Mrs B: Birthday BDSM Gangbang

We have moved to near Bristol.

Mrs B's birthday is coming up. She will be 26. I want to surprise her with something special.

Something extreme.

I have been planning this for weeks, texting, purchasing, even renting.

I meet with a man called Mr Barry, recommended to me by a friend. We talk things through. He makes suggestions, advises me on the best way to do things. This is his area of expertise. I rule some things out, things I know she won't like. He rules some things in, non-negotiable for an artist like him.

I agree.

Over the years, I have slowly introduced Mrs B to BDSM. First came videos. I have seen her eyes brighten as she watches, and I've clocked what turns her on:

First, it is erotica, not hardcore. Though sex is de rigueur.

Second: it's all about the breasts.

Third: no whips, lashes or paddles. Hands, always hands.

I progress her gradually, always checking that this is what she wants. I begin with squeezing her nipples, harder and harder. I pinch them between my fingernails, pulsing as they bite into the hardened buds. I flick with thumb and finger, gently at first, increasing until I can flick no harder. Then on to slapping the breasts, increasing in intensity, until one day she cups them in her hands and holds them out to receive their punishment.

Toys are introduced throughout this: nipple clamps, then nipple pumps (also good for use on her clitoris). Occasionally, clothes-pegs to first pinch her skin, then crush her nipples.

Her cunt also gets attention, of course, but nothing as extreme as her breasts.

Finally, everything is in place. I am ready, Mr Barry is ready, and most importantly, Mrs B is ready. Though she doesn't know it.

She knows I have something lined up for her birthday. She knows it is BDSM, but no more.

On the day, she asks, "What should I wear?"

"A dress and white panties. Tie your hair back."

I see her thinking, 'it's a fuck and facial'. I give nothing away.

"Bra?"

I smile. "Up to you."

Now she is standing in our front room. We have had a lovely day together, but as she stands there, I see she is nervous. Nervous and excited.

The doorbell goes and I bring Mr Barry through to meet her. She looks gorgeous in a simple blue dress, those blond curls gathered into a ponytail.

That look again, as she thinks, "So, a fuck and a facial from a stranger."

He carries a hold-all. He looks her up and down and nods approvingly. The hold-all goes onto the gang-bang table.

"Hello, I'm Mr Barry," he says, smiling.

A quick look at me, confused at the formality. "Hello, Mr Barry," she answers in a quiet voice. She's a quick learner.

"Tonight, there are some rules. I need you to agree to them."

"Okay." A rising inflection shows uncertainty.

"First rule: that is the last time you speak until after I leave. Not a word. Agreed?"

She swallows and nods.

He takes two objects from his bag and holds them up to show to her. "If you do speak, I will gag you." He raises the first, a cotton scarf, then the second, a ball gag. He then moves them, as if weighing them. "Not sure which one I'd use yet. See how I feel." He gives a cursory smile and puts them back in the hold-all.

"Second rule: if I tell you to do something, you do it. Straight away."

She nods again.

"Third rule, I will do you no harm. Nothing will damage you in any way. I give you my word."

Her head dips once and she looks over to me. I nod and smile, reassuring her.

"If you say the word 'cabbage' I will stop. Cabbage is not a sexy word, but that's the point. Whatever is happening will end, immediately. You are safe with me."

She nods. I can see her arousal. Not only is her tongue pressed for a moment against her teeth, but her nipples are erect, pushing against the fabric of her dress and her hips are slowly swaying side to side.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

She nods once more.

"Take off your dress."

She reaches behind her and unfastens the catch at the neck, then pulls down the zip. Her shoulders shrug the fabric away as she pulls down the bodice and lets it fall to the floor. She steps out of it and stands in a bra and pants, letting Barry's eyes move over her half-naked body, looking her up and down.

"Take off your bra."

It joins the dress on the floor. Barry and I look at those perfect breasts, nipples puckered and hard with excitement.

She hooks her thumbs into her panties to pull them down, but Barry stops her.

"No," she says. "Did I tell you to take them off?"

She shakes her head, looking contrite and removes her thumbs from the waistband.

"You'll need them on."

She looks puzzled, but stands still, waiting for the next instruction.

Barry moves a straight-backed dining chair into position.

"Sit down."

