“Siri, call my wife.”

The phone rang three times and he was afraid it would go to voicemail. This was not a time for her to send him to voicemail.

“Hey, big guy, how’s it hanging?” she answered playfully.

“Ummm…yeah…funny you ask,” he answered, suspended from a ceiling bike hook by one ankle cuff, stark naked, and dangling like a slab of meat in a dark garage.

She’d been doing some amazing photography – real art. Rope bondage, suspension, mirroring images, overlaying backgrounds. She said the only hard part was knowing when to quit. He was no connoisseur, but he knew she was understating both the effort she put into it and the quality of the output. The gallery that was clever enough to offer her an exhibition would be very lucky indeed.

Not having her talent, eye, or sculpted physique, he knew he could only dabble on the artistic side of things. But as an engineer, he wondered he could offer something in terms of structure, suspension, aerial movement, and the like. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and her art – while amazing – would be limited until they’d built her a studio with professional quality rigging.

Wanting to surprise her, he’d taken it on himself to beta test some ideas in his garage, and – as long as he was at it – wondered he’d grip and rip some video for her private enjoyment. The plan was to hang each ankle from a ceiling mounted hook, using a rope looped between the hooks to elevate his center of gravity for mounting and dismounting. He’d arranged his camera phone and lighting to give the eerie feel of a kidnap video – not his jam, but a thriving genre nonetheless.

He managed to hook one ankle on one hook, lost his perch on the rope, and didn’t have the core strength to curl up and release his anchor point. Thank god for voice recognition software, amirite?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she replied after he’d finished explaining all this.

“I was trying to do something nice for you.”

“Next time, get a fucking spotter. I’ll be right there.”

He boredly dangled, barely scraped the floor with a finger tip, swayed back and forth, and sang “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay,” while he waited. The blood rushed to his head and his leg was getting sore, but he knew it wouldn’t take long to walk the 400 feet that separated their places.

Then again, it seemed to be taking a long time to walk the 400 feet that separated their houses. Did she stop for jujyfruits?

He heard a key in the door and the dogs bark. Thank god – she was there.

The light from the hallway gave him a glimpse of her swishing three-quarter length angora wool coat and thigh high boots. Was she about to go out? Why was she dressed up?

“Thanks for coming over. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Hold that thought. Let me know how you feel in a few minutes.”

What was she saying? He’d been dangling long enough, was embarrassed enough, and had had more than enough excitement for one day.

She grabbed his free ankle – he wondered to get him vertical and his weight balanced before attempting to dismount – and looped the cuff around the second hook. He didn’t know what she had in mind, but it dawned on him that he was good and fucked.

“You interrupted ladies’ night. I was about to go out with the girls.”

He knew that ladies’ night meant a big posse, big titties, and – if the strippers were lucky – big tips. He groaned finally realizing the depth of his mistake, the favor she was doing him, and the price he’d have to pay.

She moved the spotlight he’d been using to obscure the camera image to the side of the garage, providing indirect illumination and casting long shadows. She stood before him, legs shoulder width aside, arms akimbo.

“You know how much I like ladies’ night.”

She peeled off her wool coat and let it drop while his eyes worked their way up from her heels, to her thigh high stockings, garter belt, leather panties, underbust corset, and dog collar. She really liked ladies’ night.

“How are you going to repay me?”

“Well, if you let me down, we can talk about it.”

“That’s not happening.”

“You know, I’m really not into this right now.”

“Do you remember the safe word?”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying the safe word now?

“No.”

“Then it sounds like you’re into it.”

She reached around her back and pulled a leather flogger out of her waist band. He realized neither of them had shut the camera off and hoped they’d be able to pull some screenshots from the video. She looked like a dom-goddess; a goddamn BDSM-powered superhero capable of saving the world from alien invaders.

She slowly approached – individually clicking heels and toes on each boot as she moved. She gently flogged his right side, then his left, and flared the individual strands in his reddened face.

“You ready?”

“What if I say ‘no’?”

“Is that the safe word?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t give a damn.”

She raised her arm and swatted his right thigh, the sting just short of pain. She followed through on the backswing, smacking his left thigh just a little harder. His cock twitched and he realized he might enjoy this more than he wanted.

Her left hand cupped his balls. She bent down and popped one into mouth, flicking it with her tongue, before switching and nibbling on the other.

“You need a shower.”

