Jill's Lodger | bondage stories

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"Rough day again?" She had that beaten tired-out look about her that of late she was bringing home with ever-increasing frequency. But I knew she loved what she was doing.

"Not rough," she said. "More like tough."

"Here." I relieved her of the document case and notebook, turned her around and began to rub the back of her neck.

"Oouufff." She closed her eyes and started to shake her head slowly from side to side. Still behind her, I removed her jacket and began to pleasure her over that beautiful-to-feel satin blouse... never mind the beautiful-to-feel that lay beneath ! After a few minutes I picked her up and carried her upstairs to the shower; there I slowly undressed her, adjusted the water and lifted her inside.

"After a day like that," she murmured, "it's so nice to let someone else do all the organising."

"Enjoy, " I replied. "Eating is organised too as soon as you're ready."

"How did your day go?"

"Oh, very well. Much the same as usual; but it's much easier when you do it all from home instead of traipsing around the universe the way you do."

"You do exaggerate sometimes James. You know perfectly well that I never go beyond the Solar System. But I suppose... I suppose I have to put up... put up with it... because I... love you... more than you deserve."

"Hey now, that's fightin' talk lady. After this... you either pick-up my gauntlet or wear that red bikini."

"The red one? That's not a bikini ; it's all that was left after the Great Fire of London."

"Your husband bought you that because he loves to see you in it; there's too damn much nudity goes on around here. Now show a little respect and get yourself properly dressed."

"Before we married, I'd begun to suspect that you were depraved. Ever since, you've seemed determined to impress it on me. Do you suppose I'm being punished for debauchery in a previous life?"

"You will find it extremely difficult to eat this cordon bleu meal with a whacking great ball-gag behind those sweet and pretty lips of yours. Now... chop-chop," and I slapped her gently but noisily on her wet rump. Actually the red bikini was so skimpy that it truly made her look more naked than total nudity. With curtains drawn against the westering sun, I sat and admired her by the light from the candles that I had placed strategically on the table.

"No need to ask if you're enjoying the view," she said mischievously.

"Why else do you wear that thing?"

"Typical man. You force me to indulge your carnal bestiality and then blame it on me. I shall change into my favourite evening gown and go sulk in the cess pit."

"Only if you can get by me," I replied in my best voice of menace.

"I knew it. This meal, the wine, the candles, the state of undress... you have evil designs for this evening. You," with great and increasing derision. "You... want to play."

"I thought you'd never guess. Stand up woman; the waiter is bringing the bill."

I cuffed her hands in front and added a blindfold - more for effect than anything else. I took her hand. "Now we go off to the real work of the evening. Forwarrrd! " With what I thought was amazing confidence, she stepped after me across the outside patch and into the workshop. There was a distinct chill to the air outside but I had left the heater on and it was cosy enough in there. I guided her up on to the wooden plinth. "Oh-oh. What new thing has my wonderful bastard thought up now?"

"Time will tell," I said and pushed her hands up above her head. Now - stand still." I lowered the jar and, while I replaced the fixing screws into the base, I told her to take off the blindfold.

"This isn't new. Not at all new," she said with an air of somewhat urgent enquiry. "I can't see anything we haven't done before. But, knowing you, I feel certain... ? And why have you got this sudden urge for me to wear something remotely resembling clothes?"

I looked at my watch: "Just about on time. Tonight we are going to fulfill that promise we gave when this little toy first came into play. Remember?"

"I remember that weekend, yes. How could I not. But I don't recall any promises - not even to you."

"Think about the next day - when Tom and Betty caught us by surprise."

A look akin to concern slowly spread over her face and I saw her legs press closer to each other. "You promised to show them... James, you can't. You can't let anyone see me like this."

"Think, now. Why do you think Tom made such bold enquiries? Why was Betty so quick to tick him off? They suspect what we do here; have done for a long time. It's no big deal."

"I told you before - I won't be put on show. Now get me out of here!"

I watched her for a few seconds; no sign whatever of panic but just a determination that it wasn't to be. "Aren't you forgetting something?"


"You have a safeword. That puts you ultimately in control. It also gives me a blank cheque if you don't use it. And I simply adore the looks that cross your face when I write my cheques. At least I gave you some clothes this time."

"Clothes? You call this CLOTHES?"

She stood there in my tubular trap with her only weapon her voice. I made a mental note to have her in that - or maybe some other - bikini more often when I inveigled her in there. She was adorable out of the jar; there wasn't a word that could describe her in it.

"Without doubt," she said slowly. "you are several kinds of bastard all rolled into one."

"Indeed. That is oh so true. And do you not love every one of them?"

"That's exactly what I mean. You take advantage of every mean trick both in and out of the book and a host more that you never have trouble creating. But, James... you're not really going to invite Tom and Betty in here?"

I looked at my watch again: "Already have... and they should be here any minute. Excuse me, love but I must go and make some coffee. To quote a phrase - don't go away." I lowered the new cover over the jar and left the draw-cord hanging free.

"JAMES...!" she wailed... but her safeword doesn't sound anything at all like that !

I had just finished preparing coffee and biscuits and was loading it all on to the big tray when I heard Tom's bull-like roar. "Hi there, you little love birds! We're here for the show."

