Wendy squirms. I enjoy watching her squirm. She sits on her own settee in her own living room with bondage tape wound tightly around her ankles, calves and all the way up to her knees, where it meets a black pencil skirt. Her arms are behind her back, bondage tape wrapped tightly from wrists to elbows. More tape is wrapped around her torso, holding her arms in place and wound around a silky forest green, high neck top, forcing her ample bosom to bulge.

I sit in an armchair opposite and watch her closely. Time passes audibly; a clock on a bureau over to my right, each second a loud tick. I watch Wendy squirm, enjoying myself, waiting for her to speak.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“There’s plenty of time. Your husband won’t be home for another two days.”

Wendy squirms. “That’s not what I asked.”

“What do you think I’m going to do with you?”

Nervous eyes. Wendy squirms. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“What do you want me to do with you?”

“Nothing, of course.” Her body strains. The attempt is fruitless. “Apart from untying me.”

“You know that’s not going to happen, Wendy.”

Wendy swallows. Wendy squirms. There’s silence, except for the passing of time, seconds passing in relentless sequence; tick, tick, tick, tick…

Seeing bound Wendy wriggle is a pleasure beyond measure. I watch her bosom heave.

“What do you want from me?”

“What do you think I want?”

Silence, save for the passage of time; tick, tick, tick…

“My body?” Tremulous words.

“Can you blame me?” Wendy squirms. The more she squirms the harder I become.

“I’m a married woman.”

“Your point being?”

“You know what my point is.”

“What I do know is how many married women I’ve tied up and fucked.”

Fuck. It’s a violent word, spoken with violence. Wendy recoils as the word strikes. Wendy squirms.

“What makes you so special, Wendy? Why would I spare you when I’ve fucked so many other married women?”

Heavier breathing. Wendy’s bosom heaves. She squirms. I enjoy.

“Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t…” Wendy swallows hard. “Force yourself on me.”

I laugh. Wendy squirms. Wendy struggles. I throb.

“Do you really think you could stop me if I wanted to fuck you?”

“You mustn’t.”

I laugh. Bound Wendy struggles.

“Mustn’t? Do you think I care about mustn’t?”

Silence. Except for time passing audibly, every second a loud tick, tick, tick… Wendy squirms.

“Please…”

“Please, what?”

“I’m married. Please respect that.”

I laugh. Wendy squirms. I throb.

“Married.” A pause. Seconds pass. Tick, tick, tick… “Married. Felicity is married. Shall I tell you about Felicity?”

Felicity. Biweekly. Every other Friday, in her office, before her husband arrives and they go out for a meal. Felicity who can’t wait to get me hard. Felicity, who thrusts her big tits at me, challenging me to grab them at once, rip open her blouse and suck on her huge nipples while she squeezes my throbbing cock through my trousers.

Felicity, in her office chair. Felicity with her skirt up round her waist, her knickers pulled to one side. Felicity with her feet up on the desk, me underneath. Felicity opening herself wide, opening herself for my tongue, knowing that her husband will be there soon.

Felicity. Only last week she was bent over her desk, on the receiving end of my jackhammer cock, when they phoned up from reception. Her husband was on his way up, early. Felicity urged me on, urged me to finish the job. There was just enough time. Just enough time to complete and for her to pull her knickers and other garments back into place.

Every other week I leave her office three hundred pounds better off and with satisfaction having been achieved. Last week she introduced me to her husband as some IT expert, seeing how he arrived early. Maybe he knows who I really am, maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. I shook his hand, enjoying a mental image of Felicity’s knickers all soiled from me just having spunked her cunt.

Wendy blushes. Wendy squirms. I enjoy.

“What is it?”

No reply. Time passes. Seconds tick away. I know what it is.

Wendy is still red. It’s not necessarily the c-word as such that has made her red, more the whole phrase.

“Is that what you want to do to me?”

“It’s one of many options, isn’t it?”

“You mustn’t.”

“And just exactly how do you propose to stop me?”

Wendy’s eyes widen, her bosom heaves. She squirms. Time passes, seconds ticking away.

