He was her bull and during their time together they had progressed from basic fucking to a dom/sub relationship, specializing in humiliation. He didn't believe in physical violence. He never slapped her and never choked her during sex, although sometimes in intercourse he pounded her hard. She never complained about this. In fact, she found it thrilling. She would come out of it with flushed cheeks, often with tears in her eyes, and cover his neck and chest with kisses while murmuring, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
While he didn't believe in violence, he did believe in punishment. It usually took the form of small humiliations—like writing "dumb cunt" across her stomach with indelible marker. It took many days to disappear, and when it showed she couldn't wear a bathing suit. She was afraid of being found out—she and her husband lived in a most respectable neighborhood—so every public humiliation was fraught with danger.
And he spanked her, but that was more humbling than hurtful, because he always spanked her in front of her husband. The first time he did it because she forgot to call out "I'm cumming!" during sex. He had ordered her to announce every orgasm. That night downstairs in the living room he put her across his knee and spanked her snowy white bottom until it was rosy—making her bawl real tears while her husband watched from a doorway, red with excitement.
Eventually her husband became part of the scene. At first he was just a simple cuck who was content to stand in the shadows while his wife and the bull fucked. The bull treated him with respect, but mostly ignored him. Then, one evening, about three months into the sub/dom relationship, the husband asked to be part of it. He knelt before the bull and kissed his hand. Then, as instructed, took the bull's long black cock into his mouth. The wife smiled and nodded. The three of them were together at last.
For the first few months they did their fucking in the upstairs master bedroom. He put her through all the positions: missionary, cowboy, doggie, on her stomach, or standing up and clutching the windowsill while he took her from behind. It took her a while to get used to it. The bull would instruct her husband about what she needed to practice during the week.
Her body and mind slowly adapted to the regimen. Her pussy became softer, her ass more pliable, her throat able to take him deeper, then deeper still. And she became more biddable: She readily offered the bull whatever hole he wanted to use. When the fucking was done he would send the husband out of the room so the two of them could lie in each other's arms and talk.
He told her he wanted her to take more chances. They needed to meet in places away from the house. She agreed, but she was frightened. What if someone saw them? Somone who knew her? He told her that she had to trust him. He would take normal precautions. But he reminded her that their passion found its energy in risk. If they kept fucking in this bedroom the excitement would eventually drain away. She would be left with "him"—gesturing toward the door and the absent husband.
She took a deep breath. "Whatever you decide." she said.
So began a new series of encounters. They would fuck in the back seat of his car parked on a quiet street. He parked in different places, now and then under streetlights. Sometimes, driving down the highway together, he would tell her to remove her top and bra. When other motorists stared, her bull said, "Let them look."
He took her to his own, tiny room across the railroad tracks and fucked her on his unmade bed. She loved it. That day she had three orgasms. Before each one she cried urgently, "I'm cumming!"
To her surprise, the part she loved most about that day was following him into the building where he lived. She and her bull got out of his car and walked through a crowd of neighbors on the street—adults and children—who stared at this white woman in her crisp dress. They knew what was going on. She blushed. She couldn't look at them. She felt the weight of their gaze and was secretly thrilled. She was a whore.
One summer day he bought her a dog collar for her neck and took her on a public bus to the riverside where they strolled idly along the bank, watching people fish. He brought her to a sheltered place behind some bushes and ordered her to take him in her mouth. She knelt immediately and did it. He held the back if her head and closed his eyes. He came a few minutes later, pulled his cock from her mouth and sprayed clots of sperm across her forehead, nose and eyes. When she went to wipe it off he stopped her and told her to leave it. She smiled at him, his sperm running down her cheek, but didn't protest. They went back to strolling along the riverbank.
As time went on she got used to these scenes. She no longer fretted about being recognized. She told herself people would never notice—or, if they did, she no longer cared. Her bull understood this change of heart in her and knew that he had to bring her to a further place.
In the next town over there was a theater that showed gay porn from Monday through Thursday and straight porn on other days. The bull had scouted it and knew the layout of its foyer, seating and restrooms. He also knew it was a venue for perverts and trolls. In the dark recesses of the theater all sorts of stuff went on—things that were totally beyond her experience. He was determined to bring her there.
On a Friday afternoon, two weeks after their adventure at the river, he picked her up at her house. He had given her strict instructions to wear just a tee shirt, skirt, and sneakers. No purse. No panties. No bra.
