The Nightmare

by Jack Peacock

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© Copyright 2023 - Jack Peacock - Placed in public domain by author

Storycodes: M/f; fpov; bond; sex; cuffs; gag; straps; bedtie; roleplay; cons; nc; XX

The Depths

I woke up lying on some kind of bed. My arms were stretched out over my head, held wide apart with leather cuffs attached to straps going somewhere out of my sight, over the edge. My legs were in the same position, spread wide and held down with leather cuffs on my ankles. Ominously, there were more straps across my knees and thighs, again held apart by wide belts around the bed. I tried twisting around, struggling to free myself.

I didn’t get very far. There was another belt holding down my waist. I was trapped in a spread eagle position, without any clothes. I was helpless, wide open for sexual use, and no idea how I got here.

I tried screaming for help; though from the weight of the gag forced into my mouth I was certain it was a lost cause. There could be only one outcome in this position, and it wasn’t one where I looked forward to my unwilling participation.

I heard a door open and close. When he appeared in my limited field of view he was dressed in a bathrobe, with a mask to hide his face. In a way that was good news; if I couldn’t identify him maybe he’d let me live. He stopped at the foot of the bed, arms folded. The way he stared, the hunger I saw in his eyes, sent chills through me. It confirmed my worst fears. I was here for one purpose only, to satisfy his lust.

He leaned over and placed his large hands on my ankles, above the leather cuffs. “Yes, I’m sure this is the right distance apart. We shouldn’t have any problems.” He began running one hand up and down my leg. “Very nice, I appreciate the effort on your part to keep them in such attractive condition. Soft and smooth, the way I like it.”

Maybe it pleased him but I didn’t want to be pawed by his dirty hands. I tried to twist my leg, to break his contact, but the leather belts were stronger than me.

“Tossing and turning, are you eager to get started? Be patient, we have all night. What’s that old cliché? If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again?” The way he smiled when he said that made my stomach turn. Once was too many; the promise of a repeat performance made me feel sick.

Slowly he made his way up the side of the bed, all the while lightly running his fingertips up my leg, across my waist, between my breasts, finally stopping under my chin. Suddenly he grabbed my throat, choking me. Leaning in close he spoke in a low whisper.

“Let’s be clear on one thing. You’re going to do your best to please me. If you don’t, then I have no further use for you. Think about what that means.”

How often are we faced with a life or death moment? Maybe there’s a traffic incident, a near miss, but those aren’t intentional and are gone in a flash. This was very different. I had two options, cooperate or terminate. I could live through the first, with all the emotional scars that came with it. The second choice was oblivion. It wasn’t a debate; I’d have to live with the satisfaction one day he’d be caught.

When he dropped the robe and climbed in on top of me I didn’t try to fight back. Better to get it over with as fast as possible. I’d read about techniques like trying to think of something else, but he wasn’t going to let that happen.

His face was so close it was almost touching my nose. I could see his brown eyes through the slits in the mask. “Don’t look away,” he whispered. “I want to see into the window to your soul.”

His hand was on my chin now, holding my head in place. Our eyes locked; I couldn’t turn away. There was an aura about him, the intensity, which overwhelmed me. Was it fear, or something more? Whatever magic he worked on me seemed to drive out any thought in my head, except to do my best to obey him, to please him.

Slowly we began moving together, in rhythm. All the while his piercing gaze held me fast in a mental grip. I wanted to wrap my arms and legs around him, to pull him in, but for some reason it didn’t work. I could hear these strange, distracting sounds. It didn’t register that they were coming from me, behind that gag.

None of it mattered. I could feel the moment of climax approaching. Did he see it too, in my eyes? With a shudder the eternal cycle of male and female merging together was complete.

The Heights

Any husband willing to rub his wife’s feet is a keeper. I leaned back on the sofa, my legs in his lap. At the moment he was working on my right foot with both hands. I closed my eyes, lost in what can only be called heavenly bliss, at peace with the world and especially my perpetually sore feet.

In the scale of life’s pleasures, from one to ten, a foot massage ranks at about a twenty. By the time he switched to the left I was ready to sell my soul. Hand me the paper and pen, show me where to sign, but please don’t stop.

