Chapter 19 - Begging

I don't know how long I stayed like that. I eventually heard another round of loud hollering and cheering, and a short while later I heard the door open. While I startled a bit when I heard the latch turn, I didn't panic as I had earlier. Instead I just waited with a surprisingly calm feeling of resignation. Whoever it was coming through that door, I was essentially theirs, as long as they gave me what I needed.

I sensed my husband as he knelt behind me once again, but the first physical contact I felt was his thumb on the base of the plug, pushing on it despite it being fully inserted. I gasped again, and then I bit my bottom lip.

He let his fingers curl around my sex as he kept the pressure on the plug, and I could feel his body lean over mine, as he whispered to me.

"You seem awfully calm... and wet."

I nodded, and I continued to bite my lower lip. There was nothing to say.

"Well you might be pleased to know that two more players are down. One hand, two more losers."

I did the math in my head. Five down, two to go.

"Does that make you happy, honey?" he asked me.

I ignored the question. I didn't want to talk. There was only one thing I wanted.

He pulled his hand away from my pussy and the plug, and then, before I could have even dreamt about it, he slid my panties aside and plunged two fingers inside me. God knows I was wet enough.

The fingers caught me by surprise, and I was moaning instantly. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. Then the bells came to life as I tried to rock my pelvis back onto his fingers. I couldn't go far though -- my wrists were pulled so far up the frame that I couldn't only manage to wiggle my hips in the direction of his fingers.

His thumb applied pressure to my clit while his fingers worked inside of me. I could feel them curl as he searched inside me for that spot. His thumb began to work circles around my clit and I squealed. He wasn't rough, but he wasn't gentle either. He was applying just enough pressure.

I pulled against the cuffs, stretching my body away from him and holding my face down. I wanted to rip my arms free so I could touch myself. With his fingers and my fingers and that beautiful little toy buried between my cheeks, I could certainly come.

I squealed as he drove his fingers deeper inside of me. I could feel the knuckles of his hand pressed between my legs. His thumb continued to grind my clit in circles. I needed my hands free to get off.

"Please!" I begged. He knew what I was asking for. He could see my wrists straining against the cuffs, but he pressed on, ignoring my plea.

"Please, I want to come! Please!"

Not a word came from him. Instead I felt the plug pressed into me again, and I groaned.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, PLEASE!" I was getting desperate. He and I both knew that if I didn't get what I needed soon, the window would pass. I would become overwhelmed by the stimulation, and I wouldn't be able to come. It was such a delicate balance, and it was starting to get away from me.

"Please, fuck, PLEASE, I need to come. Just let my hands go!"

I was pulling at the cuffs constantly, but then I started to thrash with my arms, which caused the locks holding the cuffs to rattle noisily. Yet I still couldn't move much, so the bells were sitting relatively quietly on my ass.

"Shhhhhhhh," I heard him say. "You don't want us to be found like this, do you?"

At this point I couldn't give a shit who found us like this, I just needed to come.

I could barely speak though; my senses were being overrun. I managed to half-whisper, half-squeal a pleading response: "I don't care, I really don't, just please let me come."

But he didn't let me come. Instead his fingers slowed, and his thumb eased off of my clit, and the force on the plug dissipated.

I slumped dejectedly as he finally withdrew his fingers altogether. I was panting.

I could feel him stand up and move away from me, and then he quickly returned. This time, though, he came around and knelt in front of me, just out of reach of my cuffed hands.

I was resting my head on the frame, my face turned to one side. I was recovering from the sensory overload once again and starting to feel like the torture would never end.

He had the mitten on my left hand before I even realized that he was up to something. He had already slipped the other mitten over my right hand when I looked up to see what it was. These were new.

"Whaaa- what are those?" I sounded groggy, like I had just woken up.

"Fiendish little accessories that you will love, no doubt," he replied quietly.

He finished buckling the mitten on my right hand; I couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed as if it was connected to the cuff I had been wearing most of the night.

Both of my hands were now encased in tight, somewhat stretchy mittens. They weren't actually big enough for my hands it seemed, so they had the effect of forcing each of my hands into a fist. If I made an extraordinary effort I could straighten my fingers slightly and just for a moment, before my fingers would collapse back into a ball. What the hell were these for?

