In which my wife indulges to the fullest my drunken request that she take charge and I take orders. Independence Day takes on a whole new meaning as my wife fosters my dependence on her every whim

As I peeled off all the parts of my black tie, pretty tired after hosting our Fourth of July office benefit, I made the mistake of complaining to my wife that I was tired of being in charge and giving all the orders. I was speaking specifically of the party, of course.

“Just for a change,” I declared, “let somebody else give the orders!” Amanda asked me if I really meant what I was saying. There was a wicked gleam in her eye, and I asked her what she was talking about. She told me that if I would let her give the orders for just one day, say the Saturday after the Fourth, and if I obeyed them explicitly, she guaranteed that I would be plenty thankful. All I had to do was let her be in charge. With some misgivings, I hesitantly agreed.

The next morning, she woke me by kissing and fondling me. With nothing but a wispy nightgown between us, she was rubbing herself against me in a way that had me alert and ready in no time at all. She had my cock in her hand and was rubbing the head against her clitoris when she asked me whether I intended to go through with our bargain of the night before. Hastily I nodded, urging her to keep on with what she was doing. Instead she gave me a quick kiss and pushed me away. Before I could protest, she ordered me out of bed.

Puzzled, I obeyed. As I stood there, erect and frustrated, my wife looked me up and down and told me that while she wanted me to wear something, she also wanted me to be instantly available to her. With that, she hopped out of bed and pulled some G-string-looking piece of underwear from a drawer, tossed it to me and told me to try it on.

I did as she ordered, stuffing my engorged cock and throbbing balls into the tight confines of the nylon pouch. It barely contained me, aroused as I was, and the thin white material revealed every ridge and pulsing vein; but that was not the point. It confined me. Amanda looked at the swelling bulge and smiled with satisfaction. I was not to wear any other clothing; nor was I to touch myself, she said, unless ordered to do so. Furthermore, I was not to come unless she gave permission. When I had agreed, she ordered me to bring her a nice holiday breakfast in bed — champagne and croissants and espresso. Then, with a dismissive wave, she picked up a magazine from the floor and began to read.

A short time later, I returned with a tray, which I placed on her bedside table. My wife was lying on the bed, looking at a book of photographs of nude men. She still wore her thin nightgown and nothing else, and as she read, she fingered herself idly. I turned to go, but she told me to wait. She ordered me to stand by the bed and await further instructions. Then she turned back to her book. She turned the pages and sipped her champagne and nibbled at the hot pastry I had brought her, but she was really more concerned with fondling herself and looking at the pictures in the book. They were all of muscular young men, nude, oiled and fully aroused, and several of them were masturbating.

By the time her espresso was gone, she was completely turned on. Her eyes darted from the book to my cock, which was throbbing insistently within the grip of the nylon. She now had both hands between her legs. She spread her lips wide and stroked her clitoris until she was gasping. Her eyes closed and she moved her head back, and one long middle finger slid rapidly in and out of her hole.

As her orgasm came and got her, I could not resist: I began to massage my long, sculpted, blue-veined cock.

No sooner had I wrapped my fingers around its full length than her face flushed, and she opened her eyes and looked straight at me. I froze, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the sex jar. Amanda slapped my hand away with a loud whack and, after giving the shaft a couple of rough strokes, stuffed my throbbing member back into the G-string. She ordered me to turn around and put my hands behind my back. When I did, she tied them together with a long red silk scarf. She pulled the ends tight between the cheeks of my ass and between my legs and tugged upward, crossing them first under my balls and then across the base of my cock, which both restrained my genitals and lifted them up and out. She tied the ends of the scarf in a knot behind my waist.

I tried to move my hands, but I couldn’t. As long as I remained still, I realized, the pressure of the rope against my anus and balls was pleasurable; the minute I moved, it began to hurt. My wife ordered me to turn around and proceeded to describe the men in the book to me — how sexy they were, how big their cocks were, how nice it would be to suck them and stroke them — while she masturbated twice more.

By the time she was finished, I was almost ready to pass out. The sight of her hands on her cunt, the sound of it, her words describing what she was doing and how it felt, my forced immobility — it was the most frustrating experience of my life. Matters only got worse. I spent the afternoon being forced to do chores around the house. Amanda released my hands for the work but kept me bound in one way or another with the nylon pouch and the silk scarf. She changed into knee-high boots with spikes, red stockings, a red garter belt and a black silk bra.

