
                                    HUSBAND
                                    (Part 1)
                                       by
                                    Alcibade

      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 anty 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.

                    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


      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 churchbell 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," bluejeans 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)
                                       by
                                    Alcibade

       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.


       xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

    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...

       xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

                                DAY ONE:  Sunday
                             vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

      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, greying 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 tatoo.  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)
                                       by
                                    Alcibade

      "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)
                                       by
                                    Alcibade

      "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?  Charleswill 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 gonna hurt, Peter.  It's gonna 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 you, 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 didlo\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
wasteband 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)
                                       by
                                    Alcibade
                                 Day 2:  Monday
                        VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

      2:00 p.m.   Luxuriating in lilac-scented bubblebath 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 Liza
Minelli 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."

        xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

      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.

         xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

      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....."

         xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

      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!"

       xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

      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
fought it and deliberately did the opposite, crossing my legs demurely.

      Charles rode quietly, apparently absorbed in thought.  His hands were
folded in his lap as if in prayer.  I observed him closely for a bit and
noticed that it was impossible to discern if he was even breathing.  His chest
did not observably rise or expand.  His eyes were open, staring out the window
at the passing landscape, but never focusing on anything.  Very strange; a form
of meditation, perhaps?   Occasionally, I would catch Peter glancing back at us
through the rear-view mirror.  After about 20 minutes, we came to a stop-sign
at a crossroad.

      "Keep going.  There will be a small paved road on your right about a half
a mile from here.  Turn onto it," Charles said slowly to Peter.

      We came to the road and Peter turned.  A sign indicated it was a private
drive.   It wound through a stand of old oak trees intermingled, to weird
effect, with hemlocks.

      Rounding a bend in the road, a huge house appeared.  At least three
stories high, there were towering spires on both ends.  While the style
reminded me of a Victorian mansion, there was an oriental flavor that I could
not quite place.  I am not very knowledgeable about real estate, but I would
place this property easily in the seven figure range.

    There were four or five other cars parked near the entrance; a BMW, two
Mercedes and a Porsche.  Peter parked and we all got out (that damn dildo still
wreaking havoc with my ass).

      Charles pressed the doorbell and we waited, Peter and I quite nervously.
After a moment, the door opened and a small Japanese woman, maybe 45 or 50,
peered through the crack.  She looked at Peter and me, then noticed Charles.  A
big smile appeared, and she opened the door wide.  She wore a simple red dress,
conservatively cut.  Bowing deeply to Charles, she said something in Japanese.
Charles also bowed, not quite so deeply, and returned a comment, also in
Japanese.

      "Please come in," she said, with only a slight accent.

      The interior was gorgeous.  High ceilings, obviously expensive artwork
that was extremely heterogeneous in taste, ranging from classical to romantic
to modern, plush and deeply colored oriental rugs over absolutely immaculate
hardwood floors, and tastefully placed indirect lighting.

      She led us into a large room lined with books and furnished with large,
leather upholstered furniture.  Besides Peter, Charles, myself and our
lady-host, there were four men, a boy, and another female in the room.  The men
quickly stood, all in formal attire, including the boy.  All were Japanese
except the other woman, a tall, leggy, very pretty blonde.

      What appeared to be the oldest man walked toward us with a big grin.  He
was not too tall, but was thick in girth (not fat; massive I would say); his
hair was silver and the crowfeet at the edges of his eyes gave his face a
careworn appearance.  For all his mass, he seemed to float, not walk, across
the room.

      Peter bowed as he approached, and said something deep and explosive, that
sounded like "Osu!"  The man returned the bow and, this time, I noticed it was
not quite as deep as Peter's bow.  They shook hands briefly and he turned to
us.

      "This is Peter, and this is Linda, his wife," Charles said to the man.
Then to us:  "Peter, Linda, please meet Akira Koshiwara Sensei, my teacher and
friend."

    "Sensei" took my hand and bowed deeply, his eyes sparkling and clear.

