At Play in the Garden

All this good friendliness wasn't sitting well with me. I'd come to realize that nothing pissed me off more than Rosemary compliantly pretending that this guy was never an asshole to her, it was flat out degrading, and made it hard for me to respect the woman who was now my wife. We got back to our families and I forgot about it as best I could, and avoided Kyle the rest of the night.

On the Anniversary of her sister's death, Rosemary decide she needed to get a tattoo, and we went to a recommended studio out near Hollywood. Rosemary handed the husky, rocker looking guy the design she'd made on the computer and picked out an letter style form the wall cards. The tattoo was of a simple sprig of Sage and a simple sprig of Rosemary. with 'AT PLAY IN THE GARDEN' spelled out on a banner above them.

The rocker guy asked her where she wanted it, and when she told him, he said, "On your ass! Perfect! One of my two favorite places to tattoo women."

She lay face down on a table, with her shirt up, pants off, and underwear pulled down below her ass. The guy rested his arm on one of her cheeks, as he needled ink into the upper part of her butt, wiping away excess ink with a rag he'd drag over each cheek and dig into the crack of her ass. "People always asked me if I like what I do, and I always tell them it depends on whether or not my clientele are girls coming over from the high school on their lunch break, or a buncha dick-rubbin, drunk, sailors on shore leave."

I laughed.

When he took a break to answer the phone, Rosemary pulled her panties up as far as she could and sat up. I asked, "Is it hurting?"

"Mmm, like hell. Maybe you should learn how to tattoo." She had an excited look in her reddish-brown eyes, like she was expecting me to give her a good hard spanking when we got home.

I stepped outside when he returned, and stood looking at the window with a giant neon tiger in it. My sub was in the hands of a stranger, not good––not happy––not happy about it at all. Maybe it was entirely my fucking problem. Maybe it always had been. That wasn't a far fetched idea at all. I never had it in me to start a fight. Could that be it? I needed jeopardy before I could throw a punch, and Rosemary wouldn't give it to me. The stray emotions I was feeling, that wasn't really a noble cause. It's why assholes fight, not the heroes, not me, not the guys a woman would entrust her happily-ever-after, to. But it left me with no option to defend her honor, and I didn't know what to do about that, other than suck it all down, and try to be the nonjudgmental stand up guy I've always tried so hard to be.

A few months after Kyle's wedding, Rosemary and I double dated with Stanz and his girlfriend Penny. We'd met her at the wedding, where we'd made plans to have them over for drinks, and it ended up being pretty fun, so we planned on getting together a few more times. The more Stanz became comfortable with Rosemary, and understood she'd pretty much let him get away with anything, the bolder he became, until we final saw Dick Edmonds do his stand up comedy thing, and in a bar afterwards, Stanz ran a finger over Rosemary's, bare, ass, pretending to read the tattooed words.

For me that was the last draw, and I'd pulled her aside as Kyle joked that I was going to catch up on some reading by eyeballing her tattoo as I fucked her. When we were far enough away, I asked why she'd let him get away with that, but it was the same old story, she wasn't going to say anything to anybody, even though a guy had practically shoved a finger in her asshole. I finally just said, "Fuck it!" and stormed back to our table.

Penny asked if everything was okay, and she seemed to know exactly what was going on. A beer sign had turned the whites of her eyes blue, which matched her light pupils, and they were incredibly calming to stare into, and I thought, at least someone else in this room gets it.

Stanz then said, "What's up, man, the story tattooed on Rosemary's ass have an unhappy ending?" He drummed the table and laughed all by himself.

But just as I started to say something really nasty, I notice everyone look up, and I turned to see Rosemary coming to the table, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Man," Stanz said, "How hard did you fuck her?"

My fist flew across the table, connected with Stanz's face, and bounced him against the seat. I then stood up, almost tipping over the table and spilling our drinks, and clocked him hard in the face a second time.

A commotion from all around me erupted, with the bartender yelling and everyone in the bar getting up to stare at me. Then I saw Rosemary clutching her hand over her mouth in disbelief, and I immediately got the impression that I should be leaving, so I grabbed her hand and headed straight for the door.

Out front she asked, "Why did you hit Stanz?"

I was raising my arm trying to hail a Taxi, as I said, "I don't like him talking about my wife like that."

"Less, it's okay, I don't care if people say stupid things. I don't want you to go around hitting people for me."

