Athy & Me

A week after Steve drove Stanley Konichech from Kathy’s life, she filed for a divorce. Her Petition was quickly granted without opposition. Stan signed over the house to his ex-wife as Steve had insisted, and shortly thereafter Steve gave up his apartment and moved in with Kathy.

To all appearances, Kathy and Steve were just another couple with the usual late twentieth century semi-respectable ‘living together’ relationship. Only I and those closest to Steve knew what Kathy really was, or about the other two women Steve kept as his concubines. Some evenings expensive black cars would come and go at Kathy’s home in the wee hours. Otherwise, the dull routine of faceless suburbia covered our neighborhood.

Kathy and I talked from time to time and she seemed generally content with her situation. She was relieved and grateful to be rid of Stan, and even though the sex Steve gave her was demeaning, even abusive, she was becoming more and more addicted to it. To be tied naked and spread eagle on the bed, pleading pitifully to be fucked, excited Kathy, and she had come to love it. She even claimed not to mind being tied to the staircase and whipped. Kathy said that waiting to be punished, stripped and helpless like that, turned her on as much as it did Steve. A little pain, and little groveling, they seemed a small price to pay for the to have her pussy filled so delightfully with her man’s big hard cock.

Sharing him with his other women, and being shared with other men, were another matter. That was hard for her, and Steve seemed to purposely rub salt into her jealous wound. She broke down and cried as she told me how he insisted that she guide the head of his hard-on into Vicky’s waiting pussy. Then there was the night when he traded her for the wife of man she had never met before. To make things worse Steve screwed the man’s wife right there in the same bed where the stranger was fucking Kathy. When the men were through, they made the women suck each other’s pussy clean of the night’s lovemaking. Kathy was sobbing was almost beyond control as she told me how humiliated she was when despite herself, the woman’s tongue probing her slit gave her an orgasm.

That is where things stood as an early summer came busting out all over. My husband, Tim, had no idea about the unusual life style of our neighbors, and I hadn’t enlightened him. He had met Steve only briefly, but he liked him, and he knew how fond I was of Kathy. Innocent of the possible ramifications, Tim suggested that we have Kathy and Steve over for dinner.

I had my own reasons for inviting my friend and her new lover over for a social evening . As a couple, they had kept to themselves in the weeks since Steve had moved in with Kathy. I was dying to see for myself if this slave thing was really clicking between them. I was impressed how easily Steve disposed of Stanley Konichech, and I was more intrigued than ever about this man who so completely dominated my friend. He was clearly a man to be reckoned with, but what made him tick? What was his Svengali like attraction to women? I must admit that the more I wondered about Steve Hamilton, I had begun to feel a twinge or two in my own clit.

That was how on one Saturday night in late May, Kathy and Steve became our guests for dinner. I worked hard to make the evening as perfect as possible. Well oiled with pre-meal cocktails, we stuffed ourselves on a prime cut of roast beef, and washed it all down with a gallon or so of good red wine. Steve, as usual, was full of southern charm. The dinner conversation was alive and bright, and on occasion even a little raw and bawdy.

We were feeling little pain, and enjoying our after dinner coffee and brandy when somehow the conversation turned to Kathy and Steve, and their courtship. Tim was innocently joking about their sex life together despite my attempt to change the subject, when Steve, as was always his way, boldly took the initiative.

“Well, you see, Tim,” Steve began, “Kathy and I have something of an unorthodox relationship. Kathy is by her own choice my sex slave.”

Tim laughed, and interrupted him a little drunkenly. “Hell yes man, that is always the best way. Keep ‘em barefoot and pregnant! The country started to hell when we allowed them to vote.”

No, Tim, you don’t quite understand,” Steve went on trying to explain to my slightly drunk husband. “I mean that quite literally. I own Kathy. That is with her consent to be sure, but she is none the less my property, a sex toy for my pleasure, and I use her sexually in whatever way I see fit. I have no legally enforceable rights, of course. Her obedience is purely voluntary, and if she wanted to leave me, she certainly could do so. I certainly would not try to stop her. Then, however, her hungry little pussy would no longer have my cock to fill it. I fuck her only on the condition that she accepts her servitude and remains submissive to me. She might change her mind someday, as early as tonight perhaps, and decide to deny me her obedience. Until that day comes, however, I own her as completely as any seventeenth century Arabian Sultan owned some poor wench he held captive in his harem.”

