The Submission of Sara

It was a terrible week at work. The markets had taken their toll, so my colleagues and I went out for a few after-work drinks to commiserate over our losses.

Four rounds later, Dave picked up the phone and made a call. After a brief conversation, he tossed a few bills on the table. “Going home?” asked Jim.

“Making a little detour first,” replied Dave. “I need a little relaxation before I get hit with Lisa’s daily shopping expedition.” The detour was at the Hilton, where a very lovely call girl was waiting to engage in a few positions that his high-maintenance Presbyterian wife was unwilling to provide.

“Two grand at Neiman’s last week and the fucking bitch won’t even give me a blow job!”

We started to laugh, but the group fell silent at the sight of Marilyn, Jim’s young wife. She was wearing a fitted white blouse that revealed her now ample bosom, and a short black skirt and heels. Marilyn worked for an insurance company in the same building, and occasionally she would join us for happy hour.

“I thought I’d find you her, “ she said, kissing Jim on the cheek.

She whispered something in his ear and suddenly Jim was tossing money on the table. “See you guys next week!”

All eyes were on Sarah’s ass as she left the bar.

“Damn! Did you see those tits?” remarked Eric. “Did she have a boob job?”

“Nah, that’s just what happens when you’re knocked up. Lisa went from a B to a D when she got pregnant the first time,” responded Dave.

Damn, Marilyn looked hot! She was four months pregnant with just a tiny bulge revealing her pregnant state. But her breasts, oh god, those breasts! I imagined sucking on her tits, milk gushing out over her naked body. Dave looked at me curiously.

“Pregnant women ooze sex,” said Dave. “Maybe I should knock up ol’ Lisa again. A kid might be cheaper than paying a high-class whore to put out.”

The other guys joked about post-marital sex, but I didn’t join in. My wife was more than willing to put out for me or any man I commanded her to fuck. Sara, my out-spoken, lobbyist wife who berates lawmakers for their lack of conscience, is a full-blown submissive in bed, willing to do anything I demand.

I couldn’t get the image of a naked and pregnant Marilyn out of my head. I had never seen her naked, but it’s not that difficult to imagine her standing there in her heels and stockings, her tiny belly protruding beneath her mammoth tits. God, I wanted to fuck her! Instead she was going home with Jim, fifteen years her senior and not much to look at. Some guys have all the luck.

Not that I had anything to complain about. Sara is beautiful, in a non-conventional way. She’s thin, and not very chesty. She doesn’t wear make-up and she dislikes designer clothes (all made in sweat shops, she says). She’s smart – too smart, sometimes, and can converse on almost any subject inseveral languages. She’s a fantastic cook, too. She loves to take care of me. Most, if not all, of my colleagues have fantasized about getting her into bed.

Actually, it was a client who brought out Sara’s submissive side. Five years ago I had a dinner meeting with a software salesmen. He invited Sara and I out to a lavish restaurant where the champagne never stopped flowing. He invited us up to his suite for a night cap. While I was using the bathroom, Michael lunged for her, shoving her onto the chaise lounge. I saw her struggling politely, but I didn’t come to her defense. Instead I sat on the sofa and watched as this young salesman tried to rape my wife.

“Tried” is the operative word, because within a few minutes Sara was greedily sucking his dick and begging him to fuck her.

“So, you’re a little slut, huh? You want to fuck me while your husband watches?”

She looked over at me, mock shame in her eyes. He took her head in one hand and slapped her across the face.

“Fucking cunt,” he said as he tore her thong apart. She started to cry as he thrust his huge cock into her tiny pussy.

“You’re a little tease, saying you want it and crying when I give it to you.” He was trying to push his eight-inch cock inside her, but she couldn’t take it.

A few minutes later, he was ready to shoot his load. I was rock hard, wanting to use some other guy’s come as lubricant when I fucked my wife.

“Please don’t come in me, I might get pregnant.”

I had a vasectomy at a young age, so Sara never had to worry about birth control.

“Come in the bitch,” I heard myself saying, and he did.

We fucked her into the morning. We spanked her ass so hard she couldn’t sit, but it did add to her orgasms when we were double-teaming her. She had no problem taking all of his cock in her ass. At one point, we filled her cunt and ass with piss, treating her like a third-rate whore. She was barely conscious from the non-stop orgasms. She must have come a hundred times over the course of the night.

