Having just cuffed my hands behind my back, my wife straddles me and begins to examine her prey.  Naked except for my boxers, she now has me cuffed at both the ankles and wrists to the wooden chair, the chains that connect each pair of cuffs jingling briskly as they’re tested against the chair’s legs and back.

Still wearing the low-cut blouse and skirt that she had worn to the mall that afternoon, she begins to trace random lines around my body with her freshly-manicured nails, varying in intensity so that one moment the French tips leave marks in my skin, while the next they seem to just barely float over the surface with a gentle tease.  She smiles and appears to be off in her own little world as she explores my body with her seductive touch, never looking me in the eye but occasionally glancing up to catch the look on my face as she grazes a nipple seemingly innocently.

Leaning in close so that her nails can continue their perusal of flesh across my back, her breasts press into my bare chest and I can feel her own nipples begin to poke through the thin, white blouse.  Her shiny, painted lips rest within a nibble of my ear as I’m taunted by the feeling of her slow and controlled breathing across my neck.  I close my eyes to savor her sweet fragrance as she scrapes her nails down my back, then back up around my shoulders as they’re held tightly behind the back of the chair.

Sensing her ruby red lips curl into an evil grin that I’ve come to know and love far too well, I get the distinct feeling that my wife has just realized how she wants to deal with me in my current predicament.  Suddenly my head is jerked back as she grabs a fist full of hair between her fingers and before I have a chance to react, she forces her tongue into my mouth in a manner that makes it very apparent that this particular kiss is about her pleasure, not mine.  She probes my mouth aggressively as I rapidly lose track of time and my surroundings, the sweet taste of her passionate lips forced onto my own as she invades me greedily without repress, all the while I sit bound beneath her at this sexually charged woman’s mercy.  At one point I even feel her hips shift inward as she attempts to grind herself against my now vividly erect member, maintaining a demanding grip on my scalp the entire time as she massages her clit against my arousal.

Without warning, her lips eventually break free and she stands, then turning her back to walk over and retrieve something from a nearby table, my eyes focusing on her smooth legs that protrude from her flowing skirt before ending at a pair of brown spiked sandals whose heels click against the tile floor as she walks.  The item is hidden from my view as she walks back, her eyes savoring my situation while again refusing to look me in the eye.  Hearing a jingle of hasps and rings, I raise my suspicions, however it’s only a moment later that she reveals her intentions by bringing the opening to our sensory deprivation hood in front of my face.  Little time is allowed for reaction as she slips it over my face and begins to adjust the leather for a truly tight fit worthy of the hood’s name…

Immediately I find myself a bit dazed and overwhelmed as my wife’s undeniable aromas are reinforced by the deep smell of the thick, black leather.  The soft insides quickly conform to my face as I feel her align the eyelets along the back of my head and prepare to lace them.  With each pull of the strings at the back of my skull, I find myself being pushed down a bit lower underneath her – the stiff padding over the eyes, ears, and cheeks pressing in tightly to remove all sight, sound, and even expression from my ability as the hood is tightened.  The sounds of the lacing itself begin to echo through my head as most others are muffled by the thick padding, leading me to focus on her precise movements as she conforms the leather casing tightly around my head.  At one point I feel the pressure release slightly as she loosens the latest cross, taking a moment to straighten the leather lining between my hair and the laces before continuing on, pulling them seemingly even harder than before.

When I finally feel her reach the base of my neck, I let out a big sigh of relief with the assumption that she’s done, only to then feel her fingers picking once again at the laces from the top – presumably to remove any remaining slack.  I begin to wonder how much give could possibly be left as I feel every inch of my face constricted by the soft, yet incredibly tight leather, however to no surprise she ends up finding room for improvement nonetheless and thus takes the next few moments to further cinch down the laces one cross at a time, creating what I can only imagine must be a perfectly straight series of eyelets down the back of my head without a single gap to be found.