      "It is a very great honor to meet you both, Linda and Peter. I hope that
my humble home and hospitality will not displease you," Sensei said.  His
English had a tinge of Oxford, rather than standard "American."

      Charles leaned close to Sensei and whispered something in his ear.  There
was an uncomfortable silence as Peter and I waited, the others in the room also
silent and unmoving.

      A little smile came to Sensei's lips, and his eyes locked onto mine as
Charles pulled away, also with a grin.  I could feel my cheeks begin to redden
again and, for the first time in several minutes, began to notice the dildo....

      "Please forgive Charles' poor manners.  It is unconscionably impolite to
whisper about someone in their presence, as he has.  A teacher is only as good
as the desire of his pupils to learn, and Charles has always been a problem
student," he said, grinning even wider and putting his arm around Charles'
shoulder.

      "My wife, whom you have met, would be honored to bring you a drink if you
like," Sensei continued.  "Dinner will be served in a little while.  I hope you
have an appetite.  Please, come in, and let me introduce you to my other dear
friends."


                                    HUSBAND
                                    (Part 6)
                                       by
                                    Alcibade

      The introductions went smoothly, although I forgot the names of the men
in the room as soon as Sensei spoke them (my Japanese is non-existent).

      The caucasian woman's name was Clare.  She was married to one of the male
guests;  a Japanese "businessman" type that I've seen a hundred times, but can
never distinguish between.   The boy's name was Akira.  Fifteen or sixteen
years old, he was introduced as the son of the one male Japanese who stood out
more than any of the others; a large, somewhat overweight, pug-nosed man (I
immediately named him Bulldog) who seemed polite enough, but his conversation
was tinged with just enough irony to make you wonder whether you've been
insulted or not.  There was a disdain in his mannerism toward Peter and me that
I began to bristle at.  And it seemed his son had inherited his disposition, as
well as his physique.

      We were offered a very soft chablis and, after a bit of small-talk, were
invited to the dining room.

      Charles sat across from me, with Peter on my left, and the young boy,
Akira, on my right.  Sitting for the first time since our ride here, I noticed
the dildo again;  the discomfort was dissipating, though, and it was beginning
to feel almost like it "belonged" in my ass.

      I had expected sushi or sashimi or something, but the dinner was
continental haute cuisine, and was simply marvelous.  Sensei's wife and, I
assumed, his daughter, served the meal.  The conversation centered on a
political discussion of Japanese\American trade relations that was as esoteric
as it was boring.  Everyone spoke English, with an occasional and brief lapse
into Japanese.  We finished with warm saki in cute little cups that went down
very smoothly (much TOO smoothly, I think).

      My initial nervousness was gradually being replaced with a warm glow and,
I noticed, Peter seemed equally relaxed and at ease. Charles spoke only rarely
during dinner, and would smile enigmatically at me as our eyes locked.

      After dinner, we retired to the "study."  I noticed that Clare had
disappeared.   The french doors were closed by Sensei's wife, bowing as she
left, and the men, including the young boy and myself, were all that remained.
Peter and I sat on a small leather couch, part of a larger circle of chairs and
couches occupied by the others.  I hadn't noticed at first, but there were
candles in very ornate candellabras burning at the outskirts of the room, and
the lights had dimmed.  The effect was to relax me even more than the saki had
already, and I felt strangely giddy.

      Several of the men lit up large, black (and very stinky!) cigars.  There
was quiet for a few moments.  Sensei suddenly turned to look at Peter and me
and, with a twinkle in his eye, began to speak.

      "It is such an honor to have the two of you in my home. Charles has told
me a little bit about you, but I would dearly love to hear more.  Have you been
married long?"

      "We've been married about eight years," Peter said.  "Quite happily,
too."