"Maybe I did it for me."

"Did you?"

I wanted to answer yes, but her cut and dry tone defeated my ability to lie. "No. No, I did it for you. Fuck, Rosemary, you mean the world to me, don't you get that?"

"Yeah, but..."

"You are too good to let any fucker walk on you, no matter how kinky you are."

She just ran up and hugged me at this point, and I took my arm out of the air and hugged her back.

She was crying, and then, sounding almost like a teenager, said, "You are the coolest guy I've ever met. I can't believe you're actually my husband. I don't deserve you, Less."

I gave her a playful menacing look, and said, "We'll talk about what you really deserve back at the apartment, but you certainly do deserve better than you allow yourself." She laughed, and snuggled her face against my chest.

Stanz and Penny came out and he was holding his swollen eye. Penny shoved him forward and he said, "Look, I'm sorry, Rosemary. I was being a total ass."

"That's better," Penny said, "Now come to mamma." She pulled Stanz in for a hug and we all stayed in each other's arms like that for quite awhile.

Alone in our apartment, I felt an animalistic intensity like I'd never felt before, but I remained composed. I moved her to the center of the room and asked her to stand there and not move an inch. I left the room and retrieved the velvet blindfold out of our nightstand drawer. I wrapped it around her eyes, and swept her bobbed hair up in the back, so I could tie it off, and then let the hair fall back over. That didn't work quite the way I'd planned, so I untied it, and then tied it over her hair. I stood back and examined my work, and it looked much cleaner this way, even though it spoiled the perfect shape of her bob cut. The velvet radiated decadently against her black hair, and I thought about how I should restrain her next.

Then it dawned on me, that maybe she needed to learn self restraint. I once again told her not to move. I put Emilie Autumn on the stereo, Rosemary's favorite. It was after twelve and I thought a bowl of ice-cream sounded good, so I went to the kitchen and pulled out a bowl. I announced everything I was doing, describing the scoop and how I'd heated and mixed up the fudge, her favorite, and placed sliced almonds on one at a time. I took my time preparing the most perfect bowl of ice cream, something meant to be photographed, and I pulled up a chair in front of where she stood, explaining just how good it looked. Then spoonful after to spoonful I ate to the violin of Emilie Autumn and her elusive voice, until all I had left was melted ice cream and excess fudge.

"Would you like the last of it?" I asked, and she nodded yes. I set down the bowl and went behind her. I breathed into her ear as I removed her mint green sweater, handed it to her, and asked her to fold it. She did the best she could, considering she was blindfolded. I set it on the dining table and then pulled her deep maroon T-shirt over her head, and had her fold it, as well. I then unbuckled her belt and removed hr pants, and she folded them as she stood in nothing but underwear and a bra. As I unclasped her lacy black bra, the animal inside me was almost raging beyond my constraint. I announced that I had a hunger in me, and she was my meal, and like the bowl of ice-cream, I had to prepare her with the upmost attention to detail. Any disobedience on her part would ruin the dish, and I'd have to toss her naked ass out like a collapsed soufflé. Then I slid her black, cotton panties down, and left her completely nude, like a beautiful piece of fillet mignon prepped for the oven. Finally I unfolded a towel and had her lift one foot at a time, allowing me to spread it under her.

I brought the bowl full of liquid ice-cream to her lips and poured it in her mouth. A bit overflowed and dribbled down her chin, dripping off and streaking across her breast. "Lick the bowl," I ordered, and she did. I made her clean it, thoroughly, and I noticed her chest was raising and falling, as her breathing hastened. I then got a dishrag and the ridding crop, and returned. I slapped the wet rag against her pubic bone, and told her to clean herself off. As she wiped her chest and chin, I whipped the leather crop against her ass. She flinched but didn't make a sound.

When clean again, she whispered, "Please, can you do something?" Her voice trembled, and I realized how aroused she'd grown, and how hard for her it was to speak.

"What is it you crave?" I asked, in a hard stern voice.

"Can you find the box up in the closet, by your old shoes?"

Now I was intrigued, and without answering I dashed into the bedroom and found it right where she'd described. When I opened it up I was amazed by what I found. Thirty meters of sisal rope still in its plastic wrapping. Dust coated the plastic, and I learned later that Rosemary kept it hidden in her old apartment for several years. I took it into the living room, where she stood, cold and still, her nipples tight and dense.

"Why are you only now showing me this?"