And as I worked, she watched me to make sure I did not touch myself-did not rob her, as she put it, of the come that was rightfully hers. From time to time she would exacerbate matters by making me stop whatever I was doing and rubbing herself up against me, or reaching down, cupping me and giving me just the lightest squeeze. Once, after dinner (she ate, I cooked and served), she even ordered me to stand before her chair while she licked me until the nylon was soaking wet and virtually transparent. Later that night, she ordered me to bathe her. I was happy to comply.

I drew her bath and added softeners and herbal scents, then went to the bedroom to inform her  that her bath was ready. Amanda was standing naked before our full-length mirror, admiring her spectacular figure. After a moment she went to the bathroom and stepped into the tub.

I coated my hands with lather and began, working my way up first one leg, then the other, almost to her cunt, where she stopped me. Then she turned and leaned against the wall with her feet spread wide and I washed her back, then her hard, round buttocks. I carefully worked my fingers down underneath her and then into her, probing her pouting cunt lips, then her clitoris. This time she did not stop me. My free hand worked its way higher and cupped a firm breast. The more I massaged her clit, the more she rubbed herself against my hand until, with a sudden spasm, she came. She immediately started the rubbing again. Man, she wanted to fuck. She came again. And again. She settled down into the water again to rinse off. When she got out, she had me lick off the water beading her skin.

When we were back in the bedroom, Amanda once again tied my hands behind my back. She pulled the silk tight, so that my balls hung over it. She told me not to play with myself while her mind was on her cunt. She went to the bed and lay down. With her thighs spread, she began to rub oil over her breasts and abdomen, then her thighs, and then she slowly moved her hands to her cunt, which she opened with her fingers, working in the oil until she was gaping and aroused. She looked up and said, “Lick it off.”

I knelt on the bed between her knees. Even with the bath and the oil, the scent of her arousal was intoxicating. The pressure of the silk and nylon on my cock as I bent over her increased my pleasure, and it made me hard to have my wrists pressing against the binding material. Fifteen minutes and three orgasms later, she was mine.

At first I contented myself with licking her pussy from bottom to top at a leisurely pace. She was already turned on, but I wanted her absolutely crazy, so I planned to delay dragging her over the edge of her climax until the last minute.

After each stroke of my tongue, I paused just long enough to probe her dripping hole. Amanda moaned and began to move her hips against my mouth. My tongue flicked in and out, then up, finally, to graze her clitoris, then back down again. Each time I touched it with my tongue, she gasped out what sounded like words in a foreign language. Finally I captured the erect bud between my lips and lashed it with the tip of my tongue. Immediately her hands left her breasts; and with her fingertips, she spread herself wider for me, and her succulent thighs clamped themselves around my head, holding it in place.

Her hips were bucking wildly. I kept up the pace, my ass in the air, my own hips thrusting in time. The silk scarf I was tied with alternately tightened and loosened its grip on me in a way that would have me coming any minute. Suddenly she arched her back and froze. Her orgasm exploded, sending through her body seismic surges that shook us for what seemed like forever. She collapsed onto the bed, her hands falling to her sides, her legs spread, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

I was still there between her legs, my hands tied submissively behind my back, my cock throbbing hungrily, a smile on my face. Amanda looked up me and asked me whether I had taken enough orders. I said I had. She nodded, sat up and began to untie the silk around my waist, looking up at me with a smile. She was going to make me come, she said, but not yet.

She ordered me to my feet again, and I leaped up and stood obediently beside the bed. The constant cycle of arousal and frustration was beginning to take its toll. I told her this and she immediately took me in hand. She sat on the edge of the bed and hand-pumped my cock.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I began to come. It started in my hips and I groaned. I strained against the bonds that kept me from grabbing her and shoving my cock into her mouth.

Amanda had tormented me all day. She would decide when I was allowed to come. She said she owned my come. And now I wanted to make sure she got it. All of it. She stroked faster, squeezed my balls tighter. The first long stream of come shot out of me just as she was leaning forward and splattered against her left eyelid. She blinked but had no time to recover. Quickly she opened her mouth wide to take the next spurt, which landed on her chin. Then she engulfed me, sucking tightly while both hands continued to go. I was practically screaming; never has the line between pain and pleasure been so finely drawn for me. My hips bucked hard. Hot come spurted into her mouth until she couldn’t swallow. She held my stiff rod as the overflow spilled from the comers of her mouth.

She held me forever, until I was limp. Even then she would not let me go. She wrapped her arms around my hips and hugged me to her. Then she untied me and removed the collar and leash and sat back on the bed, looking at me with half-closed eyes. I was so exhausted that all I could do was collapse next to her. As I lay there, catching my breath, she leaned over and pressed her come-smeared lips to mine in a lingering kiss.