I read Variations magazine and enjoy it very much, particularly the stories and letters on bondage, discipline and domination. The reason I am writing is to tell you about something I witnessed last summer.

My wife, Kay, and I were traveling across the state of Missouri by motorcycle. We had been riding for about an hour when I decided to pull into the rest station. As I brought the bike to a stop, I saw a pretty young woman sitting on a bench. She was chained to a motorcycle. Not far away, at a soda machine, was another young woman of about the same age. She brought a can of soda over to the woman chained to the motorcycle, and they talked for a few minutes. Then she walked over to us and asked if we had a lighter or a book of matches, as her friend wanted a cigarette. She explained that she didn’t smoke and that her friend’s lighter wasn’t working. She added, with a half smile, that her friend was kind of tied up right now and couldn’t come over herself.

I told her that I had a lighter she could use but that first I wanted to know why she had the other woman chained up. She smiled and said, “I don’t. Her husband does. She’s that way because she wants to be. She’s having a ball.” She said she would tell us the full story when she returned the lighter.

I looked at my wife and saw the effect the chained woman was having on her. She seemed mesmerized by the sight, unable to take her eyes away from this scene of female submission. Her face was slightly flushed and from the way her nipples were poking against the thin fabric of her blouse, I knew her panties were getting wetter by the second.

The woman returned a few minutes later and told us that her name was Bobbie and her girlfriend was Melody. She was married to Sam, and Melody was married to Rick. The four of them, Bobbie said, took a two week motorcycle trip together each year. The reason she and Melody were alone at the moment was that the bike Melody was chained to had developed an oil leak. Rick and Sam had taken off on the other bike in search of a service station and some oil.

As to why Melody was chained, well, it was because of what they had witnessed last year in Colorado. They had stopped at a roadside bar and grill and found a young woman chained to a bike in the parking lot in the same manner that Melody was chained now. When they asked her why, she calmly explained that it was her boyfriend’s “assurance policy.” Chaining her to the bike when he wanted her to watch it assured him that she would do just that.

Continuing her story, Bobbie said that right away Rick and Sam started teasing her and Melody, saying that they were going to chain them to their bikes. Nothing more was said about it, but over the winter their husbands had bought two pairs of handcuffs. Each handcuff had been cut in half and then soldered onto opposite ends of a chain about eight feet long. The chains had then been put in their saddlebags and taken out on their first rest stop this year.

Melody, submissive by nature, had responded enthusiastically to the sight of the chain, watching wide eyed as her husband snapped one cuff to the front wheel of his bike and then eagerly extending her arm so he could snap the other cuff around her wrist. “But there was no way I was going to let Sam do that to me,” Bobbie said. Melody, disappointed, had asked her to at least stay nearby while she was chained to the bike.

With my wife holding onto my arm, unsteady on her feet, I told Bobbie that Melody looked very happy. “She loves it,” Bobbie said. “She loves the feeling of helplessness. And of course, all the attention she gets. We’ve been on the road five days now, and Melody’s been chained to Rick’s bike nine or ten times, anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour each time.”

“It must be more than the attention she likes,” my wife blurted out, speaking for the first time since Bobbie returned with my lighter. I knew that her panties had to be soaked and that her pussy ached for my hard cock.

“You mean does she get hot?” Bobbie asked with a grin. “Rick says that after being chained to the bike Melody is hotter than a smokin’ gun. She’ll let him do anything to her he wants, even fuck her in the ass.”

Less than a minute later, a motorcycle pulled into the rest station and stopped near Melody. It was Rick and Sam. Rick freed his wife so she could use the rest room and walk around a bit before they continued on their way. No sooner had the two couples roared off than my wife had me start my bike and then jumped on behind me.

She all but begged me to stop at the first motel and once there she practically attacked me, sucking my cock with unbridled passion before getting on the bed on all fours so I could plow her drenched pussy from behind. She moaned and groaned the whole time I was fucking her, and I’m sure she was picturing Melody chained to that motorcycle while my cock thrust hard and deep inside her. She came I don’t know how many times before I finally shot my load.

Later, as we snuggled on the bed, Kay said she wanted me to buy a pair of handcuffs for her right away. Fortunately, we found a sex boutique in the very next town we passed through later that day. When I showed them to Kay she blushed prettily, and as I was putting them in the saddlebag she said, “I can’t wait, baby.”

We spent the night in another motel and then early in the morning set off again. At the very first rest station, I handcuffed my wife to the bike while I went in to get us coffee. We had to improvise, of course, as I didn’t have a chain or a soldering iron, but Kay seemed happy enough sitting on the curb with her left wrist manacled to the front wheel of my bike. I was able to keep an eye on her all the time, and I saw several people pass by and stare at her.

I didn’t return right away but watched from nearby as others stopped and stared at my pretty wife. Finally I brought the coffee over to her and found that she was blushing profusely. “God, this is so embarrassing,” she said, looking up at me. “I feel so vulnerable. And I’m so wet.” By the time we left that rest stop, Kay was on fire with lust. I pulled into the first motel we came upon and we fucked like our lives depended on it.

For the rest of our vacation, every time we stopped to rest, Kay was handcuffed to the motorcycle. And then it was off to the nearest motel to screw ourselves silly. Naturally, the first thing I did when we got back home was find a length of chain, a saw and a soldering iron.

In a few months we’ll be taking the bike on the road again, and this time, as my wife said the other night, we’ll be totally prepared. She can’t wait and neither can I.

Mr. A.W., Nevada