“Oh physically he’s capable, but mentally he isn’t,” said Yolanda as she rose and meticulously wiped the blood off of her gloved hands. “He’s really a sissy boy. He was tied to his mother’s apron strings till she died last year, now he’s attached himself to mine. I plan to make it official tonight by humiliating him the way we did that grocery boy. He’d still come and be my slave ifI were to call him.” But he was a mere boy, and your husband is a powerful man,” Ethel reasoned.
“Want to make a small wager, say a hundred dollars,” Yolanda smiled, her eyes wandering over her friend’s elegantly booted limbs. “I sure would like a pair of boots like yours.”
“I’ve got news for you, they cost me three hundred and fifty dollars, let’s make it for that,” Ethel suggested, spreading her glamorous, booted limbs and kicking them spasmodically in the air. “Use those fantastic lips on me just once more and I’ll be willing to wait here to see the results, I’ll even help you if you want me.”
“It’s a deal,” Ethel sighed as she sank to the dungeon floor and pressed her face into the hot, saturated nest that so eagerly awaited her.
“Boy what a day I had at the office,” Bob said wearily as he entered the living room, then exclaimed as he saw his wife draped langurously on a couch, “Good Lord, what kind of an outfit do you call that?”
“It’s the outfit I’m wearing to the Vansant’s costume ball next week, baby. Why do you look so upset, I thought you dug me in black kid gloves, hose, and especially sexy corsets,” Yolanda chided, running her gloved fingers caressingly over the gleaming taut leather of her corset which was squeezing with agonizing force against her waist and diaphragm, the lower portion and garter straps forming a delicious frame around her creamy white haunches and the dense tangled forest of her pussy.
“B-but your breasts are bare, they … they look obscene,” he gulped.
“Why you hypocriticial prude,” Yolanda snapped. “You don’t think them obscene when I parade around in less at our wife-swapping parties!”
“T-that’s different,” Bob blushed. “They’re our own intimate group of friends. Everyone important in town; the mayor and his wife, the members of the town council, they’ll all be at the Vansant’s.”
“The sight of your wife’s big tits ought to get you in solid with those creepy members of the town council … I know you’ve been dying to get on it for years,” Yolanda sneered, holding a soft arm up that was painful in the tight grip of the strong leather, methodically smoothing out the tiny wrinkles that had formed at elbow and wrist.
“Don’t your understand, it’s the WIVES?” Bob cried angrily. “Once they see how flagrantly you show off your breasts they’ll see to it that I never get on the council!” “I’m wearing this outfit, and that’s all there is to it,” Yolanda said with finality.
“I COMMAND you not to,” Bob shouted fiercely.
“You WHAT?”
“I-I order you not … to-to wear that costume,” he stammered, the fierceness gone from his voice as Yolanda approached him, her black eyes dilated ominously.
He held his hand up to ward off his furious wife.
Yolanda pushed up on his elbow with her left hand and caught his fingers with her right, pulling back, bending the fingers viciously. Holding him powerless in the grip of her strong right hand, Yolanda chopped back with her left in a series of quick, stacatto-like blows, striking him on his face, a gloved mark showing with every brutal blow.
Her husband’s wild pain-racked shrieks thrilled and delighted Yolanda. Her stilt-heeled shoe went behind one of his feet. She tugged harder on his fingers and drove the heel of her left hand under his chin. Bob fell backward, almost loosing consciousness as his head cracked against the hardwood floor.
Yolanda leaped atop him with a cry of triumph, pressing her right knee against the upper portion of his right arm, then drove her lovely, dusky nylon encased knee into his left arm, smashing his elbow painfully against the floor.
She tightened the gloved fingers of her fight hand into a hard fist and drove hard, a magnificent sledge-hammer blow to his jaw. Again and again her right arm rose and fell, erasing the last vestiges of defiance from his face.
The blows were hurting terribly, drawing blood from his mouth and nose, creating swollen bruises that would show for weeks. He had to get away from the awful punishment. He heaved his muscular torso upwards, tossing her off of him; but when he rose unsteadily to his feet she brought him back down with a vicious karate chop to the back of his neck.
