Author's Note: This is a sequel to my first story, Beneficially HIS. I would hope that you've read that first to know how the story has gone to this point.
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Ouch! Damned sun's bright this morning.
My brain was void after such a deep sleep but finally found its BIOS.
Hmm. Was it a dream? A puddle of red lingerie on the floor…hmmm, I wonder… yes, my pussy's shaved. Eww! And a little sticky. Well, a shower will fix that. Better yet, a bath. Sssstretch. Oh! My butt's kinda sore.
Nope, definitely not a dream!
What was that down-home expression George had picked up on one of his travels? Oh yeah, "grinning like a jack-ass with a mouthful o' briars." That's me alright.
And where is that wonderfully kinky bastard? I need to give him a real big thank you hug for bringing me to life. The other side of the bed's empty. So he's up, but he always was an early riser. I don't know how he can perpetually survive on six hours' sleep. Normally I need a good eight, but after last night…what time is it anyway? Judging from the sun, at least nine. Oh, almost ten.
Wow, I'm thirsty. Gotta pee too. Well, all I've had to drink since yesterday afternoon was a few glasses of champagne. That explains a lot. Love the stuff, but could do without the diuretic effect.
Okay, slowly now; my legs are rubber. Who's in charge here anyway? Walk damnit!
Ahhh, that's a relief! But I'm going to avoid sitting on any hard chairs today. Time to wash up a bit. What the fuck? Who's THAT in the mirror? All the smudged makeup, what a mess! Dun–da-da-da! Make-up remover to the rescue.
The water's cold, but feels really good on my face. Dry off and brush those mittens off my teeth. Mmm, minty fresh. Despite brushing out my hair, it's still a bit wild. Perversely appropriate, wouldn't you say?
Turning, I glimpse myself in the full length mirror on the back of the door.
Damn! Having a shaved pussy's gonna take some getting used to in more ways than one.
Exiting the bath, I nearly collide with George, who had just entered the bedroom bearing a teak tray laden with ice water, mugs, a thermos of coffee, our pewter milk and sugar set and a glass bud vase holding one of the roses he had brought home the previous evening.
What a sweetheart!
"Whoa! Slow down lady!" he said playfully.
I'm not the only suffering from smiling jack-ass syndrome and his hair was a tousled mess too. But that robe has got to go. Plain cotton, striped in various shades of grey. Boring! Mental note: get something sexier, maybe in black satin. I think I'd like that.
"You must have read my mind," I reply as I plucked one of the glasses and greedily drank it down, nonstop. A few drops escaped the corners of my lips, ran off my chin and onto my breasts, sending a refreshing chill through my body, tightening my nipples.
"And good morning to you too!" he retorted.
"Sorry, honey, but I was just dieing of thirst. Isn't it a wonderful morning?"
"The best." He held out the tray for me to return my glass, set it on my low dresser opposite the foot of the bed, wheeled and pulled me into his arms.
We kissed tenderly, our tongues engaging in light caresses, and all too soon he broke it off.
"How about some coffee?" he asked.
"Is that all you're offering?"
"For now, I'd like to talk a little bit about last night."
"What's there to say? It was incredible!"
"Well, I guess I was afraid that in the cold light of day, you might have changed your mind or had second thoughts."
I set my coffee on the night stand, played with some pillows to support my back and laid back on the bed. George shed his robe and did likewise, snuggling up next to me.
"Well, there is one thing I would change," I told him.
"Oh?" There was some concern in his voice.
"I can't go with that ‘Yes sir, no sir' stuff. At least not all the time."
George sighed in relief. "That's okay with me. It could easily get overdone. I'll leave it up to you for when you think it's appropriate."
"Yes sir," I replied while that stupid grin returned.
George pressed closer to me as we finished our coffee. Nothing was spoken, nor was it necessary. For the first time in ages, we were comfortable just being together.
But that wasn't all that changed. It was kinda funny. Not funny Ha-Ha and not funny-strange, more like funny-unexpected in the way other parts of our lives changed in the months that followed. All for the better, I might add.
Although George was spending more time at home, his business actually grew. He said the new-found confidence he had made him more decisive and productive. He'd hired some more people, and even spoke of possibly needing a partner because he didn't want to go back to the long hours that the expansion would eventually demand.
