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Bound for Playtime

Our good girl transforms to a clumsy naughty maid

I lay across my husband's lap, his thick rod pressing up against my stomach. I am blindfolded. My hands are cinched at my lower back, covered with my skirt folded over my backside. My breasts dangle out of the dress, my tits gripped by unforgiving clamps. I tension my toes to keep my heels on my airborne feet. I await the slap of his hand on my upturned bottom. The naughty maid awaiting her punishment ...

o -- o -- o

Remember being kids? We were laughing and happy nearly all the time. But then, with adult responsibilities, we became all too serious. Why do you think that is? One thought is that as adults, we cease to play. Play is a very important part of the human existence. And with my darling husband, I was determined to bring more play into our home.

I started with a costume! Perusing the racks, I found the quintessential black and white French maid's dress. It featured a short, full skirt, a white apron and a white lacy headpiece. Paired with a black garter belt and sheer black stockings, it was the perfect prop.

I had taken extra time in dressing, unfamiliar as I am with pins and a headpiece. Tasteful make-up and a bit of bright lip gloss, check. Garter and black stockings, in place, check. I worked the black dress up over my hips and settled the bodice over my bare breasts, off-the-shoulder. Finally, a disgraceful touch, a lavender panty that just peeked from under the crinoline-style skirt.

Several large silken scarves lay folded in the living room. And at a second-hand store, I found an outrageous old-time smoking jacket in my husband's size!

I greeted him with a curtsey as he came through the door. He quickly learned my name was Mitzi. Regrettably, the mistress of the house was out for dinner with friends, and so I was to see to his comfort! Putting action to words, I helped him into his new smoking jacket. With a flourish, I gave a final jiggle to the frosty cocktail shaker, and poured a dry martini. I led the way to the darkened living room.

Settled in his chair, sipping his strong drink, his eyes scanned the room. Sexual scenes played on the big TV, with all sound muted. His gaze followed me closely in my feather dusting chores. It seems I had to bend frequently to dust several low objects, my crinoline skirt betraying me, displaying my undergarments. I also leaned in front of him, offering a tempting view of my plunging cleavage.

"Oh, it is time for a second drink, no?" I snatched up the martini glass and hustled into the kitchen. I refreshed the drink. Then I set a second glass in the sink, an ugly painted juice glass I bought for a dollar. I picked up the household hammer, looked away and quickly smashed the cheap glass. Then I raced back to the door.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir! Here's your martini. But I'm afraid in my hurry that I was clumsy. I have destroyed your antique drink shaker!"

His face twitched unhappily. I continued my unhappy apologetic babbling until he cut me off. "Stupid girl! That was in my family for generations. No apology will do. I'm afraid you must be punished."

At his words, I felt a tremulous tingle in my pussy.

"Why, master, I am sorry. Perhaps you are right, sir, that I should be taken to task." Truth to tell, I had never used the word before, but "master" came naturally to my lips.

He dipped a hand into the pocket of the jacket and drew out a soft bathrobe sash. He expertly tied my wrists behind me, firmly but not too tight. With my arms drawn back, I felt my breasts looked larger than ever in my off-the-shoulder uniform.

He snatched up a scarf and with a few flicks of the wrist, it was folded and tightened across my eyes, knotted snugly. Bound and blindfolded, I stood nervously as his thick hands roamed my helpless body. He was fascinated by the bounce of the crinoline full skirt. But he soon set to manhandling my rather large and sensitive breasts.

I wasn't surprised as he worked down the bodice of my off-shoulder dress, displaying my bare breasts. I protested weakly. I flinched as he flicked at my nipples. I heard the faint metallic sound and readied myself as the thin clamp settled over my nipple, and was slowly tightened.

"Too tight?" he asked.

"Umm." I gasped. "Please, just a little more ... master."

He attached the other clamp, and I felt the light chain pulling the clamps, swaying with our movements.

In my darkness, I was led toward a chair, and pulled over his lap. His thickness was situated against my hip and stomach. My breasts hung loose, the damn chain dangling freely and pulling at the binding clips. My feet were off the ground, and I had to concentrate to not let a shoe fall to the ground. I must be a perfect maid for my enraged master.

I felt the crinoline folded back over me, settling onto my bound hands. He held me with one arm, as his other big hand traced my thighs, and nylon covered bottom. He removed that hand, and I clenched my rump for the paddling. Of course, he denied me. Uncertain, I released my tension, only to be rewarded with a resounding smack!