Steve turned and looked deep into Kathy’s eyes, “Isn’t that true Kathy? Tell Tim what you are.”

Even under her spring tan Kathy flushed at Steve’s request, and she looked very uncomfortable as she dropped here eyes and answered, “Yes, that’s true Tim. Steve owns me. I am his sex slave. He uses me for his pleasure whenever and in whatever way strikes his fancy.”

“Augh!! You two are pulling my leg,” said Tim with a little laugh, but I could see he was suddenly uncertain, and a little sorry he had ever opened the door on this business.

Steve, was not embarrassed though, and he continued on. “I’m glad you brought the subject up Tim. I can see that your wife has been too loyal to her friend to share with you what some might call our dirty little secrete. Such discretion is a rare virtue. I thank her for it, but Kathy and I have nothing to hide from our friends. We are all entitled to our privacy, but the truth is what the truth is, and it can’t be escaped. Before long you might notice things you wouldn’t understand, or perhaps you will hear smutty little rumors that would make you wonder what is going on next door. Before that happens I want you to hear the real story from the horse’s mouth.”

Steve paused, but all this seemed more than poor Tim could absorb and my husband said nothing.

Nodding at Tim’s silence, Steve continued, “You see, Tim, female submission is not as rare as you might think, even in this day of democratic and equalitarian anarchy. Women were never the virginal, asexual, fragile, and frigid creatures that Christianity tried to make of them. Neither are they the independent and self reliant imitation men that feminist politics would have us believe. The fact is that few women are vestal virgins. Fewer still are assertive or confident enough to survive alone at the fiercely competitive level required in a male dominated world. I do not mean to imply that the female is inferior to the male. If all talents are averaged, they are no less able, no less intelligent than men..., but they are different in many ways. Those differences are important, and none is more so than the way men and women view the opposite sex.”

“To men, women are sex, directly and simplistically. Mother Nature wanted men to spread our genes around. She made us polygamous horny creatures always looking for a woman to screw. In the thousands of years that our early ancestors wandered the earth hunting and gathering, the male was pretty much self sufficient. Once he had been laid, primitive man sent the woman back to gathering berries with the other females and children while he wandered off to go hunting with the guys. Modern man is remains programmed in that ancient way, and to us sex is still as simple and uncomplicated as our hormones.”

“To the female though, sex is a quite different matter. Getting laid is one thing, and easy enough to do..., there are always lots of male volunteers for that. Sex alone, however, is not enough for the female. For thousands of years, a woman needed a man to protect her from the wild beasts who would have otherwise made a meal of her. She needed a man to hunt for her, and to drive away other marauding males who, if they could, would impregnate her, and then leave her and the child to shift for themselves.

Unless the man regarded the female as his property, however, he was unlikely to stick around to defend her, and she learned to accept that. After all, to have a man of her own was the key to her survival, and the survival of her children, in a hostile world. Time has imprinted this need for a man, and what she must do to have one, deep in the female genes. Not all will admit it, but every woman instinctively knows that it is better to be owned than it is to be abandoned and alone.”

“There is nothing similar in masculine instinct. Women are important to us, of course, but that importance is not constant. What she has for us between her legs is certainly pleasant, but we never feel, subconsciously or otherwise, that we could not survive without a woman. On the other hand, most women never lose that ancient need to have a male protector and provider all her very own. Why else does every prostitute instinctively find herself a pimp? Clearly satisfying this primal urge to be owned and protected is the all consuming interest of most women’s lives from puberty onward. This difference between the sexes is quite remarkable, and explains much how we treat each other.”

Tim looked doubtful and shook his head as Steve continued, “You don’t think so! Test if for yourself! Go spend a day in a woman’s dormitory at any college, and then compare what you hear there to what is being discussed over in the men’s dorm. The girls talk, eat and sleep, boys, boys, and more boys. The men intensely discuss girls too, but their attention span is short. Football, fishing, cold beer, tomorrow’s exam, tonight’s movie, all those subjects will in come up in turn to grab the male attention away from sex and girls. Given her choice, the coed would like to be with her boyfriend all day and date him every night. The boy looks forward to a date this weekend, but tonight he would just as soon go to out drinking with his buddies.

