A Wife Sharing Adventure In Italy Ch 02

A Wife Sharing Adventure in Italy: Part Two

In the days after Carol's time with Pascal, there was a strange kind of energy. On the surface, everything appeared fine, our routine, our home, the lazy afternoons spent on the terrace overlooking the olive groves.

But something felt different.

Carol acted differently now like she was carrying around a secret.

Pascal had not contacted us since the final session. But his presence lingered in subtle ways, on Carol's body, in the way she stood naked in the mornings before the bedroom mirror and touched herself as if rediscovering a new form of pleasure.

She had become more sensual. She was still the woman I married but something had awakened within her.

I should have felt threatened, but instead I was intrigued.

One evening, a black envelope arrived at our villa. No return address. Inside was a single card, thick and expensive. Embossed on it was an invitation to an event:

"La Notte delle Muse, A private gathering celebrating beauty, submission, and artistic surrender. Discretion assured. For Carol and her devoted husband."

It was signed Pascal.

"What is this?" I asked, reading it aloud.

Carol took it from my hand. "An invitation."

"To what, exactly?"

She looked at me then, a spark in her eyes. "To an event at Pascal's villa in the country."

After a brief discussiin, I agreed to go with Carol to the event.

The villa was hidden deep in the Italian countryside, nestled between ancient fig trees and vineyards. We arrived at dusk.

Carol wore a sheer black dress, nothing underneath and heels that made her legs look incredible sexy and long. She was temptation personified. My heart raced looking at her beauty as she walked beside me.

The villa doors opened, and Pascal greeted us in his usual elegant manner, perfectly tailored suit, that calm, commanding presence.

"Welcome," he said, kissing Carol's hand, then turning his gaze to me.

"Tonight, you will both witness the art of surrender and devotion."

Inside, the atmosphere was like something out of a dream, dim candlelight, velvet drapes, soft classical music playing in the background.

Other couples were milling about the main hall. Some stood together, others had clearly parted ways for the night's "explorations." There was a hushed reverence in the air, like everyone knew they were about to witness something forbidden.

Pascal led us to a private room. It was dimly lit, centered by a chaise lounge, a large antique mirror, and a professional camera on a tripod.

"Tonight is not a photo session per se. Though some photos may be taken," he explained. "Tonight is about sensual awakening."

Pascal walked over to Carol and kissed her gently on the cheek. He then gestured for Carol to undress. She did so slowly, never breaking eye contact with me. Each movement was deliberate, sensual. When she stood before us both completely naked, exposed, Pascal circled her like an artist admiring a sculpture.

"You are divine," he whispered, then turned to me. "You may watch. That is your role tonight."

I stood back, hands clenched, aroused and aching, uncertain where admiration ended, and jealousy began.

Pascal guided Carol into position. Every touch was intentional, every whispered instruction a new boundary pushed. He had Carol kneel on her hands and knees on the chaise lounge and pose, facing away, her bare ass lifted up.

What followed was a display of dominance and submission so raw it made my pulse thunder.

I watched my wife obey Pascal's demands, willingly surrendering to him.

Pascal walked toward a chest in the corner of the room and selected a leather riding crop and returned to my wife.

He paused momentarily then gently traced the riding crop across my wife's ass. Carol let out a slight moan.

"Carol, I must first begin with administering a correction to get you in the proper frame of mind for tonight's session. You understand, of course?"

"Yes" Carol responded in a soft obedient voice.

"You must want this, so I need to hear you ask me to administer this correction. Ask me." Pascal said intently.

"Please sir, I need this correction" Carol said with subtle fear in her voice.

Pascal instructed her to lay her head on the chaise, put her arms by her side and lift her ass high as if positioning her body for a proper punishment.

I was in disbelief of what I was seeing. My wife was pleading for Pascal to whip punish her.

How could this be?

I was paralyzed, helpless, standing, watching what was happening right before my eyes.

Pascal then began to use the riding crop on Carol's body. Strike after strike on her bare bottom with a smack, eventually marks began to appear. Her ass and back showed multiple stripes where the crop struck. She moaned loudly after each strike.

Just when I was about to protest, he stopped and put the crop down.

"How do you feel Carol?"

