Part One
My name is Linda. You don't know me except through a little story that my
husband told you about a kinky sexual adventure we both had a little while ago.
Peter, my husband, lost a game of scrabble and had to panty up by agreeing to
let me act out any fantasy I wanted. Ever gracious, I agreed to let him have a
turn. (If you don't play fair occasionally, they get so EXCITED. It's like there
are thousands of these little tiny scales that need to be balanced every minute
of every day, and if one isn't, my god, the male ego simply goes bananas!) Well,
Peter got what he wanted. In retrospect, I think he got a whole lot more than he
wanted. He's been a good sport about it, though, and I think he's recovered from
the experience. One of the many reasons that I married him was because of his
openness to new things, and his willingness to keep learning and growing
throughout life. About a week after enacting my fantasy, on a Saturday
afternoon, we were returning home, via a long sight-seeing detour, from shopping
for some new backpacking equipment. Along a deserted stretch of winding, hilly
road, Peter suddenly pulled off next to a stand of large pine trees. He put the
car in park and turned to look at me. "Is something wrong?" I asked. His blue
eyes were sparkling. I knew the look. It meant he was terribly excited about
something, was having a hard time expressing it, but had finally found the
intestinal fortitude to speak his mind. "No, no. Nothing's wrong, Linda." His
right hand dropped to my leg and began to distractedly toy with the hem of my
skirt, and to scratch gently at my nylons. He looked out over my shoulder into
the distance. "I've decided what I want. For my fantasy, I mean." There was
silence for a few moments. "It's okay. You can tell me," I prompted him. He took
a deep breath and looked back at me. Peter is a handsome man and very sexy. I've
always been attracted to the "intellectual" type. I suppose they remind me of my
father, who taught at the university level for many years. Throughout my
high-school and college years, I had a tendency to throw myself at these kinds
of men, men who had some depth below the surface, but whose surface god or
nature chose to create as something less than perfect. I've been told I'm very
attractive, and I suppose I am. So when these young men found themselves in my
arms, their "gratitude," and sometimes even, I think, amazement that someone
like me would find them attractive, manifested itself in ways that only
complicated matters and usually drove me away. I guess it's a question of
personal confidence. I know firsthand, of course, the problems that women face
in a world that puts such premiums on looks and on unimportant surface things. I
have no doubt that men, too, struggle with this. It's regrettable that so many
men with beautiful and deep souls are often lonely because the world has made it
so difficult for them to acquire enough confidence in themselves to make them
truly attractive to another person. So when someone like me approaches them,
even sleeps with them, self-doubts keep them from opening up or, even worse,
make them cling to and stifle the other person for fear of losing something they
feel they might never find again. When I found Peter my senior year in graduate
school, though, everything clicked. Good conversation at a meaningful level (not
just football and basketball statistics), a sharp sense of humor, hot sex, fun
times, you name it. And he's good-looking to boot (he does look like a college
professor. The daddy-syndrome strikes again). He's tall (6'2") and lanky, and
reminds me of a cowboy. While he's very masculine, he has a strong feminine side
that he would deny. His movements are graceful and self-assured. Blonde hair,
gorgeous blue eyes, well-trimmed beard (I LOVE beards, especially when they're
where they belong, tickling the insides of my thighs and crotch), hairy chest,
long sexy fingers with well-trimmed nails, tight little buns, and a perfectly
sized, proud cock capped with the cutest glans you ever saw. (I remember, the
first time we made love, that he even called it a "cock." Women, watch out for
men who call it their "dick!") Peter reached over and killed the engine. He took
a deep breath and finally started talking. "I've been doing a lot of thinking
about your fantasy. I guess I've been struggling to understand and come to terms
with why I get so excited by the idea of you with other men." I nodded and took
his hand. He took a second breath and went on. "This is hard to say. Years of
macho upbringing and all.... Anyway, part of the turn on was the idea that, by
giving you up to someone else, I'd become submissive to you and to the other
man. Look, I know we've played around with our ropes and the handcuffs and
things, but.... well, I've always been the one in control, Linda. In my family,
you know I was the oldest when my father died. I was in control then; I felt I
had to be. I've been in control in our sex life, I'm in control at work, I'm
always "in control." Don't get me wrong. I enjoy it very much. There's a part of
me that's so damn competitive..... I've never given that up, or thought of
giving it up." "I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like to explore my
submissive side a little more. I mean, I don't think I'll ever want to make it a
permanent part of my life. But I'm fascinated now, at least since your fantasy,
with that part of sexuality." As he spoke, his eyes had wandered down to our
hands resting in his lap. "You want me to be dominant? To take control? I can do
that, darling." "Yes. Or rather yes and no," he said. He pulled his hands away
and started the engine. "Look, I'm expecting a phone call in a few hours and we
have to be there. I'll tell you more on the way home." He was so excited he
could hardly sit still in his seat. As we drove, Peter told me more. The phone
call was to be from a man, a stranger. I was to answer the phone. At the point
at which I picked up the phone, Peter's fantasy would begin. He was speaking in
choppy sentences, and hurrying his words. I noticed he was shivering. I've never
seen him so nervous before, even when he talks, on occasion, before large
audiences. He told me that I was to do whatever was asked of me by the man. That
I would submit totally to this man. That Peter trusted this man. And that Peter,
in turn, would submit totally to the two of us. Finally, he told me that this
fantasy was going to be much more complex, involved, and prolonged than mine had
been. "Think you're up to it, sweetheart?" he asked. I didn't hesitate. "Yes." I
looked over at him and put my hand on his warm shoulder. "I'll do anything you
or he asks. I love you, Peter. I've promised you this and, if this is what you
want, I'll make it good for you. This IS what you want? Are you absolutely sure
about it?" He nodded and smiled. "Yes. I've thought it all out and it's what I
want." There was a brief pause. "At least I think so...." He turned and gave me
a shit-eating grin. I hit him on the shoulder. HARD.
We were both in the den, I was reading and Peter was sitting on the floor
fooling around with his new toy we had just purchased, a Swiss-made camp stove
for high-altitude hiking, when the phone rang. He looked at me, raised his
eyebrows and pointed to the kitchen phone. I put my book down and quickly made
my way into the kitchen. My heart was racing and my throat suddenly dry. I
counted to 5 to calm myself, then picked up the phone. "Hello?" There was an
unnerving silence. I waited, tapping my toe. Just as I was about to hang up, he
spoke. "Who is this?" he asked. I almost asked him who the hell HE was, but I
just barely caught myself and bit my tongue. "This is Linda. May I ask who's
calling?" "You're husband told you I would be calling. He did talk to you,
didn't he, Linda? What did he tell you?" The voice was smooth and almost
unnaturally modulated, like a well-trained actor's. "He told me a little bit. I
really don't know that much. What was he supposed to tell me?" There was more of
that unnerving silence. I got the strange feeling that he could almost see me
through the phone and was sizing me up somehow. A shiver ran down my back. "Tell
me EXACTLY what he told you, Linda. And be polite to me when you speak. I'm
being polite to you." I rolled my eyes. I was getting fed up with his tone
already. I let out a long sigh and told him exactly what Peter had said. Softly:
"Yes. I see. I see. Where are you, Linda?" What did he mean, 'where are you?' In
relation to what? I shifted the phone to my other ear, ran my hand up over my
forehead and into my hair and held it out and away from the back of my head.
