Amy's Bitch

**Disclaimer: this is a story about a wife who sexually dominates and humiliates her husband. If that's not for you, read something else**

*****

"I've got...an idea..."

I'm starting to get used to Amy's ideas.

For years, our marriage was pedestrian. Not unhappy, not by any means. The only fly in the ointment was our sex life. Sex was infrequent, and unimaginative. Hard to believe that now. Now, Amy is the creative force behind our sexual escapades. She's revealed an almost uncanny knack for understanding my fetishes and predilections, and using them against me. Well, maybe not against me. Truth be told, I love our new sex life. Even if her ideas often end in my humiliation or physical pain. Maybe because of that. I'm never happier or hornier than when she's using me for her own pleasure. I can't believe it took us so long to discover that.

And she knows my weaknesses. Bringing up her latest idea while she rides my cock, her red curls floating around us in the lamplight while she bounces on top of me, my balls tight against me and ready to explode into her pulsing pussy - she knows what she's doing. So do I. But neither of us want it to change.

"Yeah?" I pant. I'm getting close, and she knows it. When I'm about to come, there's almost nothing I wouldn't agree to. She bites her lip, and smiles.

"Yeah," she gasps, her voice catching as she approaches an orgasm of her own. Another one. "I'm thinking...you could be my...slave...all weekend...oh!" We moan together as her hot ussy clamps down on my cock in a prelude to orgasm. Her silky walls feel so good around my cock, and I'm so close.

"Oh...yes," I pant. "Yes." Her eyes are closed now, her head thrown back. Her naked breasts hand temptingly above me, bobbing with her movements. The truth is, she could have asked me that during dinner, and I'd agree. I love it when she controls me.

"Yes what, bitch?" she whispers.

"Yes, Miss Amy," I reply. She moans as I speak, her power over me bringing her to the edge of orgasm.

"You'll be...my little bitch...for forty-eight hours...and do...what I say...no matter what?"

"Yes, Miss Amy!" I cry out. I'm so close, at that point where nothing seems to matter, as long as I get to come.

"Promise?" she gasps.

"Promise!"

"No matter what?"

"No matter what!"

"Oh!" she cries out, her pussy spasming around me as she squirts her copious juices on my cock. Her orgasm sets off mine, the come exploding from my boiling balls to coat the slick walls of her pussy with pleasure. We pant, and moan, and she collapses on top of me, her legs trembling as her orgasm races through her. Finally, her body shining with sweat in the lamplight, she slides off me. Laying down beside me, she lays her head on my shoulder, her hand flat against my chest. Her fingers toy gently with the hair on my chest. Our breathing slowly returns to normal.

"Fuck," I say, "that was good." I feel her cheek press against my chest as she smiles.

"Not bad for a Tuesday night," she says. Still out of breath, I nod. The sweat cools on our bodies as we lie together in silence.

"So...mine for the weekend, huh?" I feel her smile again.

"I guess so," I say. Now that I've come, the prospect makes me more nervous than it did. Amy's gotten very good at pushing my boundaries and making me go further than I ever thought I would. She's never dominated me for more than a few hours at a time. Who knows what diabolical schemes she'll dream up to occupy a whole weekend?

"Good," she sighs. "Better take it easy for the rest of the week, then, because I have some big plans. No more orgasms for you, I think. Of course, I'll still be needing my daily cum."

"Of course," I smiled. As frustrating as it is for me, I love when she's selfish like this. And I love going down on her. Honestly, if I had to choose, I dont know which I prefer; fucking my wife, or eating her sweet pussy. Luckily, I don't have to choose. And for this week, it looks like the choice has been made for me.

"Ok, two things right off the bat, though. You won't be coming this weekend either. This weekend is about my pleasure, not yours, ok?"

"Ok," I smiled. That's become a pretty regular thing in our sex life. Amy's pleasure comes first, always. But since I get my pleasure from pleasing her, we both win.

"Second thing. You'll like this." Amy snuggled closer against me, her head burrowing into my shoulder. Her teeth tugged lightly on my earlobe. My sticky cock began to twitch again.

"Britney's coming to town for the weekend," she whispered. I froze. Feeling my body stiffen, Amy chuckled in my ear.

* * * *

Let me explain. Britney and Amy were friends before I ever met her. It's a cliche, but it's the truth - Amy and I met at a bar. We were young then, and partying was a priority. Especially for Amy. Every weekend she'd be out, with Britney and her other friends, hitting bars and clubs and getting increasingly wild as the night went on.