When the mittens were secure, he unlocked the wrist cuffs from the cross bar. Then he removed the bar from behind my knees, and finally he unlocked my ankle cuffs from the cross bar at the opposite end. I was free from the frame that had held me on less than all fours for the last while. I was not, however, free of the jeweled toy that he had planted between my cheeks.

I sat up into a kneeling position first, reveling in the change of position and letting my back relax for the first time since I had been stretched out on the frame.

A wisp of hair had broken free from my ponytail and the maid's headband I still wore, and it swung down to tickle my nose and eyelash. I instinctively reached up to brush it back and tuck it away, and that's when the reality of the mittens hit me.

I had zero dexterity.

I couldn't grab anything with these on. I looked like a boxer with tiny gloves, or a kitten with silky black paws.

My husband saw me working at the lock of hair and he came over to my side to help. He pulled it out of my face and tucked it away under the headband, and then smiled at me and kissed me on the forehead.

He extended his hand to me and I offered my balled fist in return. He took me by the wrist instead and helped me to my feet, as the bells woke up and chimed their "hello."

Standing free from the frame I was able to pull my feet back to a more natural position, and in doing so I felt the plug settle in between my cheeks, which were now much more relaxed than they'd been when I was bent over.

The panties were not so settled though. All the fidgeting and playing and manipulation that had taken place had left them askew. I had a partial wedgie and a generally uncomfortable distribution of material between my legs now, and instinctively I reached down with both hands to straighten the edges.

My fists were useless. All I could do was paw at my crotch and my bum like an idiot. I looked up at my husband in dismay, only to see him smiling with glee.

"Do you like them?" he asked, still grinning like a Cheshire.

I ignored the question -- I was ignoring a lot of them it seemed -- and instead glared at him with enough hostility to cause him to take a step back. But he still giggled.

"Well? C'mon, you have to admit they're cool!"

"If they're so cool, why don't YOU wear them, and go back to your poker game with them on?" It seemed like a really good question to me.

He only smiled and said: "uh-uh, they're for you. I bought them just for you. Besides, they wouldn't fit these meat hooks!" He held up his rather large hands for effect.

"Well I guess it's safe to assume I'm not going to be asked to dust or clean anymore?" My tone made it clear that I was not impressed.

"Your remaining assignments will account for your limited dexterity, yes."

I didn't take any consolation from that statement.

"Remaining tasks?!? You mean there are more?" I asked. How much more could he possibly have in mind?

"Don't worry beautiful, based on the way things are going it's looking like you'll only have one more round before the game is over. Doesn't that make you a little sad?" He frowned dramatically to mock me.

"It breaks my fucking heart." My tone was acid in return.

The wedgie wasn't going away, despite the charming conversation, so I awkwardly made another attempt to rearrange the fabric between my legs.

"Would you like a hand with that? I don't mind, you know."

He acted as if he was a man offering to help a woman with her groceries. His demeanor was intentional -- he was trying to make it sound like the situation I found myself in was no more unusual than a trip to the market.

Like I was buying that.

I rolled my eyes and dropped my mittened hands to my sides in exasperation.

"Fine. Just fix it."

He knelt in front of me and adjusted the fabric at the front of my panties, smoothing away the wrinkles. Then he motioned for me to turn around, to which I obliged.

I felt his hand slap the inside of my thigh once, then twice, then a third time.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?" I looked over my shoulder as much as my collar would allow, and asked incredulously.

"Just open up a bit, I can't do it if you don't spread your legs a bit."

I let out an exasperated sigh, but I complied. I widened my stance for him.

I was rewarded with a push at the small of my back. And then another, more insistent this time.

"NOW WHAT?" I demanded.

"You have to lean forward a bit," he said.

"The hell I do! 'Cause that's what you see women do when they have to adjust their panties, they spread their legs and bend over!" He was being a prick, and I wasn't having it; not now, not after all this.

"Fine, you do it your way then. I don't care."

There was a silent pause, a standoff of sorts. Finally, I let out an exasperated groan and snapped at him "just fucking do it already," and then I bent at the waist.

I could practically hear him smiling behind me as I bent over.

His fingers, with all their wonderful dexterity, went to work adjusting and pulling and repositioning my panties. I felt the pressure come off the plug slightly as he pulled the fabric away from my bum to adjust it, but it returned even more noticeably when he finally settled them into place. Aside from the toy still buried between my cheeks, it felt like he had put things back to "normal."

