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The Secret Life of Bellingham Sam

Being stuck in traffic can be quite pleasant for a fellow with an active imagination.
Sam was startled — and annoyed — by the blaring of a car horn while he sat parked along with a thousand other drivers on Interstate 5. What exactly did this genius expect to accomplish by honking here when the logjam was well out of sight, probably several miles ahead? He shook his head. Not a local, that’s for sure, he thought. Washingtonians, especially those who lived so close to ultra-polite Canada, only honked in a dire emergency and sometimes not even then.

Shaken from his reverie, he had to set anew to planning the evening. Sam liked to plan. It was the most important part of any undertaking, he thought. And, just as it was important to organize his activities, it was necessary to work out how he would relate them to the coterie awaiting his report on eKibbitz. He smiled when he thought of his popularity and prominence on the web site, which was ostensibly for women. Most of them visited the site under the guise of talking to other women when what they really wanted and needed was a man’s insight. His insight. They had come to depend on him, in particular, to tell them about his bedroom adventures with his wife. His tales were fantasy fodder for some, he knew, which secretly pleased him.

If all went according to plan — and why shouldn’t it? — tonight’s dispatch would not disappoint.

The evening would begin with a succulent dinner of pork tenderloin in a rosemary-ginger marinade, tiny spears of young asparagus and roasted new potatoes, with raspberry sorbet for dessert. Nothing too heavy, as neither he nor Peggy should feel overly full, not with the activities that awaited them. After the meal was consumed, the day’s events discussed, the dishes done, and the children tucked into bed...the delicate dance would commence.

First he’d instruct Peggy to prepare for the session. She would meticulously shower, shave and apply his favorite lotion, and greet him wearing the emerald green bra and boy shorts he had selected for her at the lingerie specialty shop during their last visit to Vancouver. Sam loved that set, especially since he had cleverly modified the bra by making a small crosscut in the center of each cup to allow him access to his wife’s sensitive nipples while she was wearing the alluring article. He could do what he wished to them, depending on his mood at the moment: caress, fondle, tweak, pinch, twist or affix nipple clamps...he’d need to make sure those were within quick reach if that was the option he chose, which grew increasingly likely as he pictured the scene in his mind. He would tease her to the edge again and again, bringing her to the brink of climax and then easing off, until she begged him for the nipple clamps and anything else he’d like to do to her.

After she had removed the boy shorts per his command and had properly presented herself for his inspection and approval — eyes cast downward and palms held upward to symbolize her submission to him, personal grooming done according to his exact specifications to demonstrate her obedience, nipples erect and labia swollen to show her arousal — he would have her kneel on the bed at the foot of it, facing the headboard, her legs spread wide. Then he’d move behind her and force her knees further apart still, pressing his bulging hard-on against her ass as he did so. He chuckled. Oh yes, she could feel it, all right, but she couldn’t have it. Not yet, not until he’d had his fun.

Having decided, as a time-saving measure, to forgo the aesthetically pleasing rope bondage he liked in favor of a more straightforward approach, he would wrap a neoprene thigh cuff above each knee and attach a leather lead which could then be tied off to the bed post behind her. Although her arms would be free, he would direct her to hold them behind her back while his hands deftly explored her exposed form, as they both watched in the mirrored headboard. He knew her body better than she knew it herself; he knew precisely where to touch her, and how to touch her, to make her ravenous with desire. He was the concertmaster and she was his violin.

At last he would retrieve the nipple clamps, a deer-hide flogger, lubricant and a 4-inch butt plug from the cabinet beside the bed, conspicuously carrying the items in full view. She would see exactly what was in store for her and would become all the more aroused for the knowledge. He debated whether he’d shove the butt plug into her mouth while he flogged her; the thought of the visual that would accord him excited him tremendously, but he decided against it, as he had specific plans, even for her voice. She would be required to count off the strokes — twenty, he thought — as he administered the gentle punishment of the flogger to warm her up for what was yet to come. Finally stripping off his shirt, he’d proceed to apply plenty of lube both to her anus and to the plug before setting it upright, visible to her in the mirror, and going to wash his hands.

When he returned, he would reach not for the butt plug, but for the nipple clamps. They were the Japanese clover type that tighten when the clamps are weighted, or when the chain between them is pulled, and don’t release. They were, he mused, a fairly evil invention. Her nipples would be hard little knobs at this point, and would involuntarily protrude even more as he placed the clamps on them. He expected she’d even let out a moan. But he knew, and she did as well, that the clamps would be a counterbalance to the next sensation — that of the butt plug being pushed into her anus without pause. As he did so, he’d give the chain between the nipple clamps a sharp tug with his free hand. By now she would be ready to explode if he ventured near her clit, but it was still early in the game.