“You mustn’t.”

“Mustn’t what?”

Wendy squirms. I enjoy. The passing of time fills the silence. Tick, tick, tick…

“Mustn’t what?”

Wendy remains silent, chest heaving. Protruding tits draw my eyes to them as if by magnetic force. Then I rise. It’s but a few steps. I reach out, my hand aiming for her bosom.

“Don’t touch me!”

I pull my hand back, fingers going for the zip in my trousers instead.

“What are you doing?”

“Not touching you.” I touch myself instead, standing in front of Wendy, showing how hard this game makes me. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Quite sure.”

“What if I don’t believe you?”

“It’s the truth.”

“So you don’t want me to spunk your cunt?”

Wendy goes bright red. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“There’s nothing disgusting about my cock. Or my spunk. Plenty of women could attest to that. Shall I phone one of them? Put her on speaker?”

I back away. Wendy watches, chest still heaving. She squirms. I take my phone out of my jacket, which I’ve left folded over the arm of the chair. I sit down. I toy with my cock with one hand and the phone with the other. Wendy stares.

“Now, who should I phone? Ann, perhaps. Ann will tell you.”

Ann. Ann is delicious. Ann has only one wish, and it consists of only three words: Treat me bad.

Ann’s wish is my command. I treat her bad. I slam her up against walls with my hand round her throat. I stick a hand up her skirt and grab her cunt. I tell her she’s a filthy whore and that I’m going to treat her the way any filthy whore deserves to be treated.

I rip her clothes off and twist her nipples hard. I wind her long hair around my fist and force her to her knees. Ann’s a drooler. She has the kind of face any man would want to fuck, and it doesn’t take much of a throating before it’s covered in slime.

Ann looks her best when I’ve thrown her down on the bed and her chin is awash with drool. I bind her wrists tightly. I dig my fingers into her tight little cunt. I frig her while I spit on her horripilating areolae. I use the hand I’ve frigged her with to smear her tits with pussy juice and saliva. Then I fuck her. I fuck her tight little cunt in whatever position I like. Ann dribbles cunt juice down her thighs. I run my fingers through it, then stick those same fingers up her nostrils, making her smell her own debauched lust.

She screams. I clamp my hand over her mouth, still pounding her tight little cunt. She screams into my hand. I fuck and fuck and fuck her tight little cunt. There are several ways to make her cum, but this is the best, to just fuck the orgasm out of her. Breathless, marked Ann just lays there, her smeared face staring up at me in gratitude as I dump my load wherever it suits me.

Then she leaves me, better off than I was when she arrived.

I don’t phone Ann. I just sit there, slowly manipulating my cock as I talk, making the huge bulb appear and disappear. Wendy stares, chest heaving, eyes open wide. Eyes that refuse to leave my cock as I talk.

“Can’t keep your eyes off my cock, can you?”

“You’d stare too, if I had my… private parts on display like that.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I can’t.”

“It could be arranged.”

Wendy falls silent. She squirms. Her chest heaves. Her eyes remain glued to my swollen cock. The seconds pass, echoing in the otherwise silent room; tick, tick, tick…

“What’s your cunt like, Wendy?”

“What?”

“I’m thinking it’s very tight. You look like the kind of woman who’s got a nice tight cunt. Am I right?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I could always find out.”

“You mustn’t.”

“You keep saying that, but the moment I decide to spunk your tight little cunt, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Wendy says nothing. Wendy just stares, at my cock, squirming. Time passes. Tick, tick, tick…

“How about your husband? Does he have the kind of cock that stretches your tight little cunt the way it needs to be stretched?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Does he make you scream when he fucks your tight little cunt?”

“How Geoff and I make love is none of your business.”

“Make love?” I laugh.

Wendy goes red. Wendy squirms. Wendy stares at my rigid cock. I move my hand, staring back. The clock ticks, time passing audibly. I wait, letting the silence work on her, exposing and then concealing the head of my cock.

“Tights or stockings?”

“What?”

“Those rather fine nylons I saw before I secured your legs. Tights or stockings?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“A lot of things seem to be none of my business.”

