By David Sellers
“You’re going to be locked in here,” Roger says, slowly stroking my cock as he looks into my eyes, “while I sleep in your bed, with your husband. But first he’s going to fuck me. Then I’m going to fall asleep in your husband’s arms and you’re still going to locked in here, helpless and miserable, because your sadistic husband allows his sadistic boyfriend to do this to you. He lets me put you away like this, lock you up like this, you pathetic fuck.”
That’s usually what Roger says — or something close to it — before he snaps the blindfold to the hood. I’m already gagged, laced tight in a sleepsack, and strapped down to the bondage board in the playroom my husband and I built a few years before we met Roger.