He smiled to himself again.

Releasing his hearty dick from its cotton lockup, he would push her forward into position with her head down and hindquarters in the air for the taking, and thrust his full length into her in a single motion. He’d hold there for a few seconds with his hands on her hips, pulling her back into him. She would be craving him, he knew, wanting him to do her hard and fast, her desire stoked by the stream of dirty talk with which he was assailing her. But he would control the pace, he would decide when to give her what she so desired, he would determine when or even if she was allowed to orgasm. His strokes would be slow but steady, and he’d constantly be monitoring her reactions so he could stop if it seemed that she was about to come. Eventually, a low groan would begin to emanate from her in what appeared to be a subconscious response to his stimulation of her G-spot, and that is when he’d pull out. This, he knew, would frustrate her but also make her hungrier for him, more compliant.

At this point, he’d climb onto the bed and pull her up by the hair such that her face was level with his penis, and she would take him ravenously in her mouth. Still holding her by the hair, he’d push into her greedy orifice again and again, taking full advantage of her innate ability to deep-throat. This wasn’t how he wanted to have his orgasm, though. It had been far too long since he had buggered that beautiful bum of hers, and that was about to change.

He would abruptly withdraw from her ardent blowjob and push her head back down to the bed. This time he wouldn’t let her catch a glimpse of the object he grabbed from the cabinet before reassuming his position behind her. Though he was certain she would still be slick with desire, he’d nevertheless put a dab of lube on the G-spot vibe before he shoved it inside her and turned the dial to 3. Then he would slather himself with the slippery stuff, pull out the butt plug and insert the head of his penis into her anus. Again using a slow but steady motion, he’d push in gradually until she’d taken all of him. Once her muscles had relaxed so that she was truly ready for a good butt screwing, he would start pumping, expertly turning up the intensity of the vibe at the same time without missing a stroke.

She’d struggle mightily not to come, knowing that the consequences of failing to wait for his permission would be dire, but inevitably it would be a futile battle against the sensory overload of him ravishing her anally, the vibe assaulting her G-spot, and the steel clamps maintaining their relentless grip on her nipples. Although he relished the idea of devising and implementing suitable discipline for such a transgression, he would mercifully issue the order for her to give him her orgasm when he sensed that she wouldn’t be able to hold out any longer. It was a command she would willingly and immediately obey, and as her body began to convulse she would be rewarded by receiving his gift deep in her ass.

Having skipped over the cleanup, Sam was well into the afterglow portion of the evening when his thoughts were again interrupted by the blasted horn. Even as he pulled himself from his deep contemplation, he knew immediately that he was what had prompted the honking this time. The cars ahead were moving, and as he shifted his foot from the brake to the accelerator, he couldn’t help but notice his full blown erection.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was easing his car up Grizzly Niche Drive, the steep and winding road in Sedro-Woolley which led to the comfortable suburban home where he lived with his wife and two children. He headed straightaway to the kitchen, and was pleased to find all the dinner ingredients set out on the counter and the oven preheating, just as he had requested when he’d telephoned prior to his arrival. He quickly tied on a black apron and began the final preparations. He loved to cook, and he was good at it. The rosemary-ginger marinade in which the pork tenderloins had been resting for the past day and a half was his own concoction, and it smelled heavenly as he lifted the tenderloins into a roasting pan, which then went into a 425°F oven for half an hour. Next he drizzled olive oil over the parboiled potatoes and tossed them lightly in the bowl. He had just stepped out the kitchen door, shears in hand, to go snip some fresh rosemary when he met his wife and daughter returning from the herb garden.

“Daddy!” the girl exclaimed, throwing her arms around his waist.

“Hey, little buddy, how are you?”

As the girl launched into an answer that would continue non-stop for a full eight minutes, Peggy mouthed, “I’ll take care of it,” holding up the sprigs of rosemary she had cut. “Thanks,” Sam mouthed back with a smile.

“So everything’s fine between you and Sarah now?” he finally managed to squeeze in when the story wound down.

“Yes, Daddy, weren’t you listening?” Faith asked with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course I was, I just wanted to make sure I had it all straight,” he said. “Hey, can you do me a favor and go tell your brother that dinner will be ready in 10 minutes, please?”

“He’s not here.”

“Luke is spending the night with Ben,” Peggy explained over her shoulder.

“Oh, I see...” Sam began to consider the possibilities with the child population reduced by half. “Okay then,” he said to his daughter, “you go get washed up, and be back here in 15 minutes.”

“But Daddy, you said 10 minutes.”

“That’s because Luke is always five minutes late. Now scoot.”

