Slave Girl By Claire Thompson A Renaissance E Books publication ISBN 1-58873-067-0 All rights reserved Copyright © 2002 by Claire Thompson This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission. For information contact: Renaissance E Books P. O. Box 494 Clemmons, NC 27012-0494 USA Email
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Chapter One Suburban Slut Jill's eyes were closed. She was making little mewling sounds, with some ooohs and aaahs thrown in, but she was thinking about her grocery list. Barry was heavy on her, grunting, thrusting rhythmically. It wasn't that he was a bad lover, or an unattractive man. He was just – boring. Jill gave a squeal of ecstasy and arched her pelvis up to him, signaling that her fake orgasm was about to be completed. Barry moaned loudly in response and jerked into her before collapsing and rolling off her. He drew a hand across his forehead and sighed happily, "Baby, that was excellent." Jill said nothing as she grabbed a tissue and wiped away the dribble of semen. At least it was over. Barry was successful. At 32, he was an attorney on his way to partner in a prominent firm in the city. He kept long hours, leaving for his commute at 6:30 and not returning home many nights until after 9:00. This gave Jill, a housewife with no children, plenty of time on her hands. When they had first married, she would spend all day making the house perfect, cooking a gourmet meal, making sure she looked great when he came to the door, tired and ready for some tender loving care. And Barry appreciated it. He would take the drink she offered and eat the delicious meal, telling her she was the best. Then he would make love to her, always the same way, climbing on top, rubbing his cock against her until it hardened, and then slipping it into her pussy. He would move and thrust to satisfy himself, leaving Jill frustrated. But she never complained. They had had a whirlwind courtship and she hadn't noticed that sex was less than perfect. She'd been so enamored of his dark blue eyes, his thick blond hair that always fell over his forehead in that cute way, his strong lean body, honed from years of tennis and sailing. She wouldn't admit it, but she was also enamored of his four bedroom house in plush Highland Hills, his sailboat and his Porsche, his membership at the exclusive Banyard Country Club.
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They had met when her temp firm placed her as a secretary at his law firm. She was new to the area, sharing an apartment with two other young women, barely making ends meet. Every spare penny she had went to her wardrobe and makeup, and it showed. Her long dark hair was beautifully but simply cut, hanging prettily around her face. Dark eyes, full mouth, classic features. She wore perfectly tailored suits that emphasized her long lean lines and shapely legs. Though a little 'old' for it at 26, she could have been a model, that's what people always told her. But she didn't have the ambition, she supposed. She just seemed to drift from job to job, boyfriend to boyfriend. When Barry asked her out, she was pleased, but didn't expect anything. Most men bored her, or were out of her reach, already married or gay. Barry was fun, taking her to all the trendy places. He was kind and sweet in a boyish, innocent way that charmed her. She knew she didn't love him, though she did like him a lot. Sometimes she wondered if there was something wrong with her. Maybe she didn't have the capacity to really love someone. Maybe she was broken somehow. When he proposed, after only four weeks of dating, she was stunned. They were eating at a little Brazilian place, and she was distracted, wondering how she was going to pay her credit card bills, when he said, "Jill, I love you." "I love you too," she responded, smiling that dimpled smile that she knew could melt men's hearts. He had said this often, several times a day, since the first week. She felt almost duty bound to respond in kind, even though if probed she would have admitted she didn't know what love was. She didn't think too much about it. He was always calling her darling and sweetheart, and staring meaningfully into her eyes. It was almost annoying, but she knew he was sincere, and he did it over the finest champagne, or while presenting her with a $200 bouquet of flowers, so she forgave him rather readily in her mind. In a way she did love him, she supposed. "No, I mean I really love you. I've never felt this way before, Jill. It's you. You're the one. I want to make you my wife. Will you marry me?"
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Jill laughed. Make you my wife? Who talked like that? But she realized with a little shock that he was serious! This man she had known for a month was proposing marriage! To follow up his words, he pulled out a little blue velvet box. "This is for you, if you'll have it." He opened the box and she couldn't contain the little gasp as she looked at the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen, set simply with a star sapphire on either side. She wanted that ring. She wanted the life he offered. She was sure she could learn to love him. She would make it work; she knew she could do it. She could do anything she set her mind to. Now, six months later, after a whirlwind honeymoon weekend in Bermuda (he promised Europe once he made partner, which should happen anytime now, he was certain) Jill settled down to be Mrs. Barry Lennon. It was great fun playing house, at first. And in bed she was reasonably aroused by his big cock. It was enough, at first. But now she was bored. Itchy. She had been used to a life of struggle and hustle. When her dad had died of a heart attack when she was 14, she and her mom, then a housewife herself, had had to make it on their own. She was used to being independent, and to being very busy, always working, and partying after hours. But Barry liked her to be there for him when he got home. He liked the idea of her keeping house for him. He was already talking about children, but she had convinced him she just wasn't ready for that yet. She did like the luxury, and the leisure time, to a point. It was fun to shop at the gourmet supermarket and buy whatever she wanted to without even looking at the prices. She enjoyed making the fancy meals from the cookbooks her mother-in-law had provided. She liked smoothing the fine 400 count cotton sheets over their big antique bed. She was starting to make new friends with the leisure set, as she thought of them. The perfectly coifed and manicured women at the club, who went to workout and gossip and get a massage or a tan. There was one girl named Ellie that she especially liked, and they had lunch together sometimes. But basically she was lonely. And bored. Then she met Ken.
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He came to the house that morning at 10:00, responding to her call for a plumber. The kitchen sink was blocked and Barry had told her to call someone; he wasn't handy around the house. When the doorbell rang, Jill peeked through the peephole and saw a tall thin man, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a plumber's overall with his name stitched neatly over his heart. He was really good looking and Jill felt a little tug of desire in her pussy which she tried to dismiss. He was holding a toolbox and looking official, so Jill opened the door and welcomed him in. The sink was no problem; Ken had it unblocked in minutes. As he was writing out the invoice, Jill said on an impulse, "Say, I've just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Can I interest you in a cup?" Ken looked up from his paperwork. He glanced at his watch, then looked at her, appraising her frankly, taking in her pink T-shirt, cut-off shorts, bare tan legs. With a slow sexy smile he said, "Why sure. I have a little while before my next job. That'd be very nice." Oh shit, what am I doing? Jill couldn't believe she was offering coffee to the plumber. It was like the beginning to some bad porn film. Well, she hadn't meant anything by it, really just coffee. Had she? When he sat down at her table and she poured coffee into the pretty ceramic mug she had set before him, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She could smell his cologne, feel the masculinity flowing off of him like some kind of sonar, detecting her, detecting her need. She smiled innocently and said, "Cream?" "Yes, please. Real cream, huh? Classy." As he took the little cream jug from her, his fingers brushed hers. She felt her nipples harden and worried suddenly that he could see them poking through the thin fabric of her shirt. "You're going to join me, aren't you? I don't want to drink alone." She sat across from him, feeling nervous but excited. This was ridiculous; they were just having coffee. Her large engagement ring and heavy gold wedding band glittered in the sunlight. "Married long?"
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"Excuse me?" "I said are you married long? This is some nice place you got." "Oh, thank you. Um, I've been married about six months. You?" "Me? Married? No way. I like to play the field too much. You'd be amazed how many gorgeous housewives there are out there, just waiting, all alone, for someone like me to show up and, uh, fix their plumbing." He grinned devilishly. She looked down, fingering her ring nervously. He leaned toward her. "You have anything besides coffee?" "What?" "Besides coffee. A bun or something." "A bun?" This was crazy. He was asking for a bun and she could barely catch her breath. She decided to take him at face value. "Let's see, I think I do have some croissants from this morning." She stood, but as she passed him, he pulled her toward him. She lost her balance and settled heavily on his lap. With a little squeal, she tried to stand up, apologizing in her confusion. But he wouldn't let her go. He didn't ask permission, he didn't hesitate. He kissed her. She sat frozen, not responding, but not stopping him either. He continued to kiss her, the coffee ignored, croissants forgotten. Her lips parted and she kissed him back, pressing her full breasts against his hard chest. He stood up, easily scooping her into his arms and whispered into her now tousled hair, "Where's the bedroom?" She didn't answer, struck dumb by his question, by what was happening, by her body's obvious and ardent response to him. Was he going to rape her? Why wasn't she terrified for her life? But she wasn't. She was only afraid that she was going to break her vows to her husband, because she knew she was going to. She had to have this man. He smelled so delicious she literally wanted to bite him. And yet she couldn't bring herself to speak. To tell him where the bedroom was, to admit that they were going to go there, and get into the bed and… "No problem," he said, as if understanding her hesitation. "Shouldn't be hard to find." He strode from the breakfast room through the house to the stairs. He climbed them easily, holding her
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as if she were a rag doll in his arms. He found the bedroom easily enough, with its large brass bed set in the center of a big sunny room. The window looked out over the bay, and Jill could see the blue green sparkle of the water, and the pale blue of the sky. He dropped her on the bed and fell heavily on top of her, kissing her again. She could feel his erection hard in his overalls against her thigh. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it banging against him. He pulled her pink T-shirt up, revealing her breasts, clad in a satin bra. He pulled up the bra too, allowing the breasts to tumble out, nipples erect. Jill was breathing so hard she felt dizzy. She knew she had to protest, to fight, to do something to show she wasn't a willing party to all this. Then his mouth found a nipple and the moan she heard was her own. When he pulled down her panties, her legs seemed to fall open of their own accord. His tongue was hot and silky against her pussy and she sighed, forgetting all pretense of resistance. When he stripped, she barely noticed, until she felt his hard cock enter her, filling her with such intense pleasure that she climaxed almost immediately. He wasn't done with her though. Pulling out, he flipped her over, forcing her into a doggy position. Then he entered her again, holding her hips to guide himself in, not giving her a moment to adjust. He fucked her hard and fast, and came after just a few minutes, his moan low and guttural. He hadn't asked her if she was using protection; he hadn't offered any himself, of course. He'd just come into her like she was some whore! Luckily she was on the pill, but my God, what if she hadn't been? He didn't pull out of her yet, she could still feel his cock hard inside of her. His fingers found her pussy, still swollen with lust, and he massaged her expertly until she cried out and pulled away from him, falling onto the bed as she pressed her legs together, experiencing a searing orgasm at the hands of this stranger. While she lay panting, her face flushed, bra still pushed uncomfortably over her breasts, Ken stood and pulled his clothes back on. "Sorry to fuck and run. Man, you look gorgeous and that was fantastic, baby. But I have another call. Won't do to keep the
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customers waiting. My number's on the invoice, sweetcakes. Call me if you get lonely. I'll be here in a flash. I make emergency house calls for my best customers. No, don't see me out; I know the way." And with that he was gone. When Barry came home that night, Jill was extra solicitous. She felt as if he must know what had happened. She was waiting for him to say, what happened today, honey? You look different somehow. But he didn't notice a thing. He was busy telling her a long and, to her, boring story about some case he was working on. And when they went up to bed and he snuggled in beside her, she was afraid again that he would notice, sense that she had been with another man. Of course she had showered; a long hot shower with lots of soap, but still she was afraid somehow the man had left his scent, some kind of mark on her that would give her away. Barry didn't notice a thing as he climbed on her. His cock entering her reminded her of Ken, and her body responded despite her worry. This time she didn't have to fake her orgasm, though poor Barry didn't know the difference anyway. He was asleep before she even reached over to turn off the lamp by the bed. She lay in the dark, eyes open, for a long time after that. ~~~~~ She wouldn't call him again. No way. It was a one-time fluke. An aberration. He must have caught her at an especially weak moment. As she lay by the pool, working on her already perfect tan, she let the book she was reading fall to the ground. The sun was warm on her body, but she felt too drowsy to even slip into the pool for a cooling swim. She had tried not to think of Ken; to busy herself with cooking and shopping and working out so she wouldn't dwell on the stranger who had come into her house and fucked her and then disappeared. She had sworn she wouldn't call, but she was half hoping somehow that he would call her. It had been a week and she hadn't heard a word. Maybe he was a one-time kind of guy and she'd never see him again. But he had made that comment about house calls. Call me anytime… No, she wouldn't.
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But somehow her fingers were punching in the number she hadn't meant to memorize. And Ken was on his way. Before he could even ring the bell, she pulled the door open. She was ready to make a speech – she didn't know why she had called him. She must have been temporarily insane; he would just have to leave. She was a married woman. But then she saw his face, his dark eyes intense, his smile lazy and laden with sex. Her words died as his mouth found hers while he kicked the door shut. After that, she stopped making excuses. They rarely spoke; they just fucked. Any and every which way, in every room of the house, they had sex. He didn't ask her permission for anything and he took just what he wanted. He even fucked her in the ass, something Barry had never asked her to do. She didn't mind it, even kind of liked it because it was so taboo, so very naughty. They were on the kitchen floor, and Ken's cock was rammed up Jill's ass. She was still wearing her sundress. This time he hadn't bothered to remove it. He'd just pointed to the ground, and when she was kneeling, he'd flipped up the dress, pulled down her panties, and entered her ass after he had her suck his cock to make it wet. That's how Barry found them when he came in through the backdoor, having forgotten some important papers in his study that he needed for a court appearance that afternoon. He had thought he would surprise his wife, and maybe make love to her before returning to work. He was excited at the prospect. Now he just stood there, staring, his mouth open, while some strange man fucked his wife from behind on his kitchen floor. Time seemed to gel and freeze into this one horrible moment. Then his mind clicked back on and he thought, Rape! She was being raped! He had to save her. "What the fuck!" he exploded, coming fully into the room, the screen door slamming behind him. Ken leaped up, zipping his pants as he did so, tucking his shirt into his pants. Jill had jumped up as well, hugging herself and crying out, "Oh, my God!" leaving no doubt in Barry's mind that this was no rape. This was consensual. Before he could yell for Ken to get the fuck out of his house, Ken was gone. Jill was gulping, breathing in little panicked
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gasps. What would happen now? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Barry had crumpled into a chair, his head in his hands. Jill wanted to comfort him, but she was afraid to touch him. She sat near him at the table and burst into tears. "Oh, Barry! God, I'm so sorry. It was so stupid. It was just something that happened. I–" "Stop. I don't want to hear it right now. Just be quiet. I can't think. Just shut up." She did, putting her hand over her mouth, tears spilling over her cheeks. After a few moments he said, his voice tired, "How long, Jill?" "What?" she said, stalling for time. "How long have you been having an affair?" "Oh, Barry! It isn't an affair. Please, I don't know what happened. A one time thing. It will never happen again. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. Oh, please forgive me." She was sobbing now, her world crashing in around her. She tried to put her arms around him, but Barry shrugged her off. "No. Don't touch me. Just give me some space here. I need to think. I have to go to court right now. I don't have time for this. How could you do this to me, Jill?" He didn't expect an answer, wouldn't listen when she tried to explain. He stood up and said, "Look, I have to get some papers and I'll see you tonight. We can talk then. Stop crying. Stop. I'll see you tonight." And he was gone. ~~~~~ It took a few weeks, but Barry actually forgave her. She was so truly contrite and sorry, swearing that it would never happen again, and she really meant it. A little wild sex wasn't worth losing a marriage! Sex with Barry had settled back into its usual dull routine. The first week after he had caught her, it had been exciting. Because he was so needy, so aware of having almost lost her, and she felt the same for him, they brought a certain desperation to their lovemaking that masqueraded as passion. But as he became complacent, he relaxed, and she began to make grocery lists in her head again, or daydream while he made love to her body.
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Still, no more Ken. She wasn't going down that road again. She did think about him though. About the wild sex they had, and how alive she felt when she was with him. If she'd known that was out there before she married Barry, she might have thought twice before so readily accepting his proposal. Her fingers would idle down to her pussy while she was lying by the pool, alone, sipping a glass of wine. She would make herself come with visions of Ken, his cock buried in her pussy or her ass, his strong arms keeping her from getting away… To channel this excess sexual energy, Jill started working out more at the club. She joined a cycling class taught by Andrew, a cute young guy who was really built. One day after class Andrew called to her, "Jill. Could you stay after for a second?" Jill nodded, still sitting on her cycle as the other people filed out of the class, heading off to shower or swim. "Thanks. I just wanted to say I really like your style on the bike. You have excellent stamina and great form." "Wow. Thanks. I enjoy it. It relaxes me." She flushed with pleasure at his compliment. "I was wondering, we have an opening for a teacher for cycling in the afternoons, on Mondays and Wednesdays. Mandy's taking a leave of absence to travel and we have a spot to fill. Any way you'd be interested in teaching the class?" "Me? Teach?" She started to say no automatically, that she couldn't possibly. But then she thought, why not? It would be fun. Before she could say yes or no he hurried on. "It'd just be for a few months, and your membership fee would be waived, and we can pay you a small stipend. It isn't much but–" "I'll do it." "You will? That's great!" Andrew grinned at her, and it made him look like a 12 year old boy. A very handsome 12 year old boy. "How old are you?" Jill blurted without thinking. "What? Oh, I'm 22, why?" "I don't know. You look so young!" "Well, you aren't much older, are you?"
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"Not much," she laughed, feeling rather ancient suddenly at her ripe old age of 26. "Well," he said, his expression quizzical, "could you start on Monday? We can meet when you have time to go over the routines and stuff. It's really easy; you won't have any trouble." "It's a deal." ~~~~~ She hadn't meant to do it. She had been sincere when she promised Barry never again. But something about Andrew intrigued her. He didn't come on to her the way most guys seemed to. He was all business when he was training her for the class. He didn't respond to her little flirtations. Somehow this seemed to challenge her, and she stepped up the charm. Was she too old for this guy? Was that the deal? Never a very secure person, despite her beauty, Jill felt he was rejecting her. In point of fact, he would never have responded to flirtations from a member of the club, no matter how gorgeous or available. He'd had plenty of opportunity as rich idle women selected him as their personal trainers, and then dressed to kill, posing suggestively as they did their workouts in front of him. Usually he ignored it, or was mildly amused, occasionally flattered. But he liked his job too much to risk it, and company policy was very clear about dating the members. He did sometimes date staff, but Jill was still off limits. And the rings on her finger spoke clearly of her status as a married woman, and therefore taken. He accepted her invitation to lunch, however, because she was so sweet, and she had helped him out of the scheduling jam with the cycling class. They met at a little Italian place, and over wine she became overtly flirtatious. Andrew was having a very hard time resisting this lovely woman. Being off his home turf of the club, he had lost his bearings somewhat. He decided to confront her on it. "What exactly are we doing here, Jill?" Jill looked flustered and had the grace to blush. "Whatever do you mean?" she managed, eyes wide and innocent.
