Stress Relief

Your wife walks through the door, jaw tight, shoulders up around her ears. She looks at you once and the look says it all. You grab the rope without a word. Her wrists cross behind her back and the knot bites just right. She drops to her knees on the living-room rug, tits already pushing hard against her blouse. The ball gag slips between her teeth and she bites down, eyes half-lidded, hungry. You loosen your belt. Her lipstick smears when you push between her lips and her throat works to take you deeper. Beard brushes her forehead every time you thrust. She can’t talk, just makes wet, urgent sounds while you fuck her mouth and her mascara runs. Stress melts off her in shudders. You keep her bound, keep her full, until the only thing left in her head is the next breath she gets between your thrusts.