But that was then. We've been married for seven years; together for nine. We're not as young as we were. Amy and I gradually stopped partying as other things became a priority. Eventually, I started a business in a different province, and Amy and I moved away from the life we knew, settling down in the suburbs the way married people do.

Britney didn't change. She was a party girl through and through. She was still partying now; some people never get tired of it. Britney was a wild one, no doubt about that. Approaching thirty now, she still partied as hard as any college kid out there. She'd never settled down, and seemed to have no intention of ever doing so. Why should she? Looking the way she did, she had no problem meeting men. She'd get bored of one, and find another. I can't remember her ever staying with a single person for more than six months, and I suspect she might have cheated on him. Britney, basically, was hot as hell, and she knew it. And I knew it. And Amy knew it. And now, it seemed, she was going to use it.

* * * *

"Friday's not the weekend."

"Friday is totally the weekend."

"Nope. Friday's a weekday. You go to work. Therefore, not the weekend."

"Friday daytime is the week. Friday night is the weekend."

"No, no, no. The weekend starts Saturday morning," I insisted. Amy sighed, exasperated.

"Ok, fine. How about midnight Friday to midnight Sunday. Is that the weekend?" I considered my answer.

"I suppose so," I said carefully.

"Ok, agreed," she said. She put her book down. I felt her weight shift on the bed. She grabbed the headboard, and suddenly her knees were pinning my arms to the mattress. My own book fell from my hand to the floor.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I asked.

"What does it look like?" Amy replied above me. My head between her legs, I had a front row seat as her hand slipped inside her panties and began working on her pussy. Unable to move my arms, all I could do was watch. Predictably, my cock began to swell.

"I need my daily orgasms," Amy went on, "and since my husband isn't willing to do his job, I have to take care of myself."

"I'll give you your orgasms," I said, my breath catching as I spoke. Transfixed, I watched a dark spot of dampness appear on the fabric of her panties. The bedroom filled with the scent of her pussy. I was rock hard now, my cock pointing uselessly at the ceiling. She wasn't going to use it, and we both knew it.

"Oh, I don't know," Amy sighed. "I think I'm better off taking care of myself. You don't want any of this, do you?"

"Yes I do. You know I do," I panted. I knew I wasn't going to get to cum, and I didn't care. I wanted to taste her pussy. We both knew it.

"Well, I kind of feel like if you really wanted this, you'd be willing to pick my friend up from the airport."

That was the crux of the matter. Amy felt my slavery should begin Friday after work, so that she could order me to pick Britney up from the airport. I disagreed. Not that a drive to the airport was that big of a deal. But in all honesty, I was scared to be humiliated in front of another woman. I knew it was going to happen this weekend. But like a convict on death row, I was doing everything I could to delay the inevitable.

But no one could ever get inside my head the way Amy could.

"Fine," I sighed, inches away from her damp pussy. "Fine. I'll pick her up from the airport."

"Just for a taste of this pussy?" Amy beamed, her fingers writhing under the thin fabric of her panties. The dark spot of arousal grew.

"Just for a taste of that pussy," I agreed. High above me, Amy laughed. Her knees lifted off my arms momentarily as she peeled her panties off. Then she sat back down, pinning me in place again, her moist pussy hovering over my face.

"I won't make you do anything embarassing on Friday," she conceded. "All you have to do is pick her up. We'll save the slave stuff for Saturday."

"Ok," I said, relieved. Amy spread her knees, forcing my arms outwards as she lowered her dripping snatch towards my mouth. Her scent filled the air.

"But I do want you to wear panties," she said softly. "Specifically, these panties. The ones I just creamed myself in. No one will know except you and me."

"Ok," I said again. The smell of her was turning my head, as though her arousal was some sort of drug that could get me to agree to anything. She laughed. She knew it too.

"Ok, bitch," she chuckled, "kiss my clit if you agree." Without a moment's hesitation, I raised my head to plant a passionate kiss on her swollen button. She laughed again, and I hovered close, my neck muscles straining as I held my head against her sex.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I didn't say stop." Wordlessly, gratefully, I licked and kissed her pussy until she coated my face with her juices.

* * * *

Friday. I was unreasonably nervous. Amy had told me she wouldn't humiliate me today, and I believed her. But I knew tomorrow held no such guarantee.

