Chained slave wife

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Sylvia Kern heard the crunch of the tires on the gavel. Patrick, her husband was home. She felt her pussy convulse, and she glanced hurriedly round the room to make sure everything was in its place. The lighting was soft and seductive, the ropes were out if he wanted to use them, and the padded bench was in place in the center of the carpet. She heard him open the front door.

"Hi honey," she called.

"Hi," he shouted. "Any coffee on?"

"Yes, the pot's on the stove."

She waited breathlessly while she heard him clinking mugs and opening the refrigerator. It was only a few minutes, but to her it seemed like hours before he opened the bedroom door and came in. Patrick was tall, over six feet, and his muscular body had stayed firm for the ten years of their marriage. Instantly he knew what was on her mind, and he grinned, tossed his jacket over a chair and sat down in another chair, eyeing Sylvia as she got up off the bed and paraded slowly into the middle of the room.

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