He alternated between soft strokes and insistent smacks. He would trace the outline of my panty, across the back, around the leg opening, and probed between my legs. Could he feel my wetness through the silky thin material? A finger followed the lines of my garter straps, moved across my stocking tops. And the then hand would come away and he would strike my ass again.

"Please master," I trembled. "I hadn't counted on my being spanked."

"Counted?" He laughed. "What a delightful idea." He slapped my ass cheek. "How many?"

"Please, sir, no more!"

"No, there will be more, and you will count each spank, out loud."

I nodded my understanding and he prescribed 10 strikes. First, he worked my purple panties down off my hips, pooling at my knees and exposing me even more.

Slap!

"One, master."

Slap!

"Two, master, thank you."

And it continued, painfully, until a count of ten. I kicked my legs helplessly in protest.

His hand smoothed over my reddened backside, and his finger brushed the pouting lips of my pussy. I gasped as he inserted a finger in my twat, working it slowly as my body adjusted and betrayed me further. Soon he was working two fingers into me, thrusting repeatedly. I squealed, bouncing, the nipple chain swinging wildly. I gasped for more.

He finger-fucked me for what seemed like ages, occasionally slapping my ass with his free hand. Blindfolded, all of my senses were heightened, and my inhibitions were set low. Ultimately, I crested: My body tensed, my thighs pressed around his hand, and I had a delicious release. I came loudly, too, with a throat-ripping gasp and groan.

He held me for a short while as I caught my breath. The play must continue.

"Please master, release me? I feel your need and I can help you to feel satisfied."

"Indeed," he mused. "You are still being punished but I deserve gratification."

Moments later I was on my knees before him. The blindfold had been removed, and my wrists now retied in front, leashed some inches from my chin. I couldn't reach the nipple clamps, but I could grasp my husband's thick shaft, and tentatively lick the head like an ice cream treat.

I took him deep in my mouth, relaxing my throat to accommodate his length. With my bound hands, I could tighten a thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick, squeezing snugly. I also cupped and fondled his sac, rolling his balls as I sucked my master's cock.

I looked up at him wide-eyed. He loves having me service him. I've learned it's especially provocative to look into my non-wavering stare, my lips stretched around his imposing manhood. Every grimace, sigh, and gasp from him, I collected as pieces of my reward.

My head was bobbing on his dick, the maid's white headpiece still in place. I was topless of course, with the clamps in place and the chain lightly bouncing off both my body and his thighs. My maid's black dress covered my ribs and hips, flaring out and bouncing with my exertions. What a naughty maid I was. And what a lucky girl.

Now he steered me up and around the couch, bending me over the upholstered arm. My wrist and elbows made a kind of triangle to hold up my form, the nipple chain pooling on the couch cushion. Helpless with my ass in the air, I offered nominal resistance: my lilac panties were wadded carefully into my hot mouth and secured with a scarf.

The camera in my mind slowly pans from my stocking feet up to the straps of the garter belt and my white hips and reddened bum. The crinoline skirt pushed over my lower back as he lines up behind me. My maid's dress disheveled, my chest bare with thin clips pulling at my erect nipples. Wrists tied in front of me, arms bent to hold me up. A knotted scarf holding silken panties stuffed into my wide opened mouth. A white maid's headpiece primly in place. And the master of the house fucking his little maid over the arm of the sofa.

He drilled me good, feverishly pistoning his thick dick into me. I screamed into my gag as I felt the alternating withdrawal then the fullness of him. My clamped tits pressed into the cushion beneath me, my hands turning red in their bonds. I caught a glimpse of my abandoned feather duster. I had been a friendly prim maid, doing my household duties. Now I was a captured tart, bound and gagged and currently being savaged by the household master while his wife was away.

I recognized the signs and squeezed my eyes shut in concentration. We erupted at the same time, my body pulsing as he shot thick gobs of his wad into me.

He withdrew and manhandled me onto my back. With a practiced hand, he removed one clamp from my tit. I screamed painfully into the gag as blood moved into my breast. At my quick nod, he removed the second clamp and I bit down on my panty wadding, screeching further as a tear welled in my eye. Nipple clamps: I have such a love-hate relationship with them!

As he untied me, he wondered when the mistress of the house would be coming home. I expect Mitzi the maid would be sacked tonight. But the household might be getting a visit soon from Nancy, the traveling nurse, resplendent in starchy white with an especially enticing hemline.

# # #

Likes or Constructive Comments always welcome

Also see

Bound in the Attic

Bound for a Good Time

Bound on Display

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