"My back and bottom sting a bit, Sir." Carol responded, almost breathless.

"The pain will pass. It's nevcesary for the process to work. That will be all for this session. You may get dressed."

Pascal turned and faced me. "You may take her home when you are ready. I will summon her again in a few days."

Later That Night, as I was driving home in silence, Carol reached for my hand and squeezed it. "You stayed and watched, I know that was hard to watch."

I turned to her. "It was painful for me to watch him punish you, but I couldn't look away. I care to much for you baby."

"I did not want you to leave. I felt your presence."

There was a quiet understanding between us.

We weren't just expats in Italy anymore. We were explorers of something deeper and much more erotic.

A week had passed since La Notte delle Muse, yet the energy of that evening still clung to everything around us.

Late one morning, as sunlight spilled across our stone kitchen floors, Carol handed me her phone. A new message from Pascal.

Dinner. My villa. Just the three of us this time. Friday. Come prepared to obey.

No signature. Just the tone, cool, assured, and layered with unspoken meaning.

"What does he mean, 'prepared to obey'?" I asked.

Her smile was soft, mysterious. "That's what we'll find out."

It was Friday Night; we arrived at Pascal's villa. The villa was candlelit again, but this time more intimate, more deliberate. This time, there was no sign of other guests.

Just a table set for three under the terrace, overlooking the moonlit Adriatic. The scent of rosemary and wine filled the air.

Carol wore her white silk dress, halter neck, backless, and slit high along her thigh. She wore no bra or panties. Pascal had requested it in the follow-up message he'd sent Carol.

Pascal welcomed us with the same charm as always.

His touches on Carol were no longer subtle. A guiding hand on the small of her back lingered. A whisper near her ear made her giggle softly. I watched it torn between desire and vulnerability.

Dinner was decadent, truffled pasta, grilled fish, rich red wine.

Pascal made conversation, asked questions about our lives in Bari, our home, our routines, but all his attention remained on Carol.

She leaned into his gaze, the silk of her dress slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her breast.

"I would like to show you something," Pascal said once the plates were cleared.

He stood and extended his hand to Carol. She took it without hesitation, and with a glance back at me, followed him inside.

I rose instinctively, but Pascal turned in my direction. "You will stay and watch from here."

He led her into the living room, just through the open French doors. From where I sat, I had a full view.

He positioned Carol in front of the tall antique mirror. She stood there, lit only by the firelight.

He moved behind her, brushing her hair to one side, whispering something into her ear. Then, slowly, deliberately, he slid the silk dress down her body onto the ground.

She stood there naked, vulnerable, her eyes locked on her own reflection.

Pascal circled her, his hand tracing her shoulder, her hip, her thigh. And I watched.

He produced a thin velvet box, opened it, and drew out a thin chain, a body harness of gold, delicate and elegant. He placed it on her, draping it along her collarbone, around her breasts, down to her hips. A symbol of obedience.

"She is allowing you to witness her obedience to me." Pascal said in a commanding voice.

Carol turned her head, looking me directly in the eyes, inviting me to watch as Pascal dominated her.

Pascal knelt in front of her, his hands on Carol's hips. My pulse raced. He kissed the top of her thighs and then placed a kiss on directly on Carols pussy, lingering for a while as if savoring the scent of her sexy body.

Suddenly he stopped. "That's enough for tonight," he said quietly and stood and left us alone in the room.

Carol picked up her dress but didn't put it on. She walked barefoot back to the terrace, the gold chain glinting in the moonlight. She stood beside me, placing her hand on my chest.

"You stayed again," she whispered.

"Yes," I said, my voice low. "And I saw everything, as painful as it was to see him touch you."

She kissed me deeply then, her lips tasting of wine and firelight.

Later, in Bed that night, we didn't speak much. But when we made love, it was different. Not rough or desperate, but reverent. Like something sacred had happened and we were only just beginning to understand it.

Two weeks passed without a word from Pascal. The silence itself felt like a presence, intentional. Carol became restless, her eyes drifting often to her phone, her thoughts elsewhere.

Our lovemaking during that time was intense, frequent, but underneath it all was a lingering anticipation, like we were waiting for the next chapter to reveal itself.