She sits on the chair as he goes to the hall closet and brings back a length of rope. He holds it in front of her and says, "I chose blue, to match your eyes. Put your arms back, behind the chair."

She obeys.

He proceeds to gently, but firmly, bind her wrists together, wrapping the cord around several times, before tying a knot. Throughout this, he talks to her, telling her how he loves his ropes. He says how he finds knots to be beautiful, how he learned from a master 'rigger'. He says that the cord should never be too tight, nor too loose. Pressure should be spread evenly over the skin.

"It should not be the rope that brings the pain."

He stands up and invites me to look at his handy work. I have to say it really is beautifully done.

Mrs B sits there, hands bound, breasts taught, and nipples hard.

"Now, part your knees."

She obeys.

"This time you shall also be able to see me work."

He fetches more lengths of the blue rope, then binds her left leg to the leg of the chair. The rope is above the calf, below the knee. Then the other leg is similarly bound. Next, her ankles are tied to the foot of each chair leg. She cannot close her legs now.

Mr Barry stands up and steps back to admire his work. Her hands are tied behind the chair, her legs are open, each tied with precision and artistry to the chair. He gives a nod of approval.

I look at my wife, so beautiful, her hair, those blue eyes, her jutting breasts. Between her legs, the white gusset of her panties bulges slightly under the pressure from her swollen labia. She is very turned on.

I send a message to a group chat as Mr Barry speaks.

"Now, I said earlier that I would do you no harm, and I stand by that. However, I am going to hurt you." I see her tremble at his words. "Your husband has told me that sometimes you enjoy having your breasts hurt?" He raises his eyebrow, questioning.

She nods.

"Good, because, as I say, I am going to bring you pain. Hurt you in ways you have never experienced before. But my greatest skill, even greater than my skill with rope and knot, is knowing how much pain brings a woman pleasure. Never taking it too far. But I will take you to your limit."

Throughout this speech, he has been taking items out of his bag, lining them up on the table. Six glass bowls, each filled with a blue wax candle. Then he places another blue candlestick alongside. He takes a lighter and lights the candles in the bowls; the wax needs time to melt.

As she sees what is being prepared, her eyes go wide in alarm. She has watched videos of women having their breasts coated with hot wax. I, in turn, have watched her responses, seen her finger dip into her wet cunt as she shudders at the thought of that melted wax on her own skin. Mr Barry is going to show her.

Seeing her looking at the candles, he says, "Yes, my dear, blue once more, just for you. But that is for later; there is much more fun to be had before that." He proceeds to take items of torture from his bag and line them up neatly on the table. There are nipple clamps of various types; tiny chromed vices, pegs of different designs, some with weights hanging from them. Then there are the pumps, both breast and nipple. (Her clitoris will avoid the pump tonight.) There is a bottle of scented oil and a plain, white cloth.

Now you may think this is the total of my plan, to have Mrs B stripped and bound to a chair, to be tortured and fucked by this stranger. But this is just the first part of the performance I have prepared for her pleasure.

The doorbell rings.

Mr Barry lifts the ball gag from his bag and tilts his head, eyebrows raised in warning.

She nods.

I open the door and a couple from our swinging group walk in, each carrying a folding chair. Saying nothing, they walk across the room, open their chairs, and sit down. Then a second couple come in, doing the same thing, then a third couple. They look at Mrs. B. The women give her a smile, the men look stern as they look at her, bare-breasted and bound to a chair. They have all seen her naked before; in fact, they have all fucked her many times.

Mrs B looks shocked, but there is more to come. One after the other, four of her regular lovers come in, set up their chairs, and sit down. Nothing is said. I close the door.

All this has been planned and agreed upon over the previous weeks. My plan has been run past the women. They think it is a wonderful idea.

Mrs B shoots me a questioning look. I give a slight shrug and smile.

"So," Mr Barry says. "We can begin."

He stands behind Mrs B, reaches over, and takes a breast in each hand. She looks down at his hands, and he starts to squeeze and massage her breasts, gradually gripping harder and harder. Then he pinches her nipples. Her hips flex, and I watch her gyrate her cunt in arousal.

Next, he uses the full breast pump, two transparent cups attached to a rubber bulb. As he works the bulb, her breasts are sucked into the cups.

"Just to warm you up," he says as he steps back and looks at her. "Not that you need it."