"Isn't it time you left?" I was tired of him toying with me.

"Why thank you dear! I enjoyed your company too! So nice to spend time with you!" He was mocking me again.

He held up a small white envelope for me to see and he said: "last one."

Then he dropped it on the floor and grinned before walking out of the room.

I didn't watch him go. I just stood by the bed with my back to the door in the dim light and I waited for him to close the door. I didn't want him to see me fighting off the grin that was forming at the corners of my mouth...

Chapter 20 -- Paws for Effect

As drained as I was from riding the rollercoaster for as long as I had up to this point, I felt a surge of energy before he had even closed the door. The end was in sight, and I had a string of little victories that was starting to pile up. Those victories had cost me dearly, but if I could hold on just a little while longer the satisfaction would be worth it.

These games we play are always a bit of a paradox; If I lose, he loses too in all reality. It means that he pushed me past my breaking point in some way, or he had failed to guess my mood or motivation or willingness. If I lose it means I gave up, and that doesn't translate into more fun and games for him.

However, if I win, he wins too. Sure, he might have to deal with my sass and gloating and generally cocky and obnoxious attitude, but it also means that he got everything he wanted, more or less. That's why he never gets frustrated in these games -- certainly not like I do anyways. If I'm slipping in the wrong direction emotionally, he can't afford to let me go down that path, so he has to cheer me up, even if he is the source of the problem. Likewise, If I'm cruising through his game with a cheery attitude and bratty demeanor despite everything he throws at me, it won't serve him to start pouting. It's actually a pretty good dynamic. But I digress...

The envelope was staring up at me from the edge of the fur rug. I was determined to make it to the end of his game, desperate to show him that I could take everything he could throw at me without flinching. I wanted to finish as the bratty girl, not the moody partner. That envelope represented the last obstacle between me and my goal. So, I dutifully bent at the waist to pick it up; the corset wouldn't allow me to bend any other way.

As I reached for the envelope with one hand, as any normal person would do, the stark reality of my new gloves set in. With my fingers balled up inside them, there was no hope of picking up the envelope; at least, not with one hand.

I brought my other useless hand to the party, and I proceeded to fumble the envelope around the rug, without managing to pinch it between my mittens. Eventually I succeeded in pushing the envelope off the plush rug and onto the smooth wood floor, where it lay flat as a pancake.

I dropped to my knees in frustration, my hands on my thighs.

Fuck. I could see where this was going.

I leaned forward onto my hands and knees -- voluntarily, for the first time this evening -- and crawled forward to the edge of the rug where the note had slipped to the floor. Lowering my head, I placed my puckered lips on the envelope and sucked a long breath in, lifting the note off the floor. From there I was able to finally trap it between my fists, and clumsily hold onto it as I sat back on my haunches, a few rogue bells jingling in protest as their mates were crushed between my bum and my heels.

I had the note in my hands, but it was still inside the envelope and the restrictive mittens meant I wasn't going to open it in any conventional way. I held the little envelope up to my mouth and began to work at the problem with my teeth.

I probably looked like a squirrel working at a nut, which is probably not far from reality. The "nut" in this case was the note inside, and I wasn't going anywhere -- literally -- without it.

I finally succeeded in liberating the note from the envelope, but I certainly couldn't read it holding it in my teeth, so I dropped it back to the rug and managed to pry it open with my paws. Incredibly, I have to admit that I was actually a little curious to learn what the final task would be. I bent forward to find out how the final chapter of my ridiculous adventure would play out:

Mademoiselle,

You have done well so far. There is still work to be done, however. The office at the top of the stairs is a frightful mess. It's as if the Lady of the House had no care for modesty or tidiness. You are instructed to straighten the room and return everything that does not belong in the office to its rightful home.

When you're done you should return to the Master Suite and stay out of sight of the guests. The Master of the House will leave further instructions for you then.

I suggest you hurry; the door to the office is open and we would hate for the Lady to be embarrassed by the guests seeing her house in such a state. We both know that would not go well for you!

Bon chance!

I sighed yet again.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that I would have to venture out once more. After the way the game had played out so far, I shouldn't have expected anything less.

I faced the door and worked up the nerve to open it once again. I really hoped this would be the last time tonight I would have to step beyond it. It took both "paws" to turn the knob, but I finally managed. The door swung open to reveal the dark hallway once again, and the sounds from below carried up the stairs even louder.