"I don't know."

"But you do know."

"I've been afraid, but I'm ready for it now."

I quickly grabbed the leather crop off the table and whacked her hiney, causing her to bite her lower lip. I moved a chair behind her and asked her to sit down. Over the next fifteen minutes I looped the rope neatly around her legs, chest, and arms, fastening her securely to the chair with thirty meters of rope. She was completely restrained, and it was a beautiful sight. It was one-thirty in the morning, and I decided to go for a little stroll to the 7-11 up the block, so I shoved the dish rag into her mouth and locked the front door behind me. When I got back, she was still right where I'd left her, quite tied up, and she turned and pleaded, "My hands." She'd spit the rag onto the floor and I could see perspiration on her forehead, then I dropped the Starbursts I was going to feed her, and rushed over to loosen my knots.

Nervously she spoke, "I'm sorry for spitting out the rag, my hands are numb, and I didn't know when you'd be back."

I whipped the loops of rope around to get her loose, and pulled the blindfold off. She'd cried into it, and the wet fabric had smeared her heavy eyeliner something awful. When she was free she tried to stand, but her legs were numb and she carefully lowered herself to the floor. I moved in beside her, and began to rub her upper arms as she squeezed her hands together. I felt horrible, and apologized.

"No, it was good. I liked it. I did. It was just too tight."

Her body had evenly spaced indented lines the shape and size of the rope. I carried her to bed, thinking I was really going to need a few lessons on how to tie a woman up. It was already two in the morning, and I undressed and climbed into bed next to her. She was my precious creature, I needed to get better at this, and I kissed her neck and spooned against her until we slipped into sleep.

We slept in the following morning, then after brushing our teeth we returned to bed. On my way back I caught a glimpse of the rope lying all over the living room floor, and I became immediately aroused at the thought of her tied up in the living room last night. In bed I pulled the covers over her head, and she slid down under the sheets, until I felt her wet warm mouth on my thunderbolt. I watched her sheet covered head bobbing up and down, like some ghost at a Black Sabbath concert. I relaxed and just concentrated on the feeling, and then the phone rang.

I peeked at it sitting on the nightstand and saw the read out displaying Kyle's name. Something told me this might be fun, and so I answered it. Rosemary stopped when she heard the phone being lifted off the receiver, but I gently pushed her sheet covered head down again, and she continued.

"What's up Kyle?"

"Dude, you punched Stanz!"

When I heard that, I thought I'd better share this with Rosemary and flipped it to speaker phone.

"Did he tell you why?"

"Yeah, and I fucking told you this would happen."

"You told me what would happen? Stanz was fine last night, he understood, I said my sorries. We were cool."

"Stanz is being stupid, he doesn't get it. I told you if you hooked up with that basket-case it would end up like this."

"Stanz isn't mad, Kyle."

"Stanz is being stupid, because he should be pissed! I'd warned you about her, dude. I told you this would happen."

I pulled the sheet off of Rosemary so she could hear better, and I could see her sucking away on my cock.

Then I don't know what hit me, other than I felt like this conversation would never end, ever, and I decided to just rip the guts out of it and see what Rosemary would do, and asked Kyle, "You slept with Rosemary, everybody gets that, Kyle. But how's that any different than Jamie having slept with all her old boyfriends?"

"Dude, what are you saying? My wife slept with her boyfriends, yeah, but that's not what I'm talking about here."

"Oh, I think I'm missing something," I said, totally baiting him, "You weren't referring to you and Rosemary having slept together."

"You know what I'm talking about. I know I've told you all this shit before she was your wife, dude."

I reached beside the bed and grabbed my Converse shoe, as I answered, "Yeah, you told me you slept with Rosemary."

"Yeah, but I didn't just sleep with her, dude. So, what? You want me to say it?"

I began to undue the lace on my Converse. "Please, because I'm really confused."

"She was a basket-case. I fucked her crazy, like the basket-case she was. I used the shit out her, and I'm sorry, dude, I know that bugs the shit out of you, and I warned you it would, but that's how it was. And now you're fucking punching Stanz 'cause you can't handle that shit or something."

Rosemary started to pull off me, either because Kyle was getting to her, or because she probably knew she'd be there all day as long as I remained distracted with Kyle on the phone, but I snapped my finger and pointed her back down.

"You guys slept together, I still don't see what the big deal is."

