My Slut Wife Life Ch 03

Ch. 3 The End of the Beginnings

I lay on the deck, naked, my body still trembling violently from the orgasm I'd had forced upon me, courtesy of the vibrator that was still taped to my inner thigh. And that even now, was still buzzing against my sodden pussy. I was spread-eagled, my ankles tied to the deck railing, my wrists tied to hooks my husband had installed that morning. I was covered in sweat, and the sun continued to beat down on my bare skin, and I feared I was not too far from getting a sunburn. And none of that was my greatest worry.

I twisted my neck and tried to raise my head high enough to see over to the neighbor's house. While I was strapped to the deck, the neighbor, one Jeremy Thison, had come out to see what was causing all the screaming. My husband had left off from torturing me and gone to meet him. I was dying to know what they had discussed. My husband's answer to my question about that meeting had been decidedly unsatisfactory.

HE was inside getting the camera to take dirty, perverted and humiliating pictures of me, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. He had made me an offer I couldn't refuse: Allow him to photograph me in exchange for allowing me to finally cum, after what had seemed like hours of abuse by the vibrator between my legs. HE wanted me to treat him like my master. And I suppose he was, given that I was the one tied to the deck and he was walking around in the cool house, without a care in the world. After what I'd been through, it was easy to imagine how he could leave me out there for another round of tormenting, the vibrator again bringing me to the cusp of orgasm, but not beyond. Already my body was betraying my mind and responding to the never-ending, insistent stimulation. My cunt felt thick with juice. It wouldn't be long before my juices started dripping outside my pussy again.

He finally returned with the camera and I lay there compliantly as he shot picture after picture of my restrained body. No part of me was too intimate to be recorded. He pried open my pussy lips and shot pictures of the inside of my hole. He shot my tits from all angles. If he could've taken a picture of my anal canal, I'm sure he would have. Finally, he released my hands, helping me sit up, but only so I could spread my pussy lips and he could record my obedience to his orders.

After an interminable period of time, he released my ankles from the restrictive bonds. I'd feared the pain that would come from removing the tape holding the vibrator in place, but it hardly hurt at all. It clearly wasn't real duct tape. Some sort of light adhesion tape, instead. When I tried to stand, I couldn't. My muscles were all cramped and stiff. Not only from being tied to the deck, but also from the strain I'd put on them as wave after wave of orgasm had wracked my body. In truth, all I wanted to do that that point was curl up and go to sleep.

My husband had other plans, however. "You're a real mess," he said as I sat, trying to massage some life into my stiff limbs. "Too messy to let back in my house." I suddenly became aware that he was, in fact, right. Not only had a gallon of sweat dried on my skin, but I'd squirted all over my legs and had spent a good deal of time laying in a puddle of urine. Not to mention the dried cum that was still on my face and in my hair from that morning.

"There's only one way to get you clean," he announced, dragging the hose up onto the deck. For the millionth time that day, I was shocked at the implied humiliation. To be sprayed off like some dog that had spent the morning rolling through the trash. I could just as easily shower in the privacy of our own bath. But he was going to wash me down like an animal! This was going too far!

I didn't get a chance to protest before the first stream of water caught me on the chest. At least he was using the garden nozzle and had it set to the rain setting. So it wasn't unlike being in the shower. Except I was sitting completely nude on the deck outside the house. And the water, at first warm from sitting in the sun all morning, suddenly turned ice cold. I couldn't help but squeal in protest as the bitingly cold water swept across me. Which only encouraged him to aim at the sensitive parts between my legs, and at my tits, causing my nipples to pop up as hard and quickly as his cock.

Then he ordered me into a series of positions in which he aimed the cold water at me in order to cause the most discomfort. The hard rain setting beating upon my up-thrust ass. The flat spray setting scouring up and down my tits and stomach. The hard stream applied to the soles of my feet, where it both hurt and tickled simultaneously. The fog setting enveloping my face in a chilly mist. And gusher setting, allowed to waterfall right on my pussy, making my cunt throb again from the pulsating manipulation. No matter what he did, he always managed to find a way to turn me on. It was insufferable.

Finally, my degrading bath was done. I felt and looked like a drowned rat. As if to capitalize his complete domination of me, his last act was to spray my cast-off panties until they were soaked, and then announce that he hadn't brought out any towels, and I would just have to air dry. And while I was doing that, I might as well do something useful.