When he finished I opened my eyes. “Done so soon? You can keep going, I don’t mind.”

He looked over at me with a sideways glance. “Everything in moderation, to paraphrase Socrates.” He began running a hand up and down my legs. “Too much of a good thing and I’ll get muscle cramps in my hands.”

I propped myself up on some pillows. “So, does acting out my nightmare fall into the moderation category too? You display the part of the psycho with impressive skill and unbridled enthusiasm. There are times I wonder if I’m bringing out your secret inner beast.”

“You’ll never know,” he drew out the words, to make them sound ominous. “Once you get on the rollercoaster you have to ride it all the way to the end. Every time you climb into that web of leather straps, remember it may be the one where I go over the edge. If I don’t let you go, what are you going to do about it?”

A shiver ran through me. It went to the heart of her nightmare, being trapped, helpless, with no hope of rescue. The damsel in distress, except there’d be no cavalry riding over the hill to save her. I trusted him with my life; he’d never go too far. There was nothing to worry about when we indulged in recreating one of my night terrors with a bit of roleplay. Unless, as he pointed out, he slipped into one of those fugue states where fantasy becomes reality.

“If it happens, there isn’t much I can do about it, is there? I’ll have to live with wherever your domineering tendencies take you.”

“What I’d still like to know is why one of your worst dreams from hell is also one of your most erotic fantasies? And why you are always so eager to act it out, over and over? Not that I mind; you’re right about the control freak part. Seeing you wrapped up tight like that, well, it pushes a lot of buttons in my head. Of course, I’m just pretending.”

He was a terrible liar. I knew very well he immersed himself in the part of the villain precisely because it triggered those repressed urges he usually managed to conceal. He was the dominant partner in our relationship, a role I willingly relinquished. He could be stubborn at times, unwilling to listen to reason, yet I still preferred that he take on most of the hard work. It was easier to let him worry about paying the bills, maintaining the car, fixing up the house, all those little responsibilities I’d have to manage if on my own. He thrived on chores I’d do anything to avoid.

“Since you mentioned acting, when you walk in the door and stand there, towering over me, in my mind you become real instead of some character in a horror movie. When I start fighting the bonds it isn’t play acting; I really am scared to death.” She held up her hands. “I know, I know, we’ve done this countless times, but each time that door swings open it’s happening for the first time, and it isn’t some kind of foreplay.”

He stopped stroking my leg and turned to face me. “There’s no way I’m ever going to hurt you. Why so afraid? You can trust me.”

“You I can trust, but that man behind the mask? He becomes a faceless entity, a demonic stranger with no expression. I don’t recognize you. I have no idea who he is or what he intends to do to me. It’s strange, how part of my brain blocks off memories. All I can think of is that guy and me. Half of my nightmare is being tied down, vulnerable, powerless to stop you; the other half is the man looking down on me, an unknown but one who has no inhibitions.”

He rested one hand on my knee. There was a strange expression on his face, sort of a mix between curiosity and concern. “When does the nightmare morph into the erotic? Sure there isn’t some deep, dark secret in your past I don’t know about? Am I going to trigger some psychotic episode one of these days?”

I shook my head. “No, there’s no dark, shameful past to come back to haunt me. Why the recurring nightmare, and why so vivid? No idea, must be some deep-seated mental aberration. The point where fear turns to fun, hmm, I’d say the moment you put your hand on my throat and peer into my eyes.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. In an instant you go from tense to relaxed.”

I nodded. “I’m putty in your hands. It’s the eye contact. For some reason it drains me of the will to resist. That’s quite the superpower. I hope you use it only for good.”

I caught that wry smile before he answered. “On the contrary, I use it only to satisfy my guilty pleasures. I’d make a terrible superhero; I’m much too selfish.”

I shook my head. The more he protested the less I believed him. He was many things, but selfish wasn’t one of them. “It’s close to noon. I should go fix us some lunch…” I started to swing my legs off the couch, to stand up.

Suddenly he grabbed my ankles and pulled my legs back. “No,” was all he said by way of explanation. “I’m not done yet. I’ll tell you when to go fix lunch.”


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