Then, one morning, Pascal's name appeared on Carol's phone. A short message, as always:

"This Saturday. Noon. Come alone."

That was it.

Carol stared at the screen, then slowly turned it toward me. I read it, then looked at her.

"You're going?"

She nodded, I have to see whats next.

"I'm not invited?"

"No," she said softly. "But... he writes that he wants you to come later."

She handed me a second message Pascal had sent moments after the first.

"Your husband will arrive at 3. He will knock. He will not be allowed to enter until invited."

The instructions were so specific, so deliberate. Pascal was orchestrating this.

At 2:59 PM, I parked outside Pascal's villa. The air was warm, thick with salt and the scent of cypress trees. My palms were damp on the steering wheel. I had never felt so unsure of what I was walking into.

I stepped up to the heavy wooden door and knocked.

Silence.

Then, a click.

The door creaked open slowly. No one was there.

I stepped inside.

The villa was quiet. Dim sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns across the stone floor.

Then I heard footsteps above, then a soft, rhythmic sound, like the sound of a whip cracking. I followed the noise, heart pounding, until I reached the second floor.

At the end of the hallway, a door stood open.

Inside, Carol was kneeling.

She was completely naked but for a black leather collar and a silk blindfold. Her breathing was shakey, her body trembling ever so slightly. I could see evidence of the whip marks on her back and bottom where she had been struck repeatedly by Pascal's whip.

Across the room, Pascal stood with a riding crop in one hand, resting. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, his gaze focused entirely on me.

"Glad you arrived," he said coolly.

"I arrived at exactly three, as you requested" I replied, my voice tighter than I expected.

He stepped forward, circling Carol, then gestured for me to come closer.

"She's perfect, isn't she?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

"She's been here for a couple of hours. Learning patience. Learning silence. Learning to obey without question."

Pascal walked behind Carol and gently lifted her chin. "Would you like to see what she's learned?"

Pascal stepped back and looked at me. "You will sit in the chair. You will not touch. You will not speak. You will watch until told otherwise."

Carol moved under Pascal's direction, responding to his voice like music.

Pascal struck my wife's back with the crop, Carol arched her back, breathing heavy, lips parting with a slight moan. It was the most erotic things I had ever witnessed.

And yet... I was outside watching.

Pascal turned to me.

"Come, stand in front of your wife," he said.

I obeyed.

"Carol's ready for you now."

I reached out slowly, placing my hands on her shoulders. She leaned into my touch like it was home.

Pascal stepped back, a satisfied smile on his face. "You see now," he said. "This isn't about me. It's about unlocking Carol's obedience."

He turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

Alone now, I pulled Carol into me, burying my face in her hair, overcome with feelings.

She reached out and gently unzipped my slacks and freed my cock. Then without hesitation she slowly took my cock into her mouth and began to worship my cock with her mouth. Occasionally running her tongue around the tip.

Her head bobbed up and down. She was kneeling, naked and willing to give me pleasure.

I gently grabbed her head with both hands and guided my cock deeper into her mouth, controlling the rhythm with my hands.

She continued sucking me and soon I was shaking, it felt so good to have release. Moments later I exploded my cum into my wife's mouth.

She stood after and wiped the excess cum from her lips with the back of her hand. She kissed me full on the lips, wrapping her arms around me tight, her body trembling.

"I'm still yours," she whispered.

Later That Night, back in our villa. Carol curled against me, naked save only the collar Pascal gave her, a reminder of what had occurred.

After a few days laterva handwritten letter was delivered in a cream-colored envelope sealed with deep red wax, stamped with a fleur-de-lis, accompanied by a small package.

Carol found them slipped through our iron gate one morning, placed carefully on the stone ledge beneath the olive tree. No courier. No trace.

She opened them both in the kitchen, hands trembling as she unfolded the letter made from heavy parchment. The letter said:

"Carol, You have taken your first steps into surrender. You have shown grace in obedience and beauty in restraint. But now it is time to choose consciously, to go from participant to devotee, from muse to disciple. I invite you to the formal ceremony of devotion. If you accept, be at my villa this Saturday. Sunset. Wear nothing beneath the long black cloak provided. This ceremony is not for spectators. Your husband may attend as well.

—P."