Her husband completely unconscious now, Yolanda quickly stripped him down to his cotton briefs. Then as his consciousness gradually began to return, she grabbed his hair and raised his battered head, slipping one full and glorious silken limb under it. Then, with deadly deliberateness, she clamped her other leg around his head, locking her slender ankles together and applying great pressure.
Gradually, as his senses returned, Bob was aware of both the pain and his prison of perfumed ivory smooth black nylon. Then he was aware that his nose and mouth were mashed against the lush black tendrils of her well manicured pelt and it was difficult to breathe.
“Kiss it, slave,” she commanded, applying more pressure. And you’d better put some enthusiasm into it or I’ll crush your ugly head like an egg shell.”
Yolanda rubbed her thighs back and forth over his face, the metalic clips on her garter straps raking cruelly over his ears and cheeks.
Like a docile dog trained to do his master’s bidding, the completely subdued Bob Peterson sent his long tongue into the fiery depths of his wife’s pussy, and the shrieks that his flailing tongue brought forth weren’t of passion, but of triumph.
The situation was so thrilling, so exhilarating to Yolanda, that she experienced her most fantastic climax ever. And after she did, she led Bob upstairs to the master bedroom, he trailing along after her like a faithful dog.
“I’m going into my dressing room, slave, and when I return you’d better be down on your hands and knees,” she commanded, and when she returned, a vicious looking paddle in a gloved right first, a length of strong rope in her left, she smiled when she saw him kneeling in the center of the bedroom, for now a pair of elegant crotch-high leather boots like Ethers were almost a certainty.
Yolanda’s arm seemed tireless as she flailed away at his tortured rump, creating terrible additional pain by jabbing her rapier-like heels into his rump, side, and arms.
Then, discarding the paddle and throwing her terrified husband face down on the floor, Yolanda quickly fettered his wrists. “Rise slave!” she commanded.
Bob did so obediently, weaving unsteadily in his weakened condition as he pleaded, “P-Please don’t hurt me any more, darling. Look at my blood, it’s all over your bedroom rug.”
“Damn my bedroom rug, come over here, slave,” Yolanda sneered, the perfect picture of a domineering woman as she stood with booted limbs widespread, one gloved hand on hip, the other pointing imperiously towards the bed. “Stand with your back to the bedpost.” As soon as he did so, Yolanda took the extra length of rope that was hanging from his wrists and tied it securely to the bedpost.
“This should hold you immobile for a while as I change into a costume more fitting for the occasion,” said the raven haired temptress as she delivered a powerful blow to his stomach.
As Bob hung suspended by the bedpost in a state of semi-consciousness, his spouse went to her dressing room and donned a costume that she removed from a closet.
There was something bizarre, even evil about it. She had gathered her hair in back into a huge bun, and a wide brimmed leather hat fitted her head. A loose-fitting gleaming black leather cape was gathered in the middle by a wide leather belt. Leather riding britches that fitted her full-fleshed legs like a second skin, and an armpit length pair of black kid gloves completed her outfit.
With the quickness of a jungle cat, Yolanda made her way down to the dungeon and released Ethel from her bonds, smiling triumphantly as she said, “It only took about ten minutes. He’s my complete and utter slave, so much so that he has an invisible ring in his nose.
“Oh really,” Ethel snorted as she rose and rubbed her gloved wrists where the rope had made the flesh tender and sore. “You still have your ex-maid Bertha’s uniform, don’t you?”
“You mean big Bertha, yes of course, why?” “Because if you can get Bob, or Bobette as we shall call him, to wear her uniform, then give him a going over down here, then you’ll have the boots.”
“Oh what a beautiful amazon of a maid he will make,” Yolanda giggled as the two ravishing females made their way hurriedly to the maid’s quarters and sorted out a uniform for Bob, including a huge pair of falsies that Bertha had worn since she was flat chested.
“Yolanda, sweetheart, you’re not going to make me wear those,” Bob cried when he saw the garments that Yolanda was carrying when the two women entered the room, barely noticing Ethel despite her gorgeous semi-nakedness.
“Shut up, not another word out of you slave,” Yolanda commanded as she took a wispy black satin and lace garter belt and wrapped it around Bob’s middle, Ethel kneeling before him and tugging a gossamer black stocking over a muscular leg.
