Benched

His shadow fell across her just  as she was setting the basil in the pot. She glanced up, surprised. His expression was hard to read, his dark hair haloed by the sun blazing behind him, and casting his face into  shadow. She offered a tentative smile, but before she could speak, his hand reached for her throat.

Grasping her firmly, he pulled her to her feet.  The halter top was pulled up and over her breasts, and his grip changed from her throat to her nipples. He pulled her into the house by her captured nubbins, relishing  her whimper of pain.

He forced her against the kitchen wall, pulling and squeezing her breasts, while his eyes held hers prisoner. He listened to her breathing, waiting for the tell-tale catch that would signal her arousal. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Strip.”

She complied, but as she was pulling the shirt from around her neck, he stopped her.

“Leave that.”

She unsnapped her cutoffs, slid the zipper down, then slowly slid out of them. The garden trowel fell from her back pocket to land between his feet. He picked it up, hefted it. She shook her head, no. He smiled at her, tucked it into his back pocket, then reached for the shirt around her throat, twisting it. Her heart raced, even as her ability to draw breath faltered. He pulled up on the halter, and her hands rose as if to try to loosen it, then fell away at his look.

He glanced around the kitchen, then pulled her down the hall and into the living room.  The Parson’ s Bench. Perfect. Instructing her to stay, he pulled the bench to the center of the room.  He pulled her towards it, then bent her over it, her mons pressed against the back balusters. He kicked her feet apart.

“Don’t even think about moving, cunt.”  he ordered her in an ominous voice.

She heard him jog up the stairs, and her heartbeat quickened. He’d never come home this early before. She wondered what….Oh. No. She had forgotten. They were supposed to meet at the park across from his office. She’d gotten so busy puttering in the garden that she’d completely forgotten!  She heard his footsteps returning down the stairs.

“I am sooooo sorry, ” she began, but was silenced by the ball gag that he slid firmly into her mouth.

“Talk to the ball,” he said. She fell silent, except for the whimper that escaped when he pulled the straps tightly.

She felt him fastening her ankles to the bench legs…that was one hell of a stretch, and it left her feeling vulnerable  and exposed. A length of rope went from one front leg of the bench to her wrist, back over the arm of the bench pulling her down and to the left. She watched as he passed the rope under the bench around the right front leg, up and around her right wrist, and around the right arm of the bench. Now she was bent over the back, legs splayed widely apart, arms wide but not reaching the bench arms. Her head hung down in her best  ‘you’ve got me, you’ve won, Master’ pose.

She could feel his eyes on her, then she heard him behind her. Felt his finger, loaded with lube, inserted into her asshole. She moaned. God she loved when he fucked her ass. A moment of stretching and lubing, then he withdrew. She strained to hear his zipper but there was  nothing. She felt the cold metal sliding between her ass cheeks, but had no idea what it was. It was too smooth to be the garden trowel, that was pitted with dirt, and rough edged..no this had to be one of the new toys he’d told her he’d ordered a few weeks ago and ..OH!

He pushed the ball of the ass hook firmly against  her rectum, which  was resisting him. He pushed harder, and ordered

” push out, cunt!”  

The large metal ball sunk into her brown rosebud, and he pulled the hook deeply into her. A long, low moan came from his sluts’ mouth through the gag, and he watched with a smile as a thin drizzle of spit oozed down to puddle on the seat of the bench below her. That was going to piss her off. She hated cleaning up spit. Hated wearing it. Just.Hated.It. It was one of the fun things he loved to torment her with.

Leaning against her ass, he reached forward and grabbed her pony-tail. He added a special band to her hair, a non-slipping band, and threaded thin rope through it, then braided it with her hair. A second band secured the hair and rope at the end of the braid, and the rope was then attached to the top of the “j” shaped ass hook. Every time she moved her head, the ball at the end of the hook, buried in her shit channel, would move. She would have pleasure from it. He loved the juxtaposition of the pain/pleasure point. He was always challenging her to be better, to take more.  And oh, would she would be challenged today, the naughty slut!

Moving to the front of her, he knelt, looking at her. Their eyes met, her blue eyes dark with a mixture of pain and lust. Her tits were hanging, swaying gently with her breathing. Reaching under her, he slapped them. First one, then the other. Every time her head would jerk she would moan at the pain of her tits and pulled hair, the pleasure of the ass hook.   Withdrawing the trowel from his back pocket, he slapped her tits with it, alternating with his hand, until they were reddened and welted. He pulled her nipples, twisted them, then added clamps. Another new toy, these clovers would not come off when pulled, rather, they would pinch tighter. Taking the end of the rope he’d secured her hands with, he fastened this to the center of the heel rail that ran along the bottom of the bench, and tied her nipple chain to this. Slapping each tit again, her scream of pain, even muffled by the gag, informed him that he’d made a wise investment with this toy as well.

He could smell her arousal, kneeling here in front of her. Looking between her hanging tits, between the baluster rails of the back,  he had a perverts view to heaven. Her cunt lips glistened, slick and  wet  with her arousal. Her bold clit stood alertly, a sentinel looking for action.  Her scent was exhilarating, and he felt his cock, which had been rising steadily since he’d begun tying her, twitch in response.  He loved the smell of aroused woman.

He looked back into her eyes, smiled at the glazed look there.  Rose to his feet and surveyed his bitch tied to the Parsons Bench. Admired his handiwork, and her body.  He turned to retrieve the cane for her punishment.  This had turned out much better than a mere fucking over a park bench.

Amen.