckled to the front of the waist strap.  The crotch strap has four snaps on the inside, a choice of two in the rear, and two in the front, which assures that a snap is perfectly located for each hole.   When used, the rear snap will firmly attach to the six-inch, butt plug, concealing and securing the anal device in place. The plug has an oblong shape to its base, which seats itself perfectly between her ass cheeks, and also prevents it from being swallowed by her anus if the snap came loose. The other two snaps are positioned a few inches away, allowing either to be used to attach the vibrator to it.  This particular vibrator is penis-shaped, seven-inches long, an inch and a half across and has one-half inch, round, finger-like projections set around and along it length.  Two ‘D’ batteries are sealed inside it, and an adjustment for two speeds at its base. Tonight, I chose the slower, stronger vibrations.

 

I knew the vibrator was uncomfortable for her.  Suzanne isn’t built for a large cock.  I stood over her remembering our past and how difficult it was for her to take all of me inside her. I always loved how responsive she was to my touch. And tonight I learned that that hasn’t changed over the past few years.

 

I walked over and seated myself at the table, pulled the curtain slightly to one side and could see a café across the street.  I noticed that the street wasn’t very busy for a Friday night.  A cappuccino sounds good, I thought, as I closed the curtain.

 

“Mmmmpppmmrr”.  “You say something hon”, I asked. Her moans were becoming a little louder.  I had purposely rented an end room, just in case.  I reached into a small overnight bag I brought and removed a comb, cigarettes and lighter.  After combing my still-damp hair I lit a cigarette, sat back in the chair and savored the scene before me.

 

Suzanne’s skin was glistening with perspiration as I watched her hands struggle in vane to reach the strap that held her vagina and anus captive.  She is 100 percent woman, I thought.  And her helplessness and vulnerability only enhances everything she already is, instilling within me an animal-like desire for her.  I found myself wanting her again, even more than I did just minutes ago.  As I sat watching her, I wondered . . . Who‘s really the captive here? 

 

Somehow the past few years have humbled her, I thought.  She’s would’ve never come to me before, much less allow herself to be put in this position.  And she doesn’t easily admit to being wrong about anything.  But she did come to me, and at the place of my choosing.  Though she didn’t say it, in an almost an apologetic manner. Or is she just tired?  I didn’t see the ‘determined’, ‘always in control’ Suzanne I once knew.   Is it loneliness? Her two girls are off to college now.  Maybe it’s the madness in the world today, causing her to reevaluate her priorities.  Or perhaps it’s guilt over a hasty divorce two years ago, ended our 12-month marriage.  Our marriage was very difficult, for both of us and her solution to the problems was a divorce.  No ifs, ands or buts about it.  But she’s remarried now.  Is it that bad of a bad marriage I wondered, as I considered the reasons why she so willingly set herself up to be used in any way it pleased me.

 

Was she prepared for it to go this far?  Maybe she wanted this all along and I never realized it.  I often joked that she needed a good spanking and her reply was always, “That’ll be the day”.  Did she really expect to come here and just talk? Whatever her reason for coming here tonight, its almost irrelevant now, as she’s in no position to deny me anything I want, nor can she stop me from taking her as many times as I wish and in any way I please.

 

I met and started dating Suzanne five years ago when I went to work for a company where she is employed as a bookkeeper.   She was a 33 year-old divorced mother of two teenage girls.  I was 37, never married and I had no children.  I was attracted to her the first time we met.  She’s intelligent, a bit stubborn, opinionated, independent, controlling, and was used to having her way. 

She’s a hard worker but takes everything too serious.  But these are the things that attracted me to her, I thought to myself.  She isn’t glamorous, but she is attractive. The typical ideal of the girl-next-door.  She’s five foot four inches tall and it looks like she’s maintaining her idea weight of one hundred fifteen pounds.  I suppose she still does her aerobics three times a week.  Her dark hair just touches her shoulders and she keeps it feathered back.  She has sparkling green eyes, which is accented by thin eyebrows and high cheekbones.  She’s always been fanatical about personal hygiene and her appearance, I thought, remembering her daily, two-hour morning bathroom ritual. 

 

Why did she call me, I wondered.  I’ve talked to her twice since the divorce.  About a year ago I stopped in her workplace to get some papers I needed.  She wasn’t unfriendly, just . . . indifferent.  I noticed the nameplate on her desk, still using my name and, she wasn’t wearing any rings.  Maybe I should ask her out to lunch, I thought.

But, as our conversation went on I decided against it.  And again about three months ago when I called her to get a contact number of an associate I worked with while I was there.  The company doesn’t give that information out, but I thought she would.  While talking to her I asked her to lunch.

“Well, You know I’m married now.”  She said.

“No, I didn’t know that.” I replied.

“I am, she said. “But it’s ok, we can still go to lunch”.  She went on to say she got married several months ago and they were very, very happy.

“Ooook”, I said.  “I didn’t know.  We’ll just forget that idea”.  But she insisted we do lunch anyway, that it would be ok.  I decided against it. I really didn’t want to hear about how happy they were and how much better off she is now.

“Well, call me if you ever want to talk”, she said.

“Ok”, I said and hung up the phone.

 

Until last week, this has been my only communication with Suzanne.  Last week when she called, I recognized the incoming number displayed of my cell phone.  It was the private line to her office.  I had mixed feelings about talking to her, so I let it ring. If it’s important she’ll leave a message, I decided.  And she did leave a message:  “Hi Russ, it’s Suzanne.  Sorry I missed you.  I was hoping maybe we could get together, maybe have coffee and talk awhile.  I’ll call back tomorrow afternoon.  Bye-bye”.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about her message.  What could she want to talk about?   Is she single again?  I wondered. The thought of how easily she walked out of a marriage, and my life and how easily she thinks she can walk back into it almost angered me.  Actually, I don’t believe I’ve really gotten over the anger I felt toward her for walking out.  Yes, she is single again, I concluded.  And I would like to see her again, but it will be on my terms. 