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"Well," Andrew said, "unless I'm totally misreading you, you seem interested in me. As more than a friend. But I know you're married, and I don't know what's going on." Jill was hiding her face in her hands. She was mortified! God, she was so obvious. What was wrong with her! Here she was going after this kid! Why? Because he didn't slobber all over her, and that was a challenge? It was so embarrassing. She looked up and said, "I'm so stupid. I hope you can forgive me. I don't know what I think I'm doing. I don't think I'm thinking very clearly. I'm really sorry if I've offended you." His heart melted. "It's ok. Really. I'd love to have an affair with you. God, who wouldn't. It's just you're a member of the club and–" "An affair! I wasn't looking to have an affair!" She felt affronted, righteous even, but a part of her knew he was dead on the money. She was looking again, feeling needy, deprived by her lack of sexual connection with Barry. It was like a drug. Ken had opened something in her she didn't know existed, and now she was looking for it on the sly. Not even admitting to herself that she was after that thrill again. Andrew was slightly annoyed. He knew he hadn't been misreading her. Now she was just defending herself, backtracking to keep from being humiliated. "No hard feelings," he said, smiling. "I must have misread your cues." But he knew he hadn't. He was going to test this girl out, see if she was thinking with her head or her pussy. "Hey, I have the afternoon off; what say we go back to my place? I have some neat new equipment I'd love to show you. Not many people appreciate the finer distinctions of a really good stationary cycle." Jill thought of the otherwise long afternoon at home alone and said, "Sure, why not?" After they climbed several flights of stairs, Andrew unlocked the door, opening it to a loft – one large room with concrete walls and floors, half of which contained exercise equipment to rival any gym. He bowed slightly, smiling toward Jill, gesturing her in. The other half of the room contained stereo equipment and a double bed covered with a hand stitched quilt. There was a small kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom. The room was saved by a large window that ran
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the length of one entire wall, letting in lots of sunlight and a beautiful view of trees and a well tended garden below. "This is great," Jill said, swirling around as she took it in. "And your equipment, wow!" Andrew showed her his exercise equipment, puffing up proudly over his new Z2010 Nautilus Aerobicycle. As she bent over to examine it, he lightly circled her with his arms. She twisted around to face him, her heart beating with excitement. She didn't care if she had promised Barry to be good. What would it matter, anyway? One little fling with this guy, that's all it was. It wasn't an affair, for heaven's sake! Just scratching an itch. It had been over a month since she'd seen Ken. She had never heard from him again once Barry had discovered him, nor had she tried to call him. But Andrew was so young, so fresh. His body was hard and wellmuscled. She wanted to feel that body against hers. She leaned in, closing her eyes, waiting for a kiss. When there was none forthcoming, she opened her eyes, pulling away from his embrace. Smiling, acting unaware of the sexual tension between them, Andrew said, "Would you like to see my new free weights? You could try them out if you want." Embarrassed that he hadn't kissed her, but feeling grateful for the out, Jill nodded. In the corner of the room hundreds of pounds of steel lay waiting to be lifted. Andrew had Jill lie on the bench, on her back. He stood over her and handed her a pair of small weights that he had her raise and lower a number of times. He handed her a heavier set. "Now, Jill. I want you to hold the weights just like that, yes. A little higher. Good. Now don't move. You might get hurt if you drop those weights." All of the sudden his hands were on her stomach, moving in slow, sexy swirls across her midriff. She gasped at the unexpected touch, but had to admit it felt wonderful. Then his hands slid slowly upward, till they found her breasts. His fingers were relentless as they slid under the fabric of her bra, pushing it up so that her breasts were exposed to his probing fingers. She was still holding up the weights, though her arms were getting tired now. His fingers rolled her now rock-hard nipples in a tight
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grasp, till she moaned with pleasure. Smiling, he leaned forward and gently took the weights from her hands. Her arms fell limply to her sides, the muscles spent from her exertion. Andrew was grinning at her. He had her number all right. Then he kissed her mouth. She responded ardently, making soft moaning sighs. "Not looking for an affair, huh? I totally got you wrong, huh?" As he spoke, his voice teasing, he kissed her mouth, her neck, her hair. She tried to be angry, and she truly was embarrassed at her own eager display. But there was no denying that she was very aroused. Pulling away suddenly, Andrew stood back. She could see the rise in his pants, and felt her own wetness and need. He grinned at her and said, "Admit it, Jill. You came back here with me for one thing, didn't you?" She looked away, her face hot. "Admit it." Jill got up from the bench, smoothing her long hair from her face. She turned toward the window, confused. Andrew came up from behind and spun her around. He grabbed her erect nipples through her sheer blouse and said, "You are a prick tease, aren't you, Jill? Is that what this is? You lead on young guys like me to make yourself feel hot? We're real people you know, us young studs, not just your little fuck toys for when hubby is away doing his secretary–" He stopped mid sentence because Jill had slapped his face. She hadn't meant to and stepped back, gasping, starting to apologize. Andrew's hand went to his check and he moved menacingly toward her. "You little bitch." She was truly frightened for that second he approached her. Alone here in his apartment and no one else knew where she was. Oh God, what stupid thing had she done now? But instead of hurting her, he pulled her to him again, and this time he didn't talk, but just kissed her, forcing her mouth open with his tongue. His kisses were like nothing she had ever experienced. It was like he was making love to her mouth. She didn't want it ever to stop. She slumped in his arms; she would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her. They sank together to the floor. There was no turning back.
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It didn't last long with Andrew. They met several more times, always at his place. Then one day it was over. Andrew told her that he had found himself a girlfriend and he informed Jill that he, unlike her, was not a two-timer. Her feelings were hurt, but a part of her was relieved. Andrew wasn't a terrific lover; in fact, after the initial seduction, he reminded Jill of Barry – wham bam thank you ma'am. After Andrew, Jill behaved for a while, focusing on her daily routine, and on keeping Barry happy. But it wasn't long before she felt restless again. Something essential was missing in her life, but she didn't know what it was. Sean mowed their lawn once a week. He was older, maybe 35, with a heavy mustache and thick dark hair. Not particularly tall, he was strong and stocky. He looked like he could break Jill in half with one hand. Not my type, she told herself. She preferred tall lean men, like Barry. But something about Sean got under her skin. Maybe it was the way he looked at her when he thought she didn't notice, like she was a scoop of ice cream that he wanted to lick. She felt it should have insulted her, but instead it aroused her. She liked it. She began to dress in more skimpy outfits when he was due to mow. She would 'forget' her bra, or wear shorts that were cut off so high they left little to the imagination. One sultry afternoon Jill offered Sean some of her homemade lemonade. He was wiping the sweat off his brow as she handed him the check for his services. The dress she was wearing was a denim sleeveless outfit that zippered all the way up the front. Her braless breasts chafed slightly against the fabric. As he drank from the glass, Sean's eyes raked over her in that insolent way that made her hot. Her zipper was purposefully low, and the dress was cut so that it pushed her breasts together, showing off her cleavage provocatively. "It's awful hot out here, Sean. Want to come in and cool off a bit?" Before she knew it, they were in the shower together, even though she'd promised herself she wouldn't do anything stupid at home any more. Sean was fun. He liked to make love to her in the shower after soaping her up and getting her totally wild. Then he would kneel
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down and tickle her pussy with his tongue and his thick mustache until pleasure built up in her so that she thought she would explode. Barry never kissed her pussy. Then Sean would have her kneel in front of him and suck his surprisingly large cock. He would hold her head while she did it, easing his cock in and out of her mouth till he came, spurting gushes of semen down her throat. Barry occasionally asked her to suck his cock, but he never came in her mouth, always moving to her pussy when he was aroused, to do his usual bump and grind. Jill always made sure Sean was gone well before Barry might come home. Except for one afternoon, when Sean brought some champagne along. Over her protest (I really can't drink during the day, I go right to sleep.) he popped the cork and poured them each a glass, using her fine crystal that looked like it would break in his meaty grip. It was delicious, and Jill drank several glasses, finishing each one as fast as Sean could pour it for her. She knew she was drunk, but she felt wonderful. "God, you are gorgeous," Sean said appreciatively, and he pulled her clothes off right in the kitchen before he carried her up to his favorite place, the shower. They made love for a long time, till they both had prune skin and the room was awash in billowing steam. As they were drying off Jill heard a sound downstairs. Barry! Shit, what time was it? The champagne and the great lovemaking had completely befuddled the young woman. She had let Sean stay way longer than she usually did! Still, it was early for Barry, no need to panic. Pulling on her silk robe, whispering to Sean to stay quiet and hide in the bathroom, she flew down the stairs, almost colliding with Barry, who was holding her dress and panties, and the empty champagne bottle in his hand. "Did I miss the party?" he said, teeth clenched, voice barely controlling his rage. "It's not what you think, please Barry." "Oh, right. You just threw off your clothes and drank a bottle of champagne by yourself." "Please, I can explain," she begged, with no idea at all of how to explain. She didn't feel drunk anymore, at least not giddy and gay, as
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she had just a moment before. Now her head felt heavy and she couldn't think clearly. Barry shrugged her off as she tried to approach him, to hug him. He went up the stairs and threw open the bedroom door. No one. He went next to the bathroom, recalling that Jill was in her robe, hair wet, face pink from the steam. Pulling back the shower curtain he dropped the champagne bottle onto the bath rug and said, "Who the fuck are you? Get the fuck out of my house!" Sean, naked, had been hiding in the bathtub, hoping to make his escape. Barry didn't realize he was the gardener; he was never home when his lawn was mowed. Barry threw his clothes at him, and Sean grabbed them, pulling them on as fast as he could. "Hey man, I'm–" "Spare me, motherfucker. I don't want to hear you; I don't want to see you. If you aren't out of my house in 10 seconds I'm calling the cops and having you arrested for breaking and entering." Sean ran out of the bathroom, pushing Barry aside. He grabbed his boots and flew out the door, slamming it as he went. Barry went into the bedroom where Jill has laying on the bed, hiding her face in the pillows. "Bitch!" he screamed, and grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to turn over. "You promised! You whore! Who else have you been fucking while I work my ass off for you? Answer me, you bitch!" As he spoke, he pulled her toward him. Grabbing the sash of her robe, he pulled it off, yanking her robe open. "What do I have to do? You want to be treated like the whore you are? Like the little brat you are? Come here!" Grabbing both her wrists, Barry pulled his wife till she was over his knee, her head hanging off the edge of the bed. "Barry! Stop! What are you doing! I said I'm sorry. Please, let me up!" But he didn't let her up. Instead he put a hand on the small of her back and said, "I should have done this a long time ago, the first time you messed around. And don't tell me this is only the second time, because I won't believe you. I know now you're nothing but a whore. A cunt! And so I'm going to treat you like one! You are no longer my wife, Jill. You are my cunt, my whore. Now take what you
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deserve, whore!" With that he brought his hand down hard on her ass. She screamed and wriggled, trying to get away. He held her tight, bringing his hand down again across the other cheek. Jill was stunned, not just by his behavior, but by his words. Mild mannered Barry almost never cursed, and certainly had never called her any of those names! She realized she was afraid; he was scaring her with this new angry persona. She tried to get off of his lap, to wriggle free, to get away. "Keep still, bitch. I'm not going to stop until I can't do it anymore. This is what you've needed all along, isn't it? A good old fashioned spanking to keep you in line. Well, you've earned it; shit, you're begging for it! So take it!" Again he smacked her, and again, until she was crying out, yelping and struggling. But Barry was strong, and anger fueled his passion. He hit her quite hard, probably harder than he realized. Eventually she was crying real tears, but no longer struggling. He had literally beaten the fight out of her. Her ass was a deep crimson, and he could already see the beginnings of bruising on her delicate skin. Instead of melting his heart, this just seemed to inflame him more. He realized his cock was rock hard, so hard it hurt. It needed release. Well, this whore should satisfy that need. He flipped her off his lap, letting her fall on the bed. She was still crying, but softly now. Pulling off his clothes, letting his impossibly hard cock out of its cotton cage, he started to lie across her, as he always had, missionary style. But something in him made him flip her onto her hands and knees. "You act like a bitch; I'll treat you like one. Fuck you like the bitch in heat you are!" He slammed into her pussy, which was still wet from that bastard in the shower. "This – is – what – you – need!" Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust into her pussy. He fucked her hard, grunting and sweating over her, pulling her by the hair, using her roughly. He was raping her! Her own husband had just beaten her and now he was raping her. Jill's mind was outraged; horrified. But her body was in ecstasy. That wetness hadn't been for Sean. It was for Barry,
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and for what was happening to her. She didn't understand it, but she knew she loved it. Something opened inside of her, some secret Pandora's Box of lust and need, and Barry was indeed giving her exactly, just exactly, what she needed.
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Chapter Two Punishment "You can expect my call at 10:00." Barry looked down on his wife, who was still tangled in the bed sheets, her face clouded with sleep. "We'll discuss things then." Jill nodded, and Barry bent down to kiss her cheek. He felt desire surge through him, but he controlled it, and left her to drift back to sleep. The night before had astounded them both. Barry's rage had subsided with his orgasm. He sort of 'came to' and realized what he was doing. But Jill had clung to him, holding him so tightly he eventually gently pried her hands from him. She wouldn't look at him at first, but when he forced her chin up, the look he saw was not what he expected. She was gazing at him, her eyes large and wet, with something bordering on adoration. He was confused, having been ready to apologize for his crazy behavior. He couldn't explain it, even to himself. The lust that had been initially driven by anger had carried them both to orgasms so intense they had fallen together, hearts pounding, their mingled sweat a sheen on their bodies. And now her expression as she gazed at him was nothing less than rapturous. In his anger and his pain, he had meant to punish her, to make her suffer. But instead, she seemed to be thanking him with her eyes, to be caressing him with her gaze. "What?" he began, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Sh, don't say anything. Thank you. Thank you, sir" Sir? What did she mean by that? Was she making fun of him? But her expression said otherwise. He was confused, but pleased somehow. Yes, it had felt wonderful to put the little bitch in her place. She had definitely deserved what she got. And her response when he fucked her doggy style had been so intense it had driven him to use her more roughly than he had ever dared. He had thought he was debasing her by fucking her like a common slut. But now she was thanking him. And calling him sir.
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He sat up, naked, next to her on the bed. Jill scrambled to her knees next to him, and then slipped down between his legs, kneeling in front of him, sore red ass resting against her heels. She began to kiss the tops of his thighs, moving down to his knees and finally to his feet. She was kissing his feet! What was happening? Slowly it dawned on Barry that she was thanking him for raping her! Without using the words which would have been too embarrassing at that point for her to say, she was thanking him for taking her in hand at last. Barry felt his cock, which at any other time in the past would have been spent until at least the next night, stirring with interest. The little slut was on her knees kissing his feet! He felt a surge of power that made his cock go fully erect. He dared to take a chance and said, "And what do you have to say for yourself, Jill?" He made his voice stern. She looked up at him, eyes wide like a child's, but she didn't answer. "Hmm? I asked you a question. Answer me when I talk to you. And stand up. I want to see what I did to your ass." Jill stood up, her long body gracefully unfolding, and slowly she turned around. Her bottom was still red, and little purple bruises were beginning to form. Barry sucked in his breath, shocked at himself that he could have inflicted this on his wife, on the love of his life. But his cock said otherwise, as it strained and bobbed at attention. As Jill turned slowly to face him she whispered, "I deserved it, sir. Thank you, sir." If he had demanded further explanation at that point, she wouldn't have been able to give it. She didn't yet fully understand it herself. But she realized with sudden clarity that what each of the men she had fooled around with had had in common was a certain cocky sureness. They knew what they wanted and they took it. They didn't ask her permission or wait for her response. They each in their own way had 'claimed' her, in a primal reenactment of man taking woman. She hadn't known this was what she needed. She only knew that what Barry had offered was never quite enough. He was too solicitous. And so predictable. But tonight! At first when he was spanking her she was outraged. Helpless in his strong grip, she had
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been humiliated and horrified to find herself being spanked like some naughty child. And then it really began to hurt! But at the same time, something began to transmute inside of her. The sting of the spanking seemed to send sparks of fire directly to her pussy. Her entire body began to tingle with desire. Even as she continued to struggle and cry out, a part of her was on fire with lust. When he had finally let her up, only to slam his cock into her sopping cunt, she had exploded almost immediately in an orgasm that just seemed to go on and on as he mercilessly fucked her, his balls slapping her very sore, hot ass. When they fell together at last, she experienced an intense emotion that could best be described as gratitude. It was as if he had unlocked something in her that she thought was dead or broken. She felt more alive than she ever had in her life. She felt it like a lovely weight on her, a mantel of love that swelled and broke over her in waves as she knelt naked on the ground, kissing his feet in a literal and symbolic gesture of servitude and adoration. Finally he had held out his arms to her, and she had climbed into them, curling against his chest as she drifted off to a deeply contented sleep. Barry had laid awake next to her for some time, musing over what could only be described as the oddest night of his life. He had to admit that he liked seeing her kneeling there, naked and vulnerable, kissing his feet, and then displaying her body for him at his command. And calling him sir. He had to admit, he liked her doing that. He liked the implication that she was somehow subservient to him. He knew about this stuff, this S&M stuff with masters and slaves. He'd even been to a few BDSM sites and chat rooms online. But it had all been posturing, he thought. Silly play by silly people pretending to dominate and submit to each other in cyberspace. Definitely not for him. But this didn't seem like play. Whatever had happened between them had been real. And sexy. God, it was sexy. He had never felt so powerful, so alive! All his life had been spent bending over backward to respect women and treat them like fine china. Maybe that was his mistake? Maybe that's why girls seemed to end up dumping him? And even Jill, though she had married him,
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had always seemed to hold a part of herself back, away from him; off limits. But something had happened last night. All his carefully controlled behaviors had been blown apart by his own rage and then his own lust. And her response had been so intense. She had clearly loved what was happening! From the initial despair he had felt when seeing his wife yet again with another man, he now felt hopeful. Yes, that was the word. Hope mixed with something else that he realized was passion. He passionately loved Jill, but realized that until this night, he had never expressed that passion in a way she could really feel. Was this the beginning for them? The beginning of a new relationship where he was 'sir' and she was his sex slave? He finally drifted off to fevered dreams with visions of his wife kneeling at his feet. At precisely 10:00 the phone rang. Jill was awake and dressed. She had made the bed and straightened up, throwing out the champagne bottle and retrieving her sundress from the kitchen floor. She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened the night before. Barry was like a new man in her eyes. A stranger, but a sexy and exciting stranger who was going to give her what she never even knew she needed. She hadn't been able to settle down to any task that morning. She had been nervous, too nervous to eat. When the phone rang, she jumped, and then rushed to pick up the receiver. "Hello?" "Jill." "Yes," she whispered, her stomach fluttering crazily. "How are you today?" "Me? Oh, um, I'm fine." She felt like an idiot, a tongue-tied teenage idiot. "Good. I've been doing some thinking. About you. About your behavior. About what we need to do about it." Jill was silent. "There are going to be some changes. You are going to have to earn your way back into my trust. And you are going to have to do it my way. You are going to have to obey me. To trust me and to do what I tell you. That's your choice. Or else I don't want you anymore, Jill. I
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don't want a slut that fucks every repairman that comes around. Do you understand, Jill?" "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, what?" "Yes, sir." Just the words sent a little spasm of pleasure through her pussy. "Good. The first thing we'll do is set some ground rules. We'll discuss them tonight. As I said last night, you are no longer my wife. You are my property. I own you. Do you understand?" God. Even his voice was different. Not the sweet gentle, almost wheedling tone he seemed to use when he spoke to her, but a new confident voice. Deeper and more sure. Property! She should be outraged. But she wasn't. She was intrigued. Again she responded with a yes sir and he went on. "Now, this afternoon, I want you to log on to a site I've found for novices like you. It's called subspace.com. I want you to go there and read everything you see. Take your time. Think about what you are reading. We'll talk it over tonight when I get home." When they hung up, Barry swiveled back to his computer. His office was large and with the door closed he had complete privacy. Instead of earning billable hours, this morning he had spent his time cruising the Internet, checking for suitable sites to begin to learn about what they had experienced last night, and how he could capitalize on it with Jill. He had read all about Bondage and Discipline and Dominance and Submission. He spent some time in a chat room 'for Doms Only,' discussing and asking questions about slave training. A lot of it seemed silly and contrived, as he had thought before when cursorily checking out the sites. But not all of it. He met a man online who told him about several good reference books and sites where he could learn as he went, teaching himself while he trained his wife. He was excited and intrigued. He wanted this. And he was pretty sure Jill wanted it too. He had never seen her so responsive, so eager to please him. So submissive. That was the word! She had behaved submissively toward him, and it was a huge turn on. The possibilities, oh God, they were endless. He couldn't
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wait to get home and begin their new life. But first he had a few purchases to make. That evening Jill met Barry at the door. She was wearing a pale yellow dress which offset her creamy tan and dark eyes. Opening the door as he came up the walk, she smiled shyly at him. He strode in, setting a rather large package on the front hall table, forgoing the usual kiss he gave to her cheek. Instead he said, "Lift up your dress." "What?" Jill was confused, nonplussed. "I said lift up your dress. Do it. Now." Jill did as he ordered, revealing a white lacy bra and panties, and a tan flat belly. "Take off your bra and panties. No undergarments from now on unless I say so, and then only what I pick. Come on, move. Do as you're told." Jill's face was flushing a nice pink, but she did as he said, reaching behind her back to unclasp the bra, and then sliding it through a sleeve. Next she stepped out of her underwear. She stood for a moment uncertainly, holding the little silk garments. "Give them to me." She did so, feeling a little electric current when their fingers brushed. "Good. That's better. Now don't forget that rule. No panties without permission. Bring me some wine and we'll sit on the porch a while before dinner." Barry went to change and Jill went thoughtfully to the kitchen, feeling nervous and edgy with anticipation. She had spent several hours, as instructed, on that subspace site and other sites that it had led her to. She talked with several 'submissives' who lived the life '24/7' as they explained to her. The overriding thing she noticed with each woman was their deep sense of serenity and satisfaction. They loved being owned and seemed to live for the moment they next saw their master. And some of these weren't stupid woman. One was a medical doctor and one was a banker. One was a mother of three. They were mature intelligent women who knew what they wanted, and more importantly, had it! She was fascinated by their stories, though still not certain it had much to do with her. But she was willing to listen, and eager to learn. On the porch, Jill handed Barry his wine. She started to sit on the chair next to his but he said, "No. Be careful how you sit. Sluts like
