The shower was still wet from when he had cleansed himself only an hour before, removing any traces of my perfume, my taste, my mark. I was the other woman. I was the one he fucked like a whore before going home and tucking his children into bed. Guilt, shame, and anger mixed together in my blood. I had been so effortlessly wrapped around his touch. His taste. His smell. I was the other woman. * “Stewart, why don’t you kiss me?” I tease, as we twirl around in circles. There is music in the background and incandescent lighting across the ballroom. My red dress flows with each movement, while his rough hands guide me around and around the dance floor. “I thought you’d never ask.” Stewart’s eyes twinkle as he leans forward. I lean back avoiding his kiss and break his grip against my waist. I give him a devious smile before turning on my heels.There is a click with each step, as I sway my hips, leading him away from the dance floor. I look back to see him dumbfounded. I wink and beckon. At some point the chains connecting to the posture collar must havebeen removed, although I don't know when, then I was helped to my feet,partially because of the sheer exhaustion that was running through me,but also because I could not stand on the 7" heels with my hands boundbehind my back and my limbs were very stiff.Moving not very far, I found the arm binder being removed, then softribbons being attached to each wrist. Next I was pushed back onto a bedand helped to move upwards until my feet were on the edge of the bed. Atthis point my arms were stretched out to each side and fixed tightly, butnot uncomfortably, with the ribbon. Next a strap was put over my waistand again fixed tightly, but not painfully. The same was done at mythighs and my ankles were stretched to the side, ensuring a slightlyuncomfortable position.Feeling movement on the left side of the bed, I felt legs raised over meand then lowering onto my face. With relief, I felt my wife's very wetpussy settling.
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