      "Very commendable!  And you are so lucky to have each other. A handsome
young man and a beautiful woman in love; very powerful karma.  Many wonderful
songs and poems have been written about people like yourselves," Sensei said,
as he leaned forward.  "I have been a student, for many years, of the idea of
'innocence.' It fascinates me and obsesses me.  I yearn for it, long for it,
but find that it vanishes like smoke when I reach out to grasp it. Much that I
know about it I have learned from the literature of my country, and of the
West.  But the most profound lessons have come from real human beings, people
such as you, Peter and Linda."

      'Bulldog' cleared his throat.  "Well, Takashi, that is all very well.
For my part, the fascination comes as a consequence of the death of innocence.
'The worm in the heart of the rose,' so to speak, or from the deflowering and
rape of Beauty.  To use and then crush the sublime and fragile is a desecration
of a fundamental taboo.  And there is no greater pleasure or thrill than
breaking such a taboo."

      "Of course there are greater pleasures, my friend," Sensei replied.  "For
instance, think of the pleasure of protecting the weak, of sacrificing ones'
fortune or body to preserve, all unknowing to that which is protected,
innocence incarnate."

      Bulldog grunted.  "What pleasure is there in that?  There is no pleasure
in sacrifice except as investment in future pleasure. And I do not believe in
the purity of 'sacrifice.'  All sacrifice is selfish; you may sacrifice for the
innocent, but only in the hope that the innocent will love you for it and that
you may therefore possess the innocent.  And if the innocent goes unaware of
your sacrifice, there is still the selfish hope that the gods will have
recognized it and put a gold star in your "good deeds" column.  No,
Takashi-san, believe me, your 'search' for innocence is no better than a dog
chasing its own tail.  And what will you do when you find it?  Look at it and
sigh, like a dottering old man sneaking a peek at a schoolgirl's panties? I
know you better than that.  That is not the way of the samurai.  You will do
what all men do, or at least what all men desire to do in their heart of
hearts: you will take hold of it, mount it, and use it until the 'innocence' is
squeezed like the sweet pulp from the core of a fig. Am I not correct,
Charles?"

      Charles glanced briefly at Sensei, who's eyebrows were slightly raised,
then back at bulldog.  A smile came to his lips.

      "I choose the way of harmony," Charles said.  "Just as there can be no
hot without cold, there can be no innocence without corruption or, should I
rather say, without wisdom.  Therefore, we should rejoice in the balance thus
maintained, and enjoy both as they are brought to us by fate."

      Bulldog rolled his eyes.  "Nicely done, but it begs the question."

      "Of course it does.  Why meet a steamroller head on when you can step to
the side and let it pass?  But I have a question for you.  You should know,
first of all, that this beautiful young couple, Peter and Linda, have been
brought here to be used for your pleasure, or for the pleasure of anyone in
this room.  They are both young and, at least by the standards you are
accustomed to in your country, quite innocent and 'fresh.'"

      I felt myself blushing and noticed Peter shifting uncomfortably next to
me.  His hand reached out and took mine.

      "May I ask your son, Akira, a personal question?" Charles asked.

      "Of course," Bulldog said, shrugging.

      "Akira-san, have you been intimate with a woman or a man before?" Peter
asked the boy.

      Akira looked down at his hands in his lap and briefly shook his head.

      Peter looked back at Bulldog.

      "My question to you is whether you would grant us all the opportunity to
witness your son's emancipation from innocence or, to use your own words, to
watch it 'squeezed like the pulp from the core of a fig?'"

      Bulldog smiled sweetly (but with only barely concealed malice).

      "I would be honored, Charles.  And as I grant you this, I would ask a
favor of you."

      Charles looked quickly at Peter and I, as if debating something furiously
in his mind.  There was a brief moment of concern in his eyes, but he seemed to
resolve the problem and looked back at Bulldog with a smile.

      "Of course," Charles said, his voice sweet and smooth as silk, but with
an undercurrent of warning.  "Anything within my power."

      "I would like to borrow this fine couple, exclusively, for a few hours
after my son has finished with them.  I find them quite refreshing and would be
pleased to put them through a few paces."

