A Long Hot Weekend

Heather and I normally work 6 days a week in our little business, and often evenings and Sundays are also sacrificed to tedious but necessary administration.

Once in a while, however, as determined by some arcane formula requiring the use of an ephemeris, an orrery and a bowl of chicken entrails, the staffing schedule allows us to take a Friday and Saturday free. This weekend was one such and, as a bonus, fine weather was promised. The summerhouse beckoned.

We could have gone down on Thursday night, except that Heather had a meeting to go to and wasn’t back till late, so it wasn’t until Friday morning that we packed and left our life’s work in the capable hands of our staff.

It was a wonderful feeling to flop down into the big, comfortable sofa with its view out over the sea and know that there was nothing on the agenda for the next three days except sex. Lots of sex.

While our living room has the view out over the garden and the sea, the bedroom catches the afternoon sun. We can lie and fuck lazily in a pool of warmth and sunshine diffused by the thin curtain. It is just perfect for long afternoons when we have nothing else to do, no appointments, no obligations, no limits.

I had brought our goody bag with us, containing a selection of items from our toyboxes at home. I had decided that we were going to have a ‘black’ afternoon so, while Heather was out in the bathroom, I began to make ready:

Black satin sheet and pillowcases on the bed. Heather’s attire carefully laid out in its anatomic position, starting with the leather ankle-cuffs and chromed leg-spreader at the foot end, all the way up to the strappy leather head-harness on the pillow. Heather looked at his lot when she got back but said nothing, she just stood passively as I dressed her.

A black leather bra, if it could be called that: A shaped leather ring encircling and constricting each plump breast, joined by a chain, fastened by a thick leather strap at the back and with a thin leather halter. Matching pants; a broad triangle of black leather with a generous gash in it, to match her own, and guarded by a chain running along its length, the apex disappearing into almost nothing in her bum-crack and fastening to a pair of slender straps with two buckles at the waist.

Wrist-straps, of course. Thick and heavy and enveloping, with snap links to attach them to each other or to any other part of her attire, to subdue, restrain or to cause discomfort. Whichever I choose. The collar was snapped into place next. Constructed of steel rings joined by short lengths of leather, it is flexible and provides an abundance of attachment points for snap-links.

The head harness. It’s not comfortable, but she sits passively enough as I put it on her and tighten the straps as far as they will go. Under the chin, behind the head and finally the top of the head: Subtly squeezing, constraining.

Finally, the nipple-clamps. Ferocious sharp serrations crushing the pink nipples which are already popping out from the ends of her grotesquely swollen breasts. She draws in her breath sharply as they begin to bite, but still does not complain.

She lay back on the black satin sheet, her voluptuous body squeezed into a grotesque caricature of herself, her legs held wide apart and her mouth forced open by the ring-gag so that she looked like a cheap blow-up fuck-doll.

Now it was my turn to be restrained in leather. We have a full body harness, all thick straps and buckles. Usually, Heather wears it, but it went on me all right, with the my balls sitting one each side of the thin crotch-strap and my cock straining through the lower of the two metal rings which are the focal points for the myriad strips of leather. Heather helped me into the thing and fastened the buckles tight, then tighter still. I thrilled to the grip of the leather as I tried to move and lie down beside her.

My fingers went straight to the slit in the stiff leather undergarment. No foreplay, just the process of dressing up, and she was already wet and dripping. The first touch of my fingertips on her clit and I knew she was already well on her way to orgasm. Hooking my fingers inside her and giving a little tug on the chain joining her nipples was all that was required to tip her over the edge and she came, shouting and gasping.

I had no time to slow down the gentle brushing of her clit when the second orgasm started to build, followed, just as rapidly, by a third.

After that she seemed visibly to deflate. I repositioned myself, kneeling by her head, and tried to push my cock, already constrained by one metal ring, through the second that was holding her mouth open. Then, I wriggled down between her gaping legs, trying to avoid the ankle spreader with my feet and eased into her. She shuddered and moaned and I gave the nipple clamps another little tug, but she was drained of all energy and couldn’t quite manage a fourth orgasm. I clipped her wrists to her collar and she buried her face in her hands while I fucked her hard and came deep inside her soaking slit.

In the fading light of an autumn aftenoon we lay there, drained. He air was heavy with the smells of leather, spunk and sweat. Slowly, painfully slowly, I removed Heather’s gear. The nipple clamps first, revealing nipples squashed flat and corrugated, then the head harness, then any buckles I could reach in no particular order. We kicked the things off and left them to lie in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed while we dozed.

And this was just the beginning of a long, hot weekend.