And so, I once again found myself kneeling between his legs, his manhood inside my mouth, my tongue frantically licking his balls and sac, my lips as soft and welcoming as the lips between my legs. As I worked him, he would buck his cock against me, jamming the head down my throat while pulling my head down, forcing me to deep throat him. I'd keep him in my throat as long as I could, pulling back only when the gagging started. It wasn't so much painful as uncomfortable for me. As for him, the moans of pleasure and panted orders told the whole story.

Finally, after several minutes or days, depending on if you were the receiver or the giver, he pulled my face away from his crotch and gave me a baleful glare. "Now kiss my feet. Like you mean it. Like you want to," he said. Did I detect a touch of pleading in his voice? It was hard to tell.

"Again? Still?" I asked, a bit amazed that we weren't, at long last, finished.

"You haven't asked to stop," he pointed out, his hand cupping the side of my face.

No, I hadn't asked to stop, I reflected silently. I'd been tempted, but never had. Been confused, but never had. Been pushed to my limits and beyond, but never had asked him to stop. That was when I made the decision.

Yes, just like that. I usually go with my gut. I don't do a lot of hemming and hawing, or deep, contemplative decision making. It's worked out for me so far.

"You're right, I haven't asked you to stop. And it hasn't been so bad. In fact, some parts have been incredible. So, then, let's do this all the way," I said to him, kneeling naked between his legs, gazing with all sincerity into his face, with his stiff cock just inches from my face. "I'll go wherever you want to take me. I'll do whatever you want to make me." I hadn't intended to make a rhyme, but it made both of us smile during this serious conversation. "Take me, make me" has become our slogan for this adventure.

Decision made, I ceremoniously and respectfully knelt all the way down and placed a firm kiss on the top of each foot, then sat up to adorn the tip of his manhood with the same kiss of respect.

"What would my master wish me to do now," I asked, getting a little excited at what he might say.

He chuckled. "I don't think we'll be doing that 'master' bit. We'll talk about that at dinner. For now, come on up here."

He physically lifted me onto his lap in a way that he probably hadn't done since our honeymoon, plopping me down atop his cock, not so it was inside me, but nestled between my butt cheeks. It felt good. And right. He gave me a deep, passionate kiss, and tenderly whispered that he loved me. Then he lifted me onto my feet and sent me into the house with a gentle swat on my butt. One minute later I was in bed and fast asleep.

+ + +

Thunder, lightning and the scent of an impending storm filled my dream. I lay naked in the grass, facing the sky, as jagged shards of electricity arced across the heavens. I could feel every blade of grass, wet against my back, several blades tickling the crevice between my ass cheeks. The smell of ozone, pregnant with humidity and impending rain, filled my nostrils and triggered that instinct to fight or flee.

Yet I couldn't flee, had I even been able to try. For, standing around me, towering into the sky, were four men. Naked men. Their legs and chests muscular, their faces lost in the roiling clouds. And their cocks prominently outlined against the sky, neither completely rigid, nor completely flaccid. But clearly poised, nonetheless, for some event that was as imminent as the coming rain.

Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. I wanted to jump up, to run, to flee to a safety that must be nearby, though I could spot only trees past the legs surrounding me. The wind whipped up and a single raindrop slapped against my breast, the sting on my skin as sharp as if I'd been slapped by an open palm.

I looked up, searching the sky for the squall line, wondering if I'd be able to spot the downfall before it reached the earth. The cocks, with their large sacs flanking thick rods, were poised like vultures on a tree or a rock, ready to swoop down and consume me. Another raindrop spat on me.

"Letting the rain wash it off doesn't count, you know." It was my husband's voice, sounding from beyond the forest of legs. His voice had a bemused tone, as if he was teasing me without my knowing why. I was still formulating an answer when he cut in, "You need to tell them to get on with it, slut. Tell them to wash it off."

Wash it off? I looked down to find that my pussy, my stomach, my breasts and torso were covered in a familiar glaze, the thick strings of liquid that could be only one thing: cum. It glinted in the multiple flashes brightening the sky, the storm coming ever closer. Whose cum, I wondered. Theirs? Someone else's? My husband's? It was thick upon me, and for the first time I could tell that it glazed my face, too. I licked my lip and the familiar taste exploded in my mouth. Cum.