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you have to lift their dress before they sit. There's a book called, 'The Story of O.' Have you heard of it? She had. She was surprised that he had! She had read it in high school, giggling nervously over a copy she and her girlfriend had found in her girlfriend's mother's nightstand. She remembered it, and she remembered that O had to sit on barstools in public places with her bare ass touching the stool. She remembered agreeing aloud with her friend that the book was perverted and sick, but secretly she had been excited by it. She had never thought to apply the fantasy to herself; it seemed too far fetched, too bizarre. Not something a feminist like herself could possibly entertain. She had simply let it go. But now she remembered and she nodded. Barry raised his eyebrows, as if surprised that she had heard of it. This morning was the first time he became aware of it, as his new friend, Paul, told him a synopsis of the tale. Barry took a long drink of his wine as he stared out at the bay, watching the setting sun turn the water turquoise, purple and gray. "Jill, I want to talk about us. About how I see us going forward. This isn't an ultimatum from me. I don't want to force anything on you. But you do have to understand that I can't bear to have a wife who cheats on me, who treats me like shit by fucking other guys. And no…" He stopped her as she started to protest, to apologize, to explain. "No, hush. Listen to me. I forgive you. I've been thinking a lot about it, and Jill, it isn't any more your fault than it is mine. I realize now I haven't been giving you what you want. What you need. I'm not sure you even know exactly what you need, but it sure wasn't whatever I was offering." Again she started to protest, and again he shushed her. "Please, Jill. Let me talk. I want to tell you how I see things. Where I see our relationship going. And I want your input on this. I know I said I 'own' you, but of course you know that doesn't mean anything at all unless you want it to. This isn't about me taking you by force, caveman style, to keep you in place. I don't understand it all yet, but I think this is about some deep seated need inside of both of us, that neither of us really knew was there. This is our chance to find
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out. To explore. To take chances. And frankly," he was speaking so quietly now she had to lean in to hear him, "I don't think we're going to make it together otherwise." When Jill spoke, her voice was low and measured, not the higher pitched girlish tone she often adopted with her husband. "Tell me, Barry. I want to hear it. I don't know how to say this. God, I'm embarrassed to even try, but something happened to us last night. When the world should have been crashing around our ears, our marriage falling in ruins, instead, it's like something new and wonderful is being born! I'm confused about it, but I'm so grateful and relieved to see it isn't just me. You felt something too! You're different." She paused and looked out at the bay. "I went to the site like you said, you know." "Yes? Tell me." "I was really intrigued. Excited. I want to learn more. To understand. Do you think I'm a total pervert? That I liked what you did last night? That it turned me on? That it made me come so hard?" "God, no! It isn't something I fully understand yet either, but talking to those people today, online, I learned a lot too. What we both seem to be feeling is something apparently a lot of people feel. A lot of people. Just think about how many BDSM sites there are out there! Some of them have over a million members! That's a million people like you and me, with something in our natures that makes us want to try this new lifestyle. I know I do. I hope you do." "I want to hear what you have to say, Barry. I want to learn too. Teach me." Barry smiled, relieved at her response, having worried all day that he had gone too far both last night and this morning on the phone. "Ok. Here's the thing. I've been reading up on this. Yeah, I know, once a lawyer, always a lawyer. Anyway, I have some ideas and I want to try them out with you. I think what we are entering now is a pact. A pact between master and the slave." Barry paused, looking a little sheepish. He felt a little silly using the terms 'master' and 'slave' although if he were honest with himself, it was exciting as well. To be Jill's master. To control all aspects of her life, most especially her
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sexual behavior. But aloud he said, "I prefer to think of us as lovers, and I am the dominant lover, while you are the submissive one. You will obey me. You can call me Barry still, of course, or you can call me sir." He smiled a little self-consciously, but Jill was listening with rapt attention, her whole body tensed toward him, as if she could hear him, absorb his words through her skin. "I will call you whatever moves me at the moment. If you are being my cunt, I will call you cunt." Jill's eyes widened. Barry never used that word. "If you are being my whore, I'll call you that. I won't call you wife. Not yet. That's something you're going to have to earn. Right now I see you as my slut. As a girl who can't keep her legs closed and can't keep her hands off of other men. No. Don't speak. I want you silent right now, Jill. That is rule number one. You won't speak unless or until I specifically instruct you to do so. Do you understand?" Slowly Jill nodded, feeling a crazy heat in her cheeks and chest. She was blushing like a schoolgirl and she didn't exactly understand why. "Now, I'm going to help you, slut. I'm going to teach you to keep your legs closed and keep your body to yourself. You will be available only to me. Only me. That means not even you. Not yet. When I am not here, you won't have access to your own body. Again, until you earn it. And you won't be leaving the house for a while, until I decide I can trust you to leave without fucking the first man you see–" Jill couldn't control herself anymore. "Hey! That's unfair, you bastard! I never–" her words were cut off in surprise because Barry had risen from his chair and gone inside. She followed him yelling, "Hey, where're you going! Barry! Come back here!" She found him in a chair in the living room. He pointed to the floor in front of him, his face stony. "Kneel," he barked at her. Jill knelt, silenced at last, looking up at him with trepidation. "I thought you said you wanted to learn! Kneel there and close your mouth! What was the first rule? Don't speak until spoken to. I don't care if you're offended by me speaking the truth. You will take it. Do you understand? Now, you broke the first rule. Time for
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the first lesson. Get up here over my knee, slave, and bare your ass for the spanking you've earned." Jill started to protest, but Barry looked so stern that she clamored onto his lap, lifting her dress so her ample naked bottom was bared for his hand. There were still the faintest little purple bruises from last night. Barry smoothed the flesh for a minute, gently touching the bruises. Then he began to smack her cheeks, not nearly as hard as he had the night before. After all, this was just a little reminder. Still, he spanked her long enough to make her begin to whimper and writhe on his lap. Her movement and her pretty ass getting nice and pink were enough to give Barry a raging erection. He pushed her off when the friction of her wriggling body against his cock was almost too much. Jill knelt again at his feet, her hair tangled and hanging in her face; her eyes bright with unshed tears from the spanking. "Are you ready to listen now, slut?" She nodded, looking down at the floor. "Good. Now, about your body not belonging to you anymore, it's going to be mine. Do you want that? Because I want it freely given. I want you to give yourself to me, to promise me complete obedience. Can you do that? Do you want that?" Jill nodded, frightened on one level, but deeply excited by his words. Yes, yes, she wanted that. She whispered her consent. "Ok, then. I want you to think about what that entails. I'm going to give you a little time to think it over, by yourself. I'm going to get dinner, but first, I want to show you what I've bought for you today." Barry brought the package from the hall and opened it on the coffee table. He pulled out a heavy leather whip with many soft tresses. Jill's eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she looked at the whip. Next he brought out a medium sized riding crop with a thick leather loop made for smacking a horse's ass, or a woman's ass, her ass. He brought out a silk blindfold, really a sleep mask, and some black rope coiled neatly in its packet. Finally he brought out a small metal contraption that looked like some kind of odd shaped jewelry box with buckles and chains. "What's that?" she blurted out. "Your chastity belt."
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"My what?" "Your chastity belt." He said the words carefully, like he was speaking to a slow child. "That's going to go over my pussy. The pussy that can't seem to stay in its panties when any stray guy happens to pass by the house. You're going to wear it for a while. To see what it's like to lose control, to give up control to someone else. You've never done that before, have you, Jill? It's all always been your way. Now it's my way. Stand up. Let's try it on." She stood uncertainly, but her vivid dark eyes were bright, almost fevered. Paul had told him online today where to buy the toys and training tools any decent master should own. He had advised that a chastity belt was an excellent purchase when training sluts like Jill. It taught them quickly who was in control, and left no room for 'mistakes.' Now Barry buckled the odd contraption onto Jill, pulling the little sheath into place with the straps, and buckling it round her waist. Against the small of her back, he attached the locking clasp, and put the key on a slim silver chain he wore around his neck. Jill touched the thin metal band that Barry had adjusted around her waist. It was cinched tight, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable. Attached to the belt was a flat broad strip of metal that ran down her belly and fit snugly over her pussy, completely covering her clit and entrance. Two thin chains attached to the belt in the back, making a V across her buttocks. The burnished metal was lined with soft black velvet, which fit over the sides to prevent chafing. The belt had been quite expensive, and came with a large packet of little replacement velvet liners, which could be attached by their Velcro backing to Velcro permanently attached to the inside of the metal pussy plate. The salesman at the upscale adult boutique had assured Barry that this would need to changed daily, since the sluts who wore these things were always creaming into them. The old Barry would have been insulted and offended by the man's coarse remarks, but the new Barry just smiled and nodded his agreement. The metal contraption felt heavy and cold between her legs. It covered her mons and, with the chains that looped up across her
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bottom, rendered her private parts completely inaccessible. She pulled at it slightly but it didn't budge. "Barry, this is crazy." "Isn't it," Barry agreed. "But effective. Now, as I said, I'm going to get dinner, but first I'm going to help you into the right frame of mind to begin your training. Have you ever been tied up, slave?" Jill didn't answer. In fact, one boy in college had made a game out of tying her hands to the headboard before fucking her, and she had liked it at the time, but it had so clearly been a game. This didn't feel like a game. She bit her lip nervously. Barry leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "It's ok, angel. I won't hurt you. At least not now. I'm just going to help get you into the right frame of mind. You said you want this. Trust me. First raise your arms." Jill obeyed and Barry slipped her dress over her head. Taking a small penknife from his pocket, one that Jill had given him before they had married, he measured with his hand and then cut a length of rope. "Hold out your hands." She did and he wrapped the rope around her thin wrists, vaguely remembering a simple knot from Boy Scout days that would stay secure but was easy to remove. He liked the look of the black rope against her tan skin. Next he attached another, longer piece of rope to the rope around her wrists. "Come on into the kitchen. I want you where I can see you." She followed, hands cuffed in front of her, chastity belt between her legs, bare breasts gently bouncing as they walked. In the kitchen, Barry brought her to a spot under the light fixture. Tossing the rope, it coiled up over the fixture and he pulled it down, forcing Jill's arms up into the air as he did so. He continued to pull it gently until her arms were raised high above her head, which had a nice way of raising her breasts as well, forcing her to arch her back slightly. Jill felt her pussy heating inside the metal cup. She was a little afraid of what was happening, but deeply, undeniably intrigued. "Now don't pull, or you might pull the light down. I plan to make some changes in the guest bedroom, but for now, this will do. Just one more thing." Barry paused and fished in his pocket for a second,
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bringing out the silk blindfold, which he placed gently over Jill's eyes, being careful not to pull her hair in it. Something about the blindfold! Jill started to breathe faster, shallow little breaths that made her breasts heave. She couldn't see and somehow this made her feel far more vulnerable than the fact that her hands were tied together over her head. She felt a slight sense of panic and started to speak, to tell Barry he had to take it off. But Barry was watching her, and he saw her discomfort, guessed at her fear. He whispered close to her ear so that she startled and jumped slightly. "Sh, don't worry, Jill. Remember, it's me. I know you're feeling a little scared right now, a little nervous. That's good. I want you to feel that way. I want you to stand here, naked and bound, blinded and alone. You can't get down, you can't move. I could do anything I wanted to you right now and you can't do a thing about it. You can't even see what is happening to you." He leaned down and gently bit one of her nipples. Jill, already skittish, cried out and pulled away. "No! I can't do this!" "You can. Sure you can. You really have no choice. Now calm down and relax. I'm going to make dinner for you. I'm going to make steaks and we can finish this bottle of Merlot." He turned away from her then, and Jill could hear him making his preparations, opening the refrigerator, clinking platters and moving around. Her heart was pounding, but her panic was subsiding. Yes, of course she could do this. She would trust him. And as he said, what choice did she have? Perhaps the knowledge that she really did have a choice, that he would never really keep her against her will, helped her to relax. After all, this was Barry here, not some stranger. This was her husband, and she knew he loved her. And he was making dinner. Now that was something new! She smiled slightly and stood quietly, acutely aware of the metal between her legs, the rope around her wrists, her bare body arched out for her husband to ogle while he cooked. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, cupping her breasts and then squeezing her nipples. He moved in front of her
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and took her face in his hands. "I like you like this. You look so hot tied up like that. I think we're going to have a lot of fun exploring bondage and discipline, don't you, cunt?" Unconsciously Jill pursed her lips; she didn't like being called a cunt. Suddenly she felt the sharp sting as Barry slapped her cheek. She gasped and tried to pull away. "Don't make faces, cunt. Do you have a problem with the word cunt, cunt? Well, you better get over it, because that's what you are; you are my cunt." He held her face and kissed her mouth, biting her lower lip, forcing his tongue in, pressing against her naked body. He reached his arms around her and unlocked the little clasp, letting the chastity belt clatter to the floor. Using one hard finger, he found her entrance and pushed up into it, pleased and aroused by how obviously wet and horny she was. She could make all the faces she wanted, but the slut was definitely into what was happening to her. She wanted it as much as he did. Quickly he let the ropes down, and scooping his wife up into his arms, took her to the bedroom. Laying her gently on the bed, he retied her wrists, this time to the brass headboard. He took off the blindfold and looked into her dark eyes. She was still breathing hard, and her expression almost seemed to be pleading. He felt the lust of passion overwhelm him. Quickly undressing, steaks forgotten, he climbed over her and thrust himself into her, causing her to grunt and moan. Forcing himself to go slowly, he eased out of her and paused, his cock poised at her entrance as he leaned down and kissed her soft mouth and neck. Then he plunged into her with one hard thrust, so that again she was forced to grunt and moan. Over and over he repeated this until she was arching up, begging him to fuck her. She had never begged like this; indeed she was usually silent during their lovemaking, except for the ooohs and aaahs she probably thought were expected of her. But now she was like a bitch in heat, decidedly 'unladylike' as she begged to be fucked, as she grunted and yelped with his unrelenting thrusts. He came into her, yelling her name, and collapsed onto her. She was wriggling and moving under him, desperate for more, just a little more, to send her over the edge.
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He lay on her, a dead weight, ignoring her need, her little mewling cries. He knew exactly what she wanted. He smiled slowly, remembering what Paul had told him this afternoon. "Don't always let them come. They're all sluts and live for their orgasms. You have to teach them that it is a reward, and something to be earned. Either that or it's something you like to watch, and so you let them come for your amusement, not for their own pleasure. You have to teach them that this isn't about them. It's about you. And how they can serve you. Not the other way around. Teach them at the outset. Teach them who is the boss, and who is the slave, the subservient, the object of your desire. Only then will you truly own them." "You want to come, don't you, slut?" Jill nodded, eyes closed, desperately close to orgasm, needy and intent upon it. "Well, you can't." Lifting himself off her, Barry stood up, his cock still dripping with his semen and her pussy juices. "That's another thing you'll have to earn, and God knows you haven't earned it yet! Now clean this cock off and then we'll eat." He leaned over her, straddling her shoulders, forcing his cock into her mouth. He would never have dared to do this before to his wife, never have even thought of doing it. But this wasn't his wife. This was his whore, and he could do whatever came to his mind. Yes, he could do what he wanted with his property. He slapped her lips with his cock until Jill opened her mouth, and then he slid his sticky cock in. Jill sputtered and tried to move away, but she was pinned under him, arms still tied above her head. Reluctantly she licked the shaft, her nose wrinkling in distaste, until he was satisfied. Barry stood again and untied Jill's arms. She looked angry, like a petulant little girl who's been denied her lollypop. He grinned at her. "No one said it was all going to be easy, slut. Now wipe that bratty little expression off your face and put on that pink silk camisole thing I like and come to the kitchen for dinner. If I catch you touching that pussy, I'll put the belt right back on, don't think I won't." ***
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"You done? Make sure, because I won't be home till 1:00." It was 6:20 in the morning, and Jill, naked and sitting on the toilet, nodded. She was embarrassed to have Barry standing over her like this, watching her urinate. He was holding the chastity belt. When she stood, he buckled it around her waist, securing and locking it behind her back. He slipped the key onto a silver chain around his neck and smiled at her. As the lock clicked shut, Jill shivered, though it was warm in the large master bathroom. Barry pulled Jill toward him, wrapping her in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of sage and wildflower from her shampoo. He felt his cock stiffen in his pants and pulled away. He had to go to work. Taking off for lunch would necessitate some rescheduling, but he didn't care. He would come back and see how his slut liked her new metal cunt cage. Now, even if twenty guys came over and stood in line to fuck her, they wouldn't be allowed access. He had the only key and it would stay with him. "Do you want this, Jill?" Barry asked, voice gentle but his eyes blazing. "Yes, sir," she nodded, and she tried to hug him again, but Barry pulled away. "No, no, slut. Don't try to distract me. Your pussy's all locked up anyway, and I have to get to work. I want you to drink the orange juice I've left for you. No cheating by not drinking. This is the first of many lessons in suffering. You are going to learn to suffer with grace." Jill followed him as he walked into the hallway, collecting his briefcase on the way. He had more orders for her. "This is between us for now, though I may involve others at a later date. No phone calls today, no calls to your girlfriends to discuss your latest, eh, fashion accessory." He grinned and went on. "You will get privileges as you prove yourself worthy; privileges like going to the bathroom on your own, calling and even going out with your friends, permission to come, permission to use the furniture in my presence, but for now, no. For now you do only and exactly what I tell you to do.
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"The first thing, as I said, is to drink the juice. The second thing is to go back online and visit the sites you liked, and find some real-time submissives to talk to online. I want you to learn about their experiences and pay attention to how it makes you feel. This isn't a game; not to me. I want you to embrace this as if your life depended on it." He lifted her chin, forcing her to look up into his face. "Am I clear, little slut? Do you understand what your master is asking of you today?" "Yes, sir," she breathed, and then she looked away, as if she couldn't meet the eyes of this new powerful man who was taking her into such total control. Once Barry had gone, Jill dutifully drank the orange juice, which was fresh squeezed and delicious. Before this 'transformation' in their roles, Barry had never cooked a meal, washed a dish and certainly never squeezed fresh juice. She could get used to this, she thought, smiling. Going to the full-length mirror in the bathroom, Jill examined the belt from all angles. It looked something like metal underwear in the front, a metal thong panty. It was pretty, and the burnished silver contrasted nicely with her tanned skin. It fit snugly, but wasn't uncomfortable. Just as an experiment, she tried to slip a finger between the metal and her pussy. It was impossible. She gave up and examined her body critically in the mirror. Unlike most women, she actually liked her body. Admittedly, she spent quite a lot of time working to make it perfect, with daily workouts and careful tanning by the pool, and a healthy diet. But nature had also been especially kind, endowing her with long shapely legs and a slender waist. She thought her breasts might be a little bigger, but her 34C cup was attractive, and her nipples, though small, were a pleasing dusky pink. Again her eyes were drawn to the belt. She was fascinated by it, and by what it symbolized. He was truly claiming her. It was one thing to state that her body belonged to him and only him, but what a way to prove it! The fact that he was able to pick up such an item must mean that other people were using them! Did they make them
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for men too? While she was online, she would check out chastity belts. There was nothing you couldn't find out about online, it seemed. And what had he meant about involving others? He had said that would happen later, but what did he mean? Was he going to find another submissive girl to bring home? She had talked to someone online who supposedly lived with another submissive girl, that both she and her husband 'owned.' She was the pet's pet, if you like. Jill shook her head at her own musing. She definitely would not like to compete with another woman for her husband's attentions! But then, it wasn't up to her, was it? What a curious but also exciting thought! It wasn't up to her. Jill felt a little twinge of desire pulse at her clit. She had been angry when Barry refused to allow her to climax last night. During her shower that morning she had quickly and roughly rubbed herself to orgasm, though it wasn't as satisfying as she had hoped. But at least it had taken the edge off. Now she could actually feel her clit throbbing inside its metal cage. She went over to the computer, sitting gingerly, trying to get used to this contraption secured between her legs. Perversely, in spite of, or perhaps because of, her inability to touch herself, she found herself becoming more and more aroused. If she could have, she would have definitely masturbated. But her pussy was secured as if she were some medieval knight's wife, kept under lock and key while he went to the wars. It was crazy! Still, she had agreed to Barry's demands. He hadn't forced her. His commanding new presence was so different, so exciting, that she would have agreed to most anything he suggested at this point. She logged onto the site she had found yesterday, the one called slavesubs.com. There was a chat room and she entered it, using her logon name of SubJill. There were several other subs in the room, and she just watched for a while until someone sent her a secret message. "Hi Jill, is that you? It's Tanya." "Oh! Hi, Tanya. You remembered me!" "Of course I did. The new girl. The new slave. How was it last night?"
