Slut 2 Fuck Ch 02

CHAPTER TWO: ASSEMBLING THE CAST

Story so far:

As told in Chapter One ('Setting the Scene'), Samantha ('Sam') is a personal trainer to a married couple named Laura and Chris. Her training of them quickly develops from athletic to sexual instruction and soon she moves into their home and begins taking over their lives. Sam is only 23, 5'6", with a hard young body, citron-yellow hair and an elfin-face. Laura is a pretty 27 yr old green eyed brunette with a 34D chest and great legs. Chris is also 27, 6' 1" tall, with caramel hair, brown eyes, spectacles and he now wears a steel chastity tube).

Chris whimpered with frustration. Sam's fingernail was teasing his full balls. She barely touched him and her strokes danced like feathers on his plucked scrotum.

He hissed, breathing in her scent. She was sat on his face. Her bush was thick, untrimmed, and her cunt was syrupy with excitement as he tongued between her labial folds. He tried to ignore her single stray pubic hair stuck in his gums and concentrated on bringing her off.

"Come in." He heard Sam announce, without warning.

Fuck!

He pulled his mouth away as best he could but Sam simply pressed down harder on his face.

"Come over here Laura." There was an amused titter in her voice. He could imagine his wife's face as she caught him with Sam 'in flagrante' like this.

He felt movement. The warm skin of Laura's body brushed against the top of his head. He heard a kiss as the two women embraced each other above him, the throaty sounds of their wet lips and tongues.

What the fuck?!

"Your husband gives reasonable head." Sam teased. "Doesn't he?"

He heard Laura's embarrassed intake of breath. "Mmm." She whispered.

Without warning, Sam's cunt rose out of reach of his tongue. He felt her fingers guide Laura's hand onto his erection instead. His wife's soft palm encircled him. He groaned with excitement, thrusting up into her gentle grip.

"You don't mind do you?" Sam asked.

There was a long pause. "N ... no." Laura stammered quietly.

"Just so that you know", Sam said to her, "it's been going on between us for a while."

Chris knew by the soft gulp of their kisses, and his wife's fingers continuing to skip lightly along his shaft, that Laura seemed to have accepted the situation.

A pungent bitter sweet aroma of perfume and sex assailed his nostrils.

"Don't make him cum yet." Sam instructed. "Here. You ride his face now."

"N ... no." Laura gasped.

"Yes!"

"Please ... don't make ..."

"Do it! Now!"

He stuck his tongue out like a panting dog. He wanted to please Laura.

"Omigod ..."

He smelt it milliseconds before he realised what it was. Then his mouth was enveloped by the soaking wet maw of Laura's gash.

What the f ... ggghh ...!

Laura began undulating on his face, rubbing her sloppy folds against his features. Strong hands tugged his hair and Sam's voice burrowed into his ear.

"Don't fight it! Give in to it. What's good for the goose and all that! She enjoyed it. Every bit as much as you've enjoyed fucking me."

Rage and shock and lust and need fought inside him simultaneously. Laura's hand was toying with his dick, lightly, but firmly enough to make him cum. He bucked his hips and gulped another mouthful of her bitter sweet fluid.

"That's a good boy." Sam said. "Go on! Make each other cum."

Chris's lips and tongue sought out his wife's engorged clit while he pushed himself in and out of her clenched fist until wailing sirens went off in his head.

*** *** ***

"It was not rape." Sam replied calmly.

"But she was tied up! And blindfolded! They were fucking strangers!"

Chris was doing all the talking. Laura sat awkwardly silent, sipping her glass. The three of them were sat round the kitchen table, drinking wine.

For Sam, the conversation was a necessary stage in the process, the negotiation. For a moment, she thought she would defuse the tension by making a joke, that Laura had indeed been 'fucking strangers'. Instead, she raised her voice angrily.

"Rape? Hah! Rape is what happens to a drunken woman in a back alley on her way home at night. Rape is what happens in war. Rape is what happens to an underage girl with a perverted stepdad, or to a wife with a violent husband."

Sam jabbed her finger at him. "And to call what happened to Laura here 'rape' is an insult to the word. An insult all those women who've ever been raped. And," she smirked at them, "what's more, I can prove it!"

They looked at him, mouths open like fish. Her smirk dissolved into a nice, understanding smile. She held all the aces; the 10x8 printouts of Laura's bucking bronco routine and her piercing orgasm were just a few of them. Sam stared into Laura's green eyes and saw her shudder of embarrassment.

"Tell him."