      "Yes.  Yes, certainly," Charles said.  "That would be acceptable.  And it
is so fortunate that it is you who have asked this of me," he continued, his
eyes flashing like blue steel.  "If it were anyone else, I would be concerned
for their physical safety, that they might be permanently damaged in some way.
There are those who do not value the possessions of others and dishonor
themselves by returning them, tarnished, to their rightful owners. But I would
be happy to have a man of your character, and trustworthiness, use Peter and
Linda," he finished, with a slight bow of the head.

      I could tell Bulldog was fully aware of the rebuke and implied warning,
and he stared, eye to eye, at Charles for an uncomfortable few seconds. Both
men's smiles were frozen like armor on their faces.

      Suddenly, Sensei cleared his throat and I jumped, the tension in the room
now palpable.

      "That is very gracious of you both.  I know that I would dearly love to
witness your son's first time.  It's kind of you to allow us to be present,"
Sensei said to Bulldog.

      "And it is a sign of good breeding for a gentleman to be magnanimous with
his possessions," he said to Charles.  "Stinginess reflects a pinched and puny
soul."

      The tension ratcheted down a few notches.  Bulldog looked at Peter and
then at me with a smirk at the corner of his lips.  I felt myself blushing and
looked away.  What I saw in his eyes scared me and made me shiver: his eyes
were like mirrors.  There was no depth to them, only a cold and unyielding
surface.  I also noticed his son, Akira, glancing furtively up at Peter and me,
his eyes narrowed, then back down to his hands.  There was something unnatural
about the way they both looked at us...  It went beyond "lascivious," into some
spectrum or color of desire that I could only guess at.  Once again, a shiver
ran the length of my body, and I squeezed Peter's hand tightly.

      And I was not at all convinced that Charles' little confrontation with
Bulldog had made things any easier for Peter and me.  Indeed, I sensed a
determination in that ugly man to explore the limits of the ruthlessness I
could sense seeping from every pore of his body.  God help us both.

      I turned to Peter and looked in his blue eyes.  He smiled and gently
brushed a curl of hair from my forehead.  I calmed myself and mentally made the
adjustment I knew I would have to make:  I accepted my necessary compliance and
obedience with something akin to a soft sigh deep in my soul; the body, I knew,
would follow.

      Had followed?  As Charles motioned for Peter and I to stand, I noticed
how terribly wet I already was....


                                    HUSBAND
                                     Part 7
                                       by
                                    Alcibade

      Peter and I, still holding hands, stopped in front of Charles. The room
was quiet.  I felt slightly dizzy from the saki and the smell of cigar smoke.
My stomach was turning somersaults now; fear and anticipation combining to
undermine my self-control and my composure.  Peter's hand was sweaty in mine.

      "You are both so nervous, and you needn't be.  I understand you are
fearful for what will come," Charles said slowly and softly to us.  "Since
submission is a state of mind as well as action, it is important to prepare
one's psyche so that the body responds in kind."

      Louder now, and to the whole group:  "Peter and Linda, this beautiful
married couple you see standing in front of you, are my little fuck toys.
Linda, with her long black hair, her petite and almost child-like body, and her
emerald eyes, never previously unfaithful to her loving Peter, has of late been
a little slut for me."  Looking at me now.  "How many times, Linda?  How many
times have I fucked that honeyed little slit between your legs?"

      My god!  I couldn't believe it.  I could feel my cheeks burn crimson.
I'd never felt so embarrassed, so humiliated before in my life.  I stared at
the floor, unable to move or speak....

    "HOW MANY TIMES?"  Charles' voice exploded in my head.

      "I...I don't know.  10, maybe 12 times I guess.." I stammered, my tongue
thick and dry.

