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Surrender

My beautiful, oh-so-sexy wife and our gorgeous girlfriend boisterously challenged me. They said that it was my turn to chronicle the next installment of our sexual adventures. Each had previously written about a sexual highlight before and posted their stories on a favorite Swinger website. Though they were complementary in suggesting the idea to me, I could clearly sense their silent, sarcastic guffawing; particularly since afterward, I had a minor, hardly noticeable, brain meltdown. When it is mentioned, I refer to it as “just a twenty-four hour case of cognitive dissonance.

First, I must admit, I am much better at designing, building, and setting straight all the corners, edges, and vertices in a construction project than setting the record straight in my own writing. I’m only vaguely aware of including thoughts, events, settings, and delving into a character’s feelings. Mary Ellen, my sunny, optimistic wife of twenty-three years, said, “Look at it this way, it may even be ther*peutic!”

In my life-struggle I’ve always felt underestimated by people around me. Even after a personal success, I myself, don’t feel like I’m deserving of praise. I’m somewhat of an introvert you see. Deep down, I prefer safety, predictability, and reliability. As a child, in the classroom or out on the playground, when things became too unpredictable, I would become very agitated. This is why I love and am so grateful to Mary Ellen. She is predictably unpredictable; to my great delight. I have always felt safe in relying on her loyalty throughout this adventure. Even though we are swingers, I have never felt that she was slipping our mutual orbit or wasn’t always in my corner.

“Alright you two: challenge accepted!” I responded in mock frustration. Even though I envision them spending a lot of sexy time alone together without me, I’ll go plunk slowly at the keyboard with two fingers and frequently consult the thesaurus.

Our “girlfriend,” Kathleen, still maintains her residence and her profitable business (that she operates as Mistress K) in the city. However, she more and more often spends weekends with us and our family out here, in the sleepy suburbs. Despite this, she says that she is now truly happier than she has ever been at any point in her life. But she is still reluctant to give it all up and move here full time.

Those familiar with our backstory know that our first date with Kathleen was one where Mary Ellen had a great time; me, not so much. It’s on the website and you can read all about it there. On K’s urban front steps, before ringing her doorbell, my wife whispered between clenched teeth and with a grab of my forearm, “Do not blow this for me!”

Well, I love her; so I didn't. But I didn't enjoy our date either!

I won't retell the particulars but it was pivotal for all three of us because Mary Ellen and Kathleen “fell” hard for each other when it was just supposed to be a sexy evening. And even though Kathleen/Mistress K’s ultimate goal was for both of us to become her submissive, Mary Ellen mentally out-maneuvered her, outfoxed her you might say, played the better poker hand... and in the end Kathleen settled for our current agreement; to ensure that she’d have a relationship with Mary Ellen. For that to happen, WE didn’t submit to her, SHE acquiesced and submitted to me. That night I collared her with the one she had intended for my wife (which was hardly what she had planned on).

This current story begins with me on a late Friday afternoon, picking her up from the train station. She wheeled behind her a giant, heavy rolling suitcase that swayed side to side in contrary syncopation with her hips as she ambled toward me. Slightly sore from a week’s exertion, I groaned, a little, as I heaved it into the bed of my Ford F-250.

That evening, two of our kids decided to attend the high school football game and the youngest was invited to a pajama party with school friends. The house was ready for adult fun and games. I made a mental note that I’m sitting shoeless in the family room, decompressing from a stressful week, when I hear the sound of dishes being put in the dishwasher and the kitchen being tidied up after dinner.

A vampire movie that I’d caught parts of a few times before distracts me as I observe the seduction playing out: the dangerous and confident evil entity moving in for the passionate bite that the victim knows will send her to death, damnation, and despair. I don’t really understand the symbolic psychology of why she is irresistibly drawn, and willingly surrenders to being bitten. It just isn’t rational! These scripts are so predictable and it is hard for me to imagine that this would really happen in real life. What are the chances that an attractive, educated, centered, married or engaged woman would depart from her senses and swoon irrationally for a slick, almost cartoonish villain? Illogical! This couldn’t happen in real life. If it did, it would happen to “other” people. Not anyone that I’d associate with.

Occasional screams and disquieting suspense emanate from the television speakers and rise above the din from the kitchen. Holding the remote in my hand I keep clicking the volume button up as the movie soundtrack gets quieter with suspense.