After a few minutes he releases her from the contraption. Her breasts are pink from the suction. He moves on to the nipple pumps, then he clamps her puffy nipples. Occasionally, she lets out a little moan or a whimper, but she says nothing, just as she has been told. Lastly, he picks up the nipple clamps that have the weights. A small rod hangs down to a round plate, onto which the weights, each the size of a thick coin, are added. They don't look heavy, but this will hang from sensitive nipples.

She winces as the clamps grip, then one at a time, he begins to add the weights. Mrs B has perky, C-cup boobs that stand proud. Now, though, as he adds to the load, her breasts are pulled down, her nipples stretch. She shakes at the pain, but that only makes it worse, and the weights start to swing around. She calms herself and holds still. Two more are added, she moans, then two more. Her tits are now deformed, stretched. Those beautiful white globes are pulled out of shape.

Mr Barry sits on the arm of a chair and watches. She is left there, struggling to control her shaking. Finally, he relents and unclips the clamps. She gives a great shudder, freed from the pain, and blows air out of her mouth in relief.

Her audience watches on in silence. Trousers bulge, eyes brighten. The women give smiles of encouragement, tongues licking lips, showing their arousal at watching their friend being tortured.

He is now behind her. The toys are back in the bag. There is a pause as she catches her breath. I sense the audience, also, hold their breath in anticipation.

His hand moves fast, slapping her right breast, knocking it inward. In the silent room, the crack of his hand hitting her seems so loud. She flinches and screws up her eyes against the pain, but there is to be no respite. His left hand moves and 'smack', her breast flies. He circles his hand over the sensitive skin, lightly brushing her nipples. She flexes. Then he slaps her, hard. Two times, three times, then a fourth, and a pause and more gentle stroking. She no longer gasps at each blow, she moans; a deep, guttural moan as her breasts are abused and her friends watch on. He grips a breast and squeezes hard as his other hand slaps the trapped flesh and nipple. Her hips grind and writhe as he hits her, harder than I have ever dared.

Mr Barry, however, unlike me, is an expert in inflicting pain. I would find it hard to hit those soft breasts with the force he uses. But he knows what he is doing; his strikes are graduated to her desire. Her back now arched, pushing her breasts out, offering them for punishment. I wonder if she will orgasm under the onslaught, but again, Mr Barry knows what he is doing. She must wait a little longer.

Finally, he stops and steps back; he breathes hard after his exertions as he looks down at his client. Her head is bowed, her eyes closed as fast, short breaths are drawn in through her open mouth.

"A little rest for you, I think," he says to her. "Before the next discipline."

She groans.

"Shall we all see how she is doing?" He says to the audience, as he steps towards her. This time it is not her breasts; he reaches a hand down between her legs and pulls the panties aside, exposing her cunt to all those gazes. The gusset is soaking wet, and we can all see why. Her outer labia have engorged, the way a cock gets hard, and her gash is gaping wide open. You can see the pink folds of her vagina and the clear juice that is trickling out of her cunt, down over her arsehole. Her inner labia are puffy and pink, and her clitoris stands proud. I have looked at that cunt hundreds of times, after all types of adventures, but I have never seen it like this before, in such a state of total arousal.

"Gosh," says Mr Barry. Every eye in the room is fixed on her gaping cunt. "It seems she is doing just fine." With that, he returns the panties, soaked as they are, to cover her.

"What's next?" he says, and he reaches for the scented oil. "A little soothing, perhaps before the pain."

Mrs B's eyes flick to the candles, her head still down, breaths coming ragged through her open mouth. The glass holders are full of hot, molten wax.

He pours some oil into the palm of his hand, then rubs his hands together. Reaching from behind, he starts to oil her breasts, gently massaging the reddened skin. The contrast from the pain sends her writhing once more, moaning with pleasure. Then, using the soft cloth, he wipes the excess away.

He lights the candlestick and holds it in front of her face. Her eyes are fixed on the flame as the wax begins to melt. He holds out his upturned wrist and lets a molten drop fall onto his skin.

"See?" he says. "It hurts, but not too much. Are you ready?"

