There’s little I like more than a story of an unhappily married, sexually-frustrated man who convinces his wife to put her neck and wrists into an authentic set of unattended wooden dungeon stocks “for a photo.” She’s not getting out so easily!
“I want a picture,” Tony Rollins said, as his hand left the light switch and he walked over to the old wooden stocks.
“Then take it!” his wife, Debby, urged, her voice little more than a whisper.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around her tits to try to hold out the chill her wispy halter top couldn’t prevent. Even her ass was cold. The tight little short-shorts, as yellow as her hair, didn’t help much. They were so snug that they showed the crack of her ass, and the crease of her cunt. Even though it was a summer evening, the dank old dungeon in northern New England felt like winter was coming on.
“That’s not what I mean,” Tony said stubbornly, turning back to stare at Debby.
God, he looks like a nerd, Debby thought. Standing there with a camera dangling from his neck down to his chest. His dark, brown hair looked washed-out in the yellowed light the old bulbs along the wall gave out, and the rough features of his face were shadowed.
“You really don’t mean for me to get into that thing, do you?” Debby asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t do that in a million years!”
“Don’t be such a bore,” he chided her. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in five years of marriage.”
“Well, it’s not all my fault!” Debby spat, a tinge of anger suddenly coloring her fear. “I can’t help it if I don’t like all those lewd things you want to do.”
“Just think what your friends on the beach would say about the picture,” he urged her. “Everyone would get so excited that they would listen to you for days. You could tell them all about this spooky old mansion in Maine with a torture chamber, and have the pictures to back up what you say.”
Debby moved closer to the old device. It looked like a short, heavy wooden wall with three holes in it, two for the hands and one for the neck. A solid beam across its top was hinged, with a bolt lock on the other end. Once someone was locked into that, there would be no way they could get out.
“If I let you take the pictures, can we leave then?” Debby asked.
“Just a couple from in front, then some from the side,” he assured her. “Just enough that you’ll have proof for your beach friends that you really did find an old dungeon.”
Debby glanced once more around the enormous room. It was like a scene out of a late night horror movie, and she wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see Vincent Price walk in. Every torture device that Debby had ever noticed in those eerie old flicks was somewhere about, in addition to a lot she didn’t recognize. Just the sight of them sent chills down her near naked back, and Tony wanted her to play the tortured maid.
But he was right about her needing the pictures to convince her friends. And only for that reason was she willing.
“Okay,” she finally relented. “But just long enough for you to take those photographs. And then little Debby is going to get her ass out of here before the vampire bats show up.”
Tony grunted, and finally managed to push the cross-beam up and out of the way. Hesitantly, Debby dropped to her bare knees and crept forward until her neck was in place.
“The hands,” Tony urged her. “If you don’t put your hands in, it won’t look real.”
Debby wished she didn’t agree. She never liked to be pinned down, and that was part of the problems with sex. A heaving man leaning on her had never seemed much fun, and that was why she insisted on being on top. That way she could fuck Tony and still keep control. She always knew exactly where his cock was, and she could keep his prick away from her asshole and mouth. She couldn’t understand why he would want something so lewd, and she wasn’t about to find out. Just being fucked by her little pussy should be enough for any man.
The heavy cross-beam thunked down and she heard the bolt slip into the lock. When she protested, Tony assured her that it was only so the pictures could look real.
“Well, hurry up,” Debby complained. “This thing is damned uncomfortable.”
“It’s supposed to be,” he laughed, scooting back several feet so he could look down at his captured wife.
Blonde bangs fell down onto her forehead, and sea-blue eyes stared up at him. Her features were delicate, but deeply tanned, giving her the look of a true California girl. Trapped there in the stocks, she didn’t look a day over seventeen.
“Take the pictures, dammit!” she hissed when she saw Tony hesitate.
He was standing there like a statue. Even his dark, brown eyes, seeming black in the dimness, seemed cut out of stone.
“Tony!” she squealed. “Hurry up! This thing is killing my neck and my back.”
A flashbulb exploded. He had the camera to his face. Debby sighed in relief that he’d finally begun. For a second, he had looked almost evil, as if he could leave her in there.
Another flash of light, then he moved over to the side. She couldn’t see him now, but the popping flashbulbs told her that he was still nearby. Then, for several seconds, there was no sound or flashing lights.
“That’s enough, Tony,” Debby said, squirming in the grasp of the devilish torture device.
“It doesn’t look right, yet,” her husband answered in a strange voice. “It’s the clothes that make it all wrong. A woman should be naked in the stocks.”