Amy squealed in delight when Britney walked out of the airport. The two friends hugged. Britney was wearing jeans and a grey wool cardigan over a black Metallica T shirt, yellow leather boots clicking on the cement as she walked. Her dirty blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, a pair of thick black framed glasses perched on her nose. It was a casual look well suited to a day of travel, but I could see that in the years since I last saw her, she had lost none of her inate sexiness. My cock twitched, restrained by the damp panties Amy had ordered me to wear.

Their embrace ended, Britney turned to me.

"Hey, Brian!" she beamed, her outstretched arms wrapping around me in a fierce hug. She always was the demonstrative type. Was it just me, or was she pressing her pelvis against my crotch, more than was strictly necessary? It didn't matter. My cock was hard, but Amy's panties kept it pressed against me with no room to expand. Otherwise, there's no doubt she would have felt me against her thighs.

The hug broke. A gentleman, I fetched Britney's suitcase and hoisted it into the back of my truck. Maybe it was the arousal. Maybe it was the panties. Maybe I was simply trying to curry favour for what I knew would be a long and painful weekend. But in a burst of inspiration, I sprang to the door of my truck and held it open for Britney to step inside. "Thank you," she said warmly, taking her seat. Amy climbed into the passenger seat, and Britney leaned forward, her chin on the back of Amy's chair. "You've got him well trained, don't you?" she smiled as I climbed into the drivers seat.

"You have no idea," Amy smiled darkly.

* * * *

Back at home, the girls opened a bottle of wine and settled in for hours of talking. At first I sat with them, but it soon became apparent that my presence was not required. By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, I yawned theatrically and said goodnight. The girls barely acknowledged my farewell, lost in some hysterical chatter.

In bed, I lay staring at the ceiling, my cock pulsing. Time after time, I'd reach for it, only to stop myself. Amy had forbidden me from cumming. I could probably get away with it. Then again, what if I didnt? Amy's punishments were no laughing matter. I could hear the girls laughing in the next room as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

I woke with my cock thick and ready to burst in my hand. Clearly, my dreams had been erotic. No surprise there. But I hadn't come. Amy still slumbered next to me as the sunlight leaked through the curtains, throwing flowing shadows on the wall.

It was Saturday morning, and I was a slave. But Miss Amy lay asleep. I had no orders. I knew that this might be the only respite I got all wekend. But I also knew that the best way to make my weekend bearable was to please my dominant wife. I threw the covers over my head, slid her panties out of the way with a finger, and began to lick Miss Amy awake.

Her pussy responded almost immediately, and I lapped up her honey as her lips swelled against my mouth. I heard her breathing change. Maybe she was awake, but she gave no sign of it. I lapped at her glistening lips, slurping up her juices, pausing to suck and nibble on her eager clit, and in no time, her gushing cum was coating my lips and cheeks and leaving a pungent puddle on the bedsheets.

Her hand seized my ear, and twisted it. She was awake now. She pulled my wet face up from her moist crotch to meet her gaze, regarding me coolly over the swell of her voluptuous breasts. Her eyes were glazed with her recent orgasm. I took some pride in that.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" she sneered down at me.

"No, Miss Amy," I panted, her cum cooling on my face. "I wanted to do something nice for you. Please forgive me." She smiled slowly. This submissiveness was a calculated ploy, and she knew it. As much as the thought excited me, I was still fearful of being exosed to Britney. Maybe if I was a good little bitch, Miss Amy would spare me that humiliation. Maybe.

No.

"Today's the day, bitch," she hissed. "You're going to do what you're told, like a good little slut, aren't you?" She twisted my ear again as she spoke.

"Yes Miss Amy!" I yelped.

"Good. My first order is this: you obey Britney the same as you obey me. If my orders contradict hers, you follow mine. Otherwise, you do as she says."

"Yes Miss Amy," I said, and she tugged on my ear, forcing my face back down towards her cum-damp cunt. I reached for it eagerly, my tongue stretching towards the glistening lips, but she held me in place, just beyond reach. "Look at that," she whispered. "Look at my pussy. Just look at it. It rules you, doesn't it?"

"Yes Miss Amy," I panted. My cock pressed hard against the mattress as I gazed at her snatch. Involuntarily, I licked my lips. I wanted it badly, and Amy could tell.

"This is why all women are superior to you. Understand? We have the pussy, so we make the rules. Got it?"