After eventually tying off the laces once again at my neck, I feel my wife’s hands come down to support my chin from both sides of my head as she enjoys the strict look that she’s creating with her own hands.  I’m reminded of the full-length mirror on the other side of the room and quickly realize that she’s likely enjoying the view of my chair-bound figure with her own towering menacingly behind me – I know that I would.  She slowly raises my chin up higher and higher until I sit with the perfect posture, completely blind to the world around me.  I can only imagine just how radiant this woman must appear, decked out to the nines after a long day of shopping, now savoring every drop of her dominant stature over the lucky man in her life … if my memory serves, she’s no doubt beaming with a devilish mixture of pride and lust by now.

This stature continues for a few moments before my journey is once again made apparent as I feel her reach underneath my chin to adjust the first of several leather straps that separate this sensory deprivation hood from lesser objects.  Wrapping from underneath my jaw to directly behind my head, this first strap severely restricts my ability to open my mouth and likewise, I immediately feel my breathing restricted as she cinches the strap snug, then puts all of her weight into it to tighten it one more hole, “for good measure,” as she has said in the past.  These final straps are where my submission really begins to take hold and I begin to feel myself floating as she secures the first one with a resounding *click* of a padlock that quickens my breathing even further.

The second strap brings her attention to my eyes – despite the hood not having eye holes anyways, its binding acts to further press a pair of padded areas into the eye cavities of one’s face, thus eliminating any illusion of the potential to possibly see while locked into its embrace.  A side effect of the strap’s location also helps to pin down the padding that removed my hearing as it forms an X with the first strap directly over each ear.  Again she wrenches it down tight and the combination of the two straps now feels like a vice around my head, exchanging my senses one by one for the unrelenting grasp of leather … her leather. The second *click* takes me a few steps deeper, and I know that it won’t be long now until I am completely hers.

I shudder quite visibly as she takes a sporadic break to brush her fingernails against my nipples, albeit this time much more aggressively than before.  I moan a muffled cry into the leather that tightly holds my mouth and cheeks in place, but the only response that I’m able to detect through the thick padding is a blissful laugh – one I know quite well that is rapidly escalated by an increase in speed and pressure as she begins to take advantage of my helplessness, scissoring her new nails sharply into my tender nipples … testing me.  Though I have no clue as to what my wife has in store for me this evening, it’s already clear by the strict restraints and her aggression that she’s in a particularly dominant mood and that she will likely be pushing my limits tonight…

Finally giving a temporary reprieve to my nipples, her hands take a break to secure the final element of deprivation – the thick posture collar that runs around the base of the hood.  Locking it around my neck is a symbolic gesture for both of us – to me, it becomes an unrelenting reminder of my submission to this beautiful woman … one whom I’ve given everything to – my mind, my soul, most definitely my body, and most significant of all, my trust as I prepare for her to take me on a tour of my own deepest and darkest desires.  For her, on the other hand, the click of that final padlock at the nape of my neck is a sign of complete and unyielding devotion to her … the tight leather creating a seemingly blank canvas for her deviant imagination to run wild with her ultimate plaything hanging at her very fingertips.

I feel the leather cinching tight, my head now being held up tall by the collar itself as she pulls it snugly around my neck.  I picture the view from her perspective in my head – laces pulling the leather tightly around my head, tiny padlocks jingling freely in the hasps of the straps that severely bind my eyes and mouth, and the collar being secured as the final touch around my neck – overlapping the laces to further enforce that even if I could somehow get my hands free, the overwhelming bondage device would not be coming off without a key.  I take a deep breath and before it’s fully exhaled, I hear that final *click* echo deafeningly through my head.

As I begin to drift away while she prepares for her fun, my mind drifts to the only image of freedom that it now knows – a single key that hangs on a silver anklet wrapped gingerly around her right ankle … close to her feet as a reminder of where I belong in her presence.  At one point I think that I can almost hear it jingling as her heels click across the room, but suddenly I’m jerked back by a sharp and searing pain as she applies a pair of our harshest nipple clamps and cranks them down tight – as she jingles the connecting chain in her hand, something tells me that I shouldn’t expect that kind of relief for quite some time … and nestled deep down between the pleasure and the pain, I’m ok with that.

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TAGS: bondage, bondage hood, femdom, fetish, leather, sensual

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Exploring the world of kink through the written word, KinkyWriter writes erotic fiction about bondage and fetishes, domination, chastity, cuckolding, and more!
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