(Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, and/or things is coincidental.)
*
Tim's hectic work week and two beers after dinner were going to prevent her from getting the attention she had hoped for, Gwen thought ruefully as she looked over at the softly-snoring man in the recliner. 8pm, she noted. He would probably sleep there for another couple of hours before rousing himself enough to stumble off to bed.
Shame on you, the Lady chided. Your poor husband has worked his behind off all week, and all you can think about is your own perverted gratification!
No, his ass is still there, the Slut retorted, and a fine one it is. You know, you could sneak off to the bedroom and take care of yourself. He'll be out for a while yet.
Gwen shook her head. No, she really didn't want to take the chance he might walk in while she was fornicating with herself. With a smile of resignation, she turned down most of the lights, locked doors and made her way to bed to read, her only concession to her urges being the omission of underwear from her nighttime attire, in case Tim awoke and 'felt the need'. Her own light was off an hour later, and sleep followed shortly after.
Tim did indeed make his way in, briefly awaking his wife despite his best efforts at stealth. The light from the bathroom helped confirm for Gwen that he had omitted shorts again, and she hoped this was a sign her husband was in the mood despite the flaccid length dangling between his legs. Instead, he slipped under the covers, kissed her cheek, mumbled a 'g'night', and was unconscious a moment later. Her frustration was not enough to prevent Tim's steady breathing and the hum of the central air conditioning from lulling her into joining him.
The dream returned that night, or rather, another variant of the dream. She was on the revolving platform again, but she was now on her hands and knees, her chains replaced by a single leather lead looped about her neck, the loose end held by an unknown somebody behind her. Gwen knew she was not allowed to turn her head and look for who held the lead, instead, she held her pose and gazed out at a throng of naked men of all shapes, colors and sizes standing around the platform, pointing, comparing observations. The whole scene reminded her of the horse auctions she had attended, only now she was the mare up for bidding.
Her unseen handler would occasionally push a riding crop into the side of her hanging breasts, making them jiggle for the amusement of the watching crowd. The baton would then be withdrawn only to tap on the inside of her thigh as a reminder to keep herself open for the prospective bidders. Leather-gloved hands pulled apart her buttocks much like someone would pull back a horse's lips for a better look at their teeth. For the woman on display, it was the ultimate humiliation.
And yet, Gwen felt a pride bordering on arrogance as she took in the admiring looks from the audience. She was obviously greatly valued, and she was sure bidding would be spirited.
She was again tapped on the thigh, and Gwen concentrated on her form. Proper form is vital, she reminded herself. The baton retreated, only to announce its presence by with knobbed tip coming to rest against her labial lips. She welcomed it, and wondered whether it would be proper to push back and impale herself...
Gwen awoke with a start, the neck of her t-shirt ringed in sweat. Silently she rose and donned her robe before heading to the kitchen for a drink. "Well, that certainly was sick," she muttered as a glass was retrieved. Perhaps she had dismissed her fears of mental illness too quickly.
The conflicted woman stood at the counter, lost in thought. Despite the chilled air of the house, her hair was matted to her forehead with sweat, her t-shirt clung uncomfortably, and her robe only made things worse. I need some air, she decided, and quietly unlocked the door and stepped onto the back deck, her mind too preoccupied with the meaning of her dream and it's threat to her mental stability to call attention to the fact she was venturing outside without underwear.
It's much hotter out here, she thought as she stepped into the still, muggy night. The temperatures had not dropped much from the day; if anything, the oppressive humidity was worse without the sun to use as an excuse. Gwen turned to retreat back to the relative coolness of the house when the Slut stopped her. You could go for a swim, she suggested in her best reasonable voice. Get wet, then go back into the air conditioning. You'll be shivering in no time. Gwen dismissed the idea—getting changed into her suit might wake Tim and have him asking questions.
Natalie didn't need a suit...and anyways, you were just about naked up there earlier, and that was in the daylight. Just go on up, get in, get out, no one will ever know. Without the day's events, and the dream, especially the dream, the Slut's suggestion would have been dismissed out of hand. Now, it didn't sound so implausible. Gwen walked down the deck stairs and up the hill as if someone else was in control of her legs.
Solar-powered lamps expending the last of the energy they had captured in the day's sun lit her way up the hillock to the gate. Gwen knew there was a nearby switch to illuminate the pool deck, but decided the less light the better, and instead wished she could extinguish the single lamp glowing under the surface of the glass-like water. The sweating woman looked back at the house below. No lights on other than the motion sensor she had triggered on the deck, no movement anywhere she could see. She walked forward to the pool steps, out of sight of the house and the dim shape of the workshop beyond, stopping before the next step carried her over the edge and into the water. Don't do it! The Lady screamed. You'll get caught! The Slut knew she had to say nothing, just wait and smile.
Gwen untied the robe and shrugged it off her shoulders, catching it before dropping it to the ground lest the extra distance it might have fallen would cause extra noise. Despite the total absence of a breeze, the night air felt cool against her sweat-slicked calves and knees, and she briefly wondered if removing the robe was enough.