"Look," I began. "I'm trying to cooperate here, but I don't see what the
fuck...." When the voice interrupted me, it came with the power and clarity of a
6 foot church bell laid flush against my ear. I had never heard anything like it
in my entire life. It wasn't "loud," just pure and resonating with
potential....what? I could feel it in the marrow of my bones. "JUST TELL ME
WHERE YOU'RE STANDING. Describe it to me simply and clearly. Do it now." I
answered immediately, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'm standing in the
middle of our kitchen next to the phone which is attached to the food-prep
island." Silky smooth now, like the gentle caress of a lullaby: "Yes. That's
better. And where is Peter?" I turned and looked through the dining room and
into Peter's den. I could see that he was still sitting on the floor and
tinkering with the new camp-stove. He looked up briefly and tilted his head in a
questioning gesture. I frowned and shook my head. He looked back down. "Sitting
on the floor in our den." "Linda, describe to me what you are wearing. Be
specific and leave nothing out." My ears started to burn just slightly. "I'm
wearing a grey sweatshirt that says "St. John's College, Annapolis," blue jeans
with no belt, white sox, a pair of white underpants, a wristwatch and my wedding
ring." "No bra?" "No." "Can your husband see you from where you stand?" I looked
up again at Peter. "Yes." "Take the sweatshirt off." "Take it off?" I asked
stupidly. "I know you heard me, Linda. And believe me, when I tell you
something, I mean it. Don't ever repeat anything I've said as if I might be
mistaken. When you've done as I've told you, turn and face your husband." I set
the phone down and pulled off the sweatshirt, tossing it on the counter. I took
a deep breath and faced Peter. I almost hated to look: yup, he'd noticed and was
staring intently at me. I shrugged and pointed at the phone. A gentle smile came
to his lips. I picked the phone back up. "Okay," I said. "Is there an extension
that Peter can pick up and still see you?" "Yes. There's one in the dining
room." "Have him pick it up." Peter was still watching me. I pointed to the
phone in my hand and then in the direction of the dining-room extension. He
stood up and moved to the phone. There was a soft click as he picked it up.
"Hello, Peter." "Hello," Peter said. "Linda, my name is Charles. Forgive my
rudeness for not introducing myself sooner. Tell me, Linda, when was the last
time you and Peter fucked?" I looked at Peter. He was looking down at his feet,
ignoring me. "Last night." "Beginning now, and until I say otherwise, no more
sex between the two of you. Peter has told me you have a two-week vacation
planned beginning next weekend. Mountain-climbing or some such dangerous
activity. You are going to cancel the first week of that vacation and the three
of us will be spending it together. Do the two of you have a guest room of some
kind?" Peter was still staring at his feet as if they were the most interesting
things in the world. "Yes," I answered. "Good. Starting Saturday, a week from
today, Peter will move out of your bedroom and into the guest room. Move all of
his things out. The bedroom will be shared by only you and I, Linda, at least on
most nights. When was your last period?" "A week ago." "That won't be a concern,
then. A letter will arrive mid-week addressed to you, Linda. It will contain a
list of articles you are to purchase and the address of the establishment where
you will find them. Nothing too expensive. Make sure you have them before next
Sunday. I will arrive at 5:00 p.m., Sunday evening. I am very punctual. One more
thing before I go. Linda, grasp one of your nipples and hold it out, away from
you, until it begins to hurt." I did as he asked and waited. "Peter, you can see
your wife, can't you?" I glanced at Peter and he returned my gaze. "Yes." "Good.
Which nipple is your wife pulling for me?" "The left nipple." "I see. Linda,
this will only be temporary, but I want you to release your nipple, remove your
wedding band, and hand it to your husband when this call is finished. Peter, I
suggest you don't lose it. I will see the two of you in a week. Remember, no
sex. Goodbye, Peter." "Goodbye." "Goodbye, Linda." "Goodbye." The line went
dead. I hung up the receiver, released my now stinging nipple, and put my
sweatshirt back on. I happened to notice that I was very aroused. I removed my
wedding ring, walked to Peter and handed it to him. He sheepishly accepted it,
then stuffed it into his pocket. Suddenly grabbing me, he hugged me tightly to
him. I returned the hug, then kissed him passionately. He was shivering. God, I
love this man. I know that I can do and endure the things that will make him
happy in this. But I'm not so sure about Peter. Does he know what he's in for?
Well, it's too late now for second-guessing. He's made his choice, come what
will......
HUSBAND (Part 2)
I'm not sure what I expected from Peter during the week leading up to our
"vacation," and to Charles' arrival. He didn't exactly mope, but he was
strangely withdrawn and reticent. He seemed to want to avoid discussing what had
happened and what was about to happen, so I didn't push the issue. On Sunday
night, and then again on Monday, he had attempted to initiate a love-making
session. I couldn't decide if he had simply forgotten about the prohibition, or
if it was a test of some kind, but I gently and firmly put a stop to it. After a
deep sigh, he rolled over and fell asleep. I had decided that, if we were going
to do this, we were going to do it right. Peter lacks a certain amount of
self-discipline; I've been told that I have too much. I got home from work on
Wednesday evening to find the promised letter, addressed to me, in the mail. As
expected, there was no return address. The only enclosure was a list of serial
#'s and the name and address of a store located in the seedier part of town. I'd
never heard of it, but I put the list and address in my purse and called work to
tell them I would be in late on Thursday. I told Peter about the letter at
dinner and that I would be stopping there Thursday morning. He only nodded and
continued to pick at his food. Thursday morning I stopped at the store. It would
be an understatement to say that I was extremely uncomfortable and nervous. I
wondered how often a single young woman, dressed in a conservative business
suit, shopped here. There were a lot of pornographic videos, adult toys, etc.