I rise and dart towards her. Wendy gasps and recoils. My hand shoots out making to grab her skirt.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Then show me if you’re wearing tights or stockings.”

“Tights! I’m wearing tights!”

“I said, ‘show me’.”

I wait, hand outstretched, stiff cock pointing at Wendy. The clock ticks. Wendy breathes heavily, fighting her bondage to no avail.

“How can I? I can’t move my arms.”

“Work it out! Or I’ll tape your mouth shut so that no-one can hear you scream.”

Wendy gasps. “Why… Why would I scream?”

“You’ll soon find out if you don’t show me those tights.”

I stand over her, staring down, giving my cock a few tugs. Then I turn. The bondage tape is on the table where I’ve left it. I pick up the roll. The clock ticks mercilessly, time passing. I take a step forward, holding the roll.

“Alright! I’ll show you!”

I put the roll of tape back on the table and sit back down. Wendy manoeuvres awkwardly. I watch, my cock a big lump of swollen meat in my hand. Wendy twists and turns, forcing her bound body round. Suddenly she has her back to me, half kneeling, half leaning against the settee. Her arms are tightly bound, but her fingers are free enough to fumble and finally grasp part of her skirt. Time passes, the relentless tick, tick, tick of the clock. Slowly, slowly, the skirt rises, black nylon becoming visible above the bondage tape that holds her knees together.

“Right the way up, Wendy.”

Slowly, slowly the skirt rises. Wendy breathes heavily. The clock ticks, time passes. Finally, the skirt is high enough.

“Hold it there, Wendy!”

Wendy’s fingers stop moving. I can hear her breathe heavily, though she doesn’t speak. I rub my cock, savouring the sight. Black nylon stretched over white knickers.

“You’ve got one hell of an arse on you, Wendy.”

She doesn’t thank me for the compliment, but remains silent. The clock echoes into the silence; tick, tick, tick…

“But you need to wear stockings.”

“What I choose to wear is none of your business.”

“It would make it easier for me to stick my cock in you and stretch your tight little cunt.”

“No! That’s not going to happen!” As if she could possibly stop me.

“Well, if not your cunt then your arse.”

A loud gasp. “No! Not that! Never!”

“Well if not your cunt and not your arse, then what?”

Silence. The clock ticks loudly. Time passes. Wendy is still. My hand moves.

“Has your husband ever fucked you up the arse?”

“Of course not!”

“Not even a finger or two?”

“No.”

“Shame. You should try it. Some women really get off on having their bumhole seen to.”

Like Violet. Violet’s a good one. Violet’s weird, but in a good way. Violet likes to bake. She feeds me cake whenever I go over. We sit at the kitchen table and make small talk. I excuse myself for a moment, pretending I need to use the facilities.

When I return, Violet is bent over the kitchen table. A bottle of olive oil has appeared, along with a pair of rubber gloves, the household kind. Violet’s dress is pulled up. Her bum is on display in all its glory. Violet never wears knickers, not in my company. I pull on the gloves. I take the bottle and pour. Liquid slides down her crack. I catch it, smearing it all over her. The gloves shine and reflect the kitchen light, but even more delicious is the way Violet shines, the important parts of her oily and slippery, ripe for roasting.

Hand rubbing hard. More oil. Everything is slippery and squelchy. Violet moans. Fingers penetrate Violet. As many fingers as I can stuff in her oily, slippery holes. Her cunt is greedy and welcoming. Two fingers, three fingers, four fingers. Violet cries out as she’s stretched out. Fingers penetrate her anus, stretching her. One finger, two fingers, perhaps even three fingers.

Violet screams. I dig my fingers into her obscenely squishing holes, wriggling, clawing. There’s squelching. Oil and other fluids. The insides of her thighs are damp and shiny. I fuck her with my fingers, clawing at her insides. Where Violet was welcoming and easily penetrated, she’s now crushing my fingers. But I carry on, clawing, wriggling, digging at her insides. My fingers move. Violet screams.

