“I understand you were disappointed in my blowjob skills last week,” Cynthia said, slapping my cock around; I couldn’t stop her, as I was strapped tight to her X-cross. Neither could Beth, bound to a vibrating sex machine.
“Let’s try again, shall we?” my lusty mother-in-law asked.
The red-headed vixen was referring to our encounter the previous weekend when I found her in a botched self-bondage session on her bed.
At her request, along with the long-distance permission and encouragement of my wife, I had let her taste my cock and then fucked her, letting her live out her fantasy of being a bound sex captive.
“That’s not fair, Cynthia,” I said, watching her drop to her knees below where I stood, my arms and legs stretched out to the four corners of the St. Andrew’s Cross in her subterranean dungeon.
“I merely said that you were at a disadvantage since you were on your back and didn’t have use of your hands. Beth assures me that you are one of the best in … oh, fuck me, that is nice.”
The break in my train of thought was caused by Cynthia starting the blowjob by holding my penis up straight so she could rub her thumb across the sensitive underside of my glans, already lubricated by my pre-cum. At the same time, she was sucking one of my testicles into her mouth and doing something with her tongue that sent shivers down my spine.
My legs got a little shaky from the sudden, eminently enjoyable sensation. I was glad to be secured to something sturdy.
Beth, meanwhile, was watching us from the Sybian she was kneeling on and straddling, just a few feet away. The rubber nubs on the top that made contact with her pussy were vibrating and squirming, clearly arousing my new wife. She was secured to a padded framework that held her firmly in place on the electric sex machine.
Neither of us needed to be bound, as we were consensually (and sensually) enjoying the action, but the restraints made it more adventurous, more fun.
Just like my wife had promised.
Earlier, at dinner, Cynthia had explained her theory about such playful bondage; she opined that too many people have a deep-seated sense that having sex purely for pleasure is somehow immoral or dirty.
“When one is tied up,” she pointed out, “any silly sense of guilt goes away; at that particular moment in time, you really have no choice but to relax and enjoy it, do you? And since we have a fully-equipped sex dungeon in the basement under us, it would be a waste not to try it out.”
Right?
Of course, right.
My mother-in-law is always right about sexual matters.
---------
Cynthia, Beth, and I had started the evening upstairs a couple of hours earlier with some fun three-way flirting during that dinner. That was followed by a bit of giddy groping and horseplay in her pool, then some intense genital fondling under the bubbling waters of the hot tub in her backyard.
That last activity was performed with my wife and me in mild bondage, lubricated with adult beverages and … well, actual waterproof lube.
I was pretty much a novice to BDSM, but I was warming up to the concept.
The protracted sexual teasing then led to a bound hand job for Beth and me, courtesy of her mother, in the large shower in the studio apartment in her basement.
After we three dried off and rested a bit, Beth and I were shackled, and only after that did I finally get my first look at Cynthia’s dungeon; the one that Beth, her mother and her step-father Julius, had played in, prior to his death a year previously.
It was … impressive.
On the drive over to her mother’s luxurious house, Beth had playfully insisted on calling it an “erotic playroom.”
Now, I will admit it was clean and neat and sensuous and smelled good, but ...
Oh, yeah, was definitely a freakin’ dungeon.
Upon entrance, the first thing to catch my eye was a giant X-frame on the far wall—a Saint Andrew’s Cross, I think they call it—with multiple leather shackles. A person strapped into that bad boy was vulnerable to all kinds of indignities and was not getting loose until his captors took pity on him.
Well-organized racks of bondage accessories like chains, ropes and whips—plus a bunch of other items I could not immediately identify—lined the opposite wall.
On the floor between them were several benches and chairs in different shapes and configurations, many padded with black leather.
Other gadgets and pieces of furniture were covered in sheets, possibly to be revealed only when needed; I was realizing that the two ladies in my life liked to spring fun little surprises, especially when it came to putting me in sexual situations.
(The ladies would not admit it, but I think they might have conspired to maneuver me into the situation where I found her mother in a self-bondage session the previous Saturday. That led to me fucking her, which in turn led to this weekend’s extended bondage sex party for us three.)
Overhead, chains dangled from pulleys and powered hoists that were attached to beams in the ceiling.