The wind whipped higher, venting its anger against the parts of my body that weren't protected by the forest of legs. He'd said I couldn't wait. I knew I shouldn't wait. So I waited no longer. "Wash it off," I yelled into the teeth of the wind.

Droplets splattered down on me. The rains had come. Rains warm and strong and insistent. Very warm. It coursed across my body like a stream, first one and then more. A familiar scent made me feel heady, even as the liquid streamed across my skin, dislodging the cum and pushing it this way and that. Suspecting yet curious, I opened my mouth to let the rains quench my thirst, and the taste shockingly matched the scent. Finally comprehending, I looked up to see that the rainclouds had not yet let loose. And the cocks were like fire hoses, sluicing along the length of my body. Wetting me. Dousing me. Baptizing me.

+ + +

I awoke with a start, body bathed in sweat. The sheets were twisted around one leg. Other than that, I was stark naked. I could feel eyes upon me and sensed the edge of the bed sloping downward. My husband. Watching me, with quizzical look on his face.

"Bad dream?" he asked, reaching out to push a stray strand of hair out of my face.

"Not bad," I answered. "Just different. Exciting."

"Well, you've slept long enough. We have a long evening ahead of us, and dinner is ready."

"Dinner?" Had I really slept that long?

"Yep. We need to keep your energy up. We have a lot to talk about. And do."

A small thrill went through me as I wondered what he meant by that. Goosebumps prickled up across my arms.

"I've take the liberty of putting together something for you to wear to dinner. It's formal, so don't forget the shoes," he said, leaning down to give me a quick kiss on the forehead.

Making dinner? Picking out an outfit? Who was this man, and what had he done with my husband?

The outfit in question turned out to be something I'd bought several years ago, at his suggestion, that I'd never worn. A one-piece mesh bodystocking cut down to the navel, cut high up the hips and open at the crotch. When worn, the mesh was just tight enough to keep my nipples from poking out. After pulling it on and much stretching and adjusting, my breasts were mostly covered, though I was baring an impressive amount of cleavage. My pussy, of course, was totally exposed. And in the back, the mesh covered as much of my ass as a bikini. Or, more succinctly, not much.

The shoes were black and spiked, a pair that I'd rarely worn, as they were difficult to maneuver in. The weren't my "come fuck me" shoes. They were more my "come fuck me and all I'll ask for is twenty dollars because I'm that kind of a cheap whore" shoes. The kind that porn stars leave on when they're fucking in the movies. I didn't so much walk on them. I tottered.

And so, having put on the clothes, brushing my hair and re-applying my makeup, I headed out to the dining room. Only to find that we were going to be eating on the deck. And that my husband had laid out an impressive spread for dinner: Chicken piccata, creamy pasta and steamed broccoli, with a couple of tall glasses of wine. The chicken smelled heavenly, and my stomach growled in anticipation.

I felt pretty self-conscious sitting on the deck dressed as I was, even though just hours before I'd been stretched out across it, tied to the railings and completely nude.

The meal was very pleasant. We spent most of the time just enjoying the food and savoring the fine red wine he'd selected. We're not wine snobs. We just grab whatever sounds good with whatever we're eating.

In fact, the entire meal seemed very normal, just like a hundred others we'd enjoyed back there. The sun warming the deck without hurting the eyes. A light breeze wafting across us, bringing with it the fresh smells of the forest to our south. If not for the occasional reminder that I was wearing little more than a sheer, stretched out fishnet bathing suit, with an open crotch and peek holes for my nipples, the dinner would have been completely normal.

My husband waited until we'd almost finished before beginning to speak of serious things. And, as usual, he backed into it.

"I met with Dr. Ko last week," he remarked, scraping up the remainder of his meal with the side of his fork. Dr. Ko is his physician, and a man with many resources.

"All is well?" I responded, knowing that if it wasn't, I'd be the first to know.

"Very well. In fact, he gave me a new prescription you might be interested in. I noticed back there," he gave his head a nod to the house, "that you were trying really hard to get me off. You probably thought that if you did that, this whole owner/slave thing would go away, just like so many of my ideas do once I've been satisfied."