With so many of the players eliminated it sounded more like a party than a serious game of cards, and it was getting louder. Music was playing now and the pattern of the conversations that had existed earlier, built around the betting and the deal of the cards, was obliterated by the losers who no longer bothered to pay attention to every detail of the game. I wasn't sure if that would bode well for me or not.

My fists went to my cheeks, to stifle the bells once again. The jewel he had left me with was seated firmly in place; I was reminded of it with every step. Thank God no one would see my bum like this -- no doubt there was a telltale silhouette of the plug showing for anyone who was able to see.

The office was the first room at the top of the stairs, and the door was wide open as the note had warned. I stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind me before anyone could appear at the bottom of the stairs. My balled fists were useless on the round knob though, and before I could stop it the door had swung shut with a mild bang. I didn't worry, though, the party below had risen to such a level that there was no way they'd notice.

A solitary reading light left on in the far corner cast a shadowy glow over the room, and I was thankful that he hadn't left all the lights on. Somehow the low lighting gave me the sense that I could more easily remain unnoticed.

I surveyed the situation before me and immediately flushed with anger. The bastard had outdone himself this time...

Scattered and strewn about the floor and the furniture was the entire contents of one of the large closet organizer baskets from our room. The basket was sitting at the floor near my feet, upside down and obviously empty.

That basket had held half the embarrassing items we own: bits of lingerie, bondage gear, gags, a riding crop, lengths of heavy satin ribbon and coils of rope, rolls of tape, toys for pleasure, instruments of torture, the list was as comprehensive as it was debauched. And it was scattered all over the room for anyone to see. How long had it been here!?!

I kicked the basket over with my foot, so it was in a position to be filled up again. The closest item to me was a tangle of skinny red ribbons that he'd used to decorate me with from time to time. I crouched down as low as I could go and reached for the ribbons, once again with only one hand.

Seeing my error, I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath while I made the same effort again, but this time with both hands. I managed to fumble my hands back and forth over the ribbons, but the mittens were too slippery to be even a little helpful, and I soon realized I was getting nowhere, even with two hands.

I shook my head and cursed my husband out loud: "What an asshole!"

My knees slid forward as I dropped out of the relatively respectable crouch I had been in until I was back on all fours yet again.

It was only now that the significance of the mittens had become clear to me; he was going to have me tidy this room on my hands and knees, and he wasn't even going to have to tell me to. Without bondage or a threat, without coercion or even a promise, he was going to make me crawl.

Not only that, but I was going to have to pick up most of these items with my teeth.

Evil. Bastard. Asshole.

Chapter 21 -- That Awkward Moment

I lowered my mouth to the tangle of little red ribbons, picked them up in my teeth and swung my head to the basket and dropped them in. Then I used one of my paws to push the basket forward so that I wouldn't have to crawl back to it with each item.

After a couple of minutes of stealthy crawling I had managed to load the basket with the ribbons, a little black pouch containing BenWa balls, an absurd excuse for a schoolgirl's skirt, one pair of lacy white panties and a roll of red tape.
The basket was - more or less - in the middle of the room, and I was slowly making my way around to the far wall, generally picking up the items with my teeth as my fists were of little use for most things. The music was thrumming from below; I could feel it coming through the floor, along with the muffled -- but unmistakable - sounds of men getting drunk.

With all that noise in the background, and an unwarranted level of complacency on my part, I didn't really notice the sound of the toilet flushing yet again. To be fair, that was the only sound there was to hear other than the noise of the party coming through the walls. Had I noticed the flushing I probably wouldn't have paid it any more attention, I simply would have chalked it up to the Ballerina due to the silence with which he came and went, and I would have returned to the task at hand.

That task, incidentally, was to pick up a pair of classic steel handcuffs that my husband had dumped in the middle of the room. I leaned down and clamped my teeth on the chain connecting the cuffs...

"What the fuuuuu...?" The woman's voice trailed off without finishing the sentence - presumably because her jaw had dropped so low that it could no longer facilitate any type of speech.

She was standing the doorway, one hand on the open door, one hand on the door frame, with her legs frozen in what looked to be mid-stride.

