Gwen: Bound for a New Life

Nobody in this story is under 18, and neither should you be! It is a pure fantasy, following the other two stories about Gwen, which you should have read if you want this to make sense. I do not condone violence against women, or paedophilia, or any of that unpleasantness – the women in my stories are there because they choose to be – and I know that such women exist!

Gwen couldn't help a feeling of relief as they dropped Laya off at Lawrence's sumptuous home, and an ebullient Tania hopped into the back seat to take her place. Laya's training had been entertaining, certainly, but she had missed the chirpy but passionate Tania, especially during John's absences, when Laya had been a poor substitute.

Gwen also knew that her time with John may well be coming to an end, as her husband, Roger, was due back from the Middle East in a few days' time, and, although she loved John, and her extravagant lifestyle in his fine home, not forgetting with her relationship with Tania, she had always retained an old-fashioned loyalty to her husband. On the phone, she talked it over with her friend Julie.

'How can I advise you, darling?' she had said, 'you must do what you think best. Have you thought of trying to introduce some of our....er – practices - to Roger?' Julie, Gwen knew, was a willing 'slave' – Gavin used her much as John had used Gwen for the past several months, and she revelled in his whippings, begged for the humiliation.

'Well, no,' she replied, 'he has always been so fucking ordinary, you know, missionary position, and not a lot more.'

'Poor darling,' she said, 'but don't forget he's been to the Middle East. He may have changed.'

'You mean he may have learned how to shag sheep?'

'You can be so fucking crude, you know,' laughed Julie, 'but why not give it a try? You've got nothing to lose – if it doesn't work, go back to John!'

The conversation left Gwen with a lot to think about, and as the time for Roger's return approached, she got more and more nervous.

It happened that Roger's return coincided with one of John's brief foreign visits, so there was no emotional farewell, which Gwen knew John would prefer anyway. Before he went away, they had made love tenderly, and, in bed, he had told her to keep any of the clothes she wanted from the vast selection in her wardrobe. He also told her she could come back to him whenever she wanted, so long as she wasn't jealous of whoever else he may have installed meantime. At that, she beat her fists uselessly against his hard chest, and he turned her over, by way of reply, and fucked her brutally in the arsehole.

'That, you will miss, my dear!' he said.

'You don't know how much, John,' she told him, 'and many other things too!'

The last night before Roger was due home, Gwen had already been over and aired the house, made everything fresh for his arrival, but she wanted to spend the last possible night with Tania, who had been more than a friend. She got back to John's mansion to find the young blonde crying, and took her in her arms.

'Oh, I'm going to miss you so much, Gwen,' she said, 'what will I do without you?'

'I'm sure you'll enjoy serving John all the more,' Gwen said, 'he thinks the world of you.'

'I know, but it's not the same,' she said, looking downcast, 'you know I need something more than just normal sex, of course?' She seemed reluctant to put a name to it, so Gwen did it for her.

'You need pain. I know, of course. You're not alone in that, are you? But John will be happy to supply it, I'm sure.'

'But Gwen,' she said, in a low voice, 'nobody can do it like you. Whip me one more time. Please!'

Gwen had been looking forward to taking the young blonde to her bed one last time, to burying her face in her luscious young pussy, having Tania's questing tongue probe the depths of her anus, but she had scarcely been prepared for the girl's plea. She could hardly deny her though, and said, 'Go and get ready, then!'

While Tania made herself ready, Gwen went to her room, slipped out of her dress and put on a black satin corset, stockings and heels, which she deemed set the right tone. She was pleased to see that Tania hadn't forgotten their ritual, and, when she arrived in the library, was dressed in the obligatory white negligee, and was barefoot, her ankles shackled and joined by a heavy chain, her wrists cuffed. As her hair was still fairly short, it wouldn't be in the way.

Gwen pressed the button on the wall, and the chain buzzed its way down from the ceiling. She hooked Tania's wrists to the snap-link that hung there, and then tore the thin negligee from her body.

'You know I'm going to hurt you, Tania, don't you?' she said sternly.

'Oh yes!' said Tania, her eyes wide and full of longing.

Gwen thrust her hand into Tania's slit. It was soaking, her lips puffy and distended.

'I'll warm you up with the paddle first,' she said, and took up a thin leather paddle, which made a satisfying swoosh through the air and fell with a loud 'thwack' on Tania's beautiful rounded arse, reddening it prettily where it struck. She made not a sound.