Hearing me play dumb, Rosemary had to pull of my cock to laugh quietly, and I could distinctly see the cute little freckles on cheeks and across the shallow bridge of her nose with the morning light. I was doing my best not to laugh myself, and then I whispered to her that she'd apparently rocked this guy's world, and, feigning innocence, she batted her eyelashes and rolled her eyes across the ceiling. Then she, licked up my shaft, and hooked her head forward to swallow up my throat killer, a move that introduced her nose to my belly.

"Okay, you fucking asked for it," Kyle threatened.

"I asked for it?"

I had the shoe lace out and I sat up so I could lean over Rosemary and grab her hands.

"Yeah. If you want to compare me fucking Rosemary to Jamie fucking her boyfriends, I'll fucking tell you what the difference is."

"Good, because that's where you're losing me."

"Okay, first of all, Pleats watched me fuck her."

I had Rosemary's hands nicely tied up behind her back with my shoelace, making sure it wasn't too tight this time. She had to sit on her feet and lean forward to keep working on my cock, and she was mostly just going through the motions at this point, a steady boring rhythm, knowing that it wasn't the most important element of our game. It still felt fucking good, mind you, but there was no danger of me cumming.

"Pleats?"

"I fucking told you about that. Dude, I pumped her snatch like a fucking semi truck going down the Grapevine with no fucking brakes, right in front of him."

I laughed, and Rosemary looked up to give me a dirty look, with my cock still in her mouth and her arms tied behind her back.

"Ah that's nothing."

"Dude, I saw her for what, like two months, and we never went on a date once. I called her up, she came over, and I fucked the crap out of her. That's all we had. It was nothing like Jamie and her boyfriends."

"Jamie probably had a fuck-buddy at some point. She's probably just keeping it from you."

"Screw you, dude. Jamie ain't never been fucked like that."

"And I'm sure you had a few other fuck-buddies. What about the girl in Stanz's Jacuzzi?"

"That was fucking Rosemary!"

I felt his outburst coming on now, and I grabbed the back of Rosemary's head, slipping my fingers in between her black silky bob cut, and drove her up and down. If this didn't push her over the edge, nothing would.

"Ask fucking Stanz. She let me plow her in Stanz's Jacuzzi and I fucked her so hard we fucked the water out of it. Then I fucked her doggy-style on the pool lounge chair. She was all folded up, and I was pushing her face into the cushion and I was standing over the chair with my feet on the concrete, and fucking her so hard I thought smoke would start pouring out of her pussy. And Stanz's stopped sweeping up mud and watched us because he heard me spanking her ass so hard he thought something was wrong."

I'd just about had enough of this, and if Rosemary didn't react soon, I was going to! Luckily, during Kyle's last rant, Rosemary gagged violently, which I'm sure had nothing to do with taking me too deep, and everything to do with the shock-and-awe of his words. I released her head and she raised it up in panic, still unable to use her hands, and retched like a seal.

She was about to blow, I knew it, and I couldn't help myself, and said, "So what you're saying, Kyle, is that you slept with Rosemary?"

"Are you fucking playing with me, dude?"

On her knees, hands still tied behind her, she crawled over to where the phone lay on the bed, rested her face on the comforter next to it, and shouted, "What is your problem?"

"Fuck, Rosemary?"

"Uh huh, it's Rosemary!"

"Put Less back on!"

"I think it's my turn to say something."

"Put him back on or I'll tell him about how you lapped up Shanna's pussy and then fucked Larry Zimmerman."

She goofed up her face in an I'm-busted kind of way. I'd latter learned Kyle had involved her in a couples swap situation with a friend, although, Rosemary and Kyle weren't a couple by his account, so it was just a huge asshole move on his part all around.

I whispered, "Keep going," letting her know I didn't give a fuck about what had happened.

She did, using a strong, crisp voice. "I just want to know one thing. How does it feel to be a girl's worst regret? Does it actually do something for you? Is that actually how you get off?"

"Fuck you. You didn't seem too regretful when we were doing it."

"You're disgusting. If I'd known just how disgusting you were then, nothing ever would have happened. You're a creep and a loser, and I regret it with every ounce of my hot butt."

I moved behind her and pressed my face into her bent over ass. I extended my tongue and began to diligently lick her snatch. As the tip unfolded the skin and provoked her clit, juice spilled into her pubic hair. She exhaled, her cheek crushed on the bed, making her breathing sound like an animal.