Tim interrupted him to ask “If we are so all important to women, why do they make us work so hard to get in their pants?”

Steve grinned as he answered, “A good question for sure Tim, but one I have already answered. For a female, sex is the bait Mother Nature has given her to insure her survival. Oh, there is Clark Gable syndrome to deal with, a few men who are so handsome and attractive that almost all women find them sexually irresistible. Women instinctively look for genes like that to pass on to their children, but lets face it, there are not enough super studs to go around. Women know this, and experience soon teaches them that almost any man is better than no man at all. If the woman must settle for a mate less than the hunk of her dreams, so be it. It is enough that he finds her desirable, and lusts so after her body that he might stick around to enjoy the regular use of her pussy. For 98.5% of all the women out there, this is the accepted reality of things.”

“Aye, and right there is the rub..., the crack in the female armor. Even the most beautiful woman usually has serious, even if well hidden, doubt about her ability to attract and keep a man, any man at all. Those less endowed by nature live in a panic about it. Whether swan or ugly duckling, every female is out there trying to be sexy, peddling her charms the best she can in the hope that a suitor will show up that she can seduce into a lasting and supportive relationship. The uncertainty of that hope is nerve racking, and most women are stressed to a high level of anxiety over it.”

“Fortunately for the species, however, Mother Nature somehow sees to it that almost every woman is sexually desirable to somebody. By a strange inexplicable quirk in the laws of probability, the two of them somehow seem to always find each other. Once a man comes on to her, the woman instinctively interprets his attention as a testament to her desirability. However low the fire in her sexual furnace at his arrival, masculine attention, sincere or not, primes the female pump and causes a woman to blossom erotically. This change is sometimes remarkable and often confuses her poor suitor who hasn’t the slightest notion of what triggered this sudden passion.”

“You see, Tim,” Steve continued, “a woman doesn’t start off wanting a particular man nearly so much as she wants some man, any man, to want her. A male is the catalyst of female sexual desire rather than its objective. The female erotic temperature does not depend so much upon how she sees the man, as it does upon how she sees herself. It is only with a heavy dose of masculine attention that a woman can picture herself as alluring, sensual and sexually delectable. Intoxicated by the aphrodisiac of male attention, and the boost it gives to her self-esteem, she begins to wonder what it might be like to have the man between her splayed legs. Here is every woman’s Achilles heel. Any man who understands how to use it properly can fuck himself to death.”

“Most men, however, don’t understand, and go about seduction in all the wrong ways. Even the word ‘seduction’ misleads us. To us sex is a physical thing, and therefore seduction must be also. It is common masculine mythology that foreplay is the principle tool of seduction! Grab a bare tit and squeeze it at every opportunity is the masculine game plan. Not so! Foreplay certainly has its place in pleasure filled sex, but it has little to do with seduction.”

“Seduction begins in a woman’s head, not in her genitals. The mind, that is the real female erogenous zone. Let her know that you lust for her body, subtly of course, but persistently. That attention will trigger the woman’s urge to have that protective mate, and from there her imagination will take over. Primed with a constant flow of quiet masculine lustful suggestion, she will begin to dwell on her own sexuality. She begins to wonder about the size of his cock, and what it would be like to be filled with it. From there she draws pictures in her mind of what he might do to her once he has her on her back. It is these naughty ideas, not our roaming hands, that will warm her loins, lubricate her vagina, and eventually cause her to spread her thighs for us.”

Kathy’s face had by now turned a deep crimson, my husband was clearly too mesmerized by what he was hearing to comment, and me, me I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Without interruption then Steve continued with his monologue.

“Properly courted, the woman is readily overwhelmed by her own fantasies, and she will become more and more helpless to resist her lover’s demands. If driven hard enough, all limits on her conduct will be erased, and she will give herself in total submission to her lover. After that surrender, there is no price she will not pay to have the raw sex of her visions..., even if that price is total servitude. Her chains are unbreakable because she forged them herself. They will hold her in bondage as long as her thoughts remain focused the cock that she has committed herself to.”