A chill gradually creeps over me and it seems as if the hair on my neck is standing straight out. I’m even aware that I have tensed up waiting for the next...when an intrusion to this dark world becomes audible. “Tisk-tisk” I jump like a child and am unable to hide my embarrassment. Without me aware of it, Kathleen somehow had silently entered through the hall doorway dressed in her professional garb as Mistress K. My anxiety level shoots up beyond what the movie has already produced when I notice how she is attired and I immediately recall our first date. She beckons me with her hand and I arise and apprehensively follow her to the back bedroom entranced. “Sit here!” she orders.

Kathleen is a visual knockout even in sweat clothes. However, now dressed as Mistress K (borrowing a phrase from one of my daughter’s favorite movies) she is ...to infinity and beyond. She produces handcuffs and is about to slap them on my wrists when reflexively I recoil and then immediately bear hug her. She’s a Dom and I’m a little standoffish so there is a bit of an awkward struggle. I hold her tightly and firmly whisper, “No, no, no!”

She relaxes and I ease my grip. Enticingly she says that I need to be …”restrained for the show that is going to happen in a few minutes. I think that you’ll really want to see it. You can watch but you can’t participate until we (meaning she and Mary Ellen) are through.” Waiting for me to acknowledge, she resigns and says, “Okay then, I’ll TELL Mary Ellen that I won’t be ABLE to go through with this since you might possibly interfere.”

As I said before, Kathleen and Mary Ellen have a very strong connection. Kathleen is a self-proclaimed lesbian who, against the usual norm you might say, is becoming bisexual. Her feelings toward me, which she HAS quantified, don’t entirely extend to me the same way they do for Mary Ellen. She tells me that she is “ very fond” of me and in return, my feelings are about the same for her. She says that I am “the only cis male she has ever had loving feelings for.” Be that as it may, no fetters for me please! Hard, sustained work of the physical and mental kind are what freed me from the binding restraints of poverty and ignorance that surrounded me as a child. Growing up a “cracker” on the poor side of town, I learned, from the kids around me, that sometimes you might even have to use your fists to fight your way out. Voluntary bondage is anathema to me!

“I promise that I won’t interfere. No cuffs!”

She holds her gaze into my eyes for several moments and then nods her head in acceptance. Her floral scented hairspray and intoxicating perfume occupy my observations. With her high heels on, she easily leans forward and holds a kiss on my lips before turning back toward the hallway. With full awareness of her dynamic magnetism: she spins on one heel and like the vixen she is, strides several paces and looks back over her shoulder at me while shaking her gawd-almighty ass. Of course, she knows the stunning power this has on me and it seers into my visual cortex. Momentarily, I’m helplessly paralyzed. Recovering, as from a short-lived tranquilizer, unsteadily I scoot back into the appointed chair and wonder what this show will entail.

Long minutes seem to pass before Mistress K eventually reappears, grasping a red leash in her left hand. Around the corner also steps a teetering; collared Mary Ellen with leash-matching lipstick and downcast eyes. She wears only her heels, beige bra and panties. Mistress K leads her, unreachable and out of arm’s length, in front of me and then stops her. She holds Mary Ellen’s chin, directing her eyes upward to mine. It seems odd to view my familiar wife subdued such; almost a stranger. Is this really her? Mistress K turns her, silently; directing her to mount and kneel on the cedar chest at the foot of our bed.

With soft, delicate hands, Mistress K lovingly gathers Mary Ellen’s hair into a high ponytail. She kisses her tenderly on her neck and then cheekbones. Barley whispering into her ears, she ties her auburn hair up with a ribbon. Next she stretches her sun kissed arms out in front; momentarily holding them there. Metallic clicks signal that those shiny handcuffs are being secured on her wrists. Reaching down into her suitcase, Mistress K produces a leather cord and ties the cuffs to the footboard of our king size bed. Like she is laying out a runner for a festive table, she places a flogger over Mary Ellen’s forearms.

Adjusting Mary Ellen’s knees on the cushioned chest, Mistress K lightly grazes her skin with manicured finger tips. Next, she produces some long shears and drags the tips all along her skin and carves barely visible lines like a farmer’s plow contouring a hill. And then...just like that... with a few audible snips, the bra shifts slightly, frozen in place, and then falls below to the cushion. Snip, snip and Mary Ellen’s panties join the matching bra in a heap, leaving Mary Ellen naked and prostrate. Sweet vah jay jay and (__!__): unobstructed and inviting.