She was on time, waiting for him. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"You'll see."
They drove to a strip mall where the theater was located. At first she didn't recognize it, lost among the other shabby stores in the arcade, but then, getting out of the car, she did.
"Porn theater," she said aloud.
Her bull bought two tickets and led her inside. The lobby had a discolored green carpet and smelled of disinfectant and stale popcorn.
They pushed through swinging doors into the theater. Suddenly it was dark and the smell was even stronger. The movie had already started: On the screen a woman with red hair was being penetrated by a guy wearing an Army fatigue top and nothing below. He had a huge erection. The sound of their passion echoed through the theater.
"Aahhhhh! Aahhhh! O God!"
Her bull had stopped to get used to the darkness, but then he led her down the aisle to a row of seats in the center of the theater. The place looked empty. No, as her eyes got used to the gloom she saw figures of people scattered about. They seemed to be all men, but one couldn't be sure. She tried not to look too closely.
After they sat down her bull threw a protective arm over her shoulder. She snuggled closer to him.
Suddenly she sensed movement on her other side. She glanced to her right. A strange man was coming down her row of otherwise empty seats. He could have taken any seat but chose to sit immediately next to her. As he eased back onto his seat she caught the slightly sour smell of his body.
The three of them kept their faces to the front, watching the film.
The fingers of her bull's hand, draped over her shoulder, now began to scratch and claw. They tugged at her tee shirt, pulling it up little by little, like a curtain being raised. She made no attempt to stop him. It was the bull's right, after all. Now the shirt was above her navel. Now it was higher than that. Sensing his intention, she leaned forward to free the shirttail. The shirt rose higher. The hem dragged across her nipples. Now it was at her throat, gripped there in his fist. She was totally exposed in front.
The bull took his free hand and began to caress the bare breast closest to him. She gave a little gasp, but didn't speak. The stranger on her right, without a sound, placed a tentative finger on her other breast. When it wasn't brushed away, he put the palm of his hand over her breast and squeezed. His hand was hard and calloused. Feeling it scrape against her nipple, she cried "Ohhhh!" but her voice was lost against the soundtrack of the film.
For several minutes the men on either side rubbed and squeezed her tits. She kept her hands on her lap as if nothing were happening. The men would weigh her tits in their palms then let the breasts fall. Their hands massaged her succulent flesh. They pinched her nipples. Her mouth was open, making little sounds. In the screen in front of her two more men began to torment the redhead with their cocks, but the wife closed her eyes to it. All her feelings were focused on what was happening to her body.
Her bull leaned over and whispered, "Scrunch down in your seat and spread your legs." She pushed her butt forward in the seat and opened her knees. He let the tee shirt drop and reached down with his caressing hand to lift the hem of her skirt, passing it to the hand that was around her shoulders. With her breasts now covered, the stranger had to abandon his fondling.
But her pussy was open to the world.
The bull slid his big hand down to her mound and let a long middle finger lazily trace the outline of her smooth cunt. It made her shiver. The finger moved back and forth along her slit, in no hurry to dive inside. The man on the other side leaned forward, straining to see what was happening between her thighs. As he leaned, she caught a glimpse of his profile: An old man. A smelly old man.
Now her bull's finger began digging into her pussy. There it met her wetness. His finger brushed against her clit and she gasped. For a moment the finger explored the opening to her vagina, then went back to her clit and rubbed more purposefully.
She moaned. She couldn't hold it back.
She felt the stranger on her right place his hand on her thigh and tug. He was trying to open her legs wider so he could see. She wondered if he, too, would put his fingers in her pussy, but her bull finally noticed the stranger's hand and flicked it away.
Her conscious mind was solely on her clitoris—as if that were the only part of her that existed. She was splayed out in her seat, hands grasping the armrests, mouth agape, eyes closed. She was right on the edge, ready to announce her orgasm, but the moment never came. She hung there in that state. The rubbing went on. She kept gushing against his fingers.
She sensed another presence, maybe more than one. Opening her eyes she noticed a shadowy face over her shoulder. Someone from the row behind was leaning over to see the action. It was joined by another face. She realized she was on display. Glancing to the left and right, she noticed that more people had taken up seats next to the stranger and next to her bull. She was the center of a little gathering.