Mounted on a side wall was a large TV screen, currently showing only images of lovers in blurred shadows, writhing sensually, to set the mood. It was the primary source of light for the room. Sensuous music was also playing from hidden speakers.
Beth was naked, with her hands secured behind her back with leather wrist cuffs. So was I. Cynthia was enticingly dressed in an open-mesh, black lace body suit.
The whole scene was fantastic.
Cynthia and her late second husband had put a lot of money into this set-up. A pity that Julius was no longer around to enjoy it. I was going to have to do my best to fill his shoes.
I didn’t have a lot of time to examine the room in detail, as the action immediately started with Cynthia hugging her daughter as they shared an intimate, lingering kiss.
When they stepped apart, Beth’s hands were free from the confinement behind her; Cynthia had undone them during the smooch. My wife was still wearing her wrist cuffs and was under her mother’s control; this action was apparently only to allow Beth to help in my subsequent bondage.
The two got me strung up, eagle-spread, on the X-cross. My ankle cuffs were linked to simple rings set on the bottom two posts. My wrist cuffs, however, were attached to cords looped through pulleys on the top of the beams.
The women pulled on the cords, then locked them down so that I was stretched out tightly. Apparently, the cross could accommodate many wingspans and many levels of stress on the occupant’s limbs.
“I thought you said this place didn’t have a torture rack,” I playfully complained to Beth.
“This is just a vertical immobilization device,” she replied with a grin. “Wait ‘til you see my plans for a real old-style stretching torture rack. It’ll come complete with thumb screws and red-hot pokers.”
(My engineer wife had designed, built, or modified some of the sex and bondage toys in this house. And she had utilized them in BDSM games with her mother and Julius in the past, before she met me, and of course, before he died in a car accident.)
“A torture rack?” Cynthia wondered, looking around the room. “I don’t know where we’d put it, honey. I might have to open a new wing or use one of the spare bedrooms.”
Now that I was spread out and bound, the two women kissed me, rubbed their bodies against mine, and gave my cock and balls some teasing caresses. It was a promise of pleasures to come, I assumed.
Well, I was hoping for pleasure instead of the opposite; this was a dungeon, after all.
“Be right back, stud,” cooed my red-headed mother-in-law with a final stroke on the head of my cock.
Yeah, I was going to be alright.
Cynthia then led her daughter over to a gadget on the floor nearby. They called it a sybian, a machine shaped like a miniature Quonset hut with a small rubber pad and a short protrusion on the top. Beth knelt down and straddled it, sitting on the pad and easing the dildo into her already wet pussy.
The machine sat on a metal framework designed for binding the occupant onto it. Beth’s arms were pulled out straight behind her shoulders and her cuffs were attached to a pole behind her.
This position forced her to bend forward a bit, ensuring her pelvis was pushed downward and in firm contact with the Sybian.
Her calves and ankles were also strapped down to the base, keeping her from rising off it even a bit. The position looked stressful, but Beth is a slim, flexible young woman who was obviously enjoying the restraints.
The restraints weren’t necessary to the Sybian’s operation—obviously, one could use the machine without them—but the bondage seemed to rev my wife’s sexual engine. Her hips were undulating and her pussy was practically creaming before the thing was even turned on.
Cynthia held up a remote control for the Sybian and with a bit of a flourish, switched it on and set it on low. A soft growl from deep in my wife’s throat told me the gadget was performing as designed.
With her daughter secured and occupied, her mother then turned her attention to me.
That’s when, as I recounted before, she kidded me, with a sly smile on her face, about my semi-disparaging comment on her previous blowjob. The mature redhead set out to prove me wrong.
And she certainly did.
Cynthia was indeed an accomplished fellatrix, using her mouth, hands and tits as precision tools to tease and stimulate my entire groin. She played my body like a virtuoso would perform on their favorite instrument, with devilish skill.
I say devilish, because she made it clear I was not going to be ejaculating in this position, in this way. Cynthia was in charge down here tonight and had other plans for my cock this evening.
(By agreement, Beth would be in command the following night, Saturday, and I would call the shots on Sunday. That's assuming I’d have any juice or energy by that time; these ladies hadn’t used this dungeon in over a year, and seemed determined to make up for lost time.)