Mentally, I note, this is going to be very intense.

Bending down, Mistress K kisses my wife’s fleshy bottom cheeks and then much, much more. Working her way upward, her torpedo tongue kisses Mary Ellen teasingly on the lips. Eventually both tongues swirl inside of moving mouths and then break off. I’ve seen them kiss like this before and actually, really enjoy them both giving and taking pleasure. I know how much they love full-on kissing. “Okay then!” escapes my unlocked mouth.

Mistress K’s hand returns to the case and then a black ball gag is effortlessly inserted in Mary Ellen’s open mouth and it is fastened tightly behind her head. Do I see my wife’s eyes widen in surprise or is it because the size of that ball is so whopping big? A black sleeping mask comes out next and in a deft movement, covers those full eyes. Two purple foam earplugs get pinched into her ears. A playful tug, and Mary Ellen’s long auburn hair tumbles down disheveled. Mistress K inserts her flattened fingers into Mary Ellen’s hair. She pulls firmly and her sub’s head swings, back and forth, completely controlled like a bridled mare.

This leaves no doubt as to who is in control. The body in front of me appears almost as if it is possessed. My rational brain tells me that this is my wife of two decades but is somehow barely recognizable. I know Mary Ellen as a confident, thoughtful woman who wouldn’t let another person walk all over her, so I’m having some visions of her falling away as that person I know: like the bra and panties fell away a moment earlier.

Mistress K confidently reaches over and snags the flogger and aims it with one hand while gathering the loose cords in a bundle with her other. She drags the ends across Mary Ellen’s naked skin and raises goose pimples; tickling her skin. My wife’s body sways with myopic pleasure and shudders. I hear a muffled giggle. There’s a silent pause and then SPLAT!! Of course, I knew that eventually it would be coming. And so the flogging begins.

Like all things awakening from inertia, it starts off slowly but increases in tempo and volume as it gains momentum. That same momentum is mirrored in Mary Ellen’s body as it reacts. The flogger gradually strikes harder with louder impact. I notice my shallow breathing and my body cringing and ducking with the blows. I’m nervously fidgeting. And then the leather stops but Mary Ellen’s body continues to shudder to the former beat. Gradually she calms and I detect her warm cat, purring.

Mistress K again reaches down into her bag and retrieves a cordless Hitachi massager. With an open hand she pets Mary Ellen and with the other she clicks it on. VUHHHMMMMM! Mary Ellen’s body immediately reacts as if the flogging had aroused her sensitivities more rapidly and to an increased degree. The Hitachi focuses on the sides of Mary Ellen’s hanging breasts that protrude downward to conical points. She is a bucking bronco in a rodeo.

Mistress K removes the massager and shuts it off in one fluid motion. She yanks Mary Ellen’s hair without care, leans in, and says to her somewhat sternly, “Do not CUM without my permission! Nod your head if you UNDERSTAND me?” A choking acknowledgement and a head nod indicates that she does.

VUHHHMMMMM, the machine is on again.

From past experiences on how my wife cums, I don’t think she can last much longer. The vibrator now circles the pelvic region and I anticipate that soon the spongy head will be adjacent to her clitorus where she likes it. Mary Ellen bucks and bucks, struggling to fight off a climax. She shudders and whimpers loudly through moist nostrils. I know she is about to bust when Mistress K withdraws the massager again and this time, yells forcefully to penetrate through the earplugs, “You DO NOT have my permission to cum!”

A deep groan emerges in utter exasperation.

Then it hits me. Mistress K is going to play cat and mouse. I realize that she’s going to keep edging her over and over. Mary Ellen will be begging, absolutely begging to cum.

Uncomfortably, I shift in my seat. I’m gasping sympathetically for air.

A ping-pong shaped paddle is out now and with it, one loud forceful WHACK! My wife bolts upright reflexively. Mistress K, and then I, stare intently at the gradually reddening mark as it reveals itself on Mary Ellen’s right butt cheek. Through squinted eyes I make out an imprint and in upper case letters it appears: S-L-U-T. “ When I want you to cum, I will give you PERMISSION!” Mary Ellen is beyond exasperation now. A long, wet, pathetic whimper escapes the sides of the gag.