I didn't answer. He was right. That had been my plan.

"The thing is, Dr. Ko came across a drug they're already using in Europe, but hasn't made it here yet. It's like Viagra, in that it keeps you hard for a long time. But it also keeps you from getting too satisfied. Keeps you from losing that edge, you know? So, even though you were trying as hard as you could to get me off, I wasn't about to get deterred from what I wanted to do."

I must've blushed at having been spotted so easily. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't hold it against you. Much." He said the last word with a smile on his face, but it still sent a twist of trepidation up my spine. Much. He could mean so much with that word. Or not much at all. Not very comforting.

"Also, Jeremy from next door invited me over while you were asleep. You'll never guess what I found. No, don't try to guess. I said you'll never guess. Anyway, I went in through the patio door and found him in their family room, sitting on the couch. Sylvia was there too. Kneeling on the floor next to him. Completely naked. With a dog collar around her neck and a leash running from it to his hand."

I know I blushed then, because I could feel the heat on my cheeks. Sylvia? She always seemed so, so in control. So feminine and yet feminist. Independent. And now he was telling me that she was some sort of pet to her husband? I wasn't sure whether to believe him.

My doubt must've showed. "Yep, Sylvia is a sex slave. Nice set of tits on her, too. Not as nice as yours. That's what made Jeremy call me. He saw your performance out on the deck earlier, and wanted to tell me that he could teach me in the ways of the dominant male. In case I didn't already have a plan. Which I do. But it's always good to have some options, don't you think?"

I didn't know, because I was still too busy mulling over this shocking revelation in my mind. Our neighbors had been discreet, that was sure. But there'd been strange occurrences that were suddenly coming into focus. The smug references about his wife being tied up at the moment. The sudden closing of drapes whenever I ventured too close to their house. And the distinct cries of passion that sometimes echoed through the neighborhood, as if someone was having sex outside instead of inside.

"Jeremy really likes your tits," he relentlessly continued. "Wondered out loud what it would be like to watch them bounce back and forth if someone was to fuck you from behind. Asked Sylvia if she'd like to see that. She said yes."

I looked up sharply at that. Sylvia and I weren't particularly close, but the thought of her watching me get fucked was oddly erotic. I wondered what she would look like getting fucked.

"Don't worry," he said. "You've got a ways to go before you're fit to be put on display like that. We need to make sure you can take orders, know the proper positions, can be obedient and accept discipline. That alone is going to take up much of your time. Only after that will you be ready to be put on display.

"Which, by the way, I know turns you on. I've been paying attention, all these years. Paying attention to all those fantasies you've shared with me in bed. The gangbangs. The rapes. The public displays. The judging contest. Banging the minister. Shocking the church. Being a sexretary. And all those loaded questions you've asked. Would you think I'm strange if I wanted to get peed on? What kind of woman likes to get tied up? And the ever popular, are women who like sex really sluts?"

He pointed at me with his fork. "What if all those what ifs started to come true? What if you found out what it was like to do all those things? Found out which ones you didn't like? And which ones you did? What if being gangbanged was even more enjoyable than you imagined?"

My arms sprouted goosebumps. My breath caught in my throat. He didn't just mean to parade me around the house naked and take dirty pictures of me. He didn't just plan to take us a meaningless step closer to the stuff we would watch in the porn flicks. He actually wanted to do that stuff! To give me away. To objectify me. I felt both excitement and dread fear swirling throughout me. Could he do that? Would he? Really? And what would it feel like to be treated that way?

He pushed himself back in his chair, his meal complete, and pointed his fork at me again. "Let me see your tits," he said flatly. I regarded him for half a second then remembered that I had already signed up for this. Pulling the fishnet fabric to each side, I let it bundle up so that it pressed my tits together. Better that than trying to fit all that cloth in the valley between my breasts. And sexier, too.

"Nice," he declared, leaning forward in the chair. "And if Jeremy's watching, I'm sure he'll appreciate the view. Now, let's get to the ground rules, why don't we?" He pulled out a small Steno pad and pen from a bag next to his chair. "You should take notes about all this," he advised, pushing the pad and pen into my hands. "There will be a quiz on this. And failure will be severely punished.