The few customers in the store were men who seemed to be a touch resentful that
I was hovering about (actually, I wasn't "hovering," I was trying to make myself
as inconspicuous as possible. It didn't work. I felt conspicuous as HELL). I
handed the clerk, a balding, fat slob of a man, the list. He seemed to be
expecting me and, after practically licking my body with his eyes, returned with
a large bag. I paid what he asked without checking the contents and got the hell
out of there as fast as I could. Thursday night I put the bag, unopened, in the
back of our bedroom closet and forgot about it. On Friday night, Peter and I
went out to dinner and did some dancing to celebrate the beginning of our
vacation. I was starting to get a bit horny over the past few days, and the
dancing didn't exactly quench any fires. Peter had a hard-on the whole night,
but bravely "kept it to himself" on the dance-floor. My panties were soaked by
the time we got home. I hadn't had sex in nearly a week (okay, it may not be
that long for SOME people...), and had avoided masturbating. As I lay in bed
Friday night, listening to Peter's rhythmic breathing, I suddenly realized that
the weekend was here. I was beginning to get a little scared about what the next
week would bring. The excitement, though, was almost palpable. So much so, in
fact, that I didn't drift off to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.
On Saturday, Peter and I moved his things out of the closet and dresser and into
the guest room just down the hall from our master bedroom. We stayed up and
watched a movie, then slept in separate beds in our own home for the first time
in our marriage. It was a strange, strange feeling. I kept telling myself that
this was what he wanted...
DAY ONE: Sunday We spent the day doing some laundry and housecleaning, then
tinkered in the yard with a new patio that Peter had been "installing" for what
was now going on 3 months. Covered with dirt and sweat, we worked until about
3:00. "I guess we better get cleaned up. We've got company coming in a couple
hours," Peter said, tossing the various rakes and shovels in the wheelbarrow. I
wiped my hands on my dirty sweatpants and stood up. "Peter?" He stopped and
turned to look at me. "Yeah?" "Still sure you want to do this? It's not too late
to change your mind. I'll understand." He put the wheelbarrow down and crossed
his arms. "I'm sure. How about you?" "I'm sure, too. I'm just worried that
things might not work out like you expect. And I'm worried that it might somehow
affect us. Our marriage, I mean..." I said. I'd made my decision to give my
heart and soul (and body) up to Peter and his fantasy. Had he? This had the
potential to be terribly exciting and fun, but it also had the potential to be a
great disaster. He came over and kissed me, sweetly, in the middle of my
forehead. "Everything will be just fine, darling." After showering, I put on a
bright and colorful sundress over a skimpy pair of hip-cut cotton panties. Peter
wore a pair of brown slacks and a white dress-shirt open at the collar. We
settled in the living room with some books, sipping a soft Bordeaux and
listening to Mozart's Die Zauberflute, and waited. At precisely 5:00 p.m., the
doorbell rang. I hesitated for a moment and, when Peter didn't get up, assumed
that I was to answer it. I moved quickly to the door, took a deep breath, and
opened it. The man standing before me, between two expensive suitcases, was, if
you'll forgive the trite and hackneyed expression, tall dark and handsome. Black
hair, graying at the temples (45, maybe 50 years old?) with wide shoulders and
slim hips. Handsome, but austere face, with piercing, steel-grey eyes; the kind
of face women fall in love with even knowing full-well the potential for
heart-ache and pain (even violence?) that such a face and eyes portend. While
his bearing screamed refinement and elegance, he was dressed in jeans and a
t-shirt. The muscles on his arms were well-defined and sculptured, but not
massive like a weight-lifter's. More like the graceful sinews of a swimmer.
Peeking out just below the left sleeve of his shirt was the bottom part of a
tattoo. I couldn't make out it's details. Our eyes locked momentarily. Quickly,
I had to break the gaze and look down at the steps between us. There was
something there I wanted very much to explore, but just as strongly needed to
avoid. "Hello, Linda. My name is Charles. I believe you and Peter are expecting
me." I recognized the voice immediately from our previous telephone
conversation. A very masculine, professionally trained voice. Smooth and
undulating (a "melt in your panties" kind of voice). There was that edge,
though, that edge of danger and power that remained unmasked in its timbre. I
suddenly realized that he had been standing there for an uncomfortably long
time. I opened the door and motioned for him to enter. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm
in another world," I said, laughing nervously. " Please come in, Charles." He
entered and set his suitcases near the stairway. "Thank-you, Linda." "Peter's in
the living room. Would you like something to drink? We're having a nice dry red
wine..." "I don't drink. Thanks anyway. Let's move into the living room." As we
entered, Peter rose from the couch, smiled and shook his hand. "It's nice to see
you again, Peter," he said. Then, to me, "Peter and I met once before." There
was a nervous silence. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?" I asked. "No,
I'm just fine." I smiled and nodded. As I moved to the couch to have a seat, he
spoke again. "I see no point in wasting a lot of time with pleasantries. We'll
have plenty of time to get to know each other as the week progresses. I prefer
that we begin talking about some necessary things. Go ahead, Linda, have a seat
on the sofa. Peter, you may sit in the center of the floor, please." As we
settled, Charles leaned back against the mantle of our fireplace and folded his
arms. He glanced around briefly at the room, then looked intently at Peter and I
in turn. "Thank you for inviting me into your beautiful home and into your
life," he began. "The relationship we are about to form is purely consensual on
your part and on mine. The primary ingredient of this relationship is the fact
that I now have total control over your lives, a control that you have
voluntarily relinquished. If that control is ever questioned or tested in any
way, I will walk out the door and the 'game' is over. That's not going to
happen, though. I rarely need extraneous methods to 'control' people." As he
talked, he smiled sweetly like a little child who doesn't know what the words
mean, telling you to fuck-off. He looked at me with unblinking eyes and
continued. "Linda, your husband may own your soul and heart, but I own your body
for the next week. When I tell you to do something, do it immediately. Never
question me, never hesitate, never fail to do everything within your power to
comply and to please me. Are we of a like mind?" I looked into Peter's eyes as I
answered. "Yes, Charles. We're of a like mind." His gaze fell on Peter. "Peter,
you just heard your wife pledge her body to me. It no longer belongs to you, or
her, in any way. Do you understand the implications?" "Yes, I believe I do."
"No, I don't think you do. I think she has a better grasp of what this is going
to mean, as well as the full potential inherent in this situation. True
submission is only understood through experience. But no matter. As your wife
learns to prostitute herself to me, so will you, to both her and me, in many
ways. Do you realize that, just as your wife would comply immediately if I told
her to turn around and bend over so that I could fuck her in the ass, so that
same power and its ramifications now looms over your head, Peter? Submissive
fantasies are one thing, but the reality of submission is so much different, so
much purer and more clear. It goes to the bone like a spinal tap. Have you ever
sucked another man's cock, Peter?" Peter's face was turning very red. He didn't
look up when he answered. "No." "No, I didn't think so. I haven't either, but
then I've never been in the position you've put yourself and your very cute wife
in. Your wife knows the joys of cocksucking, though. She has learned, I'm sure,
the little secret that there is a tremendous amount of power in submission. A
little bit of advice that will help you through the coming days and nights:
don't submit a little bit. Submit totally. Put everything you've got into it,
Peter, or you'll have a very hard time of it." He shrugged. "I couldn't really
care less, but it is your fantasy, after all. Accept the many humiliations that
I give out to your wife, and that your wife and I give out to you, and the time
will be so much more pleasant for you, so much more erotic. In other words,
learn to submit like a girl, Peter. Learn the pleasures of giving up the pink."