She looked to be about my age, shorter but only slightly, and she was dressed as you might expect a normal, stylish woman would be on a Saturday night. Dark skinny jeans hugged her athletic frame, and a simple sleeveless blouse that looked to be made of silk was tucked into her waist. She had a pixie cut of dirty blonde hair and her blue eyes stood out from her otherwise delicate features. Her bare feet explained how she managed to move across the hardwood floor without a sound.

I had never seen her before in my life.

For my part I was looking directly at her, frozen in place like a deer in the proverbial headlights. The cuffs dangled from my teeth, directly over the basket. My eyes were as wide as saucers, and without a doubt, what skin of mine that was visible must have been turning crimson so fast that I should have fainted from the lack of blood flowing to the places that actually need it.

I was the first to break the frozen reverie. I let the cuffs fall from my mouth -- they landed square in the middle of the basket -- and my mouth continued to open until I was doing my best imitation of, well, the woman staring back at me. The rest of me was still frozen in surprise, shock, fear, embarrassment, and every related emotion you could think of.

She spoke first.

"Are you... are... are you... WHO are you?" she stammered quietly.

"Who are YOU?" I squeaked back at her.

"A... the... maybe... a... stripper?" Her voice lifted at the end as if she was asking a question.

"You're a stripper?" I managed to squeak. I didn't know they had booked a stripper!

"NO! You're the stripper... Aren't you?" she responded. She looked taken aback, but she was still frozen.

"What?" I squealed. "I'm not a stripper! You're the stripper, aren't you? You just said so!"

"No, I'm not!" she looked incredulous at the mere suggestion. "If you're not a stripper, why are you dressed like that?" she managed to ask.

We were both recovering our motor skills at the same rate. She finished her stride, which set both her feet inside the room, and I managed to lean back from the basket of kinky toys.

"It's my house!" I stated, rather defiantly. Explaining why I was dressed as I was, and doing what I was doing, where I was doing it - that would take a long time to answer. Besides, I can dress however I want in my house, right?

Right.

"Are you... Are you part of the poker game?" her tone changed to disgust as she said the words "poker game".

My face contorted in horror. "No! No! Oh, hell no!" I replied.

"But, what are you?... Do they know you're up here?" She looked confused.

I sighed in exasperation as the gravity of the situation finally kicked in. I had been discovered. The threat of embarrassment and humiliation that had provided so much sexual energy and tension to this point had finally come back to bite me.

It was only supposed to have been a game. I wasn't supposed to actually get caught!

Sitting back on my haunches I threw my arms up in despair. I felt like crying. I'm sure I looked like I was about to.

"No..." my voice cracked. I started to explain that the men don't know I'm up here, but my lower lip began to quiver, and my voice went up an octave, and then nothing would come out. I lowered my head in embarrassment and stared at the floor.

The confused look on her face gave way to pity when she saw that I was on the verge of tears. She closed the door and knelt in front of me, close enough to touch my face...

I tried again. "They don't know... It's just a... I wasn't supposed to... nobody knows... Oh god... So embarrassed... my husband... it was his... I just do what he says... god... I'm such... He's such a... oh for fuck's sake!" I was too overwhelmed to make any sense.

I pounded my little black satin fists into my lap, my ass sounding like a tambourine with each stroke.

"Calm down dear, calm down. It's alright. Shhhhhhhh... Just relax." She put her hands on mine and held them still on my lap.

"Let's start from the beginning... Just stay calm." Her voice was friendly, and, inconceivably, I was starting to calm down.

The question that should have crossed my mind was: "How can she be so calm?" This probably should have been the most awkward moment of each of our respective lives. More on that later though...

"Ok -- you live here you say? You're the wife, aren't you?" She asked as she tried to lean down to interrupt my gaze at the floor.

I nodded affirmatively. I'm "the wife", I thought. What a way of putting it.

"And none of the guys know you're up here? Just your husband, I gather?"

I nodded again.

"And he made you do all this? Dress like this? Wear these things?" She held up my balled satin fists when she asked the last question.

I nodded and shrugged at the same time. It was mostly true. She was doing an admirable job of piecing the story together; Sherlock would have been proud.

"And you let him?"

Shit. I couldn't lie about that one. Not unless I wanted to see him arrested...

That made me smile for a moment. The thought of dumping all of this on him seemed like a great idea, if only for a fleeting moment.

"You're smiling. What's funny?" The look of confusion was returning to her face.

Did I smile? For real? Shit!

"Yes. I let him." I said softly.

Then I shook my head.

