To this day Frank still swears that he did not realise that they were bondage spikes. He had forgotten about the anniversary until it was so late that most of the shops were closed. Then he saw a pair of shoes in one of the few shops that were still open. He admits that he noticed that the heels were a bit extreme but he knew that Helen sometimes wore stilettos. That the straps were fastened by miniature pad locks in place of the usual buckles he assumed was some new fashion fad.

   Helen was glad to get any sort of present. She was sure that he had forgotten the anniversary and while she hate to play the nag some things are too important to let go. When he handed her the pink parcel her initial feeling was one of relief. When she unwrapped the tissue paper and saw what it contained she had the weirdest feeling deep inside her.

   By co-incidence,  for the last few weeks she had been having these strange notions coming into her head, mostly about doing wicked things with Frank but just lately other men as well. It was most disconcerting, trying to negotiate with sales reps getting a sudden urge to throw your arms around them and kiss them where they least expect it. There was no logical reason for these cravings. She had just turned thirty years of age, been promoted to assistant area manager and her five year marriage to Frank was solid as a rock.

  Upstairs, sitting on the edge of the bed, her mind was in a turmoil. Did Frank really want to take their relationship in that direction? seemingly so. Was that what she wanted? Was she ready for it? She was drawn to the bottom shelf in her wardrobe; taking out a brightly coloured carrier bag - the black sheer nightie she had bought weeks ago but never had the courage to wear. It was the work of minutes to remove her day clothes replacing them with the lingerie and the spikes.

 

  Looking in the mirror she was pleased by what she saw.  Her legs and tum were still in good shape. The high-heels of the spikes were pushing her breasts out firming them up making them as pert as they had ever been and she could feel the muscles in her bottom  stretched taught, rounded out. Not quite the girl who Frank married five years ago but still capable of turning heads.

The nightie only just covered her bottom and there were no matching panties. Well! So what? houris did not wear knickers. At the last minute however she chickened out. Scrabbling in her underwear drawer she grabbed the first thing to hand, a pair of canary yellow briefs. She had  some difficulty getting them over the spikes but soon had them on nice and snug.

    Downstairs, in the kitchen she took a can of beer out of the fridge, poured it carefully into a glass which she placed on a tray together with a bowl of crisps ready to serve her Master's pleasure in the lounge.

  'Ta! Love!' Frank hardly took his eyes off the the football match he was watching on TV. If he wondered why she was dressed for bed so early in the evening he gave no sign of it. Instead of sharing the sofa, Helen knelt on the floor beside him. Kneeling even on carpeted floor can very quickly get very uncomfortable, especially if no-one notices you are there. It was not long before Helen, hiding her disappointment, retreated to the kitchen where the sight of a feather-duster hanging on a hook gave her inspiration.

  Back in the lounge, she dusted at waist level, she dusted low, including the sofa Frank was sitting on - he obligingly moved for her but did not look up - then she dusted high, reaching up to the curtain rail, the tops of the door frames causing the hem of her nighty to ride up almost to her hips. She wished now that she had had the courage to go 'sans culotte'.

  It was the fruit that saved the day. Always a health eater, Helen kept a cut glass bowl on the side-board. Usually this contained apples, pears or bananas but this week the supermarket were doing a special on clementines so when she accidentally knocked the bowl over the little round oranges skittered across the floor. The sight of her bending down, teetering on her 'spikes' to retrieve them was more riveting even than Manchester United verses Liverpool.

  'What are you doing,Love?' She gave him what she hoped was a lascivious smile then turned her back to him as she bobbed down for a clementine by the skirting board. One fruit had rolled right under the sofa Frank was sitting on; to reach it she had to go down on hands and knees. Frank playfully pressed his stockinged foot in the small of her back; gently pinning her down. Hyped up as she was even this small constraint was enough to produce a  damp stain in the crotch of her briefs, dark against the bright color of the material. Frank finally got the message and his tender touch on the affected area sent electric waves though her whole body.

He took her hand, lifting her up and with that goofy lecherous look he got whenever he knew he was on a promise led her toward the bed-room but she tightened the grip and swung him around, back away from the door.

   The sofa was part of a three piece suite. There were also two arm-chairs and it was to one of these that she guided him. Facing the back of the chair she bent herself over the head-board resting her hands on the chair's arms. He approached from behind her, slipping one hand down the back of her briefs, The other hand he buried between her stomach and the head-board lifting her up sufficient to ease her knickers around the swell of her buttocks to flutter down her legs, entangling themselves in her spike shoes.

  'Just a tick, Love.' He was off into the kitchen.

   Was this it then? she thought. Balanced precariously across the head-board of an arm-chair while Frank did what? Check the football scores on his mobile phone? When he came back however he was carrying a big framed mirror under one arm whilst his other hand held a dinning-room chair. This he place facing her balancing the mirror on the seat.