Laura dropped her eyes and shook her head slowly. She dry-swallowed and looked up at her husband. "No. It ... wasn't rape."

Sam opened her palms upwards in an 'I-told-you-so' gesture.

She was the only one of them who was dressed in clothes. Chris was wearing a towelling bathrobe and Laura was still naked, except for her skin-tight 'Bimbo' top, with bare pussy and legs.

"Let's get one thing straight." Sam said to both of them, mostly to Chris. "From now on, it's my way, or the highway."

In every battle, there is a moment when the victor and vanquished both realise their fates. Chris's brown eyes dropped in acceptance of defeat.

They spent the next three hours talking. Drinking and really communicating. It was the first booze that Sam had allowed them for ages and first Laura, then Chris, started slurring, the alcohol removing their last inhibitions.

Laura admitted to them both how turned on she had been since Sam had entered their lives. Sometimes, she said, of course it was hard being a slave in her own house; the shame, the guilt, the queasiness when she feared her life was being taken over. But it was what she wanted. More than 'wanted'. Needed. She took Chris's hand tight in hers and apologised to him for her behaviour and for what she had become. It was just ... who she was.

Chris replied that he was the one who should say sorry to her. He confessed that he felt similar shame, anxiety and disgust with himself. He hated the illicit thrill he got from being financially dominated, his forced chastity and now the final straw: being cuckolded. He leaned over and, glancing at Sam for permission, kissed his wife gently on the forehead.

And Sam surprised herself, and both of them, by owning up to her own misgivings too. Domination is an easy fantasy - an exciting fiction - but real life control comes with responsibility. She would never intentionally hurt either of them, or harm their love for each other. She just had this great urge to control willing victims.

However, this was a journey and she didn't know their eventual destination, any better than they did. It was a high wire they would all be walking together.

So, she concluded, they had either better throw her out, tonight – right now - or accept her as their Mistress. Without any limits. Without any safety net. She was taking the steering wheel now and they could jump in behind her for the ride, or not.

The one thing she wouldn't ever allow them to do was to drive from the back seats.

At midnight, Sam wryly raised her glass in a toast.

"To the future."

The three of them chinked glasses and went up to her bedroom.

That night, for the only time, they had sex as a threesome. Naked limbs entwined, almost as equals. Laura was mostly the centre of attention. Her cunt was still slick and unwashed from Tim, Ginge and Cole's residue. Sam let Chris make sloppy, vanilla love to his wife, emptying his seed into her melting pot.

"That will be the last time for a while." She warned him, affectionately.

Laura orgasmed twice, the second time while she licked Sam's clitoris, at the same time as Chris nuzzled his Mistress's breasts. Finally Sam climaxed too, and the three of them fell into an emotionally exhausted sleep in bed together.

*** *** ***

Sam was true to her word. Over the days and weeks that followed, she stepped things up several gears. Chris went to work in his Steelwerx Extreme chastity tube and focused on his job. He rose at 6.30 a.m., was out of the house by seven, and didn't return until 9 p.m. Sam wanted his bosses to notice his even greater efforts at work. And they did.

Laura spent each morning swabbing, drying, dusting, tidying, cleaning, polishing, sorting, washing, ironing. The house was perfect but still Sam found fault. A slightly misfolded shirt resulted in Sam pulling every garment out of every drawer so that Laura had to start over again.

Meanwhile, Sam ate breakfast and lunch, drank coffee and wine, all prepared, cooked and served by Laura. While Sam ate perfectly sliced fresh fruit, dressed salads and drank crisp sauvignon blanc, Laura chomped on dry cereal, greens without seasoning or dressing, and slurped tap water from a bowl.

Most afternoons, guests visited. Sometimes it was Tim, Sam's 'fuck buddy' as she referred to him. Laura never knew what was going to happen. Sometimes, all three of them would go up to Sam's double bed. Sam and Tim would fuck energetically and Laura would have to watch them. When they'd finished, Laura had to lick them both clean while they simply relaxed and ignored her.

But other times, Sam wasn't in the mood. She'd offer Tim a blowjob or a fuck with Laura instead, casually like she was saying 'grab a beer from the fridge'. Tim always seemed to be straight from the gym and sweaty on these occasions. Sam watched and gave instructions, telling Laura to tongue Tim's asshole or gargle his semen, always finding some new test to set her.

While they fucked, Sam warned Laura not to orgasm. Tim was dark and fit and, despite herself, Laura found him exciting, if not attractive. He liked to fuck her from behind, in the doggie position, and his large penis thumped thrillingly in and out of her vagina.