“Tim,” Steve continued, “you’ve heard I’m sure that I have a reputation with women. Yet, I am a very ordinary guy. Women are attracted to me only because I make every mother’s daughter of them believe she is the erotic passionate creature that down deep she would like to be. I am on the make! Everywhere, and all the time! They all know it, and they all love me for it. When confronted by a man on the make, not even the preacher’s daughter gives a damn about western Judeo Christian morality. Many may not yet be aware of their natural passion, but for eons, Mother Nature has prepared them for marauding male who lusts for their bodies and will make them his. I make them believe that I am that man, and to satisfy the desire that my attention arouses in them, they will even become my slaves. Observe if you will the power that is in raw sexual desire.”

With that Steve turned to Kathy, and ordered, “Stand up Kathy!” Kathy looked flustered and uncertain, but she stood without comment, awkward and stiff, like a second grade school child waiting for the punishment she knows will soon come.

Steve then asked, “Are you wearing panties tonight Kathy?”

Kathy blushed under her tan, but she answered, “No, Steve.”

“Why not, Kathy?” Steve pushed her to elaborate.

“Because you don’t allow me to wear them anymore.”

“And, why is that?” Steve unsatisfied with her answer pressed his victim even harder.

“Because..., because, with my pussy bare, I feel all horny and sexy, and I think about being fucked all the time.”

“How does that happen, Kathy? Explain to Tim here what walking around with a bare pussy does to you.”

“Without panties,” a flushed Kathy began, “my pubic hair rubs directly against my dress as I walk. Knowing that my vagina is unprotected makes me feel very vulnerable. I am constantly moist. The men I meet on the street, or those at the office, do they smell me..., does my odor tell them how horny I am..., how open and unprotected I am? If one of my bosses should catch a glimpse of my hairy slit, what will he think? Just another horny bitch, an office slut perhaps? How would he treat such a woman? Would he pull up my skirt, and fuck me right there on the nearest office couch? I imagine myself like that..., on my back, a young lawyer between my spread legs, hung up on his prick like a dog bitch in heat. I didn’t used to think about such things..., when I wore panties I mean.”

“You see,” Steve turned back to Tim and was speaking directly to him now. “It’s a small thing, but without panties, Kathy is constantly reminded of her cunt, and that makes her feel sexy and erotic. Her imagination does the rest.”

Tim didn’t reply at all. He was clearly flabbergasted to hear our sweet Kathy talking about having her pussy fucked.

“Still, you don’t quite believe it eh? Steve turned back to Kathy. “Lift your skirt up Kathy,” he commanded, “and spread your legs. I want you to show Tim your bare pussy. Keep the skirt up till I tell you to drop it.”

Kathy started to protest, “Please Steve..., Don’t...,” but she saw the frown on Steve’s face and went no farther. Resignedly she lifted her dress, and held it bunched at her waist. No panties at all! Just the soft curls of pubic hair. Slowly her thighs parted to show us her pussy lips. There in one of those lips, sparkling against the dark hair of her cunt, was a gleaming gold ring.

Steve began, “How does it make you feel to show Tim your cunt Kathy?”

There was a catch in Kathy’s voice as she answered, “I feel ashamed, very ashamed, and humiliated!”

Steve’s next question cut to the quick. “And, why is that Kathy?

Kathy’s answer was mater of fact without expression, “because I must be a slut to let you do this to me.”

“And what does a slut want most of all, Kathy?”

Kathy was red as a beet now as she answered, “To be fucked. I want to be fucked.”

“Does it excite you that Tim and I are looking at your cunt, Kathy?” Steve asked.

“Yes! Yes it does,” she replied simply, her voice suddenly husky.

Steve could see the distress on his woman’s face, and he pushed her on even harder. “Are you wet, Kathy?”

Kathy’s lips tightened, but she answered, “Yes I am very wet.”

“Show us, Kathy,” Steve requested. “Run your finger up your slit, and show Tim how being put on display like this makes your pussy run.”

Kathy’s face remained impassive, but a small tear began to run down the right side of her face. Slowly she inserted her right index finger into her sex, and brought it out glistening with her juices. She said nothing.