He waited for the slam of the door to the upstairs bathroom before he slipped his arms around his wife’s waist from behind as she worked at the stove and began to nuzzle her neck. “Does it mean I’m a horrible parent that I’m glad the one who’s here tonight is the sound sleeper?” he wondered.

Peggy chuckled. “If it does, I guess I’m a horrible parent too,” she said, turning her head to meet his lips in a lingering and tender kiss. She allowed him to cup her left breast but swatted away his right hand as it pushed at the waistband of her slacks. “Dinner before dessert,” she whispered.

Right. Dinner before dessert.

The meal was delicious, just as he had envisaged it, and Peggy’s addition of marjoram and red pepper flakes to the rosemary and garlic he’d planned had made the potatoes even better than he’d imagined they would be. It was nothing, however, compared with the spice they would soon be enjoying; time crept forward as he eagerly awaited the ambrosial banquet. The evening would have been pleasant if not for the agonizing interlude, but as it was, he had to concentrate on sports statistics more than once in order to stifle the unavoidable result of the thoughts he would rather have been entertaining.

As much to keep his own reaction in check as to tantalize his online followers, the message he posted on eKibbitz about the upcoming encounter was deliberately coy: “I have something special planned for my angel tonight. I can’t say anything more right now, but it will be well worth the wait, especially for her! ;o)” Hours later, adult playtime was at last approaching. He found Peggy doing the last of the kitchen cleanup when he came downstairs after checking on their sleeping daughter.

“She’s out like a light,” he said. “You go on up and get ready, I’ll take care of this.”

“You know, I’m going to take you up on that offer. I just realized how tired I am.” She let out a huge yawn, as if to illustrate her point.

“Not too tired, are you?” He’d experienced a moment of panic at hearing her announce her exhaustion, but tried to keep his tone nonchalant.

“No, not too tired,” she said with a laugh. Pausing at the doorway, she added, “But don’t be long, Sweetie, I really am tired.”

Sam knew his timing had to be perfect: He needed to give Peggy enough time to prepare, but not so much that she fell asleep. He finished loading the dishwasher and set it to run, hand-washed the only pan she hadn’t gotten to, and wiped down the stove top and counters before checking his watch. Nine minutes. Good, he’d be able to stop in the guest bathroom for a cursory cleanup before entering the master suite.

The shower shut off just as he closed the bedroom door, so he hastily changed into pajama pants and a tee shirt, and settled himself on the bed for the final stretch of his long wait. He listened with amusement to her post-cleansing preening routine as she readied herself for presentation. At last she emerged, wearing a stunning silk camisole and matching panties. He was glad he had chosen the red lingerie set when she’d phoned him from the shop in the local mall to ask his opinion; it complemented her coloring and skin tone much more than black would have.

“What a day! Just one thing after another,” she began. Her eyes shot to the floor, and she knelt to pick up a button that had popped off in his rush to undress. “Uh-oh, I’ll have to sew this on for you tomorrow. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes — man, this was a stressful day. You know what I’d really like?...”

Indeed, my wonderful slut, I know exactly what you’d like. You want to give yourself to me to use however I see fit. You want me to tease you beyond the point where you thought you could stand to be teased. You want me to push your boundaries, expand your horizons...

“...I’d like a back rub. More of a shoulder and neck rub, actually, but I wouldn’t complain if you ventured to other parts,” she said playfully. “I’ll give you one too, if you want.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be able to find another way to relieve my tension.” He patted the mattress and made space for her in front of him.

“I’m sure I will at that.” She gave him a quick kiss before sliding onto the bed, her back to his chest.

She was still wearing the gorgeous camisole when he began massaging her shoulders, but soon sat forward a few inches and lifted her arms in a silent signal that it was time for the garment to come off, and Sam happily removed both it and his tee shirt. With the delicate fabric no longer a consideration, he put a dab of massage oil in his palm and began to work in earnest on the knots in her shoulder muscles. She let out a moan as the tightest kink finally relaxed, and he began to expand his touch as she had suggested. His hands worked their way to her breasts, and his fingers soon found her nipples. He toyed with them until they were stiff and she was arching her back for more, before pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers and yanking sharply, just as she craved.

“Ouch!” She pulled away. “They’re a little sore, probably PMS. I need a lighter touch.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I’ll be more careful.”

He shifted from behind her to the side to continue his exploration, true to his word in a more gentle fashion. He kissed her passionately and then began to wend his way downward with his lips and tongue, concentrating first on her neck, then tracing her collarbone. One hand was buried in her hair while the other was caressing the bare skin of her belly, hips and thighs. She reciprocated by lightly dragging her fingernails down his back and grabbing his buttocks.