"No. No, that's not fair. It's not just that I let him. I did this too." I managed to fake a little more confidence in my voice.

She looked very confused for a long moment, and then the weirdest thing happened - she smiled at me.

It was small at first, tentative, but then it grew wider. And wider still. Soon she was looking at me with a grin that went from ear to ear.

"YOU KINKY FUCKERS!" She blurted out; her voice full of laughter. She let my fists go and slapped her hands on her thighs.

"You dirty, kinky, horny fuckers! No shit? No SHIT!"

What?

Who in their right mind would stumble into this situation and be so chill about it?

"Who are you?" I finally managed to ask as she continued to giggle.

She covered her mouth and shook her head as she tried to get the giggling under control. There were tears welling up in her eyes; from the giggling, I presumed.

"I'm... I'm sorry!.." - she snorted between words - "I just wasn't expecting... I mean, it's fine, but... Oh my god... I'm gonna pee my pants!" She fanned her face with her hand.

Her laughter was disarming, if you can believe that. The terror and embarrassment that had me on the verge of tears gave way to my own giggling, which started to grow as well...

As her face turned red and her cheeks glistened from the tears that had finally spilled from her eyes and she fought for breath despite her uncontrollable giggling, the stark reality of my humiliation faded from my thoughts. Soon I was emulating her completely. My cheeks were streaked from the tears, and my face and neck were flushed red from something other than embarrassment for the first time in this long evening. For a moment I completely forgot about my husband and the men downstairs, and I overflowed with laughter.

I can't say what type of reaction I expected from anyone if they had discovered me, because never ever in my fantasies had I actually considered the possibility.

My exhibitionist fantasies had always focused on almost getting caught; either that, or focused on a situation where there was no hiding or pretense of hiding anyways. Whenever I imagined doing something dirty that I would be embarrassed to share with the real world, I had failed to imagine how the characters from the real world would act if I encountered them.

I'm sure I had harbored some unconscious expectation that they obviously would not approve. Either they wouldn't approve, or I'd be in an environment where depravity and limited humiliation would be acceptable -- like a fetish-themed Halloween party, for example.

But the fact that this woman was giggling uncontrollably, but without the least hint of condescension, had caught me so off guard that I couldn't help but laugh with her.

When we had finally recovered enough to be able to breathe normally, and we had both wiped the tears from our cheeks, she was the first one to speak.

"So. Now that that's over with... what are you doing here?" She asked.

I didn't know where to start. I was easing back to reality in the sense that I started to remember why I was here, and what still lay ahead of me.

I shook my head as I tried to figure out where to start, and how much to tell her.

"My husband came up with this, this game to play tonight, while the poker game was going on. I didn't really know ahead of time how elaborate it would be, but I more or less agreed to play along. He has given me a bunch of things to do -- challenges, I guess -- and I'm supposed to try to accomplish them without being caught. This was the last one..."

I brushed a lingering tear from my cheek. She was nodding as if she understood. Her demeanor suggested she stumbled across fantasy porn maids in bondage all the time. Her composure set me at ease, but surely anyone else would have found it unsettling.

"You still haven't told me who you are though, or what you're doing here," I said to her.

"Right. Sorry. Forgive me, I'm not thinking that clearly," she said.

It was a relief to hear that she was at least a little flustered.

"I'm here with Dan. I mean, for Dan. No, I mean colleagues... We're colleagues. I'm here for work. With Dan." She was definitely flustered. That made me smile again.

"Sorry." She took a breath to settle herself, and then asked: "Do you know Dan?"

I shook my head. I thought I knew most of the guys, but Dan didn't sound familiar.

"You know; Small guy, balding? Wicked allergies? Looks like a young George Costanza. Does that ring any bells?" She looked at me, hoping for some sign of recognition. I had none to give her.

Oh, wait a minute, Cat Allergy Guy! Dan must be Cat Allergy Guy! Thank God for Dan!

Evidently the epiphany showed on my face, as she smiled and said, "you do know him!"

"Ummmm, no, not really. But I knew there was a guy here with allergies. It turned out to be a good thing for me, really."

Understatement of the century.

"Anyways," she carried on, "I work with Dan sometimes, we're both in Real Estate. The idiot forgot to sign paperwork on an offer that expired tonight at midnight, and so I had to interrupt my evening to come over here to get him to sign some papers, because the dipshit said he'd had too much to drink and couldn't drive.