We both got serious about our physical conditioning too. Not obsessive, mind you; more like wanting to be the best we could for each other. Okay, so it was probably wanting more stamina, but who wouldn't? I got my pubes lasered and, yes, there was some discomfort involved, but it was so worth it not to have to deal with the razor any more.
We started going out more; not so much for meals, but more like when we were first dating. You know, movies, picnics in a local park, day trips to see things we'd only ever talked about doing. Even simple stuff like home improvements seemed less tedious.
George was always a decent cook and had often made dinner on the weekends, but now he really dove into it and said he found it very erotic to make something special for the woman he loved. Who was I to argue?
It really didn't matter what we did. By the end of the day we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. Alright, it wasn't always at the end of the day. So sue me.
Sometimes it was slow and tender. But most often, I was his slut to use at his (and my) pleasure. I'd never thought that I'd love anal so much, especially when I'd lay at the edge of bed while George stood holding my legs high and wide. "Finger that clit! Come for me. Show me how much you love my cock in your ass!"
Oops. Got a little sidetracked there. Now where was I?
Well, in case you're wondering, yes, I did get back to keeping the house in order. Not that I was Felix Unger or anything, but I didn't leave any messes about, unless, of course I was looking for a little discipline. George caught on to this trick pretty quick and I'm not sure if he enjoyed giving me a spanking more than I did receiving them, but I wasn't going to over-analyze it.
We were really enjoying life and it was obvious to everyone. Even my sewing group noticed the new glint in my eyes. I mean, Jane already knew. (I'd called her with the news that very first day of my new life.) But even my mom and her friends commented on the change. Jane just gave me a sly smile. I think I must have blushed as the older ladies exchanged knowing "hmm's." If they even knew half the truth!
Whenever Jane or I hosted, we'd hang out with each other after the others left. Sometimes it was just to catch up a bit on places we'd been or movies we'd seen. But most times we'd compare notes on sex and something new we might have tried.
It started a couple weeks after I had accepted my new role as George's slut (or Thatday, as we came to refer to it). It was Jane's first turn to host since Thatday, and she kind of demanded that I give her the blow by blow (so to speak) account. At first, it felt weird recounting the story, but I found that if I closed my eyes it was easier not only to speak, but also to picture the events and provide all the details Jane wanted to hear.
Damn, I was horny by the time we parted! My guess is Jane was too, looking like she'd put pencil erasers in her bra.
The next week was my turn to host, so after the others had left, I told her it was only fair that she tell me about her "coming out." Images of Jane's freshly spanked ass, wet pussy and nipples bulging in the loops of the connecting chain left me aching and lingered through the day, even popping into my mind with a somewhat disturbing regularity during the days that followed.
From then on, it became somewhat of a ritual. As our hosting schedule worked, we had a three week hiatus before we could share more escapades. In one sense that was good, cause it gave time for us to think about what we would tell, but I had also gotten addicted to it and eagerly anticipated my next "fix."
Last week, I was sitting on the sofa at Jane's, sipping on a glass of wine, something we'd added to our story time. We'd found it made it easier (and more fun) to reveal intimate details while having a glass or two.
So, last week, she'd told me about Bill teaching her to deep throat. He'd tied her to the bed. Nothing new there, but he left her head hanging over the edge.
Jane is about my height but with blonde hair and a larger frame. Not quite Rubenesque, but "Prime Polish breeding stock," was how she'd laughingly describe herself. I could see Jane, spread eagled, her large breasts, rising, falling and jiggling with her ragged breathing. Her full hips undulating as Bill stood at her head, teasing and lightly spanking her with a riding crop, bringing a rosy hue to her breasts and a straining firmness to her nipples.
Jane took a large swallow from her wine, draining the glass. Taking the chilled bottle of Pinot Griggio from the insulator on the coffee table, she refilled her glass. ‘That's her third,' I thought somewhat absently, but figured she didn't need to drive, so why not?
The bat played lightly across her dirty blonde pubes, coaxing her dewy lips to spread; much as Bill's hard cock persuaded her mouth to open. Gently tapping and rubbing her pussy, the tip of the crop glistened, increasing the sting when it occasionally flicked across her nipples.
I watched Jane intently; her closed eyelids fluttered, hand squeezing the armrest, hips rotating in a slow, almost imperceptible oscillation, while I couldn't stop the rhythmic clenching in my thighs.