 

I’ve been involved with only one woman since Suzanne.  I met Shannon about six months after the divorce.  I moved back to my hometown and Shannon was a cute, perky 24 year-old cashier at the corner convenience store.  After a few weeks of seeing and talking to her on my morning coffee stop the subject of dating came up.  She talked about the immaturity of boys her age and expressed her interest in older men.  Understanding this to be an invitation to ask her out, and meeting the main requirement, I suggested that we go out sometime.  She agreed, and it was the start of an eight month relationship.  Shannon made it clear on our first date what she wanted.  We had spent our first date at a Renaissance Faire.   On our way home the conversation was mainly about the events of the day and life in the fourteenth century.

There was a lull in the conversation and after a few minutes of silence, she asked, “Have you ever spanked a little girl before”?  I couldn’t believe what I just heard.  And I wasn’t sure how to take her question. 

Shannon was little, but she was no girl.  She was a woman and wore the cloths to prove it.  She looked at me waiting for an answer.   “No.” I answered. “But I’ve threatened to several times.”

“Would you like to spank me?” She asked.

“Why, have you been bad”?

“Yes.” she whispered.

Shannon was a submissive searching for a Dom.  And it was with her that I discovered and explored the world of bondage and discipline.

 

I received Suzanne’s call the next afternoon as she promised.

“Hi Russ, did you get my message”, she asked.

“Hello Suzanne, yeah I did”.

“And”?

“Is there something wrong”? I asked.

“No, I was just hoping we could talk a while.”

“But not over the phone”?

“No”. She said.

“Won’t your husband care”?  I asked, thinking my question would confirm my idea she was again single.

But she went on to say that he and some friends are going out of town on a fishing tournament Wednesday and would be gone until Sunday night.  But it wouldn’t matter anyway, he would be ok with it, she said.

Ok, so she’s still married, I thought.  However, I didn’t believe all was well with them.  I told her I’d like to see her, but I didn’t know my schedule next week.  I’ll call you Monday, I said.  We talked a few more minutes, how’s the girls, job going ok, that kind of stuff but hung up with the understanding I would call her Monday afternoon.

I knew exactly what my schedule was for that next week but wanted a few days to think about this ‘meeting’.

 

She still looks better than most women do at half her age, I thought, as I watched her struggle onto her side, her breasts falling slightly toward the bed.  Her 34C-28-35 measurements would be the envy of any women her age, and younger.  I noticed the large wet area on the white sheet when she rolled to her side.  Yes, I thought to myself, she’s enjoying it whether she wants to or not.

“Hmmmphhh”, Suzanne moaned again.

 

I should talk with her, I told myself.  After all, that is why she came here tonight.  She didn’t really resist my advances, though.  She even allowed me to handcuff her.  But, after that she had little choice of how the evening would proceed.

 

I stood up, walked back over to my leather bag and removed a short chain that had small metal clamps connected at each end.  I turned to Suzanne and placed one hand on her upper arm, bracing her on her side.   “Mmmphhhheeemmmm”, she moaned in anticipation of something to come.  I laid the chain on the bed and cupped one of her breasts.  With a milking motion and a firm squeeze I worked my hand to the small firm nipple.  “Mmmmrrphhh”, she moaned again as she stiffened her back..  As I slowly rolled her nipple between forefinger and thumb, it hardened.  I gave it a firm pinch and then picked up the clamp and fastened it onto the awaiting nipple. “Arrrmmmmfff”, her body stiffened again in protest of the clamp.

 

With my forefinger I gently caressed the other nipple in a circular motion.  It was already erect and waiting to be clamped.  I picked up the other clamp and caressed her nipple with the cold metal.  After a few moments, it too was flattened by the clamp.

“Mmmmpphhhhaarrrr”, was her reply as her body stiffened and twisted again and again.  But the steel cuffs held her secure in her hog-tied position.

I had forgotten just how sensitive her breast and nipples were.  She was one of the few women I ever knew whom could orgasm just from having her breasts fondled.  

I released her arm and watched as she rolled onto her stomach and back to her side in an attempt to loosen the clamps, but they held firmly.

 

I walked over to where my clothes were hanging and heard her moan several times while I got dressed.  Her muffled and distorted sounds seemed to be more of a plea than protest.  Perhaps she heard me dressing and feared I’d leave her like that.  But I had decided to go for that cappuccino; the night’s still young.  I’d only be gone a few minutes, but she wouldn’t know that.  After dressing I walked over to her, bent over to speak into her ear and said, “Suzanne, I’m going for ice”. “Yyyyhhyyoo”! She tried so hard to make it a clear ‘no’”. “I’ll be back soon.  Don’t make too much noise now, I’m leaving the door unlocked and you never know who might come in to investigate that noise”.  “Yyyyhhyyooh”! She again muttered her disapproval.  “Yes, yes, I’ll be sure to bring back enough to last awhile”, I said.  “Oyyynhhaat”! She tried again to express her disapproval as she jerked her body back and forth on the bed.

That should keep her mind swirling for awhile, I thought, remembering our past games. Suzanne can’t stand it when her nipples are teased with ice cubes; it drives her into an uncontrollable frenzy.  I walked over to the table, picked up my cigarettes and lighter and walked to the door.   “NYYYHHHYYYAA”! She sounded almost panicked as I opened the door.  “Shuush, I’ll just be a short while”, I said as I closed the door behind me.