He breezed straight into the kitchen but Betty was moving more slowly behind him. "But where is it? Thought you were going... "

"Panic not," I interrupted: "It's all set up in the workshop. Go ahead; I'll bring the restoratives right along behind. Just pull the cord."

I was half-way across when I heard Tom's bull roar again: "Jesus... bloody... CHRIST! "

And then Betty's diminutive: "Oh! Oh... my God."

I stopped just outside the door to enjoy the tableau; Tom stood literally with his mouth opened wide but speechless. Betty also stood but with both hands pressed low down in a place one would not normally touch in polite company. Inside the jar Jill, hands cuffed and trapped above her, was clearly embarassed - or had been - because now she was, with equal clarity, recovering; I could see the beginnings of that slow grin spreading around her mouth.

"Who's for coffee?" I sauntered in on them, and slapped the tray down on the workbench, as though keeping your wife in a jar was a perfectly normal undertaking. "Betty - have a seat," and I placed a folding chair for her.

"James. Don't you think... erm... I mean... "


"Dammit James." What a treat to see Tom at a loss: " I mean... I never expected... ".

"Have a biscuit. Chocolate, plain or sandwich? Er... something wrong you two?"

"Well, no. YES. I mean... "

"It didn't worry you last time you were here. Why does it make a difference that I told you she was in bed?"

"You bloody bugger. You mean she was in there the whole time under that cloth?"

"Why not ask her? She there; she's not likely to run away!"

Now he turned to look at Jill and it was clear that he hadn't really taken it in on his first look. Jill was convulsed with laughter and, like a breaking dam, Tom's great gust of mirth echoed around the workshop. "Ah, JESUS. You do the damndest... Don't you think, Bet... ? Hey, you've got that tongue-hanging-out look. James; Bet wants to have a go in there."

"No. No. Not at all. I'm bigger than Jill and I couldn't fit." I have to say it wasn't... no definitely wasn't... a very convincing argument.

"Come on. You know you want in there." Tom strode across the shop, seized his wife in one huge paw and lifted her to her feet; "James. You know the size; see if she doesn't fit," and he flung her at me with such force that I was obliged to field her. For me, Betty can't hold a candle to Jill but then comparisons are always odious and a woman in the arms is worth any ten in a jar.

Betty didn't struggle: "He means that HE wants me in there," she explained with a glint in her eye.

"You're certainly taller but... " ; like any ill-bred rat, I squeezed. "I'd bet on you going in. What's your safeword?"

Without hesitation she answered: "Honolulu", and I released her at once.

"Well now..." I spent some moments in deep deep thought. "Jill can't drink coffee unless we get her out of there. It will take me, even with Tom's help, a few minutes to extract her. You drink your coffee and gorge on those biscuits until we get the deed done."

"Aren't you a little overdressed?" There was a wicked grin on Tom's face.

Betty's alarm became obvious and I was about to say it was up to her when he dived at her. "Can't you see they're into it as well ? Off with it."

Three seconds later, I understood her embarrassment and her somewhat slow and awkward walk; I had assumed she had injured a leg but... she was locked into a massive chastity belt and it was secured with a simply gigantic padlock that dangled between her legs.

"This," I said, "is turning into a night. Not to worry Betty, just stand on the base there." A couple of minutes later, and with a most interesting look on her face, she was where Jill had been while Jill was drinking coffee she had poured with hands joined at the wrists. "Oh, no", I declared, "If Betty's locked up so should you be. It's gent's night tonight."

"Is it ever any different?"

"Tom. What do you do when the menial gets too lippy?" Fortunately she had just about finished drinking and all I had to do was field the cup.

"Yeah. I was just working on that one, James. How about we put them both in the pot?"

Jill made a dash for the door but, cuffed, she couldn't open it quickly enough. I carried her back and Tom took down a coil of rope from the wall. "Two on to one 'snot fair," she squealed. "And this is two big'ns against a poor defenceless..."

"You know the rules about love and war; " I said: "And this is war."

Of course we didn't have to tie her but it was fun lashing her into the chair - and it was a long piece of rope! Between us, the jar came easily to the floor and the electric screwdriver quickly removed the top. We would have put her in head first so that, as we obligingly informed them, they could have a woman-to-woman chat; as some are wont to say - a tete-a-tete. Alas the jar was not long enough. Nothing for it but to pull them both out and turn them so that their legs overlapped. Betty was the surprise as she fought like any cornered cat until Tom pulled off his shirt and dropped it over her head.

Back went the top plug and its six screws. Then I demonstrated that most noble art of wife-rolling and, without doubt, Tom thoroughly enjoyed a turn at practice. (I'm not actually sure whether that should be dubbed double-wife rolling or double wife-rolling?)

For thirty minutes or so, we had a ball - all four of us - until Tom sat back and declared a longing for a similar toy but considerably smaller... he intimated that it was probably to be found in the 'frig . Mindful of my previous lesson, we cut some wedges, carefully lined up the ladies and then immobilised the thing. At the door we paused to sort out the miscellany of cries like 'Male Chauvinist PIGS!'

"Doesn't sound much like Honolulu," said Tom decisively. We propped the door open to give a clear view all the way from the kitchen window and followed our tongues to the cooler.

Tom raised his beer on high. "Cheers Mate. Here's to a bloody sleepless night."



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