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Jill told Tanya all about what had happened the night before, including that Barry hadn't let her come. She left out the part about sneaking an orgasm in the shower. "Oh, my master only lets me come on Saturdays. And then only if I've behaved perfectly well all week." "Don't you hate that?" "Well, I'm not crazy about it, but then, it isn't up to me, is it? I'm his property. His toy. 24/7, I am his fucktoy and his slave girl. And I'll tell you, Jill, I wouldn't have it any other way." "Wow!" Jill was intently focused on the screen, watching the words appear, her eyes widening, her mouth slack. "You do this all the time? How long has he, um, owned you?" "Six months. We met online. The first time we met in person, I had to be completely shaved. Not just my body, but my head too. Everything. It was an act of submission, a token, he said, of my sincerity." "Before you even met? But what if you didn't like him? You know, when you actually met." "Oh, Jill. It was so beyond that. I knew him for two years online before we got together. I quit my job in Ohio and moved to Pennsylvania to be with him. I came to him with all my worldly belongings. Except my hair. LOL." "What? I keep seeing that. What is LOL?" "Man, you are new to the net, aren't you? That means Laugh Out Loud, silly!" "Oh." It was true, Jill had never really ventured into any chat rooms. She had used the net for research, like determining the weather for a trip she was planning, or finding a good movie review site. But somehow she had believed that 'chat rooms' were for kids and perverts. But here she was, and which was she? She grinned at herself and focused on what Tanya was typing. "He's let me grow my head hair back, though it still is only a pixie cut now. But pussy, asshole, underarms and legs, he shaves them for me every day." "He shaves them for you?"
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"Sure. It's part of our ritual. Rituals are very important between Master and slave. You'll come to see that if Barry's any kind of real dom. He would never let me handle a razor. I might cut his property. Me, that is, LOL." Jill found this constant use of 'LOL' rather annoying, but she didn't comment. Instead, she thought about what it would be like to shave your pussy bare. Or to have your husband do it for you! Again her perverse little cunt heated inside the metal and velvet. She felt like she was on fire. And on top of it, she had to pee. "I have this thing on. This chastity belt." "No way! A real one? Oh, I'm so jealous!!!" Jill smiled, suddenly feeling proprietary about her very own chastity belt. "Man," Tanya typed on, "Master wants to get me one. Really just for show, because I would never touch my Master's pussy without his orders. Never, never. I'd rather die." Jill thought this sounded a little over the edge, but she also thought again, a bit guiltily, about her 'stolen' orgasm that morning in the shower. She looked at the time in the bottom corner of the screen. Only 10:35 and poor Jill had to pee. She shifted in her chair, trying somehow to relieve the pressure on her bladder. This was so surreal, to be sitting in her own home, with her pussy locked into a metal cage so she couldn't even pee! The phone rang and she jumped, startled. She answered on the second ring. "Hello?" "Slave girl." "Sir." It was as if they had always held these roles. Slave girl and Sir. Only a week ago she was a frustrated bored housewife with a husband who didn't fulfill her and now she was 'owned' by a man she barely recognized. She felt her breathing slow and deepen, as if he were there next to her suddenly in the room. "How are you? How's your nasty little cunt?" A small intake of breath; she still wasn't used to him speaking to her like that. But she responded. "Um, it's ok, I guess. I do kind of have to use the bathroom." "Do you?"
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"Um, yeah." "Gee, that's a shame, seeing as I won't be home for two and half hours." Jill squirmed, now involuntarily focusing on the pressure in her bladder. "Maybe I could just unlock it for a second? Just to pee? I mean, I swear I would re-lock it and not touch myself or anything." Her voice was pleading. "I have the only key. And Jill." He paused. "Yes?" she said, a hint of a sigh in her voice. "I'm disappointed in you. A mere four hours in the belt and there you go begging to unlock it. I'm going to have to punish you when I get home. All part of your training, you understand." Again the smallest sigh, but if she were honest, his words had set her poor pussy throbbing. She could feel the heat of it against the metal. She shifted, pretending to herself it was an effort to ease her bladder, but it was her eager little clit she was trying to get to. It didn't work. "I'll see you at 1:00, slut. Wait for me at the door. I want to see your ass facing me while you kneel on the floor. Make sure you obey, cunt. You're already in enough trouble." The line was dead before she could respond. When he got home, Jill was waiting as ordered, and the humiliation of the position made her perverse pussy even hotter. She heard the door open and tried to stay still, resisting the urge to move, to turn around, to look at him. "Yes," he said, more to himself than to her. He was smiling hugely, feeling his cock stir at the sight of his gorgeous wife kneeling before him, ass up high in the air, the chains taut against her cheeks, the glimmer of burnished silver at her sex. "You look lovely, Jill. I wonder what all your lovers would think of you now, whore." The sudden memory of her betrayals caused his emotions to become confused for a moment, as anger mixed and melted into the arousal of the current situation. Because of that, he grabbed her rather more roughly than he meant to, jerking her up by the hair so that she squealed in pain. "Stand up,
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slut. Don't forget I owe you a punishment for your lack of control." He pulled her toward him and kissed her on the mouth. He pulled away and slapped her cheek sharply. Jill gasped and brought her hand to her cheek. "You need to pee, right slave girl?" Jill nodded. Barry grabbed her arm and led her to the bathroom. Lifting the long silver chain from around his neck, he unlocked the chastity belt. Jill sighed with relief as the tight metal band was removed from around her waist. She had to immediately cross her legs, as the urge to urinate was overpowering now. She tried to move toward the toilet but Barry stopped her. "No. This is your punishment. You aren't going to use the toilet; you're going to pee in the bathtub while I watch you. Standing up. Go on, move." She stared at her husband, embarrassed, but certain by his tone of voice that he meant it. She needed to pee too bad to protest, so she managed to sidle over to the tub, legs still crossed in a desperate effort to keep from having an accident before she got in. Once in the tub, her control was lost, and urine began to roll down her legs, and then a steady long stream hissed into the tub. Jill's face was red, but her relief was so profound she didn't care. Barry watched her with satisfaction. His slut girl had been forced to hold her pee for hours because he wanted it that way. A plan had been forming in his mind, of slowly taking over all aspects of her life. She would become not just a sex slave, but a complete slave, one who would make no decision on her own, but would look to him for her every action, every thought. Intellectually he had been stunned upon realizing that he wanted something like this. He, who had been steeped in feminist propaganda since he was a little boy, and who had always agreed that men and women were equal and should be treated as such. How could he rationalize this desire to completely subjugate and control his wife with his entrenched beliefs about equality? He had asked this very question to his new friend, Paul, who had answered that there was no conflict. He explained that when two people agreed to a voluntary exchange of power, there was total
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equality, since both parties wanted the exchange. He also pointed out that it wasn't about a man controlling a woman. It was about a dominant person controlling a submissive one. It could just as easily have been a woman wanting to dominate her submissive husband. It wasn't about equal rights, he explained, it was about sexual orientation, and the simple recognition of what we needed. It was far more honest, and hence far more satisfactory to each party, to admit the need for control, and for loss of control. Indeed, he went on, the result, when coupled with love, is sublime. Barry had decided that Paul was something of a poet, and certainly a romantic, but he liked his explanations, as they soothed his own troubled conscience about what he wanted to do to his wife. When Jill was done in the tub, Barry had her wash off and meet him in the bedroom. "Lie on the bed and spread your legs so I can see your pussy." Jill lay down, eager and hopeful that her little cunt was at last going to get some attention. She wasn't disappointed, as Barry knelt down in front of her and began to give her teasing butterfly kisses with his tongue and lips. Oral sex had never been high on Barry's list, and Jill sighed deeply with pleasure as he continued to lick and fondle her. She felt her pleasure mount, and at just the right moment he slid a finger into her tight cunt and she arched up, moaning, one inch away from a delicious orgasm. Then the finger and the lovely hot mouth were gone. Jill opened her eyes, confused; needy. "Hot for it, aren't you, slut?" Barry had stood up and was looking down on her, his hand on his own cock, which he released from his underwear, having quickly unzipped his pants. Jill nodded and started to move a hand toward her pussy. "Don't you dare," he hissed at her. She looked up at him, surprised. She had thought he would want to watch her play with herself. "Put your hand down. You aren't going to come. Not now. Maybe later, if you behave. We'll have to see. Right now I want to talk to you. But first you need to take care of this, slut. Get down here and suck my dick so I can spurt down your throat. Get up."
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"Barry," she begged, holding out the second syllable in a petulant whine, but she got up from the bed and knelt before him. "You'll learn," he said quietly, as he forced his erect cock into her mouth. "You'll learn to never use that tone in my presence. You'll learn to never hesitate, not for a second, when I tell you to do something. Now suck my cock like the whore you are. Pretend it's the gardener, if you have to, but make it good." Again the anger made him thrust a little too far into her throat, causing Jill to gag and try to pull away. But he held her in place and fucked her mouth until the pressure was too intense, too perfect, and then he came down her throat, holding her head still, forcing her to swallow before he let her go. Rather than being upset or outraged by this rough treatment, Jill was more on fire than ever. She felt like she had to touch her pussy now; had to come or she would explode. She was breathing hard and her face was flushed with desire. Barry, who, once he had come, immediately began to have doubts about his aggressive behavior, saw the unmistakable lust in her eyes. The bitch wanted it! She wanted what he wanted. He felt something that could only be called glee course through his body. He held out his hand, indicating that Jill should stand up. When she did, he caressed her sopping pussy for a moment, loving how wet and needy she was. Never before in their relationship had Jill been this wet. Never having known anything different, he had just assumed she wasn't a highly sexual person. Now he realized what a total slut she was, under the right conditions. But he had to know the extent of her willingness to submit. He had to hear it from her. Lunch forgotten, they went to the living room where Jill waited while Barry retrieved the chastity belt from the bathroom. When she saw it in his hands, her face crumpled in dismay. She wanted to come so bad! "Wipe that bratty expression off your face!" Barry commanded, and he ignored her whimpers as he forced her to spread her legs and allow him to re-secure and lock the metal band around her waist.
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When she was re-secured, access again denied to her sopping, aching pussy, Barry told her to kneel on the floor. He went to his briefcase and brought out a sheet of paper. Grinning a little sheepishly he said, "Guess once a lawyer, always a lawyer. But I've taken the liberty of drawing up a little contract." "A what? A contract? What for?" Jill had no idea what he was talking about. "Well, it's a slave contract, actually." Barry blushed slightly. "Between master and slave, I guess, is more accurate. It outlines what my expectations are for you, and what I will expect from you. You don't have to sign it now. I want you to take your time and read it carefully. If you have questions or want changes, I want to hear them. This is going to be a voluntary exchange of power between us. But if you agree, I will expect you to obey completely, or suffer the consequences. Do you want that, Jill?" He tried to keep the pleading out of his voice, and realized as he waited for her to respond that he wanted this desperately. And a part of him knew that without it, their marriage would fail, sputtering to a dry and unsatisfying end, with neither of them living up to what he rather grandly thought of as their shared destiny. He waited, unconsciously holding his breath, while Jill took the piece of paper. She looked at him questioningly. "You want me to sign this?" She hadn't said she wanted it, and maybe she didn't. He quelled his own disappointment, and told himself she just didn't understand yet. "Yes, after you read it, of course. And if it seems like what you want. I want it, Jill. I want it with all my heart. I have to go back to work now." Then Barry surprised his wife by leaning over and unlocking the belt. He carefully removed it and placed it in the velvet bag it had come in. He kept the key on his chain around his neck. "I don't want to leave you in the belt too long," he explained. "It will take some time to get used to it, and you've been wearing it enough today." While he spoke, Barry inspected Jill's waist, hips and ass, as if she were some kind of horse or slave. Slave! He seemed satisfied that there were no abrasions or irritation to her skin.
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"I'm trusting you, Jill. Take care of my body. And don't touch that pussy. Don't you dare. Read the contract. Take your time with it. Think before you sign. Think about what it means to give over control of your body, your actions, your soul, to another person. See what I offer in return. In fact, don't sign it, if you plan to, until I get home. We'll talk about it first. And Jill," he looked at her seriously, his heart on his sleeve, "listen, if this isn't right for you, I'll understand. I'll still love you. If you just want to incorporate a little S&M play into our sex life, I can live with that. I've laid it all out here for you; what I want. But it isn't written in stone, or blood. It has to be something you want too. Well," he broke off, looking embarrassed, "I'm talking way too much. I have to get back to work. I'll see you tonight." He kissed her and left the house quickly, not wanting to hear her response, not yet. Something about a contract, perhaps, the formality of it, had seemed to catch her unaware. He had prepared it rather quickly, a sort of fever overtaking him. He had culled much of it from various 'sample slave contracts' online. Not surprisingly, he supposed, there were many of these out there. But most of them seemed contrived, stilted. A game. He wanted this to be real. He wanted to outline for her what he saw as their relationship, or their potential relationship. But perhaps he should have waited; maybe she felt rushed, and he had moved too quickly for her. That had always been a trait of his, to decide that he wanted something and then go after it with full speed ahead. It usually worked well for him; in his law practice it had earned him a reputation as a go-getter. And he'd married Jill after dating her for only a month, after all. That was a good precedent, at least. Calming himself, Barry drove back to work, images of his lovely wife left naked at home, his future held on a sheet of paper in her hands. Jill walked back to the sofa and sat carefully, trying to ignore the steady aching pulse in her sex. Barry had misunderstood her hesitation. She wasn't tuned off by the idea of a contract, only surprised. It had never occurred to her to sign something promising
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obedience. As she thought it over, it sounded kind of exciting! He had taken the time to draw up a document (she smiled wryly to herself, wondering if he had dictated it to his secretary as he often did with his correspondence and legal documents) outlining how he wanted their relationship to go. It was kind of anal, she supposed – very Barry. But still it intrigued her, and she sat down to read.
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Chapter Three The Contract Master/slave Contract Between Barry Lennon and Jill Adams Lennon 1. I, Jill, hereinafter referred to as slave girl, agree to submit completely to my husband, owner and master, Barry, in all ways. There is no situation where I will refuse to obey a directive without risking punishment. 1.1 My body belongs to my master, to be used as he sees fit. I hereby acknowledge that I exist solely to please my master. I will not touch this body in a sexual way without his express consent and permission. To do so is to invite swift punishment. I recognize that the paramount duty of a slave is honesty. If I don't understand why something is being done to me, I will say so. I will always inform my master of my thoughts and feelings. I will never resist my master's advances, or anything else he chooses to do to me. I may inform my master if I am unwell, or if there is some other reason my master's wishes might best be temporarily delayed, but the decision will ultimately be made by him. 1.2 I will not sit on chairs or other furniture in my master's presence without permission. After the initial training period, I may come and go as I please unless I have been ordered otherwise. I may ask to be dismissed, but must give a reason for the request. When approaching my master, I am required to kneel sitting on my heels, legs open, hands on thighs, unless for social reasons this would be inappropriate. 1.3 I agree to accept any punishment my master decides to inflict, whether I perceive it to be 'earned' or not. If I am to be punished, I must obey instantly and without question, unless I do not understand what I am to do. 1.4 I will not seek any other master or lover or relate to others in any sexual or submissive way without my master's express
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permission. To do so will be considered a breach of contract, and will result in extreme punishment. 2. I, Barry, accept the responsibility for my slave girl's body, safety and well being. I agree to care for, provide for, train, punish, love and use my slave girl as I see fit. 2.1 My slave girl may sometimes disobey or be insolent and then must be punished. This, of course, is the master's privilege and his duty, for if a slave is not corrected, she will not improve. When I choose to punish my slave girl, I will tell her why she is to be punished and how. I will punish my slave girl in any way I see fit. She may be bound to remind her of her helplessness before me, or she may be ordered to hold a position to teach her obedience. I promise not to inflict bodily harm, or permanently damage my slave girl. 2.2 If I so choose, I may accept other slaves or lovers, but must consider my slave girl's emotional response to such actions and act accordingly. 2.3 I may give my slave to other Dominants, provided that the rules of this contract are upheld. In such a situation, I will inform the new master of the provisions stated herein, and any breach by the new master will be considered a breach by me as well, subject to all rules stated in this contract. 3. This contract may not be altered, except when both master and slave agree. If the contract is altered, the new contract shall be printed and signed, and then the old contract must be destroyed. 4. Termination of Contract – This contract may be terminated at any time by the master, but never by the slave girl. 5. slave girl's signature I have read and fully understand this contract in its entirety. I agree to accept his claim of ownership over my body. I understand that I will be commanded, trained and punished as a slave, and I promise to be true and to fulfill the pleasures and desires of my master to the best of my abilities. I understand that I cannot withdraw from this contract unless I wish to terminate my relationship with my master. Signature:____________ 6. Master's Signature
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I have read and fully understand this contract in its entirety. I agree to accept this slave as my property, and to care for her to the best of my ability. I shall provide for her security and well-being and command her, train her, and punish her as a slave. I understand the responsibility implicit in this arrangement, and agree that no harm shall come to the slave as long as she is mine. Signature: Jill sat staring at the document in her hands. She had read it through quickly, her hands trembling. Her first impulse, her gut reaction, was to tear it up. How dare he demand that she completely give her body and trust to him so completely! Never touch herself without 'express consent and permission' – it was ridiculous! And that part about existing solely to please her master. What was that about? She understood about 'serving;' it was sexy to kneel naked and make your man go crazy with pleasure, but solely to please him? She sat still, thinking more about it. Could it be that a submissive's pleasure derived from that service? That she did achieve great pleasure and satisfaction from fulfilling her master's wishes, from suffering for him, or pleasing him as he saw fit? She had read about this online, but now it was all happening so fast! And yet... And yet she didn't tear it up. She started to read it again, slowly this time. And as she held the sheet of paper, she became aware of her pussy beginning to throb again. He had, after all, brought her so close to the edge with his French kisses, but hadn't let her come! She let her hand trail down, and she spread her legs on the couch for easier access to her naked sex. Section 2.1 kept drawing her eye. Her fingers found her wet cunt, and she began to massage it as she read the words that she had to admit inflamed her imagination: "My slave girl may sometimes disobey or be insolent and then must be punished… I will punish my slave girl in any way I see fit. She may be bound to remind her of her helplessness before me, or she may be ordered to hold a position to teach her obedience." Something about these words deeply excited her. To be bound and helpless, or forced to maintain a 'position'. It
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seemed like something from another world, a secret fantasy world where naked pampered slave girls were kept in harems and brought out in silky gowns to dance for their masters. A dream. He was offering her a dream. Did he really mean it? This was so unlike the Barry she knew. Though when she really stopped to think about it, beneath the always polite and solicitous exterior, Barry was really a very competitive man, and one who knew what he wanted and went after it. She recalled his relentless pursuit in getting her to marry him. And it had worked, after all. She was Mrs. Barry Lennon. Or was she. He had told her she wasn't his wife anymore. Just his cunt (she shuddered slightly at the word, even though it was just a silent echo in her own mind), his whore, his slave girl. Then she stopped thinking, stopped analyzing, as her fingers brought her closer to the edge of much needed release. The contract fell with a flutter to the floor as Jill cried out softly, sitting naked and alone on her sofa, coming and coming as if this were her last chance. *** Barry hadn't called, and didn't get home that evening until after 9:00. Jill was sitting in bed, reading a book. She was wearing the pink camisole that he liked so much, her nipples jutting prettily against the satin. She had been engrossed in her novel, and she jumped slightly when he entered the bedroom. "Oh! Barry, I didn't hear you come in!" "So I see." Barry went to his bureau, removing his tie and undoing his cuff links. He hung his jacket neatly in the closet and came to sit next to her on the bed. They kissed for a moment and then he sat back, appraising her. "Well?" "What?" Jill asked, though she knew. "Did you read it?" "Yes." "And? How did it make you feel?" Jill bit her lip, and then looked up through her long lashes. "Lots of ways. Hard to explain." "Try me."