Charles was pacing now, his hands in his front pockets, thumbs out. Dear god, I
was starting to get so turned on.... He suddenly leaned down, cupped Peter's
chin with his hand, and looked into his eyes. "Make no mistake about it, Peter.
Your wife is going to be debased, humiliated and used. We're going to act out
games that would bring a blush to the cheeks of a jaded whore. Her mouth, cunt
and ass are going to be reamed out like they never have been. Her and I, and
maybe even others of my choosing, are going to do things you never dreamed of.
Some of them I may even let you watch. Nope. There will be no "loving" around
here for a while, Peter. Just a whole lot of fucking going on. And when I'm
tired of fucking her, her and I are going to fuck YOU!" He let go of Peter's
chin with a curt shove and looked up at me. "Linda, your little husband has an
erection. Come here, kneel down, and take it out. You and I want to see his
cock, don't we?" I moved to Peter, knelt down, and unzipped his pants. I removed
his hard cock, already wet at the tip, and began to stroke it. He leaned back on
his hands and closed his eyes. "Look at me, Linda," Charles said. His long legs
rose behind Peter's head. I looked up into the pools of steel at the center of
his eyes. "Tell your loving husband how pretty he will look sitting on the tip
of my hard prick. Tell him how excited you will be, how proud you will be, how
you can hardly wait, to see his lips around my cock. Tell him the truth." My
cunt throbbing and wet, I told him.
HUSBAND (Part 3)
"That's enough for now, Linda; stand up. Put it back in your pants, Peter." I
stood as Peter re-arranged his sticky cock into his pants. "I think I would like
some ice-water, Peter. Would you like anything, Linda?" I shook my head. Peter
stood up between us; his face was flushed and he avoided my gaze. "Go into the
kitchen, but don't bring my water until you are called. Linda and I have a few
things to discuss. "Peter left, and I stood there before Charles, feeling
uncomfortably like a shy little girl rather than a grown woman. He didn't move
for a moment, just looked me up and down. Slowly, he raised his right hand. He
put just the tip of his forefinger lightly to my lips. Without thinking,
instinctively, I let my tongue slip under the tip of his finger, licked the
underside gently, then returned it to my mouth. The briefest of smiles flickered
in his eyes. "Suck it," he said. I opened my lips, took his finger in and began
to suck on it. As I stood there in my own home before this stranger, my hands to
my sides, slowly "fellating" his finger and looking into his eyes, he spoke to
me. "You're a brave and kind soul, dear Linda. And while we both know you are
not "pure," there is a sublimely innocent aura about you. Believe me, that is a
rare thing, indeed. If I thought for a moment that what I am going to put you
through would corrupt that, I'd leave this instant. But I think you will survive
it." He closed his eyes briefly, then gently cupped my chin as my lips and mouth
continued to work on his finger. "Your husband is another matter. I would share
the worry I sense you have, except that I suspect he is more resilient than you
suppose." He withdrew his finger suddenly and stepped back a pace. "Pull your
panties down to just above your knees, and hold the hem of your dress above your
waist." I did as I was told. Standing like that, I began to feel the first
twinges of embarrassment. He looked at my exposed belly, groin and thighs for a
little bit, then walked past me. I heard him seat himself at the sofa. I stood
there, my backside exposed to Charles, knowing I had not been told to move.
There was total silence. I closed my eyes, wanting something, anything, to
happen. "Leave the panties at your knees, but drop the skirt and come here." I
released the hem of my dress, then turned and walked, awkwardly, to him. He sat
with his legs splayed and his hands folded behind his head. I stopped at the
edge of the sofa, between his knees. "Kneel down and take my cock out. Never
mind unbuckling my pants, just undo the zipper." I knelt down and reached for
his zipper. The bulge of his erection was big; very big. I unzipped him, pulled
the top of his shorts down through the opening, and reached in for his cock. He
adjusted his hips a bit, and I finally managed to work it free. I'd never seen
anything like it. Long, and thick like an oak stump, it was wrapped with gnarled
purple veins from the base to just below the crown. The crown itself was a huge,
juicy, mushroom-cap that perched atop the rod like a fat balloon. I was
mesmerized, and found myself gently running my fingers over the veins and around
the incredible tip. "Yes, I know. I've gotten a few positive comments in my
time. It's hard to believe, but you WILL take all of it. Stand up now, Linda,
turn around, and have a seat on it." I rose, turned, and raised my skirt again.
His hands grasped my buttocks and guided me down. As they cupped around my
bottom, his fingers spread me wide. I knew I was soaked. The tip found the
center of my cunt as I dropped my skirt and put my hands on his thighs. I
started to settle down slowly. Suddenly, Charles gripped my waist and impaled me
totally with one sudden jerk. I gasped and closed my eyes tight. I'd never in my
life felt so stretched and so full. As the huge tip plunged up into me, it hit
my cervix like a bell. My whole body jerked reflexively. Charles took my
shoulders and leaned me back against him. "Sorry. I forget myself sometimes in
certain positions. Did you know, Linda, that compared to body weight, the human
penis is the largest in the world? From an evolutionary point of view, it's
strongly selected for. Men with large cocks are that much closer to the cervix
and, therefore, much more likely to procreate." No, I didn't know that. What I
DID know, however, was that if he hit that spot again, I was going to go through
the ceiling. I started to move my hips, but he stopped me. "Don't move. Adjust
your dress around us so that anyone seeing us would not know for sure whether we
were connected. Keep your legs together and leave your panties around your
knees." I straightened my dress primly around us. The only sign to the casual
observer that anything was out of the ordinary, other than me sitting on his
lap, was my exposed, half-lowered panties. "Peter, you may return," Charles
called out. As Peter came around the corner, he hesitated momentarily when he
saw us. He stared for a second, then moved to the side of the couch and handed
Charles his glass of ice- water. "Thank-you, Peter. So, the question is, do I
have carnal knowledge of your wife or do I not? It seems most likely, doesn't
it? On the other hand, she could just be sitting innocently on my lap." Peter's
eyes went to my panties at my knees. Charles followed Peter's gaze and smiled.
"Yes, there is that. But that's only circumstantial evidence. I suppose the only
way to be sure would be to raise your wife's dress and have a look see. But that
would be rude and untrusting of you, wouldn't it? I have a better suggestion.