'You're a good slave,' commented Gwen, 'I think six of these will be enough to start with.' She laid into her work with all her might, concentrating on Tania's buttocks and upper thighs, and she was a lovely shade of scarlet by the time Gwen had finished. When she checked her sex again, she was dripping wet, and Gwen suspected she had concealed an orgasm.

'Now I shall whip you, Tania,' she said, 'you really want that, don't you?'

'Mmmm' she replied.

'Don't you?

' repeated Gwen, harshly.

'Yes, Gwen.'

Gwen took up her favourite thin cane, with a leather handle, the one whose kiss she had so often tasted at John's hands herself, and made Tania put her lips to it lovingly, before drawing back and lashing her sharply across her tender upper back for the first time. A bright red welt appeared instantly, the width of her back, and was soon joined by another, and another, as the young girl squirmed in her bonds, gasping with the awful sting as the thin cane lashed her young flesh. Lower and lower Gwen worked, more and more Tania writhed, not merely in pain, but now in the throes of one orgasm after another, as she multiplied and cried out in agony and ecstasy at once.

When Gwen had finished, and Tania's back had a pattern of stripes which they knew would heal in a few days, Gwen tended them with loving care, and found her a soft silk nightgown to wear. Then they went to bed together, and made the gentle, tender love Gwen had previously planned.

Next day, Gwen took John at his word, and got together as many clothes as she thought it reasonable to take with her, took a tearful leave of Tania, with promises to stay in touch, and, with three suitcases, set off for her old home. Roger was due at about four in the afternoon, and she wanted to be ready for him. After checking that the house was in order, she paid attention to herself, realising that, although her marriage, before Roger had left, had been drifting into an aimless state of boredom, and looked to be doomed, she was actually looking forward to seeing him. Perhaps there was, after, all, something that could be done to save their ailing partnership?

Gwen looked at her naked form critically in the long mirror in her bedroom. Looking back at her was a confident, sensual woman that Roger would hardly recognise. Devoid of pubic hair, the faint marks of her last whipping still just visible on her lower back and buttocks, and she could swear that she had a different bearing altogether, as if the months of wearing ultra-high stilettos, cruel whale-boned corsets, and nipple-clamps, not to mention being invaded by butt-plugs and other anal instruments, had somehow altered her posture.

She brushed her long black hair to a silken sheen, and then stepped into the clothes he meant to wear for Roger's arrival home. She had decided on a navy-blue pleated miniskirt, mid-thigh length, coupled with a white silk blouse, buttoned up the back. There was, she thought, no way she was going back to wearing bra and panties. If Roger objected to seeing the way her breasts jiggled under the silk of her blouse, then it was too bad. She stepped into a pair of stilettos, and took another look in the mirror. Further from the image she had presented when she had seen him off, and had worn trousers, a jumper and flat shoes, it was impossible to be. For good measure she cinched a gold anklet around her ankle, and slipped in matching long gold pendant ear-rings.

At about four-thirty, she was watching some rubbish on the telly when she heard a car pull up. Looking through the lounge window, she saw a bronzed, slimmed-down, fit-looking Roger, wearing a lightweight beige suit, paying off a taxi driver, who had just dumped his two big suitcases by the gate. Gwen thought she'd better go and help him.

'You look good!' was her greeting.

'And – Holy Christ! What's happened to you?' he spluttered. 'Are you Gwen? Because sure as hell you're not the woman I left four months ago!' He stood with his mouth open, oblivious to a sudden shower which threatened to drench them.

'Let's get your cases in, then we can talk,' said Gwen, taking the handle of one of them.

'Four months, is that how long it's been?' she asked, as she turned to face him, slightly flushed with the effort of dragging in the heavy suitcase, the silk of her blouse, moistened by the rain, now clinging to her, so that her nipples stuck out prominently against the soft material. He had noticed, and she saw with some satisfaction that his eyes raked her body, took in her miniskirt, her ultra-high stilettos.

'Yes, Gwen, four months, and not a word from you!'

'Hey – one postcard from you – not so much as a letter either. But we agreed, if I remember. Our marriage was having a rough time, wasn't it?'

'Thing is, where do we go from here?' he said.

'You

could

give me a kiss,' suggested Gwen, and he grinned and took her in his arms, planting a kiss on her lips. She responded by opening hers, and letting her tongue slide briefly between his teeth. At the metallic click of her stud, he pushed her away, and held her at arms' length.