      "Yes.  That's better.  And that's about right.  On several of those
occasions, I fucked her in front of her husband.  Were you all aware how sweet
it is to fuck another man's wife in front of him?  There is a purity in so
debasing the husband, which cannot be matched in any other way;  the sweet,
tight little cunt clinging to your cock for all its worth, creamy and warm,
"his" cunt, "his" hole and refuge.  And as you fuck her, as you pump your
iron-hard cock up into her belly, you know he knows....  He knows every lovely
sensation because he's been there, and because (and here is the deep secret of
his pleasure and, therefore, your own) he has debased the alter of her cunt
HIMSELF, and knows firsthand the lascivious thoughts within your soul as you
use his woman..."

    Charles suddenly sat up, and slid his hand up the side of my thigh under my
skirt.  He leaned forward with a conspiratorial look in his eyes and spoke to
the other men in the room.

      "And you know what?  I fucked Linda's little husband.  Yes, indeed.  I
fucked his tight ass raw, right in front of her.  She even helped me," he said,
winking.  I sensed Peter stiffen beside me.

      Charles continued his monologue, groping my ass, the movements of his
hand obviously visible under my skirt to those sitting behind me.  "She took
great pleasure in it, too.  Just loved the idea of her masculine husband being
butt-fucked and used like a little girl.  Were you aware, Peter, that Linda
really got off watching me fuck you?"

      "Yes," Peter said, softly.

      "Yes, you WERE aware of it!  And what was it you said after we finished,
Linda?  'Every woman's husband should have his rectum filled with cum at least
once?' or something like that?  I'm not sure I agree with you, but I'm sure
Peter's little asshole appreciated it as much as yours did.  That's right, my
friends, I've used every available hole of Peter's beautiful wife several
times, haven't I, my little semen receptacle?" Charles asked me, suddenly
pressing the flared end of the dildo further into my distended ass.  I went up
on my tiptoes, involuntarily, then slowly settled down.  I nodded, avoiding his
gaze.

      "So demure, yet so much the slut, yes?  Wouldn't you agree that your wife
is quite the fuck-toy, Peter?"

      Peter nodded.

      "Say it!" Charles said firmly.

      Hesitatingly, "My wife enjoys being used as a fuck-toy."

      "Yes, I know.  It's the damndest thing, isn't it Peter?  You pledge your
life and sacred fortune to a beautiful girl who requites that love, who is
filled with life and love for only you, whose shyness and innocence disarms
every suspicious bone in your body, only to watch that sweet little mouth
you've kissed with tender love all these years, wrapped around another man's
hard dick, sucking for all its worth....  Don't you just hate it?  Don't you
just love it?  Isn't it just the most goddamned, inexplicably erotic thing
you've ever experienced?"

      "And as she sucks that pole, don't you just want to get up ever so close,
to see every little nuance as the ruby lips dilate themselves and ride up and
down its slick length?  You can almost taste it yourself, can't you, Peter?
And god knows, you sure as hell know how it feels to have those lips hard at
work, am I right? You know just EXACTLY what he's feeling as your wife sucks
him, don't you?  Because in your mind, you're the one sucking him.  You imagine
yourself the woman, your wife, submitting to this big old masculine man,
sucking cock, fellating him like only a GIRL would be caught doing..... "

    "And the shame, the humiliation, rises up your spine like fire because you
can also, in your minds eye, imagine yourself in the man's position, watching
another man's wife suck your cock as the husband gazes on, knowing the power
you wield as you fuck her mouth in front of him, humiliating him and dominating
him through his woman.  And as you masturbate like a madman and watch your wife
swallow this stranger's sperm, your orgasm explodes at the very moment you
realize that YOU are the one dominated and humiliated....."

      As he spoke, Charles had been manipulating the end of the dildo in my ass
with his fingers, the chains giving him some leeway.  I had closed my eyes and
fought the sensations in my groin, as well as the melody of his beautiful voice
as he spoke, but I lost the battle.  I could feel my cunt lubricating, and I
nearly forgot the small fact that we stood before an attentive audience of
strangers.