Look at her face, Peter. Look into her eyes. You've lived with this beautiful
woman for several years. Does she have the look of having a mature cock buried
in her cunt, of being penetrated by a stranger like a simple whore, or is this
just a friendly, innocent little lap-sit with a nice man?" Peter looked into my
eyes. I tried, but couldn't mask the lust I felt or the flush in my cheeks. He
smiled briefly and looked back at Charles. "I would say there's nothing innocent
going on here at all," Peter said slowly. Charles laughed and put his hand on my
forehead. "But you must be mistaken. This is the face of an angel. Are you
suggesting that your wife, the love of your life, the sweet young girl you
married and who has pledged her soul to you, now sits in your very living room
with a strange man's cock up her hole, in front of you no less? What has
happened to the innocent Linda, the little-girl Linda of your dreams? Is this
really happening, Peter?" The sarcasm dripped from Charles' voice. In the
mean-time, it took every bit of self-control not to begin moving my hips; the
feeling of being penetrated and not being able to move, not being able to
"fuck," was almost painful. Peter didn't answer, just stood there waiting. "Put
some nice music on for us, Peter. Then have a seat at the other end of the couch
with that fat book you were reading when I arrived. I don't want you to pay any
attention to your wife and me for a while. In fact, I don't want to catch you
with your nose out of that book at all." Peter moved to the CD and put on a
Brahms violin concerto, then sat at the end of the couch and took up his book.
Charles leaned close to my ear and licked the inside with the tip of his tongue.
He whispered lasciviously. "Sweet little slut of mine. Remember that whoring is
shameless when done with a pure heart. Forget the man at the end of the couch
who sits there not knowing how truly deep I am in you. In the next few days, the
times when I and other men fuck your cunt, your ass and your mouth will seem to
go on forever. I will use your body as I choose, then give you as a gift to
other men. I will not forsake you, though. My cock will be home, the one place
where you will seek sanctuary when the others have abused the freedoms with you
that I have granted them. But the easiest part, the truly special part, will be
the many times you watch and help in the prostitution of your own husband.
Imagine how sweet it will be to see the man you love, the one man more than any
other that you associate with "masculine," being fucked by other men as he has
fucked you, as others have fucked you. How sweet, in fact, that he will learn
the feminine pleasures, the pleasures of submitting, pleasures that you could
tell him about but that he would never understand; could any wish be more loving
on your part?" The whisper had grown louder. I suspected, but was not sure, that
Peter could hear every word. As he "whispered," Charles began slowly to fuck me.
Drawing his cock out, then pushing it in slowly, so slowly the anticipation was
indescribable, Charles softly told me what I was to tell my husband. "Darling,"
I said. "I want to watch as you suck Charles' cock. I want Charles to fuck you
as he's fucking me now. I want to jerk you off, to suck you, while he humps your
ass. I want..." Charles suddenly put his hand across my mouth. "I think that's
sufficient, Linda. He has the idea." With that, Charles began to seriously pound
into my bottom. I closed my eyes and felt his cock, like a tree limb, ravage my
stretched vagina. I was so wet, the sloshing and slapping noises grew to an
obscene level. I opened my eyes and glanced at Peter sitting quietly, his face
red and buried in his history of the Civil War, crotch bulging. I arched my back
as the first wave of my orgasm rolled over me. Charles was holding my head in
his hands. I leaned forward as he released me, and put my hands on my knees
until, shaking and shivering, the last of the orgasm dissipated. I couldn't tell
if Charles had cum or not. "Well, Peter, I guess that settles the issue; there
certainly isn't anything innocent going on here. And I'm glad you decided not to
look up. It's best you couldn't see the look of true abandonment and animal lust
on your wife's face while I fucked her." "And what a great fuck your wife is,
Peter Tight little hole, too. Too bad her cunt's not used to a fairly good-sized
cock, like mine. I'm sure she's going to be sore for a while. Once they're
broken in, though, it doesn't take much to keep them used to it." Still leaning
forward, I was trying to get my breathing back to normal. Charles had put his
hands under my dress and was caressing my buttocks. Whether he had cum or not,
one thing was certain: he was still rock hard. In fact, he started to raise and
lower my ass with his hands. "Put the book down, Peter. We need to address
Question of the Day #2: Did the nasty old man with the big pecker cum in my wife
or not? Just think, all that yucky sperm from someone you don't even know,
sloshing around in wifey's pussy even as we speak. How awful! How disgusting!
Don't you just feel terribly degraded, Peter? I know I wouldn't stand for it.
But there you sit, your cock still in your pants like a sissy, listening but not
even being allowed to watch your own wife being reamed out right next to you. It
kind of makes me wonder about my own sex." Charles was once again bucking hard
into my bottom. I leaned forward even further and grabbed my ankles. Suddenly,
he stopped. He raised me up the length of his cock and the tip lipped free. A
shudder ran through my body as he pulled out. He sat me back down on his lap
with his cock running up the length of the crack of my ass. I noticed Peter had
looked back down at his book. In one violent and unbelievably quick motion,
Charles reached behind me, grabbed his glass of ice water, and tossed it in
Peter's face. "WAKE UP, PETER!" he barked, his voice like iron and steel. "This
is life, you asshole, not a story. I'm fucking your godamn wife. Here, Linda,
turn around and take it in your mouth." I quickly stood, a little frightened,
turned, knelt and put my mouth over the head and down it's length as far as I
could manage. As I worked the tip, Charles began to masturbate. "Don't swallow
what I give you, wifey. Keep every drop in that sweet mouth of yours." He arched
his hips and shot a long stream of cum that hit the back of my throat. I had
closed my palate off in expectation of that and didn't gag, but a few strands of
semen fell down onto his belly. He pushed me back and off his erection. "There.
Now kiss Peter and give him half. I want to see you swallow the other half,
Linda." I quickly moved to Peter, put my lips to his, and opened my mouth. I
passed what I thought to be half of the load Charles had given me to Peter, then
swallowed the rest. That half-salty, half sweet taste went straight to the back
of my throat. "Good girl, Linda. Your turn, Peter. You're sure as hell not going
to spit it out. Get it over with and swallow it like a good little boy. Take
your medicine." Peter swallowed, then made a motion with his throat like he was
about to gag, but kept it down. I was still as horny as I'd ever been in my
entire life. Part of me felt sorry for Peter. But another part was enormously
aroused by the idea of what had happened and what was going to happen. This is
your fantasy, my love: live with it. I know I was beginning to enjoy it
immensely!
HUSBAND (Part 4)
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it, Peter? A little semen down the throat and in
the stomach never hurt anyone. Now take your panties off, Linda, and give them
to your husband. Peter, rinse them in some warm water, then come and clean me
up." I stepped out of my panties and handed them to my husband. As Peter left
the room, Charles motioned for me to approach him. I stopped between his
splayed, open legs. His semi-erect cock lay to the side, still glistening with
my saliva. "Kneel down, Linda." I did as I was told, my hands on the tops of my
thighs, and waited. "You realize, of course, that you will have the most
difficult task over the next few days. My role comes easily and naturally, and
remains the same. You, on the other hand, will need to switch from one role to
another. You know what I expect of you, and I have no doubt that you will
satisfy those expectations. What your husband expects from you, however, is
another matter. Do you think you can provide what he needs, Linda?" "A female
dominant?" "Of course. But one who submits to me. Well?" I thought for a moment.