'What's that all about?' he asked.

'Don't you like it, Roger?' she asked, sexily, and reaching for his hand, placed it firmly on one of her breasts, so that he could feel the hardness of her nipple through the damp silk.

She felt the front of his trousers, and the hardness there was unmistakeable – something which peeled back the years, reminded her that once they had had a hopeful, if naïve, sex-life. She pulled him into the lounge, and pushed him bodily onto the sofa, scrambling to straddle him there. As she pulled down his zipper and struggled impatiently to release his erection from his boxers, he ran his hands up her thighs, under her short, flared skirt. He gasped when he discovered she wasn't wearing panties.

'Gwen!' he exclaimed, what.....?' But she put a finger to his lips, and with her other hand, guided his hand to her shaven pussy, drawing from him another startled gasp. But she soon stifled it by taking a grip on his pulsing, hard shaft with one hand, and stretching her labia wide with two fingers of the other, so that he slid smoothly into her silky, moist cunt. The muscles of her vagina pulsed and heightened his pleasure in a technique that she had learned from John, and, when she knew he was on the verge of spurting, she pulled away enough to encircle the base of his cock with her hand, and her tight grip prevented him from cumming. After a moment, she resumed riding him, cupping her breasts, and pinching her nipples, her head thrown back, and her cries telling him she was nearing her climax. He abandoned himself now to driving deep within her, and heard her gasp, 'Cum now, you bastard, give it to me, cum, fuck me!'

He thrust his hips to meet her and they came as one in perhaps the first real fuck they had ever known in their married lives, and then lay together, sated, for maybe half an hour before either of them spoke.

Finally, he looked at her and said, 'Gwen, what

have

you been up to? You aren't the same woman that....'

She put her fingers to his lips, 'We said we wouldn't go down that road, before you went off, remember? I'm not about to ask you about your adventures with belly-dancers, or pretty boys, or sheep, or whatever. And I don't expect you to ask me about my last few months.'

'It's a deal,' he said, 'but, like I said earlier, where do we go from here?'

She stood up and looked at him, sitting on the sofa. He was still young, and looked fit and hard. He was also, she knew, an intelligent man. But he wasn't John. Question was; did she still love him enough to make a go of their marriage? And how to go about it?

Gwen decided to phone her friend Julie for a bit of guidance, and was rewarded with a dinner invitation for the two of them, for the following evening. She couldn't make up her mind if it was a good idea or not, and hadn't a clue how – or even if - Julie planned to broach the subject. Meanwhile, Roger's moods swayed from deeply suspicious to quiet and reserved, and she was not displeased that he had to go out for much of the next day, on business.

When evening came around, she tried not to overdo it, wearing one of the more conservative dresses she had brought from John's, a short black velvet number, deeply cut out front and back, but not too revealing. The skirt was mid-thigh length, and under it she wore a garter belt, black fishnet stockings and black patent heels. She wore her hair down, a long dark, shiny mane, cascading to her waist. Roger, in cream chinos, a blue button-down shirt and moccasins, looked good, she thought, fit and tan.

When they arrived at Julie and Gavin's town-house, dinner was already prepared, and their au-pair, a sultry Czech blonde called Zdenka, in a black miniskirt and heels, was carrying in dishes.

Gwen swallowed hard when her friend Julie skipped into the room, and Roger did a double-take, as she was wearing a long, completely transparent pink dress, tied at the shoulders by red ribbons, which matched those which could be seen under her dress, tying the sides of a pair of flimsy, transparent panties. Her ample breasts were supported by a matching pink half-bra, which allowed her nipples to poke out through the almost non-existent material of her dress.

'Where's the funeral, darling?' asked Julie, then, 'no, I'm joking, you look lovely, doesn't she, love?' At that point, her husband, Gavin, had entered, and he kissed Gwen, and shook hands with Roger, then they sat down to dinner. They ate in companionable silence, then relaxed while Zdenka served them with coffee in their spacious lounge. Throughout the meal, Roger had been unable to wrench his eyes away from Julie, and she, of course, was well aware of that.

When they all had had their glasses filled, Julie, stood up, Roger's eyes moving from her breasts to her barely-concealed pussy, and said, 'We ought to drink to Roger, back from the desert, as it were!' They raised their glasses in a toast, and Julie went on, 'I think Gavin and I have come to know Gwen very well, and we love her dearly. She tells me she would like us to get to know Roger as well. Perhaps we should do some ice-breaking! What does everyone say to a dance?'

