Dominating Rachel

She reached into a dresser drawer, fumbled past her undergarments and produced her blindfold and handcuffs. She set the blindfold in place, and then secured the handcuffs behind her back. She moved to the center of the room, lowered herself to her knees, and waited.

Several minutes passed. Her knees began to ache, and the cold metal of the handcuffs dug into her wrists as she realized she had secured them too tightly. At last, she heard him enter the room.

"Get up," he said. She felt his hand under her armpit, and he roughly pulled her to her feet.

He led her for only a few steps, through a doorway, and forced her to her knees once again. She could smell the musky scent of their laundry basket, and knew that she was in their walk-in closet.

"Not a word," he said. "Not a sound. Do you understand me, slut?"

She nodded, and the door closed behind her. This was unlike any of their past disciplinary meetings, as she hadn't been told what had prompted it. She wondered how long he would make her kneel in the closet this time. She replayed the events of the morning, attempting once again to discern what had prompted this punishment.

Several minutes passed; perhaps fifteen, perhaps thirty. It was difficult to gauge time within the solitary confinement of the closet. She heard the front door open downstairs, and it was soon followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Her heart raced as she realized there was more than one person ascending the stairs. She was stark naked, blindfolded and handcuffed, stowed away in their closet, and there was now a guest in their house.

She heard his voice. "Right this way," he said.

And then there was another voice. "Mmm, nice." A woman's voice.

Rachel heard a rustling sound, and soft moans. Then the squeak of his box spring of his bed. More rustling, more moaning. She heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle - a sound that instantly reminded her of the many lashes she had received to her backside. Instinctively, she felt a warm jolt of electricity between her thighs.

The moaning grew louder and more distinct: one she recognized, the other was alien. There was more rustling, and the bed creaked.

"Oh, fuck yeah," she heard the woman say. The unmistakable sound of sucking and slurping crept through the door of the closet, and the woman's moaning grew louder and more sustained. After several minutes, her moaning morphed into a loud groan, and the woman repeated the word "Yes!" over and over again as the springs of the bed creaked and groaned beneath them.

"Give me that cock," the woman said. More slurping and sucking.

"Yes, suck that cock," he said. "Oh, fuck. You are so fucking good at that. Best I've ever had."

The words sliced into Rachel as she tried her best to remain silent and still. The sucking noises continued, and Brian moaned with pleasure.

The slurping sound suddenly stopped, and she heard him say, "I need to fuck that pussy."

Several distinct and familiar sounds followed: the groaning of the bed springs, the thumping of the headboard against the wall, the loud groans of her husband, the ecstatic moans of the mystery woman, and the slapping of flesh against flesh.

As Rachel remained silent and kneeling in the darkness of the closet, a tear trickled under her blindfold and rolled down her cheek, channeling into the corner of her mouth.

And she smiled.