I later found out that she called in sick from work the next day so that she could spend the day getting fucked by her new friend.

Three weeks later, I came home to a teary-wife holding a positive pregnancy test.

At that moment, I felt betrayed. Yes, I had told the software salesman to come in her, but she was carrying another man’s child! I feel ashamed now, but at the moment, I couldn’t handle it.

“Kneel down!” I commanded.

“Now!” I told her, with a stinging slap across her cheek. I pulled down my pants and slapped her face with my cock. Then I pissed on her, telling her that she was goddamn whore. She tried to apologize, but she was just sobbing while I continued to cover her in piss. When I was done, I zipped up my pants and drove down to the neighborhood bar to drown my sorrows.

When I crawled into bed that evening, she whispered she would have an abortion the following week. I reached around to pull her close to me. “It’s a game,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Over the next few days, Sara began to take on the symptoms of pregnancy. Her breasts became so tender that she could orgasm when I sucked on her nipples. I was having so much fun wither breasts that I made her delay the abortion a few weeks. The raging hormones sent Sara over the edge – she wanted to be fucked 24/7. I would come home from work to find come running down her legs. She fucked anything that walked. My little fucking pregnant slut of a wife. I threatened to make her continue with the pregnancy, knowing how much she disliked babies and children. The next day she conveniently miscarried.

That was the best sex of our marriage, though we never talk about it.

I placed a few dollars on the table and said goodbye to my colleagues. I lost three million dollars in two weeks and I wasn’t in the mood to think about it. I grabbed my keys from my pocket and drove home in search of a sympathetic wife.

The door slammed behind me. “Sara?” I called out.

There was no answer. I went to the bar and filled a tumbler with Scotch.

“Sara?” I called, thinking she was locked away in her office.

I walked upstairs and found her in the bedroom, talking on the phone with her best friend. She looked at me and smiled.

I grabbed the phone from her hand and slammed the receiver down. Pushing her on the bed, I told her she had failed to have dinner ready as promised. The phone started to ring. She reached to answer it, but I slapped her across the face.

“Your husband comes first!” I yelled. She started to tremble. I grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her. She tried to turn away, but my grip was too tight.

“You’re hurting, me” she complained, but I didn’t care.

Our sex life was dead for the past few months. For the first time in my career, I was losing money on a daily basis. I felt as if my masculinity had been stripped away.

I looked around the bedroom, noticing several shopping bags from high-end stores. I stood up and tossed a bag at her.

“What’s this?”

“I went shopping for our vacation next month,” she said with trepidation.

I pulled some clothes from another bag, looking for the price tags. “$400 for a dress? Are you out of your mind?”

“I contribute money to this household, too.”

“Yeah, to the tune of forty thousand before taxes. How many hours will you have to work to pay for this trip to the mall?”

She looked at me in disbelief, unsure whether it was a game, the Scotch, or real.

“Come here,” I said. A look of panic crossed her face. She slowly walked toward me.

“Take off your clothes.”

She undressed, taking time to unbutton her blouse and bra. She slid her panties over her hips until they dropped to the floor.

“Bend over and grab the footboard.” She complied, her ass pushed towards me. I took my belt off and looped it in my hands.

“Fucking cunt!”

Whap!

She cried out in pain.

“I should have known you’d turn out to be like all the other gold diggers.”

Whap! Whap! Whap!

Sara cried as I continued to smack her ass relentlessly. I had always used my hands before. I could tell she was in pain, but I continued to hit her until her ass was covered in big red welts.

All the stress of the week was beginning to disappear. I didn’t care if I was fired as long as I could be the man at home.

“Lie on the bed and spread your legs.”

She could barely move. Her cheeks were tear-stained. She winced as her ass touched the sheets.

I crawled onto the bed, shoving my cock into her mouth and fucked her face until I got hard enough, and then I rammed my cock into her unlubricated ass. She was begging me to stop, but it felt so good. The more she cried, the harder I became until I thought I would explode. Images of a pregnant Melanie slipped into my head. I imagined drinking from her tits and rubbing against her belly as I fucked her.

I told Sara that I was going to continue fucking only her ass until she got knocked up by another guy. I pushed deeper into her ass.

“You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

She looked at me in bewilderment.