Inside the package was a single key... and a folded black silk cloak.

Carol held it up to her body in the morning light. She said nothing for a long time, then finally whispered, "I want to do it and I want you with me."

I nodded slowly. "And what am I at this so called ceremony?"

She turned to me, her eyes soft. "You're my husband. But at the ceremony... you are a witness."

The sun had just dipped below the horizon as we arrived at Pascal's villa for the ceremony. The heavy gate swung open on its own, and a long trail of candles lined the stone path to the rear garden.

Neither of us knew what to expect.

Carol walked ahead of me, cloaked in silk cloak, her bare feet silent on the flagstone. I followed behind, dressed in a dark suit, per Pascal's instructions.

The garden had been transformed and an altar had been constructed beneath the ancient cypress tree, black marble, polished to a mirror finish, with a single red candle burning at its center.

Pascal stood alone near the altar, dressed entirely in black. His shirt was open at the throat, his presence commanding.

Carol stepped forward and knelt before him without a word.

Pascal reached down and drew back the hood of her cloak, letting it fall behind her shoulders.

She was completely nude beneath it.

The air shifted.

Pascal turned to me for the first time that night. "Do you witness her devotion to me?"

I nodded, not knowing exactly what that meant, unsure if I was allowed to speak. He did not correct me.

He turned back to Carol. "Do you give yourself willingly?"

Carol hesitated then whispered, "I do."

Pascal stepped behind the altar and removed a small black box. Inside was a thin, elegant chain, like the one from the night of the terrace, but this one was engraved.

He fastened it around Carol's neck, clicked into place,

Carol closed her eyes and exhaled.

Pascal leaned in, his lips near her ear, and said something I could not hear.

She shivered.

Then, he turned back to me.

"She She has shown her devotion."

"She will return to you," Pascal said, "but not as who she was."

Later that night, in our car, Carol sat quietly, wrapped again in the silk cloak. Her fingers touched the chain at her throat, over and over, absentmindedly.

"Do you understand what just happened?" I asked.

"No," she said, voice clear. "It felt strange... like I was being overtaken."

I reached over and laced my fingers through hers.

"We will figure it out. I love you."

After a week or si Pascal teached out again.

It started with another delivered envelope, black this time, sealed with deep crimson wax again, but heavier.

When Carol opened it, a fine golden key slipped into her palm along with a brief note.

"Carol, You have proven your devotion. Now, we begin the trials. This is not about obedience, it is about loyalty. Balance. Control. Bring him with you. You will arrive together but leave differently.

Midnight. The red door.

—P."

The red door. We'd seen it before, an old structure on the far edge of Pascal's property, set into a stone wall that looked like it belonged to a monastery. We'd assumed it was storage or part of the wine cellar. But now, it felt mythic, like crossing a threshold into something neither of us could predict.

We arrived at midnight, Behind the Red Door as requested in Pascal's letter.

We stepped through together. The space was unlike anything we'd seen before. Stone walls, low archways, candlelight flickering across tapestries and dark wood. It felt ancient, secret.

Pascal stood waiting in a tailored black robe, no collar, his chest bare beneath.

"Tonight," he said, "we truely test your devotion to me."

He turned to Carol. "You will be blindfolded. Silenced. You will not know whose hands are touching you, only that they are permitted to touch you in any manner permitted."

Carol's lips parted slightly, but she did not speak.

Pascal then looked at me. "You will be asked to watch... to touch... to give permission or deny it to anyone who requests to touch Carol."

Without another sound, Pascal approached Carol, placing a silk blindfold over her eyes. He then slowly, reverently, removed her cloak. She stood exposed before us naked, trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Pascal stepped behind her, brushing his fingertips along her spine, but never quite touching.

"She will only move if you allow it," he said to me.

I nodded; throat dry.

Pascal reached into the shadows and retrieved a narrow leather paddle, its edges worn smoothly. He handed it to me.

"You will strike her ten times, to mark the beginning of the test."

I stepped forward, hesitant. Carol, blindfolded, adjusted her stance slightly and turned so her back was facing me, waiting.

I raised the paddle and brought it down in a deliberate motion across the curve of her ass. She gasped but not from pain, from anticipation. I repeated my strokes with the paddle nine more times.