I'd had dominant fantasies, but had never really "acted" on them, as well as
submissive ones. The entire frame of mind to each, however, was so different
that I was not so sure I could easily slip from one to the other. "I don't know.
I'll try." He shrugged. "That's all we can ask of you," he said, as Peter
returned to the room. Charles motioned for him to kneel next to me. "Go ahead.
Clean me, Peter." Peter reached forward and began to wipe Charles' cock with my
wet panties. Even Peter's hands, which were much larger than mine, looked small
as they worked on Charles' penis. "That's very nice, Peter. Now I'd like you to
go up and have a seat on the bed in the master bedroom. Linda will be up in a
little bit. Just sit quietly until she gets there. Oh, and by the way, it's time
we establish the proper dress code around here. Peter, I want you nude at all
times, beginning from the time when you get to the bedroom. Linda, I want you
wearing a dress at all times, but you may never wear any undergarments. This
applies so long as we are here at home. I'll decide what we will all wear when
we go out socializing. You may run along now, Peter." With Peter gone, Charles
leaned forward and took my hands in his. "I trust you have the items that I
asked you to purchase?" I nodded. "Good. When you go up to Peter, these are the
things I'd like you to say and do. You may embellish them if you like, so long
as my basic instructions are followed." I listened to Charles' "instructions,"
then slowly stood to go up to Peter. As I was about to turn, Charles suddenly
rose and took both my wrists in his left hand. He spun me around and away from
him. Releasing my wrists, he put his left hand on the back of my neck and
forcibly bent me forward until my head was just a bit lower than my waist. I put
my hands on my knees to steady myself. His right hand threw my skirt up and over
my back. It then moved down into the cleft of my buttocks. He suddenly thrust
four fingers into my cunt, and his thumb into my ass, in one quick and
electrifying motion. I couldn't stop the embarrassing little squeal his double
penetration forced from my lips. As his hand held me by my bottom like that, he
once again began to talk. "Enjoy your time with your husband, little girl. But
don't forget who owns you now," he said. As he spoke, his hand pushed me
forward. I had to release my knees, then catch my forward fall with both my
hands on the floor, while my ass, held in both orifices by his probing fingers,
pointed up into the air. My god, but it was an embarrassing and humiliating
position! I could feel my cheeks burn crimson and the blood rush to my head.
"Everyone should contemplate life from this position, I think. We all need to be
reminded occasionally of what servitude means in practical terms. And I think
I'd like especially to hear from your own lips how it is you understand your
own. Tell me what it is you want, Linda." I closed my eyes and, rising and
falling on tiptoe, began to push my ass up toward his fingers. "I want you fuck
me, to fuck my mouth and my cunt and my ass, day and night, Charles. I want you
to use me. I want that cock, like a sledgehammer, to pound me to tears. And I
want to watch you fuck my husband like a girl, to put his ass on, like putting
on a tight boot, over your cock, and to see your cum dripping from his little,
red, distended ass-hole. I want.." "Well, well," Charles interrupted. "We
certainly wax poetic when we're horny, don't we? There's nothing like a little
good, old-fashioned lust to bring out the Emily Dickinson in all of us." His
fingers suddenly withdrew. There was a resounding "slap," as his hand smacked my
ass hard, sending me further forward and onto my knees. My rear stung and I
fought back a small sob. "There is poetry in pain and punishment, too, Linda.
Don't overlook how profound and fundamental cruelty is. Believe it or not, the
dividing line between it and love is blurred and indistinct. Those who would
have us believe otherwise are shallow people. They propagate their own cruelties
with great abandon, call it love, then smugly denounce those whose honesty holds
a mirror before them that they dare not look into." He reached down and gently
pulled my skirt down and over my ass. A hand touched my head, rested for a
moment, then was gone. "Go to your husband. I'll follow in a bit. Enjoy
yourself." I stood up and rubbed my smarting backside. Charles went into the
kitchen and I heard the refrigerator door open as I went up the stairs. I
stopped at the top of the stairs for a moment to compose myself. I "switched
gears" mentally, took a few deep breaths, then turned the corner and entered our
bedroom. Peter sat, naked, on the edge of the bed. "So," I asked, "having a good
time, husband?" He shrugged sheepishly, but I could tell he had been
masturbating from the pre-cum smeared on his large, hard cock poking up from his
lap. I put my hands on my hips and looked him up and down. "My god, you're sexy,
darling," I said. "Do you have any idea how often I've fantasized about other
men fucking you? Charles will be coming up in a little bit to do just that. I
can hardly believe it. But you're not just going to let him do it because it
turns me on, are you?" I moved in front of him and firmly squeezed the tip of
his penis in my fingers. "Nope, you're also going to do it because you're so
goddamn turned on and curious, you can hardly stand it. Just think about it!
Another man's cock all the way up inside that cute little butt of yours. And not
just any old cock, either. You saw and felt how big he was! Jesus, I'm creaming
just thinking about the sight! He hasn't fucked me there, yet, but you have. Let
me tell you something: it's going to hurt, Peter. It's going to hurt a lot. But
it get's better. In fact, it gets so much better, you're not going to believe
it. Trust me on this," I said, squeezing his cockhead so hard he grimaced for a
second. "Charles sent me up to help get your, dear husband, all nice and ready
for him. He said he wants to butt-fuck you with no hassles or impediments. It's
going to be my job to get you as accessible as possible for him, darling." I
patted his cheek then leaned down and licked his lips. "Now get up on the bed,
facing me, on your hands and knees." Peter got up on the bed and knelt down, his
hands and elbows on the edge of the bed and his ass in the air behind. I savored
the sight for a moment, then went to the closet and into the little bag of
goodies Charles had sent me to purchase. I removed a fairly large black dildo,
maybe seven or eight inches long and two inches in diameter. Peter kept his eyes
on me the whole time. "Suck on it for me, Peter," I said, gently using the tip
to toy with his lips. He opened his mouth and took it in. The contrast between
his pink lips and the fat, black cock-shaped dildo, was amazingly erotic.
Holding his chin and looking into his eyes, I began to fuck his mouth with it.
Now, as many times in the past, I wondered what it was like to be a man and have
a cock; what the sensation was like. It must be so strange! After having my way
with his mouth, I slowly withdrew it's glistening length. I patted the top of
his head. "That was very nice, darling. You make a marvelous cock-sucker," I
said dreamily. I took a bottle of my hand-cream from the dresser and moved up on
the bed behind Peter. I knelt down and squirted some into my palm. I warmed it
for a second, then pressed a coated finger to his anus and slowly inserted it.
