Kathleen drifted slowly up from sleep. Gems of reflected sunlight from the crystal chandelier in their bedroom, danced across the ceiling. Sleep, blessed sleep. She couldn't get enough. She was always tired. Her once glowing golden tresses hung over her shoulders, limp and mousy. She knew she was ill. The doctors Dion had brought had all tried to convince her she was not ill, only tired from the stress of being married to such a rich, influential man. In truth, there was no reason she could discern for her exhaustion. With over thirty servants, the household ran itself. She had no job, no responsibilities. She had her own masseuse, manicurist, hairdresser, and personal trainer. Even with daily workouts in the gym in the cellar of their 35 room estate, the hardest work she performed was making love to Dion. And it was strenuous. Not that she minded, quite the contrary, she could not keep her hands off him, desired him constantly.
But she was tired, very tired, all the time. Something was wrong, she knew it, felt it in her bones. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her bedroom door. "Hey beautiful! It's me, Dion. I've brought you something."
"Come in Dion."
He was shirtless, as he almost always was at home. Though older than she by almost thirty years, he had the most beautifully perfect body she had ever seen. Not that she had seen many, at least not naked. His torso was firm and muscular. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps. A patch of heavy dark curls started between flat taut pecs, flared out broadly, over his six-pack belly, then descended in a vee to a tight line down the center, pointing, like the pathway to heaven, under the waistband of his worn jeans. As always, the sight of him brought strange gentle, far away music to her mind. She had always thought of it as music, that aching longing deep inside her, taking her breath, tightening her belly, hardening her nipples and causing that inner contractions, there, making her moist and hot.
"You are blushing again, darling." Dion told her. "Here's your breakfast." She sat up, struggling at the effort and he placed the tray on her lap. The back of his hand grazed the exposed flesh of her thighs and she jumped. Something moved inside her. She looked at him. He smiled down at her. His enchanting smile and deep dark eyes bored into her. The sound of music came to her then, like a soft flute playing in the wind.
How could it be only fifteen months since she had met him? At twenty-eight she had thought her life pretty well set up, and she, thoroughly set in her ways. But then there was Dion. She had met him at a dinner party her office had given during a productivity enhancement seminar. It was fate, she supposed, that had placed them at the same table. He said little, yet commanded the attention of all ten people at their table. Especially her. She had arrived an acceptable few minutes late. Already seated, he had risen and offered her his hand like a gentleman. That touch! She would always remember. It was as though an electrical current had passed through their fingertips up her arm and straight to her heart. Though she had never known a man, never felt a man's hands upon her, never had much interest in such things, she found herself, before the evening had ended, impaled atop him, riding his engorged manhood. Her elegant black dinner gown was pushed above her breasts, where his thin elegant hands plied their magic. Her head was flung back, her long golden hair brushed his thighs and she wailed a wild eerie, pagan call from deep in her throat, deep in her being. He joked often that he had released the beast within her, found and freed the slut that dwelt in her.
"Kathleen, honey? Are you with me? Hello? Earth calling Kathleen!"
"Hi Baby. I am here. I don't feel much like eating."
"Now, now, no excuses. You have to eat to keep up your strength. I'll sit with you while you eat, here let me feed you. I always enjoy that." he spread gourmet tangerine marmalade on a toast point and held it to her lips. She never could say no, never could resist those eyes, those deep compelling eyes, black with a fleck of gold in each pupil.
Though she was exhausted she found herself wanting him, wanting it. An aching fever rose from deep within her, its heat flashing through her. High piping music overruled her brain. Her thighs became damp with fluid seeping from her. She fought to control herself, failed. Kathleen reached roughly over, inserted her fingertips over the waistband of his worn jeans and pulled him toward her. "I want," she said, unbuttoning the top button, reaching impatiently inside. His cock was dark and heavy, ominous, almost fearsome in its length and girth. Wide at its base, it narrowed toward the tip, like some strange arrow, designed especially to pierce her. Dark wrinkled foreskin covered his penis completely, enfolding the deep scarlet head, even when he was fully erect. His entire groin area, testicles, and upper thighs and almost all of his penis, was covered with dense, dark curly hair, stretching down his legs to his ankles.
Kathleen took him roughly, rudely, quickly into her mouth as he stood beside the bed, dark hair tickling her lips and tongue and nose. She had learned in the time they had been together, to take all of him into her throat, breathing expertly through her nose. She placed her hands on his buttocks; he set his hips in a rocking motion, driving his cock deeply in and out of her eager throat. He set an easy loping rhythm of long slow strokes. He pulled out each time until only the very tip remained in her mouth with her lips closed over the foreskin, then eased his long shaft forward through his captured foreskin, along her wide tongue and into her waiting throat.