"Yes, Miss Amy," I panted. She was right. I wanted to fuck Britney almost as much as I wanted to fuck my wife. But what I really wanted was to bow down and worship their gorgeous pussies. Amy was right. I was willing to concede that women are superior, that they deserve whatever pleasure they can get from men. And I was lucky enough to be the only man in this house, with two gorgeous women to serve.

"Then say it," she demanded.

"You have the pussy, so you make the rules," I said humbly.

"Good boy," Amy said, abruptly releasing my ear. "Now go make us some breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, orange juice. Make enough for me and Britney. You can have our left overs." I scrambled to my feet, eager to serve. My cock had burst free from Amy's panties during the night, and now it stood pointing at the ceiling, pulsing with arousal. Amy scowled at it.

"Now that won't do, will it?" she said, almost to herself. "Can't have that ugly thing poking out like that. Especially when it's not going to get used at all this weekend. Make it go away," she ordered.

"But, Miss Amy," I gasped, "I can't. I'm so turned on, and if I can't cum..." I let the unspeakable hang in the air between us. The quickest way to get me flaccid was to let me cum. We both knew it. But we both also knew that I'd be far less willing to serve once I'd cum.

"Guess I have to do everything myself," she sighed grumpily. Getting up from bed, she walked into the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen peas. I winced as she pressed them against my stiff cock. It was unpleasant, but it worked. Soon my dick was hard enough to slip back into her panties.

"That's better," Amy smiled, handing my the peas. "Put these back and get started on breakfast."

"Dressed like this?" I asked incredulously. I was wearing nothing but Amy's tiny panties.

"No, of course not," Amy smiled wickedly. "I'm not that mean. You can wear my apron too."

There was no point arguing with her. She aimed to humiliate me in front of her friend, and it was going to happen sooner or later. Maybe it was better just to get it over with. I slunk into the kitchen and put Amy's apron on over the panties I was wearing while she snuggled back into bed.

I'm not really much of a cook. Breakfast is about the only thing I can make adequately well. But when I had it all cooked and the girl's plates piled high with food, I had to admit it looked pretty good. Not that I was going to get to have any of it.

I brought Amy's plate and a glass of orange juice to the dark bedroom. She smiled and sat up as I approached.

"Oh, that looks good," she said, taking the plate on her lap. "Is Britney up yet?"

"Not yet," I replied. The whole time I was cooking in the kitchen, I had been waiting to hear the door to the guest room open, to hear Britney's footstep on the floor, to hear her laughter when she saw me. But it hadn't happened. Yet.

"Well, go take her a plate," Amy ordered. I gulped nervously and did I was told. Still wearing an apron and panties, I knocked gently on teh door to our guest room. "Britney?" I called quietly through the door. To my dismay, I heard her shift in bed. I was hoping she wouldn't wake up.

"Yeah?" she called through the door.

"Would you like some breakfast?" I heard her shift again.

"Hell, yeah," she said enthusiastically.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

There was nothing for it. I opened the door and walked into our spare room dressed as I was. Britney's eyes widened when she saw me. She sat up in bed, her shoulders bare, the blanket tucked tight under her arms. My cock twitched in Amy's panties at the sight of her. She fumbled for her glasses on the bedside table and put them on, looking me up and down as a slow smile spread across her face.

"Here," I mumbled as I handed her the plate. My face was turning crimson under her measured appraisal.

"That's quite the outfit you have on there," Britney grinned. "Got anything under that apron, or is this my welcome gift?" If it was possible to blush any deeper, I would have.

"Just - underwear," I stammered. I half-turned to leave when Britney snagged the corner of the apron, pulling it aside enough for her to get a quick look as I rushed to the door.

"Oh my god, you're wearing panties!" She howled with laughter. Mortified, I ran out of the room, her laughter pursuing me down the hall. Back in the bedroom, I found Amy chuckling to herself as she ate her breakfast. Evidently she had heard Britney's laughter.

"Oh my god, that was embarrassing," I grumbled.

"Well, the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it honey?" Amy smiled sweetly. "Besides, if you think that was embarassing, wait until you see what else I'm going to make you do. I mean, what's the point of having a slave if I can't show you off to my friends?" I hung my head in shame, but my cock twitched at her words. The idea of being made to do things by my wife was sexy to me, even if it meant humiliation. Amy chewed her breakfast in silence and I stood attentively by the bed, wondering what was going through her mind. Finally, she pushed her plate aside.