But Sam knelt close, her eyes fixed on Laura's in reproach.

"No. Control yourself, slut. You're his cum dump. Nothing else."

When he came, his hot fluid spilling inside her, Laura had to bite her bottom lip, steeling her own body not to melt. When he pulled out, Sam passed her a soup spoon.

"Don't waste it."

Laura squatted on the bed on her knees and held the spoon under her vagina. On Sam's command, she squeezed her muscles, pushing the pasty white globs into the round receptacle. Tim produced a seemingly enormous load every time and she had to hold the spoon carefully to stop it spilling over the sides. Finally, Laura had to lay it on her tongue and gargle it, trilling it round her palate.

But one afternoon, Laura was blindfolded and tied to the double bed. An unknown man arrived and Sam's voice greeted him downstairs. Soon, their footsteps climbed the staircase and the door opened. Breathing, movement, hushed laughter drifted across the room. Laura winced as fingers roamed her body. Coarse male hands squeezed her nipples and fingered her labia.

"Ngah ..." she objected.

More amusement. She heard the grating sound of a zipper.

"Here. Put this on."

The rustle of a wrapper.

A wet tongue licked her neck. "Don't worry. You know this cock already. But he's wearing a condom just so you can drink his cum afterwards."

Laura cringed at Sam's words. She felt the weight of a man's body and the jab of an erection between her thighs. But she was wet enough for it to penetrate her easily.

"Oh no, hold on." Sam's voice teased. "I fucked up. Maybe you have been with this guy after all? I forget. Is he your number three or four? Or maybe he's new number five?"

Laura gasped, her brain scrambled by stimulation and indignity. The nameless penis continued to plunge into her in a barrage of panting and garlic.

"Mmm ... mmmf ..." His deep baritone exhaled.

Fingers thumbed Laura's nipples and hands gripped her hips.

Sam encouraged him. "That's right. Fuck the bitch. She'll never know who you are. She's just a slut to unload into. Isn't that right, slut?"

Laura tried to shut her ears. And yet ... she sensed an orgasm of shattering intensity building in every part of her body; her cunt, her fingertips, her brain.

"Smile."

She gasped towards where she heard the click of a camera.

"Fuck ... fuck ... fuck ... shit ... bitch ... slut ... fuck ... fuck ... fuuu ... yeeeerrhhh ..." The man's groin slapped hard against hers and she felt him tense a few seconds atop her and then shudder in orgasm.

Unable to control herself, Laura matched him moments later, hearing her own climactic shriek as if it came from somebody else, some madwoman howling faraway. For a few seconds, she seemed to lose consciousness.

The stranger was heavy. He lay on Laura, breathing heavily, no longer supporting any of his weight. She realized how big he really was. Eventually the mattress shifted as he clambered slowly off her. Laura gasped with relief.

She felt something gentle brush against her lower lip. "Open wide."

Gulping with nausea, Laura sniffed rubber and bleach.

"Come on now. Say ah. Let's not be rude to our guest."

Her eyes wet behind the blindfold, Laura forced her jaws apart.

"Mmm ..." Sam murmured appreciatively. "Look, there's masses of it."

There was a deep masculine snort, almost embarrassed laughter.

Laura let a little of the fluid slide down the back of her throat. She managed to suppress her gag reflex. She had never used to swallow Chris's semen. It wasn't just the sickly smell of it. It was the slimy texture and how she imagined the taste would be. If he'd asked her nicely she'd maybe have tried it once for him but she had never seen any reason to volunteer.

Yet Sam insisted. Every time. Tim had been her first. She didn't like his taste, but she knew him. Kind of. She had at least seen his face. This was even worse. An unseen stranger's, tipped from a rubbery condom into her mouth, like she was simply a trash bin.

And in spite of that, she lay there obediently, jaws aching, lips apart, tongue coated. It wriggled down her throat like a worm.

"Good girl." Sam chirruped, like a mom egging her kid daughter to eat some vegetable she didn't like.

"Down the hatch."

*** *** ***

Chris stood at the ATM and keyed in his PIN.

It was the maximum cash his bank allowed him daily. Each day he withdrew £100. Until by mid-month the balance was almost empty. Aside from the monthly standing order for his mortgage and the household utility direct debits, he handed over all the rest to Sam. In ten and twenty pound notes. She insisted he gave her cash so there could be no paper trail. No comeback. No refunds. In return, she gave him back a small weekly allowance, just enough to pay for his travel and a lunchtime sandwich.