"So here I am. I met Dan downstairs, got the signature and then I asked where the bathroom was. Dan waved in the general direction of the stairs and staggered off to the kitchen. After I'd used the little girl's room, I was about to head downstairs when I swore I heard the sound of bells in here. And here I am.

"Speaking of those bells -- tell me I'm not crazy. I know I heard them in here -- where did they come from?" She looked around the room expectantly.

I hung my head in embarrassment once more. Then, knowing it was pointless to avoid the truth any longer, I lifted my bum up off my heels and shook my hips ever so slightly. The dozens of bells on my panties responded with glee, and the sound died out as I sat back on my heels once again.

Her eyes went wide with wonder as she connected the sound to the source.

"They're... on your ass?" She looked like the very idea was going to blow her mind.

I nodded meekly.

She stared for a long moment and then blurted out: "No way! Really? How the...?"

I lifted my bum once more and twisted my hips while I pawed at the edge of my skirt to show her one side of my bottom... wrapped as it was in a pair of cliché maid's panties with dozens of tiny little bells attached to rows of white ruffles.

"Oh my god those are so cool!" She exclaimed, as she clapped her hands like a giddy child on Christmas morning.

"Shhhhhhhhhhh!" I snapped at her. The noise from downstairs was loud, but she was getting louder.

"Oh, right. Of course." She bit her lip and actually looked chastened as she lowered her voice and stopped clapping.

"My husband made me wear them. They jingle incessantly when I move. It's as if he wants me to get caught." The tone of my voice was all frustration, and as I spoke the words they sounded to me like a woman complaining to a friend about how her husband never puts the toilet seat down, or some other mundane domestic detail.

She giggled as I explained. It made me even more frustrated, which she could see on my face.

"Oh, come on, you have to admit it is a stroke of evil genius. I mean, where did he even find them?"

"Easy for you to say -- you haven't had to deal with them all night long!" I shook my head as I said it.

Was she seriously giving my husband props for these?

"Fair enough. I'm just saying, it's a pretty novel way to make things interesting," she said as she smiled again, which was still disarming.

"So, you said this is the last -- "challenge" did you call it?" She asked.

I nodded.

"What do you have to do?"

All of a sudden I felt awkward, but I didn't see any way to avoid the question.

"I'm supposed to clean up all these embarrassing items and get them -- and myself -- back to the master bedroom. Then I wait for more instructions. He said this was the last thing I'd have to do though."

She nodded her understanding as she scanned the room. The bulk of the items were still scattered over the floor and the furniture. My embarrassment began to return as she took in the variety of our collection... and this wasn't even all of it.

"So, if you get this room cleaned up, and get back to your room, you're done?" She asked.

I nodded. I'm pretty sure that's exactly what I just said, but whatever. As long as you don't expose me and my husband for the raging perverts we obviously are, you can parrot me all night long! I thought to myself.

"But why were you using your mouth? Is that some sort of condition or something?" She looked like she was a little hesitant to ask that question.

I shook my head and frowned, while I held up my two balled, black fists for her to see.

"It's because of these. I can't grab anything. I tried picking things up at first, but it's almost impossible, and I would've been here all night. It was quicker to use my teeth..." I hung my head again, unable to look her in the eye.

Having me crawling around on all fours picking up sex toys with my mouth was obviously my husband's hope and intention when he put these damned mittens on my hands. But there was no way to explain it to this strange woman that didn't make it sound like I was all too eager to play "fetch" by myself. Talk about blaming the victim!

She held my forearms and leaned forward to get a closer look at my "paws". I stared in envy at her skinny jeans and silk top as she examined my kinky accessories. To an outsider, I wondered who would look more out of place in this situation at this moment -- her or me?

I managed to see the time on her delicate watch as she rolled my mittened hands around in hers to get a look at how they were fastened.

"They're actually locked in place!" She exclaimed quietly.

I nodded again. I wondered if she'd notice that everything I was wearing that could be locked, was locked?

She let my arms go and sat back on her heels, as if she were my more modestly dressed reflection. The look on her face suggested to me she was contemplating something.

What the hell is she thinking? I wondered.

"Okay. I'll do it." She stated that matter-of-factly. As if I'd just offered her a job.

"You'll do what?" I asked.

"I'll help you with this challenge."