  She heard him unzip his flies as he approached her from behind. He began caressing her inner thigh then grabbing her by the hair force her head up so that she was looking into the mirror, seeing him towering over her. He had unbuttoned his shirt all the way down and she had never before realised how much hair he had on his chest. Their eyes met and her whole being was suffused in a cosy  glow, swimming in a sea of warm honey. Her orgasm, when it came was long and slow leaving her light and empty.

*   *   *   *

   Helen was beginning to think the riding crop might have been a mistake. It had been fun presenting it to Frank wrapped in a pink bow - the look on his face was priceless but now suspended bare bottom uppermost over the back of  the arm-chair she was not so sure. It had been rather exciting at first until, using two scarves Frank had tied her wrists to the front legs of the chair. Flimsy restraints to be sure but enough to keep her fixed across the head-board at the mercy of that cruel whip.

  She was wearing a gingham dress with a very full skirt which now, together with three or four layers of lacy petticoat were tumbling down her back, a frame to create a target with her upturned rump its soft and pliable centre. There was now a large mirror fixed to the wall opposite the chair and in this she could see Frank, naked to the waist taking practise swipes. Strange she had never before notice just how well developed his arm muscles were.

   Ow! That really hurt. She stifled her indignation sensing that any protest would only make matters worse.  She tensed up, breathing shallow, tummy with that empty feeling waiting the next awful stroke which, when it came was little more than a gentle flick. Looking in the mirror she could see his impish grin. For six more whacks he played with her, some soft little taps other harder, more painful but none so hard as that first blow. Confused, not knowing what to expect her anguish was greater than if he had gone at her all out and all the time in the mirror that amused grin taunted her.

   He untied the scarves from the chair and, still attached to her wrists used them to guide her to the sofa. He gently put her across his knee, lifted up her skirt and started applying soothing cream to her ravaged behind. Although most of the strokes had been little more that taps two or three of them had been hard enough to raise angry red welts. Even his soft ministration re-ignited her agony but far from making her angry or resentful this created in her an overwhelming sense of oneness. She felt closer to him now than at any time since their honeymoon.

   He undid the zip at the back of her bodice. She swivelled round in his lap ending up on her knees on the floor between his legs. Mutely she raised her arms in the air suffering him to lift the dress over her head off her otherwise naked body. For long seconds they were still then she was upon him like a tiger - grabbing, pressing, kissing, arms around his neck, scrabbling with her feet to cleave closer to him. He struggled to unzip his flies, free his todger and then lift her still frenzied body up and onto his best friend. Their orgasms, were intense and in her case more than a little enhanced by her pain.

*   *   *   *

Early in their marriage Frank had discovered that Helen hated giving blow-jobs, the texture of his juices making her nauseous but she had chosen slavery, coming down from her after work shower wearing not her normal sweats but the slave collar, the harem pantaloons so flimsy that except for a few strategically place sequins there were transparent, the skimpy bolero which displayed more of her breasts than it concealed and of course those bondage spikes. She had cooked and served him his evening meal contenting herself with the few scraps he fed her kneeling beside his chair.

After the meal he had attached a lead to the d-ring at the front of her collar taking her into the sitting-room. Now she was on the floor between his legs as he sat on the sofa his rampant cock jutting from his open flies. Again he pointed to his member; again she shook her head in refusal. Slaves must be put in their place and he had just the means to do it: a tawse whose wooden handle was long enough to reach down her back so its leather strop could target her buttocks full and rounded, totally unprotected by the flimsy harem trousers as she knelt before him. His first stroke was to her left arse-cheek. In the mirror on the wall behind her Frank could see it red bloom but still she was recalcitrant trying to pull away against the restraint of the lead held firmly in Frank's other hand.

Another crueller blow left her broken. Head down, subdued she took him in her mouth, her coral pink lips encircling his shaft. In her eyes one last silent plea which he ignored, putting his hand behind her head and forcing her down further onto his engorged shaft. Gagging she had no choice but to swallow, her whole body shaking with revulsion.

The deed done Frank put his hand under her chin, lifting her head up, smiling into her eyes. He bore no grudge. She had submitted to him. Her defiance was  forgotten. Taking a hanky in his other hand he wiped the goo from her lips, lent forward and kissed her gently on the lips.

For long moments they were still gazing into each others eyes then she pounced, flinging herself onto him, her flimsy clothing no restraint as she  threw her arms around his neck kissing his chest, his arms, his face, rubbing her breasts against his body, legs scrabbling to stride his thighs, his cock pressed against her stomach. Frank lifted her up and gently easing her pants down, lowered her onto him. Their mating so intense it left them both languorous entwined on the sofa replete.