He knew it was madness. What had begun as a game was getting out of hand. He was working harder than ever, long hours, through his lunchtime. His bosses were pleased, unaware that he was wearing a damned steel tube inside his pants. They only way he could get through each day was not to think about anything but work; just files, phone calls, emails, his targets.

Anything but women. Anything but sex.

Anything but Laura.

Anything but Sam.

Of course, he got a secret buzz. He wouldn't have allowed it to happen if he didn't, right? He could just demand that Sam unlock him, release them, and then fuck off back to the shithole she lived in before, couldn't he?

If she didn't, he could go to the police.

Then he and Laura could return to their happy, romantic, bland, missionary, vanilla life together, couldn't they?

*** *** ***

The first weekend that Tim came to stay was another milestone.

Sam had been in for her boob job and had returned home for post-procedure recuperation. She'd been to the best place in the whole country to have it done; a sub muscular mammoplasty that turned her small perky A-cup tits to perfect round 32-C's.

Expensive but, hey, she was worth it!

She stared at herself nude in the bedroom mirror admiringly; 5'6", slim waist, great legs, not one ounce of fat, with this great new cleavage to show off. She flexed her arms, just as they'd advised her to alleviate discomfort. Tomorrow she'd raid her stash of cash to shop for loads of new lingerie. Now she could attract that rich, hot husband she'd always aspired to.

After all, Tim was a nice guy, a good fuck, a fun kink-partner. But that was all he was. She didn't really want to have sex much with him anymore, especially now, with sore tits!

Fortunately, she didn't have to. Laura could carry the entire burden this weekend.

Although Tim had fucked Laura over a dozen times, Chris had never witnessed it. Sam introduced the two men to each other on the Friday evening and made it clear who was in charge over the next 48 hours.

"Chris, strip."

Hesitantly, but obediently, Chris obeyed her and removed his clothes. He blushed scarlet standing naked in front of another man, especially wearing his spectacles with his hairless groin and dick caged in a 3-inch steel tube.

"Remove your glasses and bend over."

Sam winked conspiratorially at Tim. They both watched as Chris laid down his specs then bent at the waist to touch his toes. Sam picked the gnarled yellow bamboo cane out of the umbrella stand and handed it to Tim, who swished it in a practise arc.

"Not too hard. But enough to be a serious warning."

Tim grinned back at her. She knew he was getting into the scene. He wasn't a natural full time Dom. He was essentially 'vanilla'. But after all, hot sex was hot sex and Tim clearly enjoyed teaming up with Sam and her kinky couple.

Sam studied Laura's expression. She was kneeling, watching. It was essential that Laura witness her husband meekly accepting a caning. The next 48 hours would be the start of a whole new phase.

Thwack! The room reverberated with the shocking crack of rattan on flesh.

Chris grunted hard but managed to stay in position. A cherry welt lined his pale buttocks.

"Count." Sam snapped. "And say thank you Sir."

"One ... th ... thank you ..." Chris paused, ".... Sir."

Thwack!

"T ... two ... thank you Sir."

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

"S ... six thank you S...Sir."

Sam raised her finger. She smiled at Tim. And then at Laura. She felt like a Roman Empress at a gladiatorial games; thumb up or down? The power of life and death. Laura's green eyes blinked nervously like some trapped animal.

"Okay. Stand up and face us."

Chris's face was shiny and crimson. His caramel hair was all out of place. He was slightly shorter than Tim and it showed. His brown eyes were glassy.

"Put your glasses back on."

Sam watched him, wondering what was going on in his mind. She wanted to keep second guessing him, keep one step ahead.

It had now been 19 days since she had last allowed Chris to cum. That had been the night they had sex as a threesome and Sam had let him enjoy sloppy fourths inside Laura's well used cunt. So how horny must he be by now? Very, she hoped.

It would put him into deep subspace.

*** *** ***

Chris held Laura's ankles apart.

His wife was lying on the bed with her legs in the air, like she was having a diaper changed. He was kneeling above her head pulling her legs open. Both of them were naked except for his glasses and the infernal cock-cage.

Chris knew Tim had already fucked his wife, but this would be different. Not only seeing it close up, but assisting him as well. A deep hollow of shame curdled his guts. He had fantasised about this. But as a fantasy, never imagining in a million years it would actually happen. And it never would have done without Sam. She was the one who wanted to make fantasy reality.

And now it was happening. Reality.

He felt Sam's eyes boring into him. She had that amused, elfin grin on her cute face, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.