He was tight, and the ring of his ass clung to my finger. Peter only shivered
slightly as I withdrew it. After coating the dildo with cream, and adding more
to the crack of his ass, I placed the tip at his hole and began slowly to push.
"Peter," I said. "Push back and out with your sphincter. Your shoulder muscles
are all bunched up, too. Try to relax. It's not so bad if you just open up to
it." The head of the dildo entered in a quick little jerk, then I slowly began
to rotate it as I inserted it deeper. Peter was moaning just a bit, and pushing
his hips and ass up to meet it. The sight and the idea of fucking my husband has
always been a turn-on for me. Using my left hand to fuck him with the rubber
cock, I reached my right hand, the palm of which was full of soft cream, around
and under his belly. I grabbed his hard-on and began to masturbate him in rhythm
with the fucking motion of the dildo in my left hand. It didn't take too long,
but Peter began to do all the work himself. He'd move his ass up, impaling
himself on the dildo, then forward into my creamy palm in a rocking motion, back
and forth, back and forth... I withdrew my hand and patted his tight ass. Moving
back a bit, I contemplated the glorious sight of my husband on his hands and
knees, the end of a nice black dildo peeking out between his cheeks, his cute
balls nestled just below and between his spread thighs. I masturbated for just a
moment, quickly frigging my clit with my right hand. "Don't move, Peter," I
said. I got off the bed and rummaged again through the bag. I found what I was
looking for and held it up in front of Peter's semi-focused eyes: another rubber
penis, this time attached to the inside of a leather gag. Only about half as
long as the one now in his ass, this one was much thicker around the base. "Open
up and take it, Peter," I commanded, putting it to his mouth. He did as he was
told, taking its full length all the way into his mouth and to the back of his
throat; his lips were stretched wide around the base. I pushed the last few
inches in, then fastened the dildoe\gag around his head tightly in the back. I
put my hands on my hips and enjoyed my handiwork. "All husbands should be so
lucky, darling. Both holes plugged, stretched and full!" I said with an evil
grin. Peter closed his eyes and put his head down on the bed. A voice came
suddenly from the doorway. "I agree. Peter is a very lucky husband," Charles
said. He was leaning against the door, eating an apple. He had a thumb tucked
haughtily in the waste band of his jeans. I stood in front of Peter and waited
as Charles leisurely ate his apple. I noticed the dildo in Peter's ass was
coming out just a bit, so I reached behind him and gently pushed it back in all
the way. Another little moan came from his nose. "Gratification delayed is so
much sweeter," Charles said as he moved toward us. "I believe it would be
appropriate for you to see your pretty wife have a turn first, Peter." As
Charles took me by my shoulders and turned me away from my husband, then bent me
over the dresser directly across from Peter's face, he started singing Carley
Simon's "Anticipation." He grabbed the bottle of hand cream, turned and handed
it to Peter, then unzipped his pants and pulled his erection out. "I think your
wife would appreciate it if you did a good job getting me ready, Peter," he
said, waiting. Peter squirted some in his palm and coated Charles' cock. "That's
good. We wouldn't want to have that pink little hole of her's permanently
damaged, would we?" I felt Charles' hands on my ass, spreading them wide. He
kicked my feet wider apart, and then I felt the insistent pressure of his cock
at my anus. I began to push against it, slowly at first, then with more
determination. I knew if I could just get past the initial penetration of his
huge glans, it probably wouldn't be too bad. The pain was beginning to come like
a dull ache from my bottom. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and pushed back
even harder. There was a sudden "popping" sensation, and he entered in a rush.
The groan from deep in my belly was loud and long. The shaft kept sliding up
into me, up and up and up.. My god, I couldn't believe I was taking so much;
there had to be an end to it. Finally, his hips touched my buttocks and he
stopped for a bit. I didn't move and held my breath, the pain at my rear now
fiery and burning. "Got a good view, Peter? I'd say I'm about as far up your
wife's ass as anybody's ever been." He suddenly leaned forward on my back,
cupped my breasts through my dress, and whispered in my ear. "Don't fight it,
Linda. Be a good little girl and submit to it. And don't forget all the
sensations of your little ass-fuck, wifey, since I'm sure you'll want to
remember them when you watch your husband take it just like you're about to." He
leaned up, put his hands on my shoulders and began to fuck me. Slowly at first,
he would pull out until I could feel the tug of his crown against my sphincter,
then push up into the depths of my belly. I turned my head and glanced at Peter,
watching us. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I could visualize the sight he
was afforded. His wife bent over the dresser, dress hiked up, legs spread,
Charles bent over me, slamming up faster now into my ass, his balls slapping
against my groin and cunt. I reached down and began to masturbate. The pain,
never exactly going away, had begun its slow transformation into pleasure, a
mixture of feelings it is almost impossible to describe to anyone who has not
been fucked in the ass. Charles was slamming me up against the dresser now,
pumping hard and fast into my rear. I had a brief and ludicrous vision of a
baseball bat being pistoned into my bottom. As my orgasm went through my body
and veins, I screamed into the bend in my arm, then bit the skin until I could
taste blood. With a last hard thrust that sent me up and onto my tiptoes,
Charles stopped. My body was shuddering and twitching uncontrollably. I reached
behind us and grabbed his hips, holding him in me tightly. My cunt throbbed and
pounded. He suddenly pulled back, in one quick motion, and the head popped free.
I squeezed my eyes tight and fought back the familiar feeling, after anal sex,
that I had to use the bathroom. I lay like a wet towel over the dresser, not
wanting to move at all. Charles slapped my ass again, hard, bringing another
little squeal from me. "Good stuff, huh, Peter? That's how you do it. Now let's
see if you've learned anything from our little instructional display. Come on
Linda, get up here and help me hump your husband."
HUSBAND (Part 5)
Day 2: Monday 2:00 p.m. Luxuriating in lilac-scented bubble bath and hot
water, I closed my eyes. The house was quiet now. Peter was sleeping in the
guest-room and Charles was doing some kind of strange exercises on the lawn
behind our house. I had slept until around 1:00 and, on waking, found Charles no
longer beside me. He and Peter had been in the kitchen when I came downstairs,
eating a breakfast of honeydew melon and croissants. I had joined them: Peter,
stark naked, and Charles, in one of Peter's robes, reading the morning paper. I
could tell that Peter had not slept well; his eyes were red and baggy. Putting
the paper down, and pushing his half-eaten melon away from him, Charles spoke.