The first time they had done this, three nights after their wedding, She had hated being on her knees in front of him, despised the demeaning nature of the act. Kathleen had been appalled and shamed, hating the fetid smell and taste of him, detesting the feel of his coarse hair on her face and lips, gagging on the mass of him, nearly puking, eyes watering.
The fifth time, five nights after their wedding, she had suddenly understood, had let go, relaxed opened her mouth and throat and person to him, fully accepted him into her body. She found herself mightily aroused, vagina dripping, so slippery that when he finally knelt behind her and inserted himself, all resistance to his penetration had disappeared. He had slid in so effortlessly that she had found herself full of his massive maleness before she was aware of his entry. She could dissemble if she wished, but her body could not lie. She wanted him in her, needed him penetrating her.
And through it all, throughout it all, there was the music. Whenever she was with him, "that way", a strange halting melody seemed to weave its way into her consciousness, faint but powerful, dancing through her mind, somehow linked to Dion, to their love, to their lives together.
The morning after that first wild night, that first wild ride, he had proposed to her, explaining gently, simply, that he, "could not live without her". They were married two weeks later. On their cruise to Monaco, they had scarcely seen the ocean, had been locked in their stateroom and in each others embrace throughout the journey.
When they had arrived in Monaco, they had been driven in a chauffeured Rolls-Royce to the famed Hotel de Paris. By the time they reached their suite, Kathleen's neck ached from trying to take in all the splendor that surrounded her; from the elaborate lobby, glistening with rainbows reflected from thousands of crystals in the huge chandelier, to the grandeur of the Louis XIV dinning room. Wherever they went, people bowed and scraped as if she and Dion were royalty, though they never strayed far from their magnificent bed in their fabulous suite.
Once home, her life was a constant whirlwind of parties and social gatherings, charity events and celebrity dinners. Dion had made her the administrator of his charitable trust, a special fund to provide life-changing opportunities for teen-aged unwed mothers. She was now the director with fifteen staff. At first she had been pleased that he had placed so much trust in her, but she soon found that she did almost nothing for the non-profit; everything ran itself.
Her main job, as it turned out, was to be the beautiful young woman on the arm of Dion Isis, Greek billionaire and owner of, it seemed to Kathleen, some of everything. Though she felt her talents were under-utilized, she performed her wifely functions admirably. Everyone said she was the most beautiful, most gracious Mrs. Isis ever. After hearing this the first time, she had asked the staff how many Mrs. Isis' there had been. It seemed no one really knew. Some said four, some five. She had even heard someone suggest there may have been six. When she had asked Dion directly, he had mumbled something about that not being important, that she was the woman he loved now.
Her other main role was apparently to provide this tremendously attractive, rich and powerful man with the level of sexual satisfaction he obviously needed. And, while at first she had been awed by the frequency and variety of their joinings, she had now come to crave them as much as he.
Kathleen had not known she was a sexual person, had always eschewed physical contact with males. But now she admitted to herself she was indeed a slut, a raving sex maniac. She smiled as she thought of herself that way. But it was true. She simply could not get enough of Dion. Each time they were together, she felt their love making had culminated in her ultimate satisfaction. But despite the flood of satisfaction that came each time she offered herself to him, despite the hour-long orgasms that sometimes overwhelmed her, left her weak and trembling, she always found herself wanting more. More and more.
The breakfast tray lay discarded on the floor, its contents spilled, egg congealed on the carpet. The dozen long stemmed white roses he had brought, lay scattered and crumpled on the bed. After Kathleen had taken his essence into her throat, had swallowed every drop, he had pulled her to her feet, bent her over the bed and entered her from behind. This was his favorite way of 'having' her, standing from behind. And she had to admit she well appreciated the freedom of movement it afforded him. After he had spilled his seed deep in her the second time, she rolled him over, climbed atop and rode his straight hard prick to an orgasm so all-fulfilling as to leave her weeping with pleasure, nearly unconscious. When he was in her, deep in her, she often thought he had some special power, his cock seemed to rove around inside her, touching every deep, sensitive spot inside her. And always, deep in her subconscious, there shrilled that high eerie music. When she tried to listen, to determine a tune or rhythm, she heard nothing. It was only at her and Dion's time of intimacy that she imagined the titillating sensuous piping.
She awoke wanting him, wanting more, but as usual with their bouts of lovemaking, when she awakened, he was gone. Bone sore and weary, she dragged herself to the bathroom, where a hot shower and a good hair washing restored her somewhat. She rang for Edward. Less than two minutes later, he was knocking at her door. "Edward, I'm starving. Do you think you could scare up something for lunch?"