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"Well, excited. Nervous. Frightened." "Frightened? In what way?" Gently he touched her arm. "Well, like, can I live up to all that stuff? Always obeying, never questioning, accepting punishment. My God, punishment! I mean, I know you've punished me because of what I did with those guys. I mean…" She stopped, flustered, regretting having reminded him of her transgressions. "Listen Jill, a contract, this contract, is a loosely drawn up document designed to outline parameters. It isn't a bible. It's an idea, really. The idea that you submit to me, and I take care of you. It's called a voluntary exchange of power. And it's not non-negotiable either. If there are things you simply cannot tolerate, you tell me. You talk to me. You explain what's bothering you and we work through it." "Well, what about safe words?" Jill had learned about safe words online. Other submissives told her she had to have a 'safe word' in case play became too intense, and her master was taking her too far. Barry had also heard about safe words. "Safe words are for games, Jill; for 'scenes.' Safe words are for people who don't know each other very well and don't trust each other very much. If you're concerned that you might not be able to tolerate something I'm doing – that it hurts too much or might compromise you in some way, you say, 'stop,' or 'I don't like that.' And I'll listen to you. That doesn't necessarily mean I'll stop. But it means I'll listen and decide if I agree with you, and if I do, I'll change what I'm doing. I love you. I would never do something that I didn't think was in your best interest. But this isn't a game. And you should understand that. If you sign, you'll be giving yourself to me. Body and soul. You will be relinquishing control. And I know that isn't easy in the 'real world.' But it's something I want. And if it's something you want, I promise you that you will be the most loved and cherished woman on this planet." She started to speak, but he muffled her words with his own mouth, as he kissed her. She responded, ardently, and his hand slipped down under the covers, sliding over her silky smooth thighs to the hot little
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center of her. Gently he pressed her legs apart, still kissing her mouth. His fingers slipped past the satin shorts to her bare already wet pussy. They probed and teased, making her moan with pleasure through his kiss. His other hand found her nipple, and he pulled and tugged it, causing it to harden. His grip hardened and he twisted, still kissing her mouth, still fondling and teasing her pussy. Jill fell back against the pillows and Barry leaned into her, still controlling her body with his relentless hands and mouth. He felt her heart beating against him. He felt her pussy lips swelling, wet and hot, and he gave another rough twist to her nipple, making her cry out, though the cry was still muffled by his mouth on hers. She started to tremble and jerk uncontrollably, her pelvis thrusting and then pulling away from his fingers, which wouldn't let her go. And still he kissed her, his tongue deep in her mouth, forcing it open, licking her, tasting her, dominating her. Her soft mewling moans were punctuated by her rapid breathing. He felt her stiffen suddenly, and then spasms wracked her body and her moans turned to a squeal. At last he let go of her, and she fell back, disheveled, her lustrous dark hair wild over the pillow, her cheeks flushed, her thighs fallen open like the petals of a crushed flower. Slowly she opened her eyes, which were full of adoration. "I want to," she whispered. He leaned forward to hear her. "What, Jill? I couldn't hear you." "I want to. I want to sign. I want to be your slave girl."
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Chapter Four Training Barry had almost never taken a vacation from his burgeoning law practice. He had accumulated months of time. For the first time in his life something was more important than his work, and as a result, he decided to take a month off. A leave, as he explained to his bosses, because his wife needed him. He intimated that she was ill, and possible surgery was in the offing. They were concerned, solicitous and very supportive. He got his month. The guest bedroom was fitted with the latest toys from the bondage boutiques. Barry loved to buy toys, and soon the room was filled with equipment that would rival any professional torture chamber. Jill was at once fascinated and a little afraid, gasping in surprise each time he unveiled the latest item, which would certainly be used on her later that day or evening. Today, several weeks into her training, found Jill naked and tethered to a gynecologist's exam table. Her bottom rested on the edge of the table, with her feet tied in the stirrups. Barry had thoughtfully placed bootie socks over the cold metal of the stirrups. Her arms were tied under the table, secured by rope. There was also a rope around her neck, which prevented her from raising her head. Master and slave had developed a sort of routine over the weeks. Jill had never spent so much time with Barry, and had it been like before, in the 'vanilla' days, as she thought of them, she would have been dying to get away from him. But now she literally lived to please him; to be with him, to experience the endless variety of pleasure and torture he continued to concoct. She was to awaken her master each morning by kissing his balls and licking his asshole. She wasn't to touch his cock until it was fully erect, and then only with his permission. "You don't deserve my cock," he would tell her. "You belong in two places: at my feet or with your tongue up my ass. You do know that, don't you, whore?" And even as her face would burn with shame at his words, she would
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nod. He would smile with satisfaction, and point to his ass. She always scrambled to obey, thrusting her tongue as deep as she could, and then kissing the little puckered hole. It was humiliating and degrading, and yet the lovely paradox of it was that she adored it. She thought of it as 'delicious humiliation.' She came to crave it. She would wake up and, remembering her first duty, begin to kiss and fondle her darling husband until at last he gave her permission to suck his lovely hard cock. Sometimes he would come in her mouth. Other times he would spurt on her face and breasts. She loved it all. Her first whipping had terrified her, but then she found it wasn't nearly as bad as she feared. Oh, it hurt, make no mistake, but the sting was certainly tolerable, and just like the spankings, it seemed to transmute itself to almost unbearable pleasure. Using hooks he had secured over the closet door, Barry would tie Jill's hands up over her head, securing them to the hook by her wrist cuffs. Sometimes he would secure her legs, forcing them far apart with a spreader bar and locking her slim ankles into place. Other times he would leave her legs free, especially when he wanted to test her discipline. Barry would start slowly, just whipping her round ass for a while, never too hard. Gradually he would hit her harder, loving the sight of her bottom turning from white to pink to red. Then he would add a stroke to her back, to her thighs. She always jerked forward when he first did this, and gasped. "Stay still," he would admonish her. He liked to force her to remain as still as possible while he slowly ratcheted up the torture, hitting a little harder, a little faster, slowly building up her toleration for the pain. He would stop midway, often, and pull her back by her hair, so that he could kiss her. He would fondle and tickle her cunt, pinching the lips and making her moan. When he felt her hot and wet against him, trying to fuck herself on his hand like the slut she was, he would laugh, pull back and begin to beat her again. This would go on until she could no longer stay still, despite his orders not to move. She would be jumping and writhing, trying anything to get away from the lash. When she lost control like this, he
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would hit her hard, telling her she had no discipline. He would whip her until she sagged, covered in sweat, defeated at last by exhaustion. Only then would he let her down. Sometimes he would carry her to the bed and make gentle love to her. Other times he might force her to her knees, so he could thrust his cock down her throat. No matter what he did, or how rough he was, or how much she cried, afterwards she always had that same puppy dog face, as he thought of it. She would look at him with big eyes full of unmasked adoration and kiss him over and over, little butterfly kisses all over his body, while she whispered how much she loved him. Because she was such a willing slave girl, so eager to please, and because Barry was a driven sort of man, who liked to take things to excess, he began to experiment further than he might have gone if she had been more reluctant. He was, he supposed, looking for her limits. And today, as she lay tied to the table, legs lewdly spread and bound open, he planned to stretch those limits a bit further. She was alone in the room. Barry liked to bind her and then leave her a while to contemplate her fate. Invariably when he returned after a few minutes, she was wet and breathing in the deep, slow way she had developed when entering what his friend Paul called 'sub headspace.' Today was no exception. She turned to look at him, her lips parted, her eyes blazing. Barry walked over to her and without warning slapped her face, hard. Jill jerked her head, which caused the rope around her neck to tighten, forcing her head back to its original position, eyes to the ceiling. Barry appraised her calmly, feeling his cock rise as usual as he took in the lovely sight of his bound and helpless slave girl. He especially liked the look of the white rope against her fragile throat. The cheek he had struck was flushed. He liked symmetry, so he slapped the other cheek and Jill cried out, but this time didn't jerk her head. She was a quick learner. He smiled lazily, and took out a long thick piece of silk. "Open wide, baby," he said, pressing the gag against her mouth until Jill parted her lips. He tied it tightly, forcing a wad of the fabric back into her mouth, to further muffle her cries. Once it was
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secure, he tightened the rope around her pretty throat, so that movement was even more limited. He touched her chest above one heaving breast, and felt her heart pounding. His hand moved slowly down to the nipple that was already erect and eager for his touch. He pinched it, hard, till she moaned in her gag. He loved how easily he could arouse his slut of a slave girl. She was becoming so sensitized to his touch, to his command, that he could literally make her wet with just a whisper or a gesture. He would point to the floor at his feet and she would hurry to kneel in front of him, legs spread, hands on her thighs, as he had taught her. He would reach down and feel her throbbing pussy, always wet, always available to him. Now her cunt was spread wide, the pretty dark pink labia pulled apart by her position, so that her hooded clit and vaginal entrance were clearly displayed, along with her pink little asshole. Barry touched the labia, barely caressing the sensitive folds. Jill shuddered and tried unsuccessfully to move closer to his fingers, which fluttered teasingly away. Again his fingers brushed her labia and clit, using her own pussy juice to smooth the way. He knelt between her legs and licked her cunt, licked the hot sweet spicy folds of her pussy, purposefully missing the hard tiny clit, circling around it until she was half mad with desire. At last his tongue found the center of her heat and he was merciless as he drew a long shuddering orgasm from her. Jill liked to tightly close her legs when she came, and of course, now she couldn't do this. It left her somehow unsatisfied, and the ironic effect was that she was still on fire, even after the searing orgasm that had wracked her body. Barry went to the side table and chose a single lash whip from his already substantial collection of crops and whips. Jill hated this one. It welted her delicate skin. It didn't give her a chance to adjust to the pain. Barry knew this, of course. On some levels he was still a little afraid to use it. While he liked to watch his wife suffer, he also tried to make sure that the suffering was matched by at least as much pleasure as pain. The single lash didn't seem to afford that particular
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balance. Jill's fear of the lash kept her from completely giving herself over to its sweet fiery kiss. And yet something perverse in Barry made him want to use it on her. He had discussed this with Paul, who had encouraged its use. "You need to always press the envelope, Barry. If you are to move forward as a D/s couple, you have to expand the limits. You have to take her further. It isn't just about what pleases you; what you like to watch or do. It's about taking her to her limits and just a fraction beyond. If you stay in the 'comfort zone,' she'll lose interest eventually. She'll be back out fucking the stable boy or whoever it was she was fucking before." Barry bridled at this reminder, however inaccurate, of his wife's infidelities. He trusted Paul, who had so far guided him well in his exploration of sadomasochism. And while he was still unsure with the lash, a secret, darker part of his nature thrilled to the damage he could inflict with that little piece of finely braided leather. Today he felt especially sadistic as he leaned over the lovely slave girl. "Look what I have for you today, Jill. Your favorite whip. The single lash. Kiss it." He held it before her face, drawing the lash teasingly over her cheeks and mouth. Jill shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. "Please," she whispered. "Please what?" "Please, not that one. Please. I beg you. I can't–" "How dare you," he hissed, trying to hide his own excitement. "How dare you question something I have chosen for you. Very stupid, slave girl. Now I'm forced to punish you. Which means I'm going to lash you five times on each thigh and then on your nasty dirty little twat. And you'll deserve every lash, won't you?" Jill was breathing rapidly now, not the calm deep breathing when she was into and ready for a sensual whipping, but the panicked quick gasps of barely controlled fear. "Oh, please! Barry, let me up. I can't do this!" Her voice was pitched high with a rising panic. Barry could sense her fear, her real fear of him and her situation. As she wriggled and twisted in her bonds, her face a mask of panic, he backed down.
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"Oh, Jill honey. Stop. It's just me. Your Barry. Don't be afraid." Even as he spoke he cursed himself. Paul would never have backed down. Paul would have laughed cruelly and then, ignoring her protests, whipped her till she bled. He had told Barry many times that when they said 'no,' that was the time you had to really hurt them; to show them you were master, or forfeit the right to claim them. Pity was the kiss of death in a relationship like this, Paul had warned him. But Barry couldn't help it. He had turned practically overnight from over-solicitous and hyper-sensitive husband to controlling and dominating master. While he loved the power and new sense of mastery over his mate, he still found himself sometimes wondering if he was going too far. Usually Jill acquiesced so readily that he never worried. She always seemed to be a step or two ahead of him in what she could tolerate, indeed, she seemed to need it; to crave it. But now she had said no. Paul had told him, when they say no, it usually means yes. Yes, but I am afraid to go there, so you take me. Barry considered this a moment, and then decided to test his slave girl. He leaned in close to her and whispered, "Jill, whose pussy is that?" "Yours, sir," she whispered, her voice trembling. "And whose ass?" "Yours, sir." Her breathing was slowing, her body stilling. "And whose breasts?" "Yours, sir." "And whose will?" A pause, and then she said, "Yours, sir." "And when I want something from you, slave, what do you do?" "Obey, sir." "And what do I want now, cunt?" A pause, so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. And then a whisper, "To whip me with the lash, sir." "And do you want what I want, slave girl? Does our contract bind you to that promise, just as surely as these ropes that bind you to this table?" She mumbled and he leaned closer, his voice rough and low. "Speak up, cunt. I can't hear you."
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"Yes, sir." Her eyes were closed, lips parted, glistening. On an impulse, he reached between those open legs and slid a finger into her velvet pussy. It was hot and wet – very wet. He smiled ruefully to himself. She wanted it. She was afraid, no doubt. That wasn't an act. But she wanted it. He owed it to her now, and to himself. He wouldn't let them down. Holding the whip to her lips he demanded again, "Kiss it." Jill's full lips pursed and she kissed the leather handle of the dreaded single lash whip. "And now prepare for your punishment, for resisting me, for forgetting your place and your duties." Jill whimpered, but said nothing. Then she screamed. One long white line turned to pink against the soft flesh of her thigh. And then another on the other thigh, and another scream. Jill jerked but she was tied too tightly to get away. The lash whistled again, slicing the air just before it hit her for a third time. Each lash was accompanied by Jill's cry. Barry stopped a moment and caressed the flesh, feeling the heat, feeling the welt rising on her skin. And then he continued, the whipping fueled by his passion, and by Jill's perfect body, arching and writhing, trying to escape when there was no escape. He had whipped her, as promised, five times on each thigh. She was whimpering steadily, breathing fast and shallow. "You know what's next, don't you? What you deserve?" Barry expected a protest, expected her to beg him not to lash her pussy. But she said nothing. He looked up from her tortured thighs and spread bare pussy, to her face. Jill's eyes were closed, but she was nodding. Yes, she was silently saying, yes, I deserve it. It was like a jolt of electricity directly to his cock – her willingness, her desire to truly submit when he knew she was terrified. Before he could lose his own nerve, he dropped the single leather lash against her delicate folds, watching as it curled cruelly, snapping against defenseless flesh. Jill moaned low in her throat, like an animal. At once Barry dropped to his knees, kissing the very spot he had just so mercilessly cut with the leather. Her pussy was red, glowing from the lash, and from her own perverse arousal. He licked
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along the swollen lips, tasting her salty sweetness, feeling his balls tighten with need. Dropping his pants, he heaved himself on top of her, oblivious of the ropes still holding her wrists tightly together under the table, or the rope strapped tight across her throat. His cock was so hard it felt like iron as it rammed into her sweet little slit. She moaned anew, this time with passion, as he fucked her hard, taking what he wanted, raping her with his lust, his need. As he fucked her, he kissed her breasts, her chin, her cheeks, her mouth, greedily taking her in, mad with desire. He came fast; too fast, the need was too great. He lay heavy on her for a few moments, catching his breath, feeling her lovely soft body still bound underneath his. Slowly he slid down, once again kneeling between her knees. He began to kiss and suckle her hot swollen labia, teasing over the hard little clit. Paul had told him that a 'real dom,' whatever that was, never licked his slave's pussy. It was demeaning. It was fine to have another slave do it, but the master must never lower himself to licking a cunt. Barry disagreed. Far from feeling demeaned, he felt exalted as his darling slave girl writhed and arched under his tongue, moaning and sighing so sweetly as he lightly kissed and tickled her with his tongue. Jill came hard and long, a high pitched wail involuntarily wrenched from her as she bucked and spasmed against his mouth. Barry held her by the hips, not stopping until she sagged limp and lifeless, near unconsciousness from the intensity of her own orgasm. "God, I love you," he whispered. The next morning over breakfast Barry said, "Jill. My love. I think it's time to expand our horizons a little." Jill looked at him, then lowered her eyes, waiting, her heart skipping a beat. "My friend Paul is coming through town on business. He only lives about an hour away anyway. You remember Paul." She nodded. Like she could forget! Barry's online 'friend.' His guru of domination. Jill knew Barry confided in Paul, told him all of their secrets, bared the details of their new life to this stranger. Instinctively Jill felt threatened by Paul, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because sometimes,
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when Barry himself wasn't sure about something he wanted to try, or to do to Jill, he would go and ask Paul. If it was something Jill didn't want, or was afraid of, Paul invariably recommended it, and Barry would usually do it. Sometimes it almost seemed to her that Barry was submissive to Paul! But of course she said none of this. She waited, quietly, like the well trained submissive she was becoming. "I'm going to take him out to dinner." Jill stiffened slightly, her mouth tightening. Barry saw she understood his use of the word I. He didn't say we are taking him to dinner. Correctly reading her thoughts he quickly added, "Paul thinks it's better if we meet first." Barry looked slightly embarrassed, and again Jill had the sense that he was submitting to this man they had never met. "We'll come home afterwards, of course. You can make your delicious cheesecake, and we'll have coffee and dessert here. He's really looking forward to meeting you, Jill. I want you to wear your red silk, with nice stockings and garters underneath. The red high heels. Light makeup, red lipstick. Put your hair up, yes, do that French braid thing you do. Panties, but no bra." Barry licked his lips, his eyes bright. He was clearly excited at the idea of showing off his slave girl. Despite her preformed notion that she disliked Paul, she was also getting excited. The exhibitionist in her wanted to show off her new position. She had always liked to be admired by other men, and since they had begun this new lifestyle, she had had no opportunity to preen, to make another man hunger for her, to make him hot. Jill smiled slightly, realizing with a less than submissive pleasure that here was a way to control this Paul person. She would subtly dominate him by driving him wild with what he could not have. Because she knew her Barry was very possessive. He would show off his wife, strut her stuff, but ultimately he would only let Paul look and not touch. She would leave him drooling, longing for her. She looked up, smiling at Barry, who had no idea of the secret workings of her mind at that moment, but thought simply that she was his wonderful slave girl.