She watches the dancing flame for a moment, then nods. He tilts the candle, and the first drop of molten wax lands on her breast. She flinches and gasps. He waits a moment until she is once more ready. He again drips splashes onto her breasts, first one, then the other. The moment it hits the flesh, it solidifies, sticking to her skin. The first drop hits her nipple; again, she flinches; again, he waits. A few more drops, and a tiny stalactite of blue wax forms. Occasional droplets miss her breasts and streak her belly and stick to her white panties. She watches as her breasts are burned by the wax. She looks fascinated by both the spectacle and the pain.

He holds the candle to her mouth and says, "Blow."

She purses those gorgeous lips and does as she's told, puffing out the candle.

He picks up the first candle bowl.

"It will get easier, but the first bit will hurt."

He pours the hot wax over her breast, and she cries out.

"Shhh," he says, and she is quiet. The other breast now gets coated. She winces, but stifles her cry. It is more a whimper. When the bowl is empty, he sets it down and waits.

"Give it a minute to cool."

He then repeats the process until all the bowls are empty. He steps back and regards his efforts.

She sits there trembling. Her breasts are now hidden by the coating. Her belly is splashed with blue, her white panties are ruined by rivulets of wax that trickled down to her groin; the tops of her thighs have suffered as well.

Mr Barry sits down on the arm of one of the armchairs, crosses his arms and goes still, his eyes drinking in the blue-spattered beauty of my wife.

Silence, apart from the short, rapid breaths she draws in and out.

Minutes pass, then he stands up and fetches a dinner knife from his bag. It is blunt-edged, but perfect for scraping the wax from her thighs. He then does the same to her belly. Now only her breasts are left. Gently easing his fingertips under the bottom of the wax, he begins to carefully tease it away from the pink flesh beneath. Slowly and with expert fingers, the breastplate of wax comes away. Around the edge there are some cracks and some crumbling, but finally, with a cry of triumph, it comes free and he holds his trophy aloft, as Mrs B's breasts are released to the cooling air.

As she sits there, panting, he turns it around and proudly shows it to each member of the audience: a perfect, blue impression of my wife's breasts. You can even see her teats in the wax facsimile.

Lastly, he shows it to her and says, "See, my dear, worth all that pain, wouldn't you say?"

She obediently nods her head.

He spends a few minutes removing residual wax from her body, then once more massages oil into her tender skin.

"Okay," he says brightly. "That was a lot of pain; how about some pleasure? Would you like that?"

She grunts and nods her head several times.

"Excellent. Let's get you stood up."

The ropes that bind her wrists and legs are untied, and he helps her to her feet. Her legs almost give way, but he steadies her and asks two of the women to support her as he ties everything off the table.

He looks at me and says, "Why don't you get those panties off her? I'm afraid they're ruined. Then we can all have a good look at her."

I move close to her and give a questioning smile. She nods her reassurance to me, and I do as I am told, baring my wife's body to the gaze of the audience.

Then the girls guide her back to the table and help her lie down, her head away from the audience. Mr Barry then gets her to lift her knees up, and as the girls hold them steady, he tells her to hold her ankles. Her sex is fully on display, a gaping, pink tunnel for all to see. He binds each wrist to an adjacent ankle. As before, the rope-work is precise and the knots beautiful. He moves to look closely at her cunt and spends a few minutes removing flecks of wax from her bikini line.

"Okay, ladies," he says and moves to once more sit down.

The three women take their positions. Grace moves to beside Mrs B's head, leans in, and as she starts to gently stroke her hair, we hear the first words spoken by anyone other than Mr. Barry.

"Remember, don't talk, or he'll punish you; just nod or shake your head. Are you okay?"

Mrs B looks pretty out of it. Her eyes are defocused, and her responses slow. She nods.

"Really, are you sure you're okay?" Mrs B nods three times and smiles at her friend. "You probably need to cum, badly." A moan and a nod. "I'm going to stay here with you, Maisie is going to make you cum, then Andrea will get you ready, okay." Mrs B nods, a strange smile on her face. She can't even ask, 'Ready for what?'