There was a general muttering, which she took as assent, and she put on a CD, something slow and sensual, then held out her hand to Roger, who wasted no time getting to his feet. Gwen nestled comfortably into Gavin's arms, remembering that it was only a few short weeks ago that she had so willingly surrendered her anal virginity to him. As Julie slid across the parquet floor past the dimmer switch, she deftly turned down the light, and moulded her body to Roger's, delighting in the feel of his rampant cock against her stomach.

'You'd just

love

to fuck me, wouldn't you, Roger?' she whispered.

'Oh yes!' he breathed in her ear.

'Well, you'd have to hurt me first,' she said.

That jolted him, and he was both shocked and, at the same time, strangely excited beyond belief.

'What do you mean, hurt you?'

'I'd need you to whip me, hurt me, Roger. And that's what your wife wants too!'

He pushed her away to arm's length, 'Hey, I know my own wife!'

'Don't be angry, Roger. You know your wife

as she used to be

. Haven't you seen how she's changed? Her dress, everything? If you want to keep her, you'll have to play the game.'

He looked at her now, and she could see him working it all out – Gwen's change of attitude, her lack of underwear, shaven pussy, stilettos......

'Phew,' he said, but the grin spread back slowly onto his face, 'I'd still love to fuck you though,' he said.

'Not tonight, lover boy,' she said, 'this has been an evening for getting to know you. But if you want to talk over what I've said with Gwen, and you're going to get into the scene, then we'll fix an evening, OK?'

'OK,' he said, and he couldn't fail to notice Zdenka stood by the door watching the two couples. She was behind an ornamental pedestal, upon which stood a large plant, so that the lower half of her body was invisible, but there was something about the angle and movement of her arm – if he didn't know better, Roger would have sworn she was masturbating.

'Have you had her long?' he asked Julie, nodding towards the au-pair.

'Neither long nor often,' she replied enigmatically, then stuck the tip of her tongue in his ear, 'nosy bastard!'

He thanked Julie, and meant it.

On the way home, Gwen asked Roger what he and Julie had talked about.

'I'm sure you know,' he said, 'tomorrow you and I have to talk.'

He was right in thinking they were too tired to talk that night, and they slept late next morning.

When she came down, in a short silk slip, he was already dressed and coffee awaited her.

'So let's talk,' he said.

'I know Julie's already told you what you need to know,' said Gwen.

'She hasn't told me where all this comes from – what's been going on behind my fucking back,' he said, angrily.

She regarded him coolly, 'You go away to some God-awful sheikdom, where they treat women like shit, spend four months either shagging whatever comes your way, or wanking off over videos, or both, and you come back and get all reproachful. Sorry, Roger, but it won't wash. Suffice to say, I've seen the light, found a lifestyle I love, and need. I've found real sexual pleasure, for the first time in my life, been transported to places I never knew existed. If you don't want to share it with me, I'll find someone else who does. I'm going to dress and go out for a couple of hours. Give me your answer when I get back.'

She got up and left him, open-mouthed, coffee-cup raised halfway to his mouth.

Gwen got home at half past eleven, having sauntered aimlessly around the shopping centre, just considering her options. Did she really want to leave Roger? And if so, where would she go? Would John have her back? She was pretty sure she retained a good deal of love for Roger, but just wondered how adaptable he would be. He was still sitting in the kitchen when she walked in – almost as if he had never moved, but she knew he had, because he had tidied up the lounge, and put a few things away.

'Sit down, Gwen,' he said, 'I've been thinking.'

When she sat down, she saw he was smiling – a good sign.

'I know we said we wouldn't talk about things, but I'll tell you about something that happened to me during my time in the Middle East. If you want to tell me anything after that, it might help us to understand each other.'

'OK,' she said, uncertainly.

'Well,' he started, 'I was involved in the design of a hotel complex for a filthy-rich old sheikh. One of his seven wives, a young and beautiful girl called Zia, was caught kissing the chauffeur, and sentenced to death, by beheading – not the most liberal of people, these!' He paused to see Gwen's horrified reaction. 'The old sheikh, however, reckoned himself a model of modernity, and commuted the sentence to a flogging, to which he invited all his friends, including me. Announcing that she was no longer of use to him, therefore did not have to be concealed from view, he tore off her clothes, right there in front of about six of us, tied her to a column, and whipped her viciously, while she writhed in agony.'