Author's Note: This is a new series of stories, all of them holding at least a kernel of truth, if not more. Not all will have full-on sexual contact and/or encounters, at least as I have it planned, but I hope the reader will enjoy the feelings, and emotions, that went through my mind. That being said, there is going to be a lot of interracial sexual relations, sex with strangers, and even some violence.
Call it adultery, call it slavery, or call it submission, whatever label you choose, but unless you have a CONSTRUCTIVE comment, I'm not interested in hearing your blithering, whiney fingers scream about how I should be divorced, shot, made homeless, or abandoned. We all have enough troubles in our days without listening to your opinions on how someone should live their lives.
With that said, if you are still here, please enjoy this third installment:
*****
As usual, when I exited the bath room the next morning, I found my clothes laid out. As my Master, Ben liked to choose what I would wear, and because I liked to provide him some variety, I tended to pack heavy. My husband would ask me why I would take a dozen outfits for a five-day trip, and I would just explain to him that some of the trip involved client dinners and so on, which required me to change into something nicer. What I said was true, I would wear dressier outfits at night, and yes, even a few times per trip, I might have a client dinner. I just never told him the whole story.
I gave a small snort, one of remorse, I suppose. It was about my feelings. I was conflicted sometimes, and this was one of those moments. I absently fingered my necklace, my collar, and the charm written on it, the words 'Fuck Me' dangling from the thin chain. My husband was, and is, a good man. He has given me a safe relationship, he is kind, and he is protective. He works hard, and he is enjoyable to be around. I just wish I could get him to be more adventurous. Even the idea of having sex on the floor in front of the fireplace was not something he would do easily, and often the nagging needed to get him to explore such a simple thing would spoil the mood. In a word, he was plain, and even boring. I could get all the clever conversation and humorous times I wanted with him, and plenty of loving and warm sexual intimacy.
But sometimes, well, more than sometimes, I wanted, or even needed, something wilder. More adventurous. I needed times when I could just let my hair down and just let... things... go. Drop to the ground and have sex in a corner of the park? Sure! Give him a BJ in the middle of a camping trail? Have me grab my ankles and let him lift my skirt and have at me? I was all for it. Wear costumes and role-play? Certainly. I would enjoy all of that, and often wanted to. I just couldn't get my husband to crack open that shell of vanilla around him. I felt guilty, at times, of my submitting to Ben, and letting Ben do those things I wanted my husband to do. I really wanted to get my husband to come out of his shell, and enjoy sex with me more. I would end my relationship with Ben in a heartbeat if he would. But until he did, I needed a release, a time when I could let go and have someone else be in control and know what to do with it. If I didn't, I am afraid of what the long-term effect on our marriage would be.
Ben actually had a rather surprising sense of style, and I rarely disagreed on what he would select. Once or twice, he had picked something a little too risqué for me to wear in a professional setting, but most of the time he was on the mark. Today was no different, and he had selected my special purple satin pants, and a crème silk blouse. On the floor lay a pair of strappy heels. No bra, no panties, nothing else. The blouse was somewhat sheer, but the multiple layers of fabric that made for breast pockets on the top gave me the coverage necessary to keep me from being arrested, and only pushed the edge of business propriety. In fact, I had even worn the same top to the office, and while I had turned heads, I hadn't been chastised, or even called to HR about it.
The pants, though, were indeed a special case. I had bought them from an adult catalogue, and what made them special was that they were essentially crotch-less. Wide-legged, like bell-bottoms of the sixties that had a wider taper in them, with a built-in belt, and pocket-less, the seam that joined the two halves together was split, reinforced, and the edges finished, so that if I was to spread my legs, the seam would open and expose my labia. In fact, if I pulled them up tightly, I could even manage to get my fleshy-folds to protrude from the seam. The material was very soft, and supple, and shiny. Between the blouse and the pants, I would likely catch the eye of just about everyone at some point or another. Usually guys who wanted to flirt or even more, and women who mostly hated me.