Grace looks at Maisie, who moves closer to Mrs B's swollen gash. Very gently, with the tip of her tongue, she starts to tease and test, licking around the labia, vulva, and then the clitoris of the woman I love. Mrs B shudders and moans as her clit is teased, then Maisie pushes her tongue into her hole, before moving down to her arsehole, leaving her saliva as the first part of the preparations. It doesn't take long for an intense orgasm to set Mrs B heaving and bucking, her arms and legs still bound together. The orgasm subsides, and Maisie moves aside, her role finished. Andrea has a bottle of lube. She pours a little over Mrs B's arsehole and massages it in. A little more lube, and a finger is inserted, gently. More lube, and the finger goes deep. Then a second finger presses in, and Andrea carefully pours lube over fingers as they emerge from Mrs B, before they dip back in and massage her rectal muscles. Satisfied that everything is ready, Andrea withdraws her fingers and, with a look, signals the other girls.

Grace dips her head and kisses Mrs B on the forehead, saying, "See you soon." The women resume their seats.

Mr Barry gives an appraising look at the women's work, then moves around the table to Mrs B's side.

"Now, my dear, it's time to 'pay the ferryman'." He undoes his belt, unzips his flies, and pulls from his pants a brute of a cock. Uncircumcised, nine inches long, the thick shaft veined, with a big pair of balls hanging down like those of a prize bull.

He slides her closer to the edge of the table and turns her head.

"Now, open your mouth wide." She obeys, and he puts the monster into her mouth. She closes her lips around the massive cock, and he starts to fuck her mouth, gently. He withdraws, pulls back the foreskin, then holds close to her mouth. She swallows, takes a deep breath, and again opens her mouth. He pushes in. For a few minutes, he fucks her face, she flicks her tongue over his shaft and balls, then he rubs the shaft across her lips as her tongue licks and teases.

He pulls away and walks round to where her cunt is splayed open.

"Right, let's get you ready for your friends."

With that, the huge cock pushes into her, and she cries out as he starts to fuck her. Bound hand and foot, all she can do is take it. I have, however, already told him about her issue with big cocks hurting her, so yet again, her judge thinks to perfection. No more than six inches are used, apart from the odd gentle push to seven. He doesn't take long; there is a queue, after all. So he unloads those mighty balls into her cunt as she comes again. When he pulls out, cum leaks out and runs down over her arsehole. It pools on the aptly named 'gang-bang table'.

Mr Barry puts away his cock and does up his trousers.

"Lovely. I'll leave you all to it then." He dips down beside her head and says quietly, "I really do hope I see you again." Then he's off towards the door. "Keep the ropes, a little present." And he's gone.

Without Mr Barry in the room, it seems very quiet, but there is no need for anyone to speak; they all know what to do and in what order. Seven cocks: three for her cunt and four for her arse. Four cocks make a gang-bang, and she's never had an anal gang-bang before. All are health-checked, so no need for condoms; plenty of jizz for both her holes. I stand so she can see me. Her gaze fixes me, and I look deep into those sapphire-blue eyes as they start. Mr Barry has fucked her cunt, so No. 1 does her arse, his cum tricking from her bum-hole as No. 2 adds his load to Mr Barry's. Turn and turn about her holes are used and filled with cum. She is leaking jizz every time a new cock pushes into her, and she cums again as we reach the final ejaculation. All the men have now used her. Still, she looks at me. Without a word, they all stand up, fold their chairs, and leave.

We are alone now. I lean over and gently kiss her, stroking her hair.

"Are you okay?"

She nods.

I laugh and say, "It's okay to talk now."

She nods and smiles.

I go to untie her and, to my amazement, find Mr Barry's knots come open easily. She groans as she eases her legs down.

"I need a shower."

"Go on, I'll clean up."

There is blue wax and semen all around the torture chair and the gang-bang table. It takes a while!

I go up and she has showered and is now curled up under her duvet, looking so innocent. I sit on the bed beside her and stroke her hair.

"How's your day been?" I joke.

She pulls me close, her arms around my neck and whispers, "The best birthday ever."

"You go to sleep now. I'm just going to go downstairs and take care of myself." She nods and snuggles down onto the pillow.

Cock in hand, I watch BDSM vids, all the time imagining it is my wife being used. And then, as hot wax is poured onto a captive breast, I shoot my load.

We don't talk about it much, but over the next few weeks, I notice she is choosing more BDSM for us to watch together.

Tonight, we watch a beautiful blond woman have her perfect breasts slapped, pinched, and shaken hard.

I look across at her, her eyes shining as her fingers fuck her cunt, as the blonde's breasts get slapped.

Without taking her eyes off the screen, she says,

"I want to see Mr Barry."