Okey dokie, I’m not liking this one little bit and I’m not the only one to notice that my own legs are restlessly shaking. I feel a need to stop this or bolt outside for a run. Mistress K shoots me a no nonsense, warning glare. “Remember what you said!” she spits. I can’t help it, I raise my butt off of the cushion and adjust my undershorts which have crept tightly around my legs.

Keeping her eye on me, her hand rummages around inside the case again; searching for something familiar. Her hand emerges and reveals itself clutching a brutal looking, long piece of braided leather about five feet long. A whip! “Shit!” I can’t help but say. More than ever, I feel the need to get out of here.

Expertly, Mistress K whips it to the sides and then over the head of Mary Ellen’s body with sonic CRACKS! Shaking my head in disbelief, I think, certainly Mary Ellen must have not known all of this ahead of time. That’s it, I’m ready for all this to end. This is not for me!

Whick! lands the first snap on her body and I’m the one who flinches. Whick! Whick! land others. Mary Ellen’s body reacts in spasms to each whipping; stinging her body with angry red lash marks. Surfacing, they leave no doubt about what measure of pain is being inflicted. Mistress K again shakes her head at me in warning. Then, thank God, the snapping cracks mercifully stop. Again the massager buzzes; leading Mary Ellen up and to the edge and then stops.The only important sound at this point is the suspenseful scuffing on the carpet of Mistress K’s pacing stiletto heels. Mary Ellen’s kneeling prone body is a damned, desperate, deflated mess.

Back and forth, Mistress K confidently strides; assessing the totality of the situation. She decides on more whipping. And then after what seems a long time, stops. Then, on with the massager again and stopping. This continues until finally Mistress K leans in close to Mary Ellen’s head and mutters an absolution and allows her permission to cum. The massager clicks back on VUHHHMMMMM but doesn’t really even touch her. She tenses, cries, and caves into an exhausted heap. A gigantic sigh escapes the sides of the gag, sounding like the crashing and backwash of a tsunami.The restraints are a safety cord and keep her dangling on the edge of the chest like a tethered boat attached to a dock.

“Thank god this is finally over!” I say aloud. But all the while I realize that I’ve never taken Mary Ellen this far before. No never THIS far? But I‘m also secretly calculating in my head, on a scale of one to ten, to what degree is she going to be seethingly pissed after this? That whipping had to have hurt! She’s got to be royally pissed right? I don’t see how this isn’t an eleven or twelve.

Mistress K kisses and applies a cooling, scented balm to my wife’s red lashed body. She soothes her as if it had been someone else who had delivered all this torment and she’s just a sympathetic friend. Yeah, right. Dream on! I think.

Mistress K tenderly unbinds her and both of them cry together, comforting each other through flowing tears and then cuddle as lovers.

What the hell? Why is SHE crying? Why does Mistress K need to be comforted? I don’t get this BDSM stuff.

I no longer give a damn. I jolt upward and leave the room. The first available door, that leads outdoors, I take. I welcome deep into my stiffened lungs, the dark evening air. I am stunned. “What the fuck?” I am dumbstruck. Am I in shock? Wait, what’s that other feeling? Maybe jealousy?

I note that I’m in quite a state of bewilderment. Suddenly I’m aware that my keyring jingles in my right hand. I pause for a split second and now realize that I’m starting my pickup. Is this a hypnotic state? Don’t I recognize some of those neighborhood houses flying past the corners of my eyes? Do I have an unconscious destination? Why don’t I know? I don’t have a clue.

Thoughts scatter, unleashed, out of my brain as if soaring creatures of the night.

Did I just witness those events? My wife powerfully overwhelmed, torn down, and physically pushed into irrational bliss? Did she willingly aquiesce to it all? And embrace it all? Am I longer needed as a husband and lover?

Oddly, why is it that my brain recalls the vampire movie that I had been watching earlier in the evening? Is it trying to tell me that I had had a premonition? Why had that woman character surrendered so easily to Dracula? Was I supposed to observe something that I didn’t? I’m aware that I don’t know.

Childhood insecurity, dormant in me, is slowly awakening. I begin to recognize that this long ago feeling is shaking me. I am being lashed with self-doubt. Stubborn and indominant, I resist surrendering.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. What, already a second time? I press the home button and a message appears. Opening it up ir reads, “WTF? Where are you?”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” I say.