"Good morning, Linda. Have a seat and join us. I was just telling Peter about
all the wonderful, naughty things you and I did last night in his bed. Hope you
get a chance to change the sheets today. My god, what a mess!" he said, winking
at Peter. "Anyway, while you two slept the morning away, I called a dear old
friend to whom I owe a favor and, surprise!, we've all been invited to a little
private party. I'm sure you'll both find his hospitality stimulating and very
refined. Peter, I'm assuming you own a tux?" "Yes. But I haven't worn it in a
year or so," Peter had said. "Well, make sure the moths haven't had a feast,
then go get some rest. You look like you're half dead. It might be another long
night for the two of you. Linda, dear, you certainly will need a bit more rest.
I'd like you to wear something formal tonight, but sexy, too. Wear some nice,
skimpy panties, and thigh-high nylons under a sexy dress for us. Don't worry
about a bra." "Yes," he had continued, leaning back in his chair, "tonight we're
going to explore the world of the bourgeoisie. You know, I just love that song
Lisa Minnelli and Joel Grey sing in Cabaret: 'Money makes the world go around!'
We'll save a taste of the proletariat for a little later in the week. It'll be a
nice contrast of mores for all of us and excellent field research. We're leaving
around six, so make sure you're ready by then. You two kids run along now and
get some rest."
As I lay in the tub, gently rubbing my sore ass and cunt with a soft sponge, I
replayed Sunday night's events in my mind: Peter, on his hands and knees, being
fucked in the ass as I knelt in front of him and kissed him (at one point,
Charles had had Peter draw his legs up under him, then spread his knees,
flattening him against the bed like a frog, as he fucked him); Charles making me
squat with my back to the wall and Peter leaning over me, his hands against the
wall above me and his legs spread, Charles behind him, fucking him again up the
ass while I fellated my husband (running my fingers up between the two men as I
sucked Peter, to feel Charles' cock pump into him, was so incredibly erotic I'll
never forget it). After our little bedroom tryst, we had all showered together.
Peter had soaped and cleaned Charles and me before he was allowed to wash
himself. Charles sent Peter off to bed in the guest room just down the hall from
the master bedroom with instructions to leave both his door and ours open. We
then spent the next few hours in a marathon fucking session in Peter's and my
bed. His stamina was incredible. I'm sure my poor husband got an earful of the
moans, groans, squeals, wet slapping skin and squeaking bedsprings into the wee
hours of the morning. I got out of the tub, dried myself, then went into the
bedroom. After changing the sheets, I set the alarm for 5 p.m., and settled down
to get some much needed rest. The new sheets were cool and soft against my skin.
As I drifted off, I remembered something Charles had whispered in my ear as he
was plowing into my upturned bottom last night: "Soon, very soon, you will
prostitute yourself to others of my choosing; no matter how undesirable, how
unattractive, or even how revolting you may find them, or the things they
require you to do, do not forget that they will only be an extension of me and
of my power. You will yield, Linda, and yield with enthusiasm. In this way you
will become an instrument in your own debasement and humiliation, thus also
becoming that much more beautiful and erotic to me and to your husband....."
5:45 p.m. Wearing a simple black dress with a pleated skirt, semi-sheer black
nylons and black pumps, I came down the steps and walked into the living room.
Charles was standing next to the picture-window, wearing a white linen suit and
holding a brown paper bag. Peter sat at the couch in his black tux, sipping an
early brandy. "Wow! Bravo! You look ravishing, Linda! Turn around for us!"
Charles gushed. Blushing, I twirled once and struck a pose with my hands on my
hips. "Simply smashing! Now show us what's hiding under that sexy dress, and
don't be bashful; this is practically a three-way marriage now, you know!" I
lifted the hem of my skirt to my waist, revealing the white silk panties I wore.
Despite every attempt to avoid it, I felt my cheeks redden even more. "Dear god,
an angel on the face of the earth! Now come over here to me, pretty thing." As I
walked to Charles, Peter's eyes met mine. They were soft and loving and a faint
smile curled at the corner of his lips. Charles reached his left hand out and
placed it on my cheek, then pressed his thumb against my lips and entered my
mouth with it. He turned my face first to the left and then to the right,
looking me over. As he withdrew his hand, I noticed smudges of my red lipstick
on the base of his thumb. "It's time we were on our way. I absolutely hate being
late: it's boorish and discourteous. Peter, I'd like you to drive. Before we go,
however, Linda needs help with a final little detail to her wardrobe. Come over
here, Peter." Charles took hold of my shoulders and spun me around toward Peter,
who had risen from the couch, then bent me slightly forward from the waist.
"Hold your wife's shoulders for me please." Peter held my shoulders, and I felt
Charles lift my dress up from the back and lower my panties just to the bottom
of my ass. I heard a rustling noise as he opened the brown bag he carried. "This
will hurt a little bit, Linda. Don't worry, you'll get used to it and, when all
is said and done, considering what is likely to happen this evening, you'll be
grateful for this preparation." As he spoke, I felt something cool and wet being
applied to my anus. "Relax now, dear. Don't fight it." Something new -- dull,
large and rounded -- pushed against my bottom. I shook my head: it was
impossibly large! I started to move my hips away in protest, instinctively.
"Hold her, Peter. Linda, I expect you to behave, darling." "No," I started to
babble, "I really don't think... please, it's too large, Charles... I can't,
honestly, I'm too sore there..." Up it came into my poor, swollen, red,
over-used, little ass-hole. Okay, okay, okay... I can take it... I squeezed my
eyes tight and gripped Peter's arms. I opened my eyes, finally, and looked down
between my legs. I saw Charles pulling two small chains from the base of the
huge dildo up through my crotch, on either side of my vulva, to the front. He
pulled a third chain up the crack of my ass from behind and attached the two
front links over my hips to the third one behind. The giant phallus thus
secured, he pulled my panties back up and lowered my skirt. "See, not so bad
after all. You may thank me now, Linda." "Thank-you, Charles." I said. I had no
idea how I was going to even attempt walking with this thing in me, let alone
wearing my high-heels... "You're welcome. That reminds me. Peter, you've never
expressed your gratitude by properly thanking me for fucking your wife and you
in the ass. I'm sure it was an oversight on your part; you're such a courteous
person." Peter looked down at his feet. "Thank you for fucking my wife and me in
the ass, Charles." "You're welcome, Peter. It was nothing. Gee, now you've
embarrassed me!" Charles said. "Anyway, Linda, as I was saying, human beings are
resilient enough to adjust to just about anything; you'll hardly know it's there
in an hour or so. Now stand up straight, my dear, and quit slouching. It's time
to go to the party!" Peter drove and Charles and I sat in the back seat.
We headed west, out of town. I kept trying to adjust myself so I sat on either
my right or left buttock, thus avoiding sitting directly on the shaft impaling
my bottom, but without appearing too obvious about it. Somehow, I wanted to
completely conceal the discomfort from Charles. The impulse, created by the
inserted dildo, was to spread my legs and slide down on the seat, unlady-like.
So I
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