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Barry was distracted all day, and spent much of his time glued to the computer, eagerly typing to his boyfriend Paul, as Jill came to think of him. She frowned as she thought of him, and then smiled, remembering her plan. She busied herself cleaning the house, dusting and arranging the flowers Barry brought home along with the ingredients for her cheesecake. Then she immersed herself in baking, something she enjoyed. Finally it was evening. Barry hadn't touched her all day, not even a kiss, and Jill felt edgy. She could sense his nervousness, and his anticipation. It was almost like Barry was going on a date! Jill realized she wanted him to leave; he was getting her as nervous as he was. She almost pushed him out the door. Barry had told her to take a nice long bath, and pay especial attention to her grooming. Like she needed to be told! She lay back, sighing happily in her hot oil-scented bath. As she closed her eyes, she imagined this Paul who would be here in a matter of hours. It was funny; Barry talked about Paul all the time. Paul said this, and Paul thinks that. But she had never seen a picture of Paul, and Barry had never mentioned anything about his appearance. In a few hours she would be seeing him in the flesh. She imagined him as a short stout man, with piggy eyes. One whose pudgy fingers would fly over the keyboard as he pontificated to Barry, imparting his great wisdom on domination to the masses. Her mouth twisted unconsciously into a sneer as her thoughts ran away with her. Barry had told her Paul had a 'real' slave. This irritated her; what was she, a fake slave? But she knew what he meant. They weren't lovers. They weren't married. This girl was his property. She didn't sleep in his bed. She slept on the floor at the foot of his bed. She had to pee outside in the yard, though he let her use the toilet to move her bowels. This slave worked too. She wasn't a pampered pet kept at home for pleasure, like Jill. She was a vice president in an investment bank, and she made good money, every penny of which she gave to her master. And she was pierced, and tattooed, all marks of a slave. Her
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nipples and her pussy had rings in them, and the words, 'Master's Little Cunt' were tattooed on her lower back, just above her ass. These details of their life at once repelled and yet fascinated Jill. Imagine living like that! Imagine going to work, dressed in a conservative suit, with those markings and rings hidden beneath, constant reminders of her status. Barry seemed so impressed with the whole thing. She sometimes felt he thought he and Jill were just playing, while Paul and his slave were 'the real thing.' To Jill they were sick; over the line, weird. She had intimated this to Barry, who had responded that it was all just a matter of degree. He was so clearly in awe of Paul that he wouldn't hear even a hint of criticism. "Paul's been doing this for 20 years, Jill. He's trained dozens of slaves. He knows what he's doing." And soon he would be here! In her house. Jill climbed out of the tub and dried and lotioned her smooth skin. She drew her hands over her long legs, checking for any missed spots. She liked the smooth supple feel of her calves. She checked herself carefully in the mirror, making sure her pussy was properly trimmed. She cupped her breasts and let them fall, wishing for the hundredth time they were a little bigger. Then she turned to her makeup, hair still in a towel. She dressed carefully, pulling each silky stocking up carefully over red painted toenails, and attaching them to the pretty white lace garter belt. She slipped on a pair of white lace and silk panties and then stepped into the tight fitting red silk dress, reaching behind to zip it up. It fit snugly against her lovely curves, hanging loosely in a pretty fold at the breast so that a hint of cleavage showed. Her nipples were visible against the flimsy silk. Sitting at her vanity, Jill braided and twisted her hair, clipping it into place with a pretty silver barrette Barry had given her before they had married. He hadn't mentioned jewelry, but she put a little diamond stud in each ear, admiring their sparkle as she always did. It wasn't yet 9:00, which was the time she had estimated in her mind that they would be arriving. She fidgeted, realized she hadn't eaten, but also realized she was far too nervous to even think about
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doing so. Instead, she poured herself a glass of red wine and sat on the couch, idly leafing through a magazine, barely registering what she read. The click of a key in the door made Jill jump, startled. It was only 8:40 and yet they were home. Jill realized suddenly that Barry hadn't instructed her on any sort of position to be in when they arrived. She sat frozen, wondering what to do, as they entered the front hall, just beyond the living room where she waited, first Barry, followed by Paul. Barry was laughing at something Paul had said, and then they were in the room. Jill had sat up straight, her magazine forgotten, a nervous smile on her face. They both turned toward her and Barry smiled broadly, saying, "Allow me to introduce Jill, my lovely slave girl. This is Paul." He nodded toward Paul, who was nothing like what Jill had imagined. He was short, maybe only 5'7", but he wasn't pudgy at all. He looked wiry and strong. There was a hardness about him that suggested years of physical labor. He was older too, perhaps 50, with silver hair cut short and penetrating blue eyes. His face was smooth and his jaw was square and firm. He gazed at her now, a small smile on his face, his eyebrow cocked slightly as he surveyed her. He didn't speak, or offer his hand. Instead he turned to Barry and said, "On the furniture, I see?" Barry looked confused and then abashed. "Kneel on the floor, slave," Barry barked, his face flushed. He had forgotten one of Paul's cardinal rules – no slaves on the furniture without express permission. While it was in their contract that Jill shouldn't sit on furniture in his presence, he had never enforced this particular rule, and Jill had forgotten all about it. But Paul hadn't. He had helped Barry compose that contract, and he was well aware of what it contained. Barry tried to explain, "Well, you see, we don't always do everything in the contract." Paul smiled and cut him off, "You don't need to explain anything to me, Barry. She's yours, not mine. You do as you like, of course." Barry nodded, but his face was still flushed a dull red, and Jill could
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see he felt humiliated. Her dislike for this man intensified, but she knelt obediently on the soft rug by the sofa, hands clasped in front of her. "May I examine her?" Paul said softly. His voice wasn't deep, but it carried a certain command. It had a pleasing timbre and Jill had to grudgingly admit to herself that he was attractive, despite her intentions to find him repulsive. "Stand up, Jill," Barry said, his voice lifting with pride. He grinned, very obviously proud to be showing off his girl. Jill stood, suddenly feeling embarrassed and exposed. While she normally didn't feel at all shy in front of men, she wasn't used to someone like Paul, someone so clearly in control, and not easily impressed. He came close to her, leaning in to smell her hair, to touch her ear. His finger trailed down her neck and she shivered slightly, then caught herself and raised her chin in an unconscious defiance. Paul noticed, but didn't react. He ran his hands down her sides, like he was feeling a race dog or a horse, checking the flanks. He pinched her calves and upper arms, and she was waiting for him to inspect her teeth! It didn't feel sexy, this examination, it felt debasing. Barry was watching Paul, his neutral smile belied by the glittering, intense expression in his eyes. Jill had her eyes on the floor, and her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were pressed together, forcing the air through her nostrils as she tried to control and slow her breathing. Paul leaned aside a moment and murmured something to Barry, who nodded his assent. Jill strained to hear what they were saying, but she could not. Paul stepped behind her and with a kick to one ankle he sent her legs flying apart. Jill stumbled on her high heels and gasped in surprise. Barry steadied her shoulder and looked at her warningly. Stunned, she tried to regain her balance and her composure. Paul ignored all this. Instead, he calmly reached between her legs, and ordered, "Keep your legs spread. Stay still." She felt his hard fingers against her thighs. He pinched her, sharply, and she jerked away, crying out. Again Barry's warning look. Jill bit her lip and tried to steady herself on her heels. Her heart was pounding now and she felt confused. His fingers brushed her
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pussy and she felt a sudden sexual jolt. His fingers feathered against her, like liquid fire against her clit. She responded, against her will, to his masterful touch. Barry's hands were on her shoulders now, holding her as Paul touched her, standing behind her, hands under her dress. After several moments of caressing and teasing her pussy, Paul pushed a finger into her slit and she sighed involuntarily. Paul finger fucked her for several moments, and then withdrew his finger and feather-teased her clit again until Jill felt like she would fall down from the pleasure of it. She was breathing hard, and would have fallen if Barry hadn't been in front of her, holding her still, his face intense and inscrutable as another man touched his wife in this most intimate of ways. Jill felt her impending orgasm, and she wanted it, desperately. She forgot about who was touching her, or that she had planned to scorn him by leaving him aroused and unsatisfied. All she wanted was to come. Her hips were rotating as she strained to reach his teasing and withdrawing fingers. She was on fire with lust. Paul laughed suddenly, but it was a hollow sound, amusement without pleasure. "She's nothing but a cunt right now," Paul said, suddenly standing back from her. His words cut into her consciousness and her eyes flew open. She saw Barry staring at her, his face flushed, and she felt his hands, clutching her shoulders, hurting her with their grip. She was confused, and suddenly terribly self-conscious. She struggled to stand up straight, to close her legs. She wanted to run away from them both, to hide. "Make the slut kneel down," Paul instructed, and Barry, still gripping her shoulders, pressed her to the ground. Jill sank down, hiding her head, feeling confused and humiliated. They spoke over her head. "She's lovely, Barry. Absolutely stunning." From below them, Jill felt slightly mollified. "But no control. A slut. She was going to come, Barry, right there. You saw it. She was going to come without your permission all over my hand." Jill's face was burning and she felt a cold rage start to rise up in her. All thoughts of orgasm
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were erased as she silently fumed, kneeling on the ground between them. Barry protested, "But I love that, Paul! I love that she is so easily aroused, so sexual and passionate." "Yes," said Paul dryly. "I keep forgetting; she's your wife. Your lover. I prefer slaves, as you know. Much simpler that way. No muddy waters. She submits, I use. Period. My slave lives totally to serve me. I am completely uninterested in her sexual pleasure, except when I feel like exerting my control by making her come on command. But I must remember you care about this slut's pleasure. We are different in that regard. If you give her to me, I will teach her about submission, I can promise you that." Give her to me? Jill's ears were ringing. She couldn't have heard him correctly. Barry would never give her to him! Then she remembered the contract. The wording about giving her to other masters! And she had signed it, feeling excited at the time about having another lover. But not this man! Not this cold strange man. "Jill. Get up; let's have coffee." Barry was speaking, and she struggled to concentrate, to stop the swirl of confusing thoughts screaming in her brain. She stood, determined to regain some composure, some measure of respect. She walked gracefully to the kitchen and the men followed. They allowed her to serve them, pouring and preparing their coffee and slicing them each a serving of her cheesecake topped with fresh blueberries. "You may sit," Barry told her imperiously, as if she didn't always sit with him at the table. "Delicious," Paul announced, and Barry smiled, looking pleased. He seemed impossibly invested in pleasing this man, and Jill was hard pressed to contain her irritation. They made small talk for several minutes, and enjoyed their coffee and cake. Then Paul stepped out on their patio to smoke, leaving the two of them alone for a moment. Jill expected Barry to apologize, to try to explain why Paul behaved as he did, but instead, he smiled happily and said, "I love you, Jill. Isn't Paul great?" He looked so happy, and so pleased with himself. Jill smiled in spite of herself, realizing he would never let this strange
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man harm her. She relaxed as he put his hand over hers. "He does things differently than we do, but that's because he isn't in love, like we are. But I want him to see how well trained you are, Jill. He doesn't think sex and love can mix with true submission. I want to show him he's wrong. I want to whip you in front of him. I want him to see what my darling can do." Jill nodded, feeling the sudden catch in her throat. She had thought something like this would happen, but now that he was saying it aloud, she was scared. She wanted to submit for him; to show this haughty bastard that she wasn't 'just a cunt' as he had so coarsely dismissed her. She felt her resolve grow, and knew she wouldn't let her Barry down. "Go, Jill. Go to the playroom and strip to just your garters and panties. Leave on your shoes. Kneel like I taught you and wait for us. Go!" He patted her ass and Jill hurried out to do his bidding. It was hard to believe that her possessive husband was going to show her bare breasts to this stranger. But then, in his mind he was hardly a stranger! More like a mentor, and clearly a man he deeply wanted to impress. Well, she would do her best not to let him down! She pulled off her pretty dress and draped it carefully over a chair. Kneeling on the soft throw rug, she spread her legs, hands on her thighs, in a position of subservience that offered access to her sex. She felt her own desire throbbing in her pussy, and heard Paul's words again, spoken with derision. "She's nothing but a cunt." She licked her lips and tried to slow her breathing. She knew in her heart he was right. She was a slut and she lived for her own pleasure. But she could submit, and she wanted to tonight, desperately. She would show the bastard. The two men came in a few minutes later, and they silently surveyed the beautiful woman kneeling on the floor. They had clearly discussed what was to take place, but they weren't sharing this with Jill. "Get up," Paul said, as he grabbed her hair, pulling her pretty braid askew. "May I?" Jill heard him say behind her, and apparently Barry had nodded, because she felt Paul release her barrette, pulling free the
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braided tresses so that her long dark hair fell down about her shoulders. "I like it down," he commented, winding a great handful of her hair and then jerking her back roughly, so that she cried out. They led her to the wall where several hooks had been strategically placed. Quickly the two of them secured one arm to each hook, using her cuffs, so that her arms were raised and spread over her head. Paul moved against her so that her whole body was pressed against the cold wall, breasts mashed. "You start, Barry. Show me what she can take." It was said cordially, but Jill heard the challenge in it, and she trembled, knowing Barry wanted to impress this man. It was the heavy-tressed whip that smacked against her flesh and Jill breathed an inward sigh of relief. She loved this whip. The thick braids of leather caressed and massaged her, building up pleasure and pain, taking her to some secret place where she gave herself over to its lash. She could take quite a beating with this whip, and of course, Barry knew it. He began slowly, whipping her ass and thighs, and then moving on to her back and calves, methodically covering her body with the soft but stinging leather lash. Jill felt her breathing slow as she entered that lovely ethereal space where pain and pleasure truly did combine into something almost spiritual. Usually at this point, Barry would drop the whip, release his wife, and make passionate love to her. But not tonight. Instead, she became dimly aware that the whipping had stopped, but she was still tied to the wall. She realized that her arms were aching, and her feet were tired in the high heels on which she was still balancing. She wanted to be let down, to be adored, but that wasn't happening. Instead, the men were talking and she struggled to listen. "She takes a good beating; I'm impressed," Paul was saying. "How about the front. Does she handle a breast beating well? And how about the crop?" In truth, Barry had only occasionally whipped her from the front, and then just briefly. Her nipples were extremely sensitive, and while he liked to bite and nibble them, he rarely whipped them. But tonight he was on show, and he wasn't going to admit any weakness. "She'll
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take whatever I give her." They undid her arms and turned her around, forcing her arms back up again, and re-securing her quickly. Jill wanted to lie down. She was hot and felt her underarms prickle with sweat. She was tired and her back and ass were on fire. Usually this fire was quelled by their soft sheets and Barry's sweet kisses. But tonight she was tied against the wall, her bare breasts promised a beating. She thought of begging Barry to let her down, but then she saw Paul's cool appraising look. He was waiting for her to protest, to prove that she wasn't a 'real slave.' Well, fuck him! She bit her lips and stared back at him, again tilting her chin slightly in defiance. Barry was oblivious of this secret battle of wills as he went to fetch his riding crop. "Wait," said Paul, "Let's make her nipples more sensitive." "Oh, they're very sensitive already," Barry began, but Paul wasn't listening. He was removing something from his pocket, which he showed to Barry. "Oh, is that them? Cool," Barry said, leaning over the little chain Paul held in his hand. "Do you know what these are, slut?" Paul asked Jill. She looked at what he was holding, and her eyes widened. They were nipple clamps, and she had seen them online at a site a chat room girlfriend had directed her to, but she had never seen them in real life. In his palm lay a long silver chain, with an alligator clip at either end, and a little screw on each to adjust the tension. The clips were covered in black soft plastic. Jill felt her nipples stiffen to attention, but she also felt nervous. Barry was right that her nipples were extremely sensitive. Suddenly Paul slapped her face and Jill jerked back, shocked. "Answer a direct question." "Nipple clamps," she gasped, unable to touch her hot cheek. She looked toward Barry for support, but his face was hard, eyes bright. "That's right. Have you ever experienced them?" "No," she whispered. "Call me sir when you speak directly to me," he said quietly. "No, sir," she amended.
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"Well, it's your lucky night," Paul said as he opened one of the clamps and pulled her nipple out to secure it. As the clip clamped down onto her tender bud, Jill yelped. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Paul's expression was alight with sadistic pleasure. Jill nodded, biting her bottom lip, trying to stay quiet. She couldn't help the sharp intake of breath as she watched him open the other clip and release the spring so it clamped down on her second nipple. "I make them tight," Paul explained, turning to Barry, who had leaned in to examine her nipples. They were mashed, red between the silver and black, the chain swinging between them. "If you make them too loose, they come off easily, and it's annoying. This hurts a bit more, of course." He stopped speaking and they both looked at Jill, whose eyes were screwed closed as she tried to absorb the pain of the unfamiliar metal teeth on her delicate nipples. "We'll leave them on while we whip her. They add a certain – intensity. Don't worry, Barry. It does no permanent harm. Just makes them a little sore. Nothing she can't handle. Not a well trained slave girl like Jill." Again the subtle challenge in his voice. Barry stiffened and stood back. Paul smiled and handed Barry the crop. He leaned over and kissed Jill's mouth, whispering, "Do this for me, slave girl. I love you." And then he used the crop, smacking her breasts and belly, avoiding the swaying chain and the clips that held her poor nipples captive. He smacked her thighs and the tops of her breasts. He smacked her flat belly and the sides of her lean body. The chain swayed between her breasts with each blow from the crop, but the clamps stayed firmly in place. Jill found that the pain had lessened and her nipples felt almost numb. She could take this! She let her head fall back, and let her body flow with the crop, riding the pain, feeling it transmute to pleasure. Suddenly her nipples were on fire! She opened her eyes and saw that Paul had released the clamps. She hissed with pain as the blood flowing back into her nipples made all her tortured nerve endings scream. Watching her, knowing exactly what she was experiencing,
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though Barry did not, Paul aimed and then smacked first one and then the other nipple, hard, with the crop. Jill's yell pierced the air and pain exploded from her nipples like red hot fire branding her psyche. Her head fell forward and Jill was gone. She had fainted. She came to moments later and found herself on the chaise lounge in their playroom, a blanket tucked up around her shoulders. She heard the men talking out in the hall. Then Barry heard her stir, and ran over, kneeling next to her. "Are you ok, sweetheart? You passed out." "I'm ok, I think. What happened?" She felt confused, disoriented. "I guess Paul was a little rough. He didn't realize how sensitive your nipples are, I guess. I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have let him…" She stopped him with a finger to his lips. She didn't like it when he apologized. In her mind, a 'real' dom didn't apologize, no matter what. But also she was glad he was concerned, and that he was there protecting her from that bully. "Well," he said, "if you're ok, I'll just go say goodnight to Paul." When he returned, he carried her to their bed and made love to her with a fierce passion. When he made her come, they both thought of Paul. Jill's orgasm was searing and left her completely spent. And when Barry ejaculated into her soon after, he cried out with passion, riding her like a beast. Yes, Paul had left the house, but he was still with them.
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Chapter Five Paul The weeks passed and Barry had to return to work. Each morning he locked his slave girl into her chastity belt, forcing her to wait all day to pee. She learned not to drink during the day. She did her exercises at home, not able to workout in public with that contraption possibly showing beneath her shorts. Because her pussy was encased, she was constantly aware of it, and constantly aroused. When Barry came home, the first thing he did was unlock her belt, and then feel her hot wet pussy. He liked to watch her pee in the shower, and then he would make her come. Sometimes she would come by her own hand, right there on the bathroom floor. He would smile and ask her if she had behaved that day, knowing of course that she had, since she had no choice. "Come for me, slut," he would demand. She would lie back, naked, and spread her legs for him so he could see her pretty pussy. Then her long fingers would swirl and play until she let her head fall back, sighing sweetly. She liked to play in front of Barry, knowing he loved to stare at her lithe body and her own hands making her hot. She would come fast, because of waiting all day for this release. He would let her, just to 'take the edge off' he would say. And then the real fun would begin. He would bind her, gag her, whip her, fuck her, and all of it was fun. But it was play. Somehow they both sensed this now, and somehow, unspoken between them, there was a sense of dissatisfaction. And it had to do with Paul. Jill found herself thinking about him. What would Paul do in a certain situation, how would Paul react, what would Paul expect from her? Barry was so head over heels crazy about her that he often let his romantic feelings overcome his dominant ones. She would press the envelope, test or challenge him secretly, by disobeying some rule or command, and he would overlook it, because she was his sweetheart and really he just wanted to please her.
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Not that he wasn't a good lover, or a dominant one. He still used her and beat her, treating her like the slut she was, and she loved it. But the edge wasn't there. That edge of, what was it? Fear? Perhaps it was the fear, the uncertainty, of not knowing just what would happen. The risk factor, the danger. The same sensation she had unknowingly sought when she had those brief affairs. She was looking for that element of risk, that willingness of another to take her farther than she herself felt she could go. Paul had hinted at these limits, and she was sure he could take her there. And yet she felt disloyal and confused for having these feelings. And she didn't even like the man! An arrogant insufferable person who thought only of himself and his own pleasure. And yet, when he had been there, she had been alive! Thrilled and excited to her bones. Vibrant and ready for a challenge. Barry also felt that something was lacking, though he was more content than Jill. He sensed that Jill wasn't as enthralled as she had been with their arrangements, and that sometimes she almost seemed to just be 'going through the motions.' He loved her passionately, and wanted to get that thrill back. He couldn't bear the thought of her turning elsewhere for her pleasures, as she had before. Barry still deeply admired Paul, and they communicated regularly online via email and instant messenger. But their talks were mostly limited to esoteric discussions about the art and poetry of Domination and submission. Paul rarely asked after Jill, and didn't seem to take much interest in her, which piqued Barry slightly, as he was used to other men ogling and coveting her. And Paul had seen her almost naked! One day while they were chatting online, Barry dared to voice some of his concern. The spark, he worried, might be leaving their relationship. What did Paul recommend? "She's soft, Barry. She isn't a slave. She's a lover. She's your slut. But I think she needs more. I watched her when I was there. She needs to be pushed, and she can go much farther than you've taken her. What you need, I think, is a higher plane of submission. You need to teach her to suffer."
