My Spoiled Wife

She’s too hot for her own good. And too damn spoiled. I kept her in diamonds and paid every bill while she floated through my house like she owned it. That ends now. This morning I strip the silk off her body, stuff the ball gag past those lips, and cinch the straps until her jaw aches. She fights—just a little—until the cuffs click around her wrists and the straps pull her arms tight behind her back. One yank and her spine arches; the blonde hair tumbles across her face. The rope bites into her thighs, spreads her wide, and leaves her on display: bound, gagged, dripping. She still thinks this is a game she can pout her way out of. She’ll learn. Every strap, every knot, every second she stays helpless proves she’s no longer the spoiled wife. She’s mine to use until the word “no” loses all meaning.