“I wasn’t planning on you coming over.”

“It’s all right. I like the musk.”

She reached around her proverbial tactical corset and showed him a pair of handcuffs.

“Cock ring or handcuffs?”

“You can not be serious.”

“Cock ring or handcuffs?”

“For the love of god, handcuffs.”

She cuffed him behind his back – even more helpless against whatever she had planned.

“You know it’s amateur night at the club. The full-figured girls that can not get steady work come out and hope for some charity tips. You know how much I love the big ones. You’re flat as a fucking pancake.” She whipped his chest for emphasis and he yipped in pain. She didn’t draw blood, but she was obviously ready to take it up a notch.

She walked behind him and smacked his ass – the right cheek taking the worst of it, but a few stray strands whipping his balls like a towel in the locker room. He grit his teeth and swallowed a groan, knowing she didn’t like a screamer.

She reached around her corset again and came out with a bottle of lube. He hadn’t noticed that the flogger was one with a butt plug handle until she squatted down in front of him and stroked the bulbous head.

“Still remember the safe word?”

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

Spread eagle, ass in the air, she couldn’t have asked for better geometry to peg him. She spread his cheeks with two fingers, found the point of entry, and gently – thank god, she was mad instead of furious – popped the head of the pommel of the flogger into his asshole. She slowly pumped it, giving him time to get used to, and sinking it a further half inch with every stroke, until it was completely buried in his ass and the tendrils of the flogger tickled his cheeks and lower back as he dangled.

She kneeled in front of him, looking him in the eyes from above. “You are one stupid, stupid man. Stupid, and so incredibly lucky.”

She leaned down to kiss him, their tongues gently entwining until she pulled back to take his bottom lip in her mouth – and bit down until she drew blood. The juxtaposition of the gentle kiss and the violent bite finally caused him to yelp out loud. She slapped his face in disgust.

“Shut up, pussy!”

A tear formed at the corner of his eye and rolled into his hairline. He hoped she didn’t notice.

He could only see her leather covered pussy now – the panties so tight that she wouldn’t have been able to hide her camel toe if she wanted to – which she clearly didn’t. He felt her warm mouth on his cock, one hand around the shaft, and the other – apparently stroking the flogger and he felt his ass being massaged again. She continued to blow him – licking, flicking, sucking, and stroking – stopping just before he came. She stroked the flogger in extra long pulses while they waited and started to blow again when she noticed some softening.

He wasn’t sure how long this went on – had he passed out? – he couldn’t imagine. Alternating cycles of cock and ass play, always on the edge of cumming, but never allowed to. When her jaw got sore, she stood up and walked around the garage.

“What’s this?”

“Quarter round. I was trimming out some shelves.”

She picked up the 8′ stick of floppy wood and swung it around the garage. Getting a feel for its weight and its arc. She looked like a tai chi artist – in constant motion. Without stopping her movements, she lunged toward him and smacked his taint with the trim, splintering the thin wood in two and sending shards into the shadows.

“Holy shit! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Is that the safe word?”

“No.”

“Then shut up. What’s this?”

“That’s a garden hose. You know what a hose is.”

She opened the top drawer of his tool chest and pulled out a utility knife. She unwound the hose until she was in front of him, and he watched her pare off the coupling. He wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this, but he knew it wasn’t good.

The coupling gone, she stepped behind him and he felt her remove the flogger from his ass. His sphincter twitched once or twice, before he realized the flogger was being replaced with the hose. The cut was rough and there was no lube, but at least he was already loose. She slid the hose into his ass a few inches and reached for the spigot.

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Is that the safe word?”

“Holy shit,” he whispered as he felt the cold water fill his bowels. She’d set the flow for barely more than a drip, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was full. And until then the cold would sap his body temperature and, despite the anal stimulation, wreck his erection. He felt himself filling up, and between the back pressure and his attempt to “shit” out the hose it popped out, essentially waterboarding him with his own fecal matter until she turned it off.

“What other toys do you have in here?” she asked as she walked around alternatively picking up and putting down screwdrivers, saw blades, clamps, and drill bits.

“Ah, yes, this will do nicely,” she said, picking up an old bike chain he’d just replaced the week before.

She wouldn’t fucking dare, would she?

She walked back over to him, formed a loop, and garroted his cock and balls.

“Pumpernickle, goddamnit, PUMPERNICKLE!!