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Their typing was too slow, so Barry called Paul on the phone, and they talked long and seriously. Barry was shaken, but intrigued, by what Paul suggested. Paul told him about his own slaves, of which he had a number over the years. Sometimes he had more than one, but he found that just one at a time was best, because then he could really focus on their training without the added overlay of jealously between the women that served him. He didn't focus on sexual pleasure the way Barry did. He outlined specific training plans, where a woman was reduced in stages from slut to whore to slave. Debasement and humiliation were as crucial as the whip, he explained. "They have to be willing to do anything for you. Anything, do you understand? There is nothing you would ask that they would not willingly do. And that includes eating your shit, if you ask. It includes servicing others, for pay or for free, if you ask. It included branding, piercing, or anything else you choose to do to their flesh, because it is your flesh, yours to do with as you please. "For me, Barry, it isn't a game. It isn't a diversion or sexual pastime. It's a calling. It's a duty to the slave, to give her not what she thinks she wants, but what she needs. And I know what they need, Barry. They are so easy. And if you can give a submissive woman what she truly needs, then she really is yours, totally and completely. And there is nothing, nothing more intense in this world, than the kind of bond that can be formed between a willing master and his willing slave." And to his credit, Barry tried. He was rough with Jill, and demanded that she do shocking things, like let him pee on her back and her cunt. She acquiesced to everything he demanded, and this emboldened him to try more. But he couldn't go past a certain limit. He couldn't beat her till he drew blood, for example, which Paul said was essential if you were to push their envelope, to stretch their limits. He couldn't piss in her mouth, even though she knelt before him like a little bird waiting, when he had told her he was going to do it. He couldn't stand to have her sleep on the floor; he needed her in his arms. The problem, he realized, was that he loved her too much,
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and he couldn't reconcile her possible need for debasement with his own romantic feelings toward her. And then an idea slowly formed. Paul could do it. He wouldn't be confused by love, as Barry was. He could give Jill what she needed, and leave the loving to Barry. But would Jill fall in love with Paul? Barry didn't think so. She didn't like the man, and had said so, openly and often, after he had left. But she would respond to his torture, and Barry would be right there to make sure things went the way he wanted. If Paul would agree. When he broached the subject he was hesitant, afraid of overstepping the bounds of their friendship. But Paul was open to it and even intrigued. "You know, I have my own slave at home. I wouldn't want to bring Jill here." "No, of course not!" Barry said. "I wouldn't want that either." "Barry, if you want me to do this, you can't always be there hovering like some old nanny. You're going to have to trust me. And to trust Jill. The first step is to turn her from slut to whore. That means you need to give her to me to use, sexually. You need to extract that from her, that willingness to give her body, your body, to someone else. Someone she doesn't like." "Oh, Jill never said…" "Stop, Barry. Of course she doesn't like me. She isn't supposed to like me. I don't want her to like me. That makes it more of an act of submission, don't you see? She is going to submit to you, by allowing herself to be used by another. If you can get past the idea of another man with your wife, if you can appreciate that what you are doing is taking her down to the level she needs to be at to be fulfilled, then you will be taking a vital step in your relationship as master and slave. The first step is to give her to me. I will use her and teach her some humility. I will keep her for a weekend. If you can agree to that, I will agree to help you with the next stage, of turning her from whore to slave. When that happens, she will be yours forever." Barry wrestled with his own jealous feelings, and with the longing he realized he had for the security of what Paul was offering. His forever. Never having to second guess and wonder if his Jill was with another man, or thinking of another man. He would become her
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world. He wanted it so bad he could taste it. He said, "A weekend. You stay here. I trust you." "Aren't you going to ask Jill?" "No. I'm going to tell her." *** It was 8:30 on a Friday night. Jill was dressed like a whore in a tight black leather skirt, no panties, high black heels. Her breasts were pushed up and forward by a black leather pushup bra and her face was bright with garish makeup. She was waiting in their front hall for Paul to arrive. She felt ridiculous in this getup which Barry had purchased and insisted she wear. But beyond that, she was afraid. Afraid, and if she were honest, excited. When Barry had informed her that he was 'giving her' to Paul for the weekend, Jill's first reaction was a horrified, "No!" Barry was calm as he reminded her of the terms of their contract, and informed her that he wasn't asking her permission, as she had relinquished that right some time ago. "We need to move to a new level of training, Jill. It begins now. Paul will be here this weekend, and he has my permission to use you as he sees fit. Just think of him as an extension of me. He will be doing my bidding by teaching you what he has to offer. I trust him, and that should be enough for you." Jill had stilled while Barry spoke, feeling almost hypnotized by his words. She had never been able to get Paul out of her mind, though she never spoke of it. Her feelings confused her because she didn't like the man. She didn't like his looks, or his arrogance, or his seeming indifference toward her considerable sexual charms. And he was nearly twice her age! Yet something about him was so compelling, so attractive to her that she often found herself wondering what he would do or how he would react. And now Barry was speaking in his deep sexy voice, telling her this man was going to have complete control over her this weekend. And she would be safe, because Barry would never let him really harm her. After all, he would be right there. Then Barry said, "I'll be staying in the city this weekend. I'll have my phone, of course, if you need me,
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but I expect you'll be, uh, occupied." He smiled and let his finger trail down her check to her breast. "What? You won't be here?" "Of course not. It would only interfere with his training. And listen, Jill. I'm giving you totally to him. That means sexually. If he wants to fuck you, or have you suck his cock, you do it. And do it with grace. This isn't about you. It's about him and me. If you deny him, or resist him, then you disgrace me. Am I understood?" Jill stared at him, stunned. This possessive man was giving her to someone else? Sexually? While her mind rebelled, her body had already gotten the message, sending little shivers of anticipation to her pussy. She pretended outrage, and then submission, but inside she was deeply excited and even eager. Now she would get the upper hand at last. She was confident that sexually at least, she could control that strange cold man. This was her area and she had never yet met a man she couldn't ultimately control with her pussy. Now Jill was kneeling by the door, thighs spread, pussy peeking out from her short tight skirt. She felt embarrassed in this obvious whorish outfit, but she also realized that that was the point. As the door opened, Jill felt her insides clench, but she held her head high, waiting for Paul to enter. He came in and stood in front of her, again with that quizzical smile. "Ah, at least now you look the part, eh, whore?" Jill colored slightly, but didn't respond. "Lick my shoes." "Excuse me?" "You heard me." He pressed her head forward, forcing Jill's mouth down to his black leather loafers. Confused, Jill hesitated, then gingerly stuck out her tongue and licked one of Paul's shoes. She felt ridiculous, and was hoping this wouldn't last too long. She licked the other shoe, but Paul showed no sign of moving. "Surely you can do better than that?" he said quietly. The shoes weren't dirty, and Jill continued to lick the soft leather until at last he said, "Enough. Get up, whore, and let's have a look."
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Jill stood up, taller than Paul in her stiletto heels. "Take off the shoes, whore. And get on your knees." She slipped the shoes off and kicked them aside, wondering what was next, but not asking. Paul set down his duffel bag and began to unbuckle his belt. Ah, this she could do. She would suck his cock and show him just what a whore she could be! She would drive him wild! But to her surprise he wasn't offering his penis. Instead, he came around behind her and pushed her forward. Without saying anything, he pressed her neck with one hand, and flipped up the tight leather skirt with the other, revealing her bare ass, protected only by the two thin lines of satin that were her garters. Doubling the belt, he smacked her ass, hard. The slapping sound echoed in the hallway and Jill bit her lip to keep from crying out. He hit her hard, and the belt hurt. It didn't have the sensual caress of her whip, but just plain hurt, slicing into her flesh, leaving angry marks. Still he didn't speak, but he pulled her upright so that she was again kneeling on her haunches. She could feel her poor ass burning against her heels. Still she hadn't cried out during it, and she felt a certain sense of pride, of victory. Paul knelt down so that they were face to face. "You," he said, and slapped her face, hard. While she gasped he continued, "are," and again he slapped her on the same cheek, "a" slap, "whore." Jill ducked her head; she couldn't help it. He jerked her back and slapped her other cheek so hard her ear was ringing. She began to feel afraid, really afraid of this man. Where was Barry? Reading her thoughts he said, "Barry isn't here, baby. Barry knows he doesn't have what it takes to teach you. He knows I do. He loves you. I don't. I'll teach you; I'll break you. And I'll give the pieces back to your darling Barry so he can put them together again." Jill began to whimper and tried to hide her head in her hands. "Stop it, girl. You're safe, you silly ninny. Barry knows we're here and he's a phone call away. I have no intention of doing anything that he hasn't already pre-approved. He wants this to happen. Don't you want it too, whore? Don't you want to submit to your master by submitting to me?"
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His voice was low and intense. Jill began to cry and she whispered, "Please, you're scaring me. Please stop." "Fear is a good thing, little girl. I know you, don't you see that? I understand you in a way Barry never will. I can see that you are not submissive. You're just a slut. A masochistic sex slut out for her own pleasure. You use Barry as shamelessly as I plan to use you. But Barry has a romantic idea that you are submissive. He clings to a dream that you will submit totally to him. "And I think on some level you want that, though you have no idea how to do it. I don't think you're totally hopeless, or I wouldn't bother coming here. I can fuck a cute little tart anytime I feel like it. I don't need to travel here and leave my slave girl for that." He ignored the small flash of anger in her eyes. "But I'm willing to teach you, slut. I'll teach you step by step how to submit to a master. You will lose your willfulness. You will lose your sassy little sex kitten ambitions." He laughed as she tried to turn away, blushing. "Oh yes," he said, "I know you maybe a little better than you know yourself. And I'll help you strip it all away. All the pretense and the games you play to get what you think you want. "The only way to really submit, to really learn, is to strip down to the bare bones, to the essence of your being. And listen," he lowered his voice so she could barely hear him, "if you allow it, if you do submit, I can promise you an experience like none you've ever had. I can teach you. If you let me." Jill had calmed and she allowed him to wipe away a tear. "I like the whore getup, but I think it's served its purpose. I want you to strip and shower. Remove all your makeup, wash your hair and wait for me in the bathroom. I'll be along shortly." Jill went, wondering what was up, but she did as she was told. She was just wrapping her long hair in a towel when he came in and sat on the lid of the toilet, commenting, "If you were mine, I'd cut that hair off. All of it. You're vain. And that's the first symbol of your vanity, all that long beautiful hair." Good thing I'm not yours, Jill thought to herself.
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"First, drop that towel. You are to be naked at all times unless I feel like dressing you in something." Jill hesitated, but seeing his grim expression, she dropped the towel that covered her. Paul glanced at her, apparently indifferent to her lovely feminine curves. He focused on her face and said, "A slave needs to learn humility. It's an important lesson to help get the focus off yourself. You, my dear, are totally and obviously focused on you. Your duty is to focus on your master. I only have you for the weekend, so of course we can only begin, but I do have certain liberties allowed me by your master. The first of which is we will shave your cunt. A naked cunt is a silly little thing, and the first step in reminding you of your place." Jill thought back to her online friend, the one whose master required her to be totally denuded, even her head, before he would meet her. At the time she had scoffed, thinking the woman way over the line. But now she was less sure. "Barry said you could shave my pussy?" "He did. And listen, whore. Let's set some rules real quick. I know you're used to chatting casually with your husband, but I'm not your husband. I'm not your master, admittedly, but let's just say I'm your trainer for the weekend. And I don't like my trainees to speak unless they are directly spoken to. And then you must use respect, and address me as sir. If I think you are being smart, or overstepping, or questioning anything I ask of you, I will punish you. Severely. Am I understood?" "Yes, sir," Jill whispered, feeling fear like a little gnawing animal in her stomach. "Now. Get a fresh razor and some baby oil. And a sharp scissors. Move." Jill did as she was told, and then stood on the closed toilet as directed while Paul carefully cut off all her pubic curls, cropping it as close as possible. Then he filled the sink with hot water and squirted some baby oil into it. Next he smeared the oil all over Jill's pudendum and said, "Spread your legs. And stay very still. I don't want to cut you. Not now anyway."
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As he expected, her eyes widened as he spoke the last sentence and he chuckled. These whores were so easy. Slowly and carefully, with a sure hand, Paul shaved Jill's pussy until it was bare. Her flesh felt so strange and naked! He tossed her the oil and said, "Here, massage this in to keep it soft, then let's go into your bedroom and have a look." Gingerly she touched her bare labia and mons, rubbing in the soothing oil, fingers brushing against her inner labia and clit. She followed Paul's receding back to her bedroom and moved to where he directed, in front of the full length mirror. She had expected to feel ridiculous as she looked at her newly shaved pussy. She was expecting a little girl look, but what she saw was deeply erotic to her. Somehow its very bareness was like an offering. "Spread your legs; show us your cunt," Paul ordered. And even as she obeyed, blushing slightly because he was watching, she couldn't help but stare in fascination at the dark pink little folds of flesh, and the little bared slit below. Her sex was being offered like ripe fruit, and she felt the sweetness of the fruit grow wet inside of her. "Slut," he whispered, watching her, knowing what she was feeling. She looked down, having for a moment forgotten that he was there, and now sharply reminded. "Ok," he said. "Lesson one. Control. You have none. You come at the drop of a hat. Barry 's keen on sex, so you are going to need to learn to control yourself, and to put him first. So we'll work for a while on your orgasm. Not on having one, you slut, but on controlling it. You don't deserve to come. It should only be a reward, and only occasionally. Otherwise you become soft, and lose your edge, and forget your place. I'm here to remind you. "I like rope, so let's go into the playroom and tie you on that exam table I saw in there. You won't be able to get away, and we'll work on control." Again he swept out of the room and she was left to follow him, feeling a little stupid. Things weren't going as she expected; part of her had thought he was going to use this weekend as an excuse to fuck her, as most men would have. But she was learning that Paul wasn't like most men.
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She lay obediently on the table and allowed Paul to secure her with coils of rope across her throat, her breasts and around each thigh. Her legs were secured into the stirrups, exposing her naked pussy. Again there came a frisson of fear as she realized she was totally helpless, naked and tied down, with her husband far away. Paul was all business. He squirted a dollop of lubricant on his fingers and approached her like a doctor, his face unsmiling. She jerked and tried to move away when she felt his finger touching not her pussy but her asshole! He pushed the finger in, invading her. "Tight, aren't you? Would a dildo fit up there, do you think?" To answer his own question, Paul produced a small slim vibrator, which he smeared with the lubricant. Then he shoved it up her ass, making Jill grunt from the unexpected pressure of it. He flicked a switch at the base and the thing buzzed to life. The sensation was odd, and not unpleasant, though it tickled a little. Then she felt his fingers at her pussy. First they explored her opening, touching it, pressing inside, withdrawing, and then moving in slowly wider circles toward her clit. It felt wonderful, and the combination of the vibrator in her ass and the teasing of her cunt made Jill's pussy ridiculously wet. She was longing to feel his fingers on her clit, and then a cock in her pussy. She needed it. She wanted it. She moaned. And then his fingers were there, touching her clit, and the pleasure mounted and was ready to explode, when the fingers were withdrawn, and the vibrator clicked off, though it remained lewdly lodged in her ass. He had known just how far to take her, and then he had stopped. "Control," he said, as she tried to recover herself. She had to bite her lips to keep from begging him to let her come. She would never beg this man for anything. "You are too easily aroused, and you forget why you exist. Let's work some more. First, tell me why a slave exists." Trying to control her gasping breaths, Jill said, "To please her master." "Right. You say the words, but I know you don't understand them yet. Now, we'll continue." Again he teased her pussy, bringing her so close to the edge. And again he stopped. She wanted it so bad she
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was almost in tears. Her body jerked forward, making the ropes that bound her rub and irritate her flesh, but she didn't notice. "Control," he said again. "And the ability to suffer. You like the pleasure, but can you take the pain?" He produced a little purple whip with small knotted strands and brought it to her face. Jill knew what to do, and she kissed it, tensing her body in anticipation of the lashing. Paul drew it sensually across her engorged and aroused pussy, and then he smacked her hard with the whip. She heard the whistle of it just before she felt the sting. She screamed and Paul smiled, and hit her again. She was longing to close her legs. The pain was heightened because of the stimulation from his fingers. He whipped her until she was begging him to stop, and crying out in her pain. "Please, oh God, stop! I can't do it! Stop! I'm begging you." The more she begged, the harder he hit her, until at last she quieted, defeated and exhausted, her pussy a mass of exploding nerve endings. He stopped at last. "You'll learn with me, missy. I like to hear you cry and beg. The more you do it, the more I'll whip you. I want to hurt you. It turns me on. It pleases me." While he spoke, he gently touched her swollen hot cunt. It was bright red from the beating, and looked so naked and vulnerable, shaved and spread open as it was. Paul brought over a mirror and forced Jill's head up so she could see her whipped little cunt. She stared in fascination through eyes wet with tears. "You need this, don't you, whore. I know you, don't forget. You can't ensnare me with that cunt. I've just shaved it and beaten it. It has no power over me. I've seen a thousand just like it. But you, you haven't known what it is to suffer, not even a little. You have your husband wrapped around your finger. Well, you won't wrap me. Oh no. You won't." As he spoke, he continued to gently touch and tease her burning pussy. Impossibly, instead of hurting her, his fingers felt like heaven against her heated flesh. She stifled a moan, not wanting him to know the intense pleasure he was giving her. She knew he'd stop if he realized how he was affecting her. He continued to finger her pussy, and then slid one
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inside. Her vaginal muscles involuntarily clamped down on the finger and he could feel her need. He laughed softly and said, "If you come, I'll beat you like I own you. Control it, whore. Act like a slave, not some $12 piece of ass." Relentlessly he touched her, skillfully bringing her to the edge of a climax, and then withdrawing, bringing her down, and then slowly back up again. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she had never experienced anything like it. Most men, including Barry, used a heavy hand, rubbing and finger fucking her too hard, too fast. But Paul's fingers were light, dancing across her cunt and creating an impossible heat which only seemed heightened by the beating she had endured at those same hands. "Don't come," he ordered, even as he knew he was driving her, lifting her over the edge to where control was no longer possible, even for the most highly trained slave. "Don't come. I warned you," he said, as he forced her body to spasm and contort. She screamed and moaned her pleasure before dropping limp from pleasure and exhaustion, her body covered in a sheen of sweat, her skin chafed from the ropes that still bound her. "I warned you," he said again, as he untied the knots of ropes that held her and released her legs from the stirrups. He hauled her to her feet. Jill could barely walk, so Paul half dragged her to the center of the room. "I'm going to whip you now, and you're going to stay still and take it. You're going to show your obedience by staying in position while I beat you. We will count to 50. Every time you step out of position, we will start over. Ready?" "Oh, please." Her voice was pleading. She was longing to lie down. "Stop. Now. I said 50, but now it's 100. Bend over and grab your ankles. Yes, very nice. I like a limber body. My slave is too fat, but I'm helping her lose weight with an excellent diet. The pounds are dropping, and she misses many a meal when she can't obey. But she is becoming such a good slave I have to think up new ways to starve her." He laughed, knowing he was shocking this little slut who was so easily shocked and so new to the life.
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"We'll use Barry's whip for now. Later I'll introduce you to the cane. The English knew what they were about with the cane, let me tell you." Jill shivered but kept hold of her ankles. She could handle this whip, and she would take it with grace and show this bastard she could. The very first strike made her fall out of position. Barry always began slowly and built up slowly so she could adjust to the whipping. But Paul had struck her hard, sending her sprawling forward. "Pathetic," he said, his voice dripping with disgust. "Ok, let's start again. I want you to count. Go." And again he hit her. This time she was ready, and managed to stay still, though she swayed slightly from the force. "One." He struck her again, in the same place, just below her ass. "Two," she grunted. And again and again he whipped her. No sensual buildup, just a beating. She fell out of position again and again. Her back was cramped and her arms were aching from grabbing her ankles but she held on. He lulled her for a while, not hitting her very hard, and she was feeling she would get through this at number 85 when he walloped her, sending her sprawling forward again, completely out of position. "Oh dear," he said, in mock solemnity. "What a shame. We'll have to start all over again." Tears of rage blinded Jill, but she bent over grimly, determined to do this. He dealt her 100 savage blows and as she croaked out the last one, she fell forward heavily, landing on her knees. She sank to the ground and lay still on her side. She felt flayed alive, and her sweat was stinging all the abrasions that covered her back and ass. She lay completely still, curled up, her mind blank. She must have slept, because she found herself awaking, shivering. She still lay where she had fallen, and she was naked and cold, the sweat having dried on her body. Carefully she sat up, feeling her limbs, making sure everything was working properly. Where was Paul? Had he left? Part of her hoped he had, but part of her hoped he was still there.
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While what he had done had taken her to the limits of what she thought she could endure, he was right about her. She did crave it. And he was taking her to places she didn't know about, on a sensual, visceral level. She was afraid of him, but fascinated by what he offered. And challenged by his lack of sexual interest in her. She would seduce the bastard yet. She got to her feet and found her pretty peach silk robe, which she draped around herself as she went in search of Paul. She found him in the kitchen, drinking some coffee and reading the newspaper. "Oh, finally awake, eh? Thought I'd let you sleep a little. Good to see you handle the floor well, since that's where you'll be tonight. Slaves don't belong in beds. Certainly not in masters' beds. Barry doesn't agree with me there. Still, Barry isn't here tonight, as you know." He smiled at her, but his eyes were hooded and difficult to read. Then he said, "Oh, and take off that robe. While I'm here, you're naked. Got it? No clothes. No makeup. No artifice. No hiding." She dropped the robe and he nodded. "Hungry?" "Thirsty," she said, and then added belatedly, "sir." As she spoke, she realized she was parched. She wanted to drink and drink to replenish her exhausted body. He noticed the skipped beat but didn't comment. "Ah, then let me get you a drink." Standing, he went to the cabinet and got down a bowl. He poured some water from the tap and set the bowl on the floor. Jill stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Your drink, cunt. You won't be using utensils or plates or cups this weekend. You don't deserve to. Whatever you eat or drink will be from this bowl, on the floor. Now kneel down and drink. I'll hold your hair for you." She hesitated and he said, "Do it. I insist." Slowly she knelt down, aware of her bottom which was still stinging from the whipping. She leaned over the bowl and again hesitated. He pushed her face forward, and she reared back sputtering, water dripping from her nose and eyelashes. He gripped her hair and jerked it, saying, "Stop being an idiot. Lap the water, little bitch. Little bitch in heat, lap the water like a dog."
