Crash

‘Oh god’ I think despairingly, giving another tug with my wrists, hoping against hope that somehow the bonds will come free this time. Of course they don’t and I slump back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, a dull horror gripping me as the minutes tick by.

I can’t believe I’ve got myself into this mess, and my husband, how the hell am I going to explain this to him when he gets home. He’ll never understand, not with his born-again Christian beliefs. Oh god, this is going to be so humiliating.

The prospect of discovery spurs me to life and again I struggle, pulling with both my wrists and ankles, straining against the ropes holding me down, keeping me tied spread-eagled on the bed.

After a few moments futile effort I fall back again, panting with shallow breaths, fighting against the tightly bound corset to draw the precious air into my lungs. It’s difficult enough to breath with the corset on, laced up with mechanical efficiency far tighter than I could do myself, without the added hindrance of the large ball gag strapped in my mouth. A mesh of tight leather straps encircle my head, holding the ball firmly in place deep in my mouth, robbing me of speech as it flattens my tongue.

I glance to my left, looking toward the bedside table and the telephone resting there, it’s voice activated dialling taunts me with it’s promise of salvation; if only I could speak.

Damn this ball gag!!

Next to the phone the alarm clock reads 16:47; the luminous readout casting an eerie green glow across the darkened room; the heavy drapes are pulled shut blocking out most of the daylight, and preventing any nosey neighbours from catching a glimpse of my activities.

Not long to go now. Another hour and a quarter and my husband will return, as always at 6 o’clock, his routine as monotonous as clockwork.

Laying my head back I close my eyes, sighing in despair as I imagine his reaction when he finds me. Shock, then anger, and then condemnation, as his fucking puritan morality kicks into gear; ever since his ‘conversion’ he’s become an insufferable bore and I wonder whether this will be grounds for divorce in his eyes.

With my eyes closed I become aware of the pressure in my crotch once again; the vibrations gently thrumming through me, keeping me aroused with a promise of orgasmic bliss that I am unable to achieve. I can’t see properly down there, but it feels to me as if the vibrator is only inserted about an inch and a half in my cunt. Just enough to keep me aroused, but not quite enough to get me off.

I lay back savouring the sensations, frustration building deep within me as I squirm about, struggling against my bonds to shift down the bed, trying to drive the vibrator deeper inside me.

Once again I fail, the bonds hold me much too tightly to allow movement, and so I lay there, shifting my hips up and down as much as I’m able, trying to gain the little extra stimulation that will send me over the edge.

The lust in my pussy fills my consciousness; it’s been building all afternoon, created and focused by that damned little toy; my hot cunt kept dripping wet by it’s attentions so that now the bedding under my ass is soaked with my juices.

With a groan of frustration I lift my head, looking up over my erect nipples, glaring with anger at the shadowy figure hovering over me – the cause of all my problems.

There she stands, perfectly motionless now, dressed in a shiny black PVC corset, her long legs wrapped in sheer black stockings attached to the corset by numerous clips. I can’t see from here, but know from earlier that her feet are encased in delicate black shoes, the 4” heels adding to her height.

As motionless as a statue she stands beside the bed that she tied me to earlier, leaning over me, her left hand on the mattress by my right hip, supporting her weight, while the right hand reaches out between my legs, holding the vibrator in place in my cunt.

I look at her lustfully, the flawless skin; the 34C breasts lifted and enhanced by the support of the corset; the bright blue eyes just slightly larger than is natural, all combine to make her a figure of exquisite beauty.

Of course it’s obvious that men designed her; you just had to look at her to know that. The perfect breasts, the full lips and the waspish figure all screamed out ‘fuck me’ in a language any man would understand.

The interesting thing was that this is the H-100 housemaid model, we called her Sarah and, as delivered by the factory came programmed to fulfil a wide variety of domestic chores; though certainly not the duties I’d had in mind.

However, and this is really the cause of my current predicament, the H-100 is essentially the same model as the SC-100, the sex kitten range of cybernetics from Omegatron, and it was easy enough to find sites on the net where you could download hacked versions of the sex routines, which could then be uploaded to her memory core.

And so this morning, after my husband had left for work, I’d done exactly that, determined to live out my fantasies one way or another. And if my husband wouldn’t indulge me, then this machine would take his place.

I guess the hack I downloaded was bugged in some way because, after tying me down and leaning over me to insert the vibrator in my pussy, she seemed to freeze. For a few minutes she stood there, head twitching sporadically from side to side, before giving one last twitch as, with a faint hum, she powered down, leaving me trapped here with no way out.

Resting my head back on the pillow again I close my eyes, savouring the sensations in my pussy. There’s no escape for me now, my husbands going to find me like this, a strange tableau to welcome him home, the maid and I.

Beside the bed the clock display changes once again, reading 17:04; less than an hour to go now.

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23.06.06