And now she screams because she’s cumming, because I’m wrenching the orgasm from her with brutal, violent fingers. She screams and screams, and then it’s all over. I’m better off when I leave her than I was when I arrived.

Wendy listens in silence with her back to me. She remains silent. The clock ticks. Time passing. Tick, tick, tick…

“You can turn around now.”

Wendy does. Or at least she tries, but her taped legs and arms make it difficult for her. Somehow she trips, slips. She lands on the floor with her back against the settee. Just perfect!

“You sure you don’t want me to stretch your tight little holes?”

Wendy squirms. She squirms and stares, at my hard cock, at my hand moving slowly against my hard cock. She glances across at the clock, time passing, time in short supply.

“I don’t want you touching me.”

I rise. I move across to her. I stand over her, holding, working my stiff cock.

“I said, I don’t want you touching me.”

“I’m not touching you, I’m touching myself.”

Wendy stares. Wendy squirms. Wendy glances at the clock. Wendy stares at the big hard cock aiming straight at her.

“Mind you, if I have an accident, you’ll be a pretty sight.” My cock is as close to her face as I can get it without touching.

“Don’t touch me! Untie me!”

“I don’t see how I can untie you without touching you.”

“You know what I mean.”

I wank my cock into the silence without touching her. Wendy stares at it. Wendy glances at the clock. Time passes; tick, tick, tick… Time in ever shorter supply.

“I’ll untie you.”

“Good.”

“But one good turn deserves another. What are you prepared to do for me, in return?”

Silence. Wendy sits, squirms, glances at the clock. The supply of time decreases even more.

And then it happens. It’s a complete surprise. We’ve been here many times, but she’s never done this before, never extended her tongue like this. She tastes me gingerly, then shifts, squirms. She opens her mouth and inches her head forwards.

I remove my hand from my cock, allowing her to take as much as she feels comfortable with. It’s not much, but it’s enough, and Wendy gets what Wendy wants.

It would be silent, were it not for the ticking of the clock, Wendy’s breathing and the very slight sound of lubricious mouth. Moist tongue, hot oral cavity. Wendy slides her lips back and forth, her head bobs, my cock twitches, only to emit a tiny drop of pre-cum.

Wendy glances up at me. A married woman with a hard cock between her lips. A cock that is not her husband’s. Wendy looks ashamed. Wendy looks pleased with herself. Her head bobs, the clock ticks. Tick, tick, tick… Time in ever shorter supply.

I look down. It seems a shame to have to untie her. She’s perfect like this, with legs and arms tied, the only part of her able to move doing so against my cock. Her lips squeeze me. Has she thought to suck and keep sucking until I cum? Until I shoot a load of semen into her mouth?

I’ll never know. Time passes. Tick, tick, tick… The supply of time runs out. I withdraw from her.

“Time’s up.”

Wendy doesn’t speak. She looks ashamed. She also looks pleased with herself. Pleased at having dared to take the plunge.

I put my cock back in my trousers and pick up the knife from the table to slit through the bondage tape, freeing Wendy. A couple more minutes on the house wouldn’t have mattered, except that I have another client in an hour’s time, and I need to be up for her.

The virgin bank notes are where I know they’ll be. By the clock. Well, time is money and every tick of the clock represents five pence. I slip the money into my pocket, as always better off now than when I arrived.

I turn. Wendy stands, looking hesitant and ashamed. And pleased with herself.

“Would you like to make a new appointment now, or will you be in touch?”

Wendy doesn’t answer at once. She looks hesitant. She swallows. She breathes in.

“I’m frightened.”

“Frightened of what?”

Wendy swallows, looks at the floor.

“Of being here alone. My husband… He won’t be home for another two days. What if… I’m so careless. I always forget to lock the back door. What if, tomorrow, someone were to… Someone bad… What if they came in and did things? Did…”

Wendy falls silent.

“Bad things? Tied you up? Took advantage of you?”

Wendy nods.

“Yes,” I say. “I think that’s a distinct possibility. In fact, I think it’s almost inevitable.”

I had thought to have tomorrow evening off. But I also take pride in never disappointing a client.

And Wendy is a very special client.