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Jill's face burned but she did as she was told, and the water was clear and cold. But it was hard to get enough, and as she tried to lap it with her tongue she made a mess, getting her face and chest wet. She was still thirsty when he pulled her back and said, "That's enough." "Please, sir," she said, her voice small. "I'm still so thirsty." "What a shame. Drink when you're told to, next time." He forced her up and led her to the bathroom. She was angry, but didn't protest, knowing it would be useless. "I need to pee. I think this is a good time for a lesson. Kneel by the toilet and cup your hands." Jill knew at once what he intended, and she came very close to refusing. Golden showers held no interest whatsoever to her. But again, he wasn't asking her permission. She knelt reluctantly and cupped her hands, watching while Paul unzipped his pants. "Look at your hands, whore. I didn't give you permission to see my cock." So, he was shy! She suppressed a small smile. Probably has a tiny cock. Has to make up for it by dominating women. A moment passed and then she felt the hot stream of his urine splashing into her hands. She was repulsed but managed to stay still until he finished peeing and flicked the last drops on her. He zipped up and left the room saying, "Clean up and then present yourself to me in the bedroom. We're going to get ready for bed, which for you, of course, will be the floor." Jill met him in the bedroom and awaited his instruction. She was glad to be going to sleep as she was bone tired from this crazy and demanding evening. In all the weeks Barry had been dominating her, he had never put her through the gauntlet she had experienced tonight. But it wasn't over yet. Barry was laying out several things on the bed. First he tossed her a sheet and said, "This is your bed. Make it up now because you won't be in a position to do so later." He also tossed her a pillow. His own slave used no pillow, but he knew Jill would have enough to adjust to tonight. Next he held up a dildo. "This goes into that twat of yours. You're going to sleep with it in your cunt, because I want you open for me when you wake up. And this..." he
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tossed the small vibrator that had been in her ass before, "goes back into your little asshole." Jill picked up the items and looked at him, waiting for him to say he was only kidding. But he said nothing, only looked at her, daring her with his eyes to refuse. Slowly she inserted the dildo, which was large but yielding, made as it was out of soft pink rubber, and resembling a penis, including balls at the base which would help to hold it in. She felt embarrassed as he watched her with a dildo up her pussy, now inserting the little vibrator into her own anus. "Good," he said. "Now these." He held up her leather cuffs, which Barry had left for him. "Because you are a slut and can't be trusted not to play with yourself, I'm going to clip your hands behind your back. I'm also going to secure your ankles and thighs to keep that dildo in your cunt. If I find it out in the morning, you'll pay a heavy price, I promise you." He directed her to lie down, and then attached both the wrist and ankle cuffs, so that she was forced to lie on her side. He tied a length of cord around her thighs to keep them together. Then he pulled the sheet over her and turned out the overhead light, leaving on only a small lamp by the bed. Jill had thought she would toss and turn all night, but somehow she fell asleep, and indeed, was asleep before he even came back to sleep in her bed while she remained bound and naked on the floor beside it.
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Chapter Six Lovers The next morning Jill awoke and couldn't think for a moment where she was or why she couldn't move. She became aware that she was extremely uncomfortable, still secured at wrist, ankle and thigh, and stuffed with dildos. Her arms were asleep and she desperately needed to pee. She heard the gentle snore from her bed and knew Paul was still asleep. She didn't dare wake him, so she lay quietly, musing about the strange night she had just endured. What a peculiar man. She had never met anyone like him. He was so different from Barry, who, while dominant, could never control her, or get the reaction from her that this man seemed to tease out of her, almost against her will. And he had said to her that it was a matter of will. That she was willful and proud, traits which did not become true submissives. He had said she wasn't a submissive, and didn't live to serve Barry, who she claimed was her master. She wasn't sure any longer what was true and what wasn't. She wasn't entirely sure it mattered. This man was not God. He didn't ordain the rules and judge all who fell short. He acted like he did, though, and Barry seemed to think so. And Barry wanted this. Despite what Paul thought, Jill really did want to please Barry, and had come to truly love him as they explored this new aspect of their lives. If she wasn't a 'true submissive,' perhaps neither was Barry a 'true master.' And perhaps it didn't matter? She drifted back to a restless sleep, and was awakened by a distant telephone ringing. And then Paul was kneeling next to her. "How did you sleep, whore?" She wished he would use her name, but she knew this was his way of demeaning her, of 'training her,' he would say. "As well as could be expected, sir," she said, trying to keep her voice guileless. He unknotted the rope, unclipped her cuffs and helped her to stretch her sore limbs. "Get your blood flowing in your arms and legs, and you can take out those dildos and wash them. You can use the bathroom and freshen up. Then meet me in the kitchen."
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Slowly she massaged her cramped and aching limbs, grimacing as her arms tingled and ached back to life. She removed the dildos, which were hot from her body heat, and carried them with some distaste to the bathroom. She flung them in the sink and ran the water while she peed, and then splashed her face with water and brushed her teeth. She soaped up the dildos and dried them, leaving them on the counter. She felt a little cold, and wished she could put on a nightie, but knew he expected her naked. She brushed her hair back, her eyes on her bare naked little pussy, and then, knowing she couldn't put it off any longer, made her way to the kitchen. Paul was scrambling eggs, and the coffee smelled delicious. She started to take a mug and then remembered his statement that she wouldn't be using any cups or plates this weekend. She started to sit down, and then remembered she wasn't to sit on the furniture either. Sighing, she sat on the floor by the table, feeling hungry and cold, and wishing it were Sunday instead of Saturday. She missed Barry. Paul bustled about preparing his plate of food and his steaming mug of coffee. He ignored her as he sat at the table and began to eat his breakfast, buttering a piece of toast when it popped up in the toaster on the table. Jill became increasingly restless, wondering when she would get to eat! She was starving and the food smelled so good. He finished eating at last and carefully folded the newspaper, setting it aside. "Hungry?" he asked unnecessarily. She nodded, her mouth salivating so much that she had to swallow. Paul went back to the stove and lifted the pan, dumping some now cold scrambled eggs onto a plate. He took his own mug of coffee and poured some of the liquid into the bowl she had used last night for water. "There you go, doggy. Eat up." He set the plate and bowl on the floor. Jill almost stood up and told him to fuck himself, but she saw the spark of amusement in his eye and knew he was daring her to do just that. He didn't believe she was submissive, and he was trying to provoke her into proving it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Kneeling, she held her own hair out of the way as she bit into the eggs, which were cold but still buttery and delicious. She ate several
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mouthfuls and then lapped delicately at the coffee, trying not to make a mess. She did splash a bit, but she managed to drink some. It was bitter, as he had added only cream, no sugar, which she preferred. Still, it was fresh, if tepid, and the caffeine would help kick start her system. She ate all the eggs, and started to ask for more, but Paul cut her off saying, "That's enough. A little hunger is good. It keeps you keen. Get up. It's time to for your morning exercise." She sighed, but stood up and followed him to the living room. He reached into his duffel bag and took out a small ball. It looked like a racquet ball. "Since you are my little doggy today, we're going to have a game of fetch. I'm going to toss the ball, and you're going to fetch it. If you do a good job, you get a reward. If you do a bad job, you get a whipping. Ready?" He tossed the ball and looked at her. She stood there, arms wrapped around her torso, staring back at him. "Get on your knees, stupid. Crawl like the dog you are and fetch that ball with your mouth. Hurry up. Do as you're told." This wasn't sexy. She didn't like it. It was insulting. He cocked his head at her, waiting for her to obey. His gaze was intense and she knew he was again silently taunting her; testing her, willing her to fail. She knelt and began to crawl toward where he had tossed the ball. She found it and bent to retrieve it with her mouth. She felt angry and embarrassed, but she crawled over to him, the ball clenched between her teeth. He took the ball from her and patted her on the head. "Good doggy. Do it again." And he tossed the ball over the couch. Again she crawled on hands and knees, naked in her own home, with a strange little man waiting to pat her head and toss the little rubber ball again and again. Jill's knees were getting rug burned, and she was tired of crawling, but still he tossed the horrible little ball, patting her head each time she returned it to him, wet with her saliva and bearing her teeth marks. She hated this game and she hated this man. At last he said, "Time for your reward. Climb up here, doggy, and lay across my lap, with your ass in the air." She climbed up, relieved
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at least to no longer play fetch, but wondering what he had planned now. His thighs, encased in blue jeans, were hard against her. He smoothed her back and her ass cheeks for a moment, and then pressed her legs slightly apart. His fingers probed her pussy, easily finding her clit, which he circled and teased for a moment. Then he withdrew his hand and brought it back wet, rubbing and separating her labia with several fingers, and then plunging into her pussy. She was immediately wet, and angry at her body for responding when she had wanted to remain dry and indifferent to this horrible man. He began as he had the night before, slowly and delicately teasing her until she was literally on fire with lust and need. "Do you want to come, slut?" She grunted her assent. "Ok, you can come, but I'm going to fuck you first, all right?" She nodded, knowing he would do what he wanted anyway. And she could use a cock right now in her pussy, even if it was a puny one like his. "In the bed. I'm going to fuck you in Barry's bed." A part of her bridled at this, but a part of her secretly thrilled to it. He led her to the bedroom, her pussy literally dripping with need. "Get on your hands and knees, doggy. I'm going to fuck your ass." "My what?" She was nonplussed. She hadn't expected this. "You heard me. But because I'm a nice guy," he grinned, "I'm going to let you suck my cock first so it won't hurt your little asshole, which isn't stretched enough. If you were mine, I'd make you wear a dildo in it all the time, till I got it to where I could fuck you without you screaming. But since you're not mine, I'll just have to hear you scream." He said this so matter of factly that it sent chills down Jill's spine. This man was truly a sadist. Luckily for her, she was used to Barry fucking her ass, and she even liked it. She could handle this guy's little dick, for sure. Then he came around to her, and put his cock in her face. He had opened his pants, and pulled them down part way. And poor Jill got a shock. This small wiry man didn't have a little cock at all. In fact, it was the largest, thickest cock she had ever seen, with a huge head to match.
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He laughed at her expression. "What were you expecting, little girl? Didn't anyone ever teach you not to judge a book by its cover? Now open wide and let's see what you can do." She opened her mouth and tried to take just the head in. She started to lick and suck it, and he seemed to like what she was doing, because he sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into her. Then he took her head in his hands and pushed his cock further in, gagging her with its length. She tried to pull back but of course, he wouldn't let her. Slowly he moved in and out, fucking her face. She let him do it, trying to relax, hoping he would come in her mouth and forget her ass. But no such luck. After several minutes he pulled away from her, his cock dripping with her kisses, and said, "Just a second; I have to get something." He left the room and came back with a black candle and a box of matches. He set these on the bed and then came around behind her. "Because you're not mine," again her silent thanks, "I'm going to take pity on you and use some jelly. If you were mine, I'd fuck you raw, but I don't want to damage Barry's property." So saying, he opened a tube of KY jelly and squirted some on his fingers. He smeared it onto her little asshole and then positioned himself behind her. Jill screamed as his head entered her tight little ass, but he held her hips and wouldn't let her get away. She started to panic and buck, but this just made it worse, as he was very strong, and wouldn't let her get away. "Shh," he whispered, "stop that silly struggling. You know it's much worse if you resist. Just relax and accept me. I'm going to fuck your ass and you can clench and bleed, or you can relax and maybe even enjoy it." Bleed! She tried to control her fear and to relax her body. She knew he was right that it would hurt less if she could let go and open herself to him. And she knew she was being tested and given a chance to submit. Because this was when it was really submission; when you didn't want it, but you did it because the master wanted it. She could do this. She could get through one day with this man. She could handle this.
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She felt herself relax, and felt his hands lighten their iron grip on her. Again he began to ease himself into her, saying soothingly, "That's it, whore. You can take it. You were made for this. That gorgeous ass was made for fucking." Soon he was moving harder, faster, inside of her, until he was no longer thinking about making her submit, but was only feeling the intense pleasure of her little asshole clenching against his cock, creating the most lovely friction. He pumped her harder and harder until he came, thrusting into her so hard they both fell forward, his sweat dripping onto her back. They lay there, both breathing heavily for several moments. At last he pulled up and out of her, which hurt for a second, and then he was gone, leaving her asshole gaping and full of gooey cum. She wanted to go the bathroom and push it out, as she always did when Barry used her this way. She started to rise but he said, "Where are you going? You're not going anywhere. I'm not done with you." "Please, sir, I need to go the bathroom." "No you don't. You aren't going to the bathroom for a while. I just gave you a gift. I don't give many people my sperm, but I gave it to you. And I want you to keep it in your nasty little ass for a while. So I'm going to plug it up. With this." He held up the black candle and for a minute she thought he meant to insert the candle into her! But then she saw him lighting it and realized with a shock what he intended to do. "Back on your knees, whore. Has anyone ever dropped hot wax on you? No? Well, get ready. Don't worry, it doesn't burn, at least, it doesn't blister. Now, don't move, or I'll tie you still and cover your body in melted wax. This will only take a minute." She knelt back up on her hands and knees, asshole bared, and Paul held the candle over her, letting droplets of hot wax fall on her ass cheeks. She jumped each time a hot splash landed and then rapidly cooled. Once she adjusted to what was happening, he let a splash fall directly on her delicate asshole. This time she jerked and involuntarily moved away. "Stay still," he commanded, and let several more hot drops land on her anus until the whole area was
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covered with a plug of dried wax. It felt very uncomfortable between her butt cheeks, but it didn't hurt. "You may get dressed, just in your robe. Barry will be here in about an hour. Just time to cane you." They both had forgotten his promise to let her come. Hope rose in her on little wings. "He will? But I thought…" Again he cut her off. "You really have no discipline. You aren't a slave. I don't even think you're slave material. You repeatedly speak without being invited to do so! I was going to work with you on that today, but Barry called this morning and he wants to come home." She remembered suddenly the sound of a phone as she was waking up. "He misses you." These last words were said with derision, and Jill felt her face flame with anger. This man was belittling her husband for wanting to come home to his wife! This man knew nothing of love! Whatever life he offered, whatever intensity, it wasn't worth the cost of love, surely. Then in her head she belatedly heard the second part of his sentence – "just time to cane you." "Please, sir. I don't want to be caned. I don't think Barry would want…" "Stop, or I'll gag you. At this point I don't give a fuck what Barry wants. Barry isn't here. I am. And I'm going to cane you. A farewell caning, because I won't be seeing you again. My time's too precious to waste on a wannabe slut and pretend master like you and Barry. So get your robe if you want, or don't; I don't care. And present yourself in the living room." Jill got slowly off the bed. She watched Paul leave the room and then she shut the door quietly. She went to the phone and dialed Barry's cell, her heart in her mouth. It rang several times, and then a recorded message told her the cellular number she was trying to reach was not in range. Damn! She had hoped to reach him and tell him Paul was crazy and she wasn't going to submit anymore. She would just have to face him on her own. She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, deliberately defying his mandate not to dress. She entered the living room and said, "Paul, I
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don't want to play anymore. I want you to leave now." He turned toward her slowly, flexing the little rod he held in his hand. "Oh, you don't, eh? You don't want to play anymore, is that it? Isn't that a shame, since I really don't give a fuck what you want." He stood and started to walk toward her, and she began to edge back toward the bedroom. "You don't get it, do you, whore? This isn't about what you want. When are you going to figure that out? All you are is an object. An object to be used, debased and humiliated. You don't exist, except to serve. You have no rights. You signed them away. You did that willingly. You are a slave." Jill's voice trembled, but she said, "That contract said you have to use me like my master would! It says you can't inflict harm or damage! You can't cane me; it would mark me! Barry wouldn't do that to me. You can't! Please!" Her voice was pleading. Still Paul continued to advance, his stance menacing, the cane held between both hands. "Jill..." He used her name for the first time, but she didn't notice. She felt her heart pounding in her throat as she tried to back into the bedroom so she could lock the door. He moved quickly and suddenly he was beside her, and then behind her, preventing her from getting away. "Jill, you've learned nothing. You are fit for nothing. You are not a slave. You are a just a whore." "And you're just a bully," she screamed, her voice shrill with fear. "You can't demand trust, you have to earn it. And you can't get it by force! If you cane me now, it's assault, plain and simple, and I'll have you arrested! Get away from me!" Paul didn't seem to be listening, and didn't seem fazed by her threats and protests. Taking her wrists in one hand, he held them up and away from her body, easily keeping her at bay while he unzipped her jeans with his other hand and pulled them down. He jerked her arms up behind her body and forced her to the ground. He whipped the cane through the air, causing a whistling sound that elicited a whimper of terror from Jill, whose face was pressed into the carpet. He let one blow land, just one searing lash of the cane. And then he let her go and stood up. Jill lay crying on the carpet, as Paul calmly
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packed his things and left. "Tell Barry not to call me; I don't have time for game players." And he was gone. *** Barry found Jill palefaced but composed, sitting on the couch, again dressed in jeans and sweatshirt. With her hair brushed back from her face, and no makeup, she looked like a teenager. Barry rushed toward her, his arms out. He had felt conflicted about returning early, but after a sleepless night, knew he had to get home to her, no matter how humiliated he felt in front of Paul. They embraced and Barry asked, "So, where's Paul?" Jill didn't answer, and her face was buried in his shoulder. She was shaking and he realized with a terrible shock that she was crying! "Jill! Honey, what is it? Shh, stop, it's ok. What happened?" She couldn't speak, so he just held her, waiting for her to cry it out and calm down. At last she raised her head and said, "Oh, Barry. Thank God you're home." "Jill, you have to tell me. What happened? Did that bastard hurt you? I'll kill him. What happened!" He stood up, looking as if he were ready to do battle. Jill reached out her arms. "No, he's gone. Don't worry, he's gone." And she told him everything. Tears spilled over Barry's cheeks when Jill told him about the caning, and Jill started to cry again at his tears. They embraced. He stood and carried her into the bedroom. They held each other and finally drifted to sleep, still wrapped in each others arms. Barry was the first to awaken, and he lifted himself on one elbow to gaze at his wife in the half light of twilight. They had slept the day away, it seemed. She slowly opened her eyes, as if aware he was looking at her. She looked so fragile and beautiful that his heart actually hurt in his chest as he looked at her. "I'm not submissive, Barry, not slave material," she whispered, and turned her face away, waiting for his disappointment. Instead she heard, "And I'm not a 'master' Jill, whatever that is. I just know I love you. And I love what we do, and how we play. And I know it's just play and I don't want anything else from you at all. The contract was stupid. Let's burn it. Let's just be husband and wife.
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You are my wife, Jill. Be my wife. I don't want a slut, or a whore. I just want you. You, you, you." Relief poured over Jill, and she clung to Barry, loving him so much she thought her heart would burst. He kissed her, slipping his arms around her, holding her and covering her face with kisses, kissing away the tears. His mouth found hers and they kissed, this time with passion, and mounting heat. His hands strayed down and found her perfect breasts, bare beneath the sweatshirt. "But, Barry, I love being your slave girl. I don't want to give it up, and all the delicious terrible things you do to me." She sounded petulant. Barry laughed. "You sweet nut! How could we ever go back to vanilla after what we've had? I still own you, slave girl. I guess the thing of it is, you own me too." He pinched her nipples and she moaned, pressing into him. Unbuttoning her jeans, he slid a hand down to her bare pussy. He felt it, touching her nakedness, and then finding her opening, which was already wet with desire for him. For him! He had been consumed with insecurity when he left her with Paul. She would fall in love with Paul, a 'real' dom, and leave him. But this passion was for him; he knew it now. He relaxed fully for the first time since their marriage, fully giving himself over to his consuming love for this girl. And she also had at last relinquished her restless quest for the new and different. She had found what she wanted and he was here in her arms. In her short life, that thing called love had always eluded her, and she didn't know if she had the capacity. Both of them, in looking toward Paul, had been really seeking something inside of themselves. And by rejecting him and what he offered, they had found each other. For what is love without trust, forgiveness, patience, and gentleness? Mere hunger and need, joy in another's company, shared pleasures, these were not the things of a lasting relationship. To be more than that there must be giving as well as taking, cost as well as gain. Sunday morning found Barry sipping a hot cup of coffee, idly leafing through the paper. Bacon sizzled on the stove and croissants
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were warming in the oven as his wife stood near. A typical familial scene? Not quite, as that wife's arms were stretched above her, tethered once again to the light fixture. Her eyes were covered with the silk blindfold, and her mouth was stuffed with a bright red ball gag that forced her jaws apart. She was naked except for six-inch red heels that perfectly matched her gag. Barry took a bite of bacon, and then slipped a hand to her hot naked pussy which was wet as always to his touch. Casually slipping a finger into her slit, he said, "Hungry, slut?" When Jill nodded, he laughed and said, "Maybe later, if you're very very good, I'll let you suck my cock and get yourself a little protein. But right now I think a whipping would distract you, don't you, slave girl?" As he spoke, Barry stood, pressing his body against hers, grabbing her ass cheeks to pull her hard against him. "I own you, don't I, cunt?" Jill nodded and Barry kissed and bit her neck. He removed the blindfold and unbuckled the gag. Jill's expression was intense, her mouth wet with unspent kisses. When he released her arms, they fell slowly to the floor, tangled in an embrace, food forgotten. If this was all just playacting and pretend, as Paul had scornfully maintained, then let the games begin. The End