      Charles suddenly withdrew his hand and stood up.  He nodded his head
toward the boy, Akira, then spoke to bulldog.

      "With your permission?"

      "Of course," bulldog replied with a smile.  "Akira, you will do as you
are told," he said to his boy.

      Charles nodded, then said to Akira, "Come here, son.  Don't be afraid."

      The boy looked at his father for a moment, then sheepishly stood and
walked toward us.  He was a large boy, heavyset and thick in the shoulders and
neck.  He was not a handsome child, but then neither was his father... As he
stopped before Charles, he glanced furtively at Peter and I from the corner of
his eye.

      "So, Akira.  It seems to me from the bulge in your trousers that you find
this caucasian couple attractive," Charles said with a grin.  "Do you like them
both, or do you fancy one over the other?"  Akira looked at me briefly, then
back at Charles.

      "She's beautiful," Akira said.

      "Yes, isn't she, though?  With her long black hair and petite frame,
there is even a hint of the oriental about her, yes?  Tell me, do you often
fantasize about American women when you masturbate?"

      Akira shrugged nervously.  Charles laughed, then suddenly grabbed the
back of my head with his right hand, turning it slightly toward the boy.

      "Do you like her pouty, rouged lips, Akira?  You may touch them...."

      Slowly, hesitatingly, the boy's left hand rose to my lips. His finger
pressed to the center, traced a circle, found the center again, then
penetrated.  I opened my mouth to the salty digit, but he quickly withdrew it
and put his hand to his side.

      "Shyness simply won't do, my boy.  Tell me, does it make your virgin cock
hard to know that this American woman, this adult, is your plaything?  That she
will do exactly as she is told?" Charles asked Akira.

      The boy smiled, then nodded, his eyes following the curve of my neck and
resting on my breasts.

      "Ah, yes.  Feel free, Akira.  Do as you wish..."

      The young boy looked at Charles, then at Peter, then suddenly placed his
palm on my left breast.  He squeezed it roughly, then twisted the nipple.  It
hurt and I grimaced, but kept myself from instinctively pulling away.  Akira
quickly removed his hand, a little flash of fear on his face.  I heard Charles
laugh again.

      "She may be here to be used, but never forget that she is a living,
breathing human being, Akira, with feelings and emotions, and with blood
pumping through her veins...." Charles cautioned him.  "If you hurt her, she
will feel the pain and will react. Always keep that in mind when you use
another person's body, whether your lover or a stranger... You must be come to
be judicious and compassionate as you dole out pain and humiliation. And
although they love the punishment, they will also come to love your power
because it is bequeathed with an austere sincerity that knows and respects the
fact that there are limits."

      I heard bulldog cough.  All eyes turned toward him.

      "Yes, my son, Charles is right.  Remember that there are limits.  But
they are limits that we impose on ourselves.  We do so for reasons that are
intrinsic to our personal agenda, not because of any externally "valid"
morality.  If they know that there are no limits, they will love you even more
for choosing to impose and abide by your own.  But never let them know what
those limits are, for if they know your limits, they will lose their sense of
fear and therefore their respect..."

    "Just so," Charles said.  "Peter, let's you and I have a seat and observe
Akira's little tryst with your wife.  Akira, she's all yours."  As Peter and
Charles sat down, Akira looked about the room as if to seek sanctuary from the
many eyes upon us.  A light came on which seemed to center on the two of us and
made the rest of the room recede into darkness.

      The boy turned to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and forced me to my
knees in front of him.  He undid the buckle on his pants and unzipped his
zipper.  He took hold of my hair from the back of my head and pulled me toward
his groin, rubbing my nose in his crotch, his hard-on pressing into my face
through his underwear and the opening of his pants.  He released his painful
grip and placed his hands on his hips, thrusting them forward.

      Okay, I thought.  My husband, Charles, the men looking on, and this boy
wanted a blow job.  By god, I'll give them one that no-one here will soon
forget....