“You don’t have to have the kid, but you’ll have to wait until after you are visibly showing to end it.”

She didn’t say anything, trying to comprehend my bizarre request. I didn’t understand it myself. It was the ultimate act of control over a human being, especially baby-hating Sara. All of our friends knew that we were determined to remain childless, and all the guys knew about my vasectomy. The thought of Sara having to hide her pregnancy, knowing she was knocked up by someone other than her husband made me want to come. Not alone, though. I reached down and placed my hands around her neck, pressing down until she could barely breathe.

“Would that make you come, you little whore? You were awfully hot the last time you were carrying around a bastard child. You fucked the pizza delivery guy and the cable guy in one day, didn’t you?”

Her breathing became more strained. She started to moan.

“Yeah, I want to see you get gang banged so you don’t even know who the father is!” She moaned louder.

“Will you do this for me, baby?”

She continued to moan, on the verge of orgasm. I released one had and slapped her.

“You fucking whore! Will you do this for me?

I pressed her throat ever so more.

“Yes, yes…!” as a wave of orgasm rolled over her.

“Does this turn you on, being a little slut for me?”

“Yes, god, yes!” as her orgasm continued.

I shot my load in her ass and released my hands. Sara blacked out for a minute. When she came to, she looked at me and smiled.

For a moment I wanted to take it all back. I felt horrible for suggesting my wife get knocked up by another guy, but I had made her say it and she got off on it! I wondered how much bad karma this would add to the universe, but just thinking about it made me hard again.

I also felt powerful again, on top of my game. I was disappointed that it was the weekend because I was ready to trade. I have so much love for Sara. She provides comfort and stability in a way I could never share with another person on the planet. She trusts me completely, allowing me full control of her body. It’s the ultimate power and the ultimate aphrodisiac. The more dominant I become sexually, the more successful I am at work. If Sara gets pregnant, I’ll be a billionaire by the end of the year, I said to myself. I did a quick mental calculation and realized that she was probably fertile right now.

“Let’s go down to Sam’s for a beer and a burger,” I suggested. She stretched out on the bed, wincing a tiny bit. I leaned over and nuzzled her breasts, remembering the time I gave her an orgasm from my nibbling.

When she stood up, her ass was bright red. Poor girl would have a hard time sitting down tonight. I thought of her shifting her weight back and forth, trying to make herself comfortable in the booth.

We didn’t talk on the way to Sam’s, but she smiled a lot, so I know that she didn’t think I was some sort of freak.

The bar was almost empty. Sam came to the table to take our drink order.

“Damn smoking ordinance is killing my business, “ he said. Nine o’clock on a Friday night and the place was dead. Only two booths were occupied, and two black men sat at the end of the bar.

Sam came back with our beers and Sara excused herself to use the restroom. I watched as one of the guys at the bar stood up and followed her to the restrooms.

Ten minutes later, she hadn’t returned. I was beginning to worry when suddenly she appeared, her hair disheveled and her face flush. She slowly walked over to the booth, Taking small steps. Just as she reached the booth, the black man exited the bathroom and looked our way, a wide grin on his face.

“Did you fuck him?” I whispered.

“More like he fucked me,” she answered. Just then Sam delivered burgers and fries to the table.

Sarah took a big bite from the burger, allowing the juice to dribble down her chin.

I wondered what he thought of the welts on her ass.

“Did he come in your pussy?” I asked.

She smiled and nodded her head up and down.

The thought of my lovely wife pregnant by some black man she hooked up in the bathroom of a bar gave me a hard-on. Sara sensed this, moving her foot against my crotch.

We live in a college town, so after burgers and beer, I drove down to the local student hang-outs, looking to pimp my wife out to a bunch of horny 18 year-olds. Sara was 32 but looked like she was 19 or 20. I dropped her off and told her to call me when she had been adequately fucked.

I didn’t know what to do in the meantime, so I drove home and popped the most recent DVD of sex with Sara in the machine and turned up the sound. Unbeknownst to Sara, our bedroom is wired for video. I know she would never consent to it, so I hide the camera in the smoke detector.