“Oh God, yes, that’s perfect,” she murmured as he tenderly suckled at first one breast and then the other, and he felt her shudder when his hand found her hipbone and began to push the panties away. They paused to take off what remained of their clothing before resuming their increasingly fervent quest. She invited him to touch her intimately by parting her legs, and gasped with delight as he rubbed her own natural lubrication onto her engorged clitoris. He could tell she was getting close to orgasm, and was grateful because he also knew he couldn’t last much longer; the taunting her fingers were performing on him, coupled with the fantasy that had enabled him to while away the time during the slow drive home, had him primed to shoot his load like a horny 16-year-old, but he dutifully held out for her signal.

“I want you in me, now!” she commanded a moment later, her voice husky with concupiscence. Sam didn’t need to be told twice. As he guided his hard penis into her silky hole, she wrapped her legs around him and drew him deeper into her with each stroke. He felt her slip a hand between them to touch her clit; the inconspicuous action turned him on even more. After what seemed ages but was in reality no more than five minutes, he felt the quivering onset of her orgasm and increased his thrusting so that he erupted inside her mere seconds after she’d finished.

In tandem, they rolled to their side, where they would remain entangled for a few minutes. Peggy let out a deep, contented sigh. “I really needed that, even more than I knew,” she said.

“So it was good for you?”

“Yes, it was good for me. Very good. I think I felt that one in my toenails.”

Sam beamed internally.

Reluctantly they rose to clean up and dress for bed. He donned the tee shirt and pajama pants that had hardly been worn and she put on a fresh cotton nightie. They both lay on their right side, her back to him, and Sam draped his left arm over her.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Sweetie,” came the sleepy reply as she snuggled closer to him.

Within minutes, he heard the familiar deep breathing that indicated she was already slumbering soundly. He, however, was wide awake and itching to post his online report. He carefully lifted his arm and rolled to his left side as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her, then tiptoed from the bedroom and downstairs to his home office.

His notebook computer was in its docking station, ready for use, and in fact was already logged into eKibbitz. All he needed to do was type the password required when the computer awoke from its hibernation state, and the site appeared on his screen with its neighborly greeting: “Welcome, Bellingham Sam!” The name had a nicer ring to it than “Sedro-Woolley Sam,” and it helped protect his privacy.

He quickly navigated to the message he had posted earlier in the evening, eager to read any responses it might have received. His devotees hadn’t let him down; several replies clamored for details, and one expressed envy at the good luck of his angel. The latter brought a smug smile to his face as he stared at the screen while working out the final details of his message. Pressing “Post a Reply,” he commenced:

“It’s not often I’d consider myself lucky to be stuck in traffic, but a complete standstill on the interstate during the drive home gave me the perfect opportunity to think about what I was going to do with my angel tonight. My plan involved restraints, nipple clamps, some light flogging (she says it feels like a massage), oral and anal play, and lots and lots of teasing.

“After dinner, I stopped her kitchen cleaning in its tracks with firm instructions to go upstairs and prepare. I wanted to see her in the emerald green set I like so much; those who’ve been around here for a while will recall when I got it — boy shorts and matching bra with easy nipple access — for her during our trip to Vancouver last year.

“When the time I had allotted for her to attend to her ablutions was up, I entered our bedroom, seconds before she exited the ensuite. Her timing was perfect. With her eyes cast down she knelt before me, stunningly arrayed in the ensemble I had selected. I indicated for her to approach the bed, and guided her into position.

“My ‘massage’ left her aching for more, and got her kink level where it needed to be in order for the rest of the session to play out. I continued teasing her to a fevered pitch before giving her nipples the attention they cried out for. (Has anyone else ever thought about what sort of evil mind devised Japanese clover clamps?)

“After some oral action and ass play, she was more than ready for me to claim her kitty. When I knew she couldn’t last any longer, permission to orgasm was issued, and she told me later that she ‘felt that one in my toenails.’ Wow, she felt it in her toenails!?

“He shoots, he scores! ;o)”

Yes. That should do it. Sam pressed “Preview,” reread his message and nodded approvingly as it was rounded out by his signature line — “Bellingham Sam, Lord and Master of his Domain Just Say NO to Vanilla Sex!” Satisfied that everything was just right, he posted it. As the refreshed screen uploaded and brought his message into sight, he sighed. Fatigue overcame him, and wearily, he wondered if any of his lady friends were online, eager to read the details of his exploits. Much as he craved their approbation and praise, it would have to wait until he could get back to them tomorrow. For now, he was exhausted by the evening’s events, and his masterful recounting of them.

It could never be said that Bellingham Sam didn’t know how to weave a good tale.
* *
~ With deep appreciation to Gypsymoth for counseling me and supporting this endeavor, and to B.S. for inspiring it. ~
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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