Vi clicked the handcuffs one more notch, to a level that I'd not use on Vi for a while, but knew Brenda was game for it. Vi's limited bruising and welts were fine, but Brenda and I played by different rules. Covering up a nasty lash on our chest or wrist with makeup for a week was its own pleasure. Brenda took a seething delight in touching the welts and bruises she left on me regularly. Because I was a chef, an errant mark or even a cut wasn’t rare at all. Brenda and I had never gone so far as to the extreme stuff, blood play and that, but the rigors of my culinary life provided ample excuses for the ways my wonderful wife marked me with her love.

"No…wait…" Brenda tried to wiggle her hands out of the cuffs, and it was impossible. She looked up at me and bit her lip.

Vi picked up the ankle cuffs, getting off the bed to attach them to Brenda. The solid bar between the cuffs held her legs apart about eighteen inches, just enough for my wife to spread her legs, but not wide enough that it would be satisfying for her.

Vi tightened them all the way as I watched. Brenda had the kind of toned muscles from yoga that meant that her flexibility was truly impressive, but there was still the tiniest bit of give on the leg restraints.

"Brenda, stand up." I said. My wife shuffled down the bed, her body awkwardly bound by the restraints, but her flexibility was a gift here. She stood up with little extra effort, standing in front of Vi and me naked, her body my plaything.

"Mistress Wendy, please, you don't know how much you're making me suffer. This is too much." Brenda was engaging her long-dormant theater acting skills. It was cute.

"I knew I should have done this. Vi." I looked toward her, and she was standing at the ready for my orders, her breasts pink and firm and delicious. But this was Brenda's time. "Vi, in the third drawer of the dresser you just used, there's a ball gag. It has a purple ball with holes through it. I'm going to use it on this little fucking slut who thinks she can ask for leniency."

"I am a domme! You cannot do this to me. I'm your wife…" Brenda's pussy was soaking wet now, I knew her well. She wanted me to be forceful and harsh and use her. She was only playing at resisting.

"You're not a fucking domme, Brenda. What made you think you could ever be anything close to that?" I said. I walked up to her and took my wife's breasts in my hands, rubbing the nipples.

Brenda sighed a little and closed her eyes.

"Mistress Wendy, I don't see it…" I looked toward Vi, who was looking around, having forgotten the dresser's drawer numbers.