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.