She’s never brought another man into the room, at least not since the camera was installed, but she has masturbated more than a few times. She has quite the vibrator/dildo collection, consisting of all shapes, sizes, and textures. One time I watched her play with two big glass dildos. She had one stuffed in her cunt, and she was pushing the other in and out of her pussy. She stopped to add more lubricant to the dildo she was using to fuck her ass. When she tried to put it back in, it slid into her pussy. It was stretched open further than I had ever seen it. She came on the spot. That night I fist fucked her for the first time. She said it was one of the best orgasms of her life.

I turned up the volume and watched as I beat Sara with my leather belt. She was crying for me to stop, but I wouldn’t listen, telling her to shut up. Her cries sounded so painful reverberating off the hardwood floors. I watched as I fucked her in the ass. Poor Sara. I hadn’t realized or cared how painful that must have been for her. Then I came to the part where I told her to get pregnant. I slowed down the frames, pausing now and then to see her expression. She was against it until I put my hands around her neck. I hear say, “yes” over and over until her she could speak no more. Nothing gets her off more than surrendering herself to me that way.

I stopped the video. Right now my wife was getting fucked by bunch of college boys. Tomorrow night, too, and probably Sunday as well. I want her to fuck at least five men, five strangers. Maybe more. She’ always fantasized about taking on a fraternity or a football team, and knowing Sara, that’s what she was doing right now.

I fell asleep, later woken by the telephone ringing in my ears.

“You can pick me up now,” she said. I looked ta the clock. It was 4 a.m.

I found her with her shirt inside out, sitting on the side of a brick fence.

“How’s my little slut?” I asked when she was seated in the car.

She moaned, a happy moan.

“So how many boys did you fuck tonight?” I asked.

She started counting on her fingers, her eyes closed as if trying to remember the details.

“Eight, I think. Or maybe seven with one guy twice, unless he was a twin.”

She stopped by a frat house and had a few beers, then told the guys she fantasized about being fucked by a football team and could they just pretend they were football players for the evening? Most of the guys obliged. She said five came in her pussy, two in her ass, and one in her mouth.

I sped home, wanting to devour her well-fucked pussy. By the time we got home, she was asleep. I carried her to the bedroom and tucked her in.

She spent Saturday night clubbing solo, and returned home Sunday afternoon barely able to walk.

Monday was power day. I made two million dollars in a single day, a new record. I thought about Sara, knowing she was more than likely pregnant. I thought of Marilyn and how nice it would be to fuck her tits. I hoped Sara’s tits would get as large as Marilyn’s. I once asked Sara to get implants. She was against the idea and while I probably could have convinced her to get them, in the meantime I had a brief one-nighter with a flight attendant with saline jugs. They didn’t feel natural, so I never mentioned it again to Sara.

The week was busy for both of us. Sara had to fly to Washington, D.C. on Wednesday and wouldn’t return until the following Friday. I hated being without her, afraid that I might lose my edge, though the thought of her pregnant gave me strength.

The guys went out for drinks Friday night. Marilyn stopped by war a spritzer with lime. All the guys were trying not to appear to be staring at her chest. Her belly had grown more noticeable. She glowed.

“Oh! It moved,” she said. Jim was at the bar, buying another round. Marilyn grabbed my hand and placed it on her abdomen.

”Wait just a minute,” she said, “It will move again.” A moment later I felt something, more than just the bulge in my pants. I had felt her tiny baby move. I thought of Sara, knowing that I would make her stay pregnant until we felt the stirrings of life.

I immediately felt guilty, knowing that I wasn’t interested in her going to term with the pregnancy. Neither one of us was a kid person. I felt bad that I only wanted her to be pregnant for a little while; long enough to satisfy my carnal desires and keep my account large enough to ensure a decent bonus come January.

I toyed with these thoughts over the next hour. Marilyn suggested Sara and I should have a little one, and then Eric made a comment about how it would be a bastard baby. I tried to laugh. Marilyn excused herself and hugged us all goodbye. She pressed her chest firmly against mine, deliberately I’m sure.

I spent the next week watching my secret tapes, waiting for my wife to come home. I wondered if she had fucked anyone in Washington. I don’t think she has told me about all of her affairs, which is okay because I haven’t told her about mine. She didn’t know about the flight attendant, the waitress, or her cousin (the worst sex I have ever had).

Friday came and I was waiting for Sara at the baggage section. I saw her come down the escalator, a tired look on her face. She smiled when she saw me.