Sexy Sally My Slut Wife

I have sadly neglected Harry and his wife Sally. For those who missed the first three chapters, or who might have forgotten where I left off, Harry’s Boss Bob has seduced Sally and made her his mistress and sex slave. Harry his spent the day with Darla, Bob’s executive secretary and another of his mistresses, and our story resumes with the return of Harry and Darla to Harry’s apartment. Enjoy, and don’t forget to vote.

---------------Darla in my bed

Bob and Sally were not back yet by the time Darla and I arrived at home. We went straight to my bedroom where she stripped, retrieved from her purse a leather dog collar with a leash attached to its big brass ring, then knelt between my knees. Uncertain where she was taking us I sat on the edge of the bed and waited in quiet anticipation.

With tears in her eyes she handed me the collar and leash, begging, “I make you a gift of my body. Be stern with me. Buckle this hateful thing around my neck and use it to make me obey. Demand your pleasure. Fuck my mouth! Fuck my cunt! Fuck my ass! Beat me if I fail to pleasure you properly! If you are not cruel I may forget what I am and why I am in your bed, and that must not happen. A whore is more fragile than common myth. She must never fall in love with the penis she services lest her heart be broken.”

Darla’s eyes were filled with tears as she began to remove my shoes and socks, then my pants and underwear, and finally my shirt. Me, I was torn between two desires.

On one hand my heart ached with tender and loving emotion. I truly cared for this lovely tortured woman, and I wanted to take her in my arms to cuddle and reassure her. I wanted to ‘make love’ to her in the truest sense and meaning of those words. On the other hand, a beautiful woman was naked kneeling between my thighs begging to be my slave. A woman begging to be sexually used! That was an opportunity sending a stream of dirty pictures racing thru my imagination.

In the first of those images Darla is bent over the arm of a chair. Her wrists are tied behind her back, and her face and breasts are pressed forward onto the seat. She is moaning with a delicious mixture of humiliation and orgasmic pleasure as I dog fuck her, filling first her pussy and then her ass with male meat. Delightful, but my imagination shifts. Next, her arms are still tied behind her back, but now she is mounted on my cock riding my erection for all she is worth. My hands are on her tits, my fingers pinch her nipples, and in her pain she frantically pumps her warm slick cunt up and down my length, swallowing and then releasing me.

These little cameo scenes are so tempting and delightful! How could any man refuse them? To own a woman, to hold absolute power over her and her sex, is heady and very nearly irresistible stuff. Her collar and leash were in my hand. I have only to attach them to her neck and she will be my property, helpless and unable to resist any outrageous demand on her lovely body.

“What the hell,” I finally said to myself as I buckled that black strap around her lovely throat. “I’m no saint. She wants to be my sex slave does she? Well so be it!”

With that thought I yanked her to her feet by her leash, and barked orders. “Stand up bitch! Arms up! Hands behind your head! Fingers locked! Spread your feet! Stick out your tits! For God’s sake woman, drop your eyes! Show some submission, some shame!”

In that twinkling, this lovely redheaded animal became my slave, her charms on display before me, her every private erotic zone exposed and vulnerable to my hands and mouth. Between a thumb and forefinger I squeezed down hard on a nipple. Her mouth dropped open and she moaned at the pain in her tit. With the other hand I buried a social finger inside her slit and closed the butt of my thumb down hard on her clitoris.

Even as I squeezed her sex tightly in the vice of my palm, I raised my arm lifting her upward onto her toes. She teetered there struggling awkwardly to regain her balance. She was mine, and I held her there without pity as the seconds ticked by, demonstrating (and enjoying more than I care to admit) my newly found master’s right to do with her as I pleased.

“Well woman,” I asked. “You want it rough do you? What do you think a cruel and demanding master should do to a slave bitch like you?”

“Fuck me! Please fuck me master! God, but I do so need you to fuck me!” came the gasping reply.

“All in good time my dear. All in good time,” I answered not the least inclined to grant mercy to my tortured love slave. “But first, where should I fuck you? Should I begin by fucking your mouth?”

“Oh yes master! Fuck my mouth! Let me suck the head of your prick, then ram it down my throat. Make me swallow you all the way to your balls. Use my mouth as a pussy! Pump my throat with your prick! Masturbate over my tongue! Yessss, pleeassse, God how I want to taste you! Please! PLEASE, fuck my mouth!

“Tempting I must say,” I told her. Truth was, the thought of fucking her mouth was a lot more than just tempting, but I couldn’t let this redheaded vixen control the situation. “No,” I said. “You’re a bit too eager. How about your ass? Should I fuck you up your ass?

“Yes, Please Master! Oh please fuck my ass! I will hold my cheeks apart so that you can spear my butt hole. I beg you to fuck my ass,” came her quick reply.

I had never experienced any thing like this before. I was dismayed to find how quickly owning a horny female slave strips a man of mercy and kindness. Never the less, I could not resist my dominion over this lovely female. Quite as cruel as any Middle Eastern Sultan enjoying a concubine from his harem, I ignored my sudden burst of conscience and continued to torment my lovely captive standing before me naked on the end of her leash.

“Of course there is always your pussy, but its entirely too soon to take you there. After you have been whipped, and you have again begged to be fucked, perhaps then I will feed your pussy with my cock.” I was so enjoying teasing my at this hapless harem girl.

I let my arm lifting her go limp. Her weight dropped off her toes and back onto the bottoms of her feet. “Here bitch,” I commanded as I pulled my finger from her pussy and shoved it into her mouth. It was wet with her juices. “Suck on this bitch! Clean it as if it were my cock.”

Watching her suck obediently on my finger, I knew what I wanted first from this woman. I wanted one of Bob’s ‘Shahrazad blow jobs’. “On your knees slut and suck me off!”

Dutifully my beautiful Darla dropped her head into my crotch, licking my thighs before running her tongue over every nook and cranny around my cock and balls. Finally, those warm moist lips closed over the end of my penis, then began to rake its full length from head to root. This was my first personal experience with the ‘Shahrazad’ technique I had seen Bob teach Sally. Darla did it well.

Outdid herself in fact. Altho I have enjoyed a female mouth many times since, I don’t think what Darla did for me that evening has ever been matched. Her lips and tongue were pure velvet, and when the time finally came for my climax, I felt as if my balls were being painfully sucked up into my belly. Even drained as I was from repeated sex over the past few days, I couldn’t last nearly as long as I would have liked. Darla swallowed all I had to give, and then let my prick gently shrink in her mouth.

When I was fully spent I told her to get on the bed and spread herself. I meant to return her favors. Darla protested that she was a slave girl, and it was her duty to suck her man’s cock, and suck it well. Her pleasure, she insisted, was none of my concern.

There was no way, however, that she was going to put me off as if she was a whore servicing some John in a cat house. I reminded her that a slave girl’s first duty was to do as she was told. She would spread her legs for my mouth, damn it! Indeed, even better, I demanded that she use her fingers to open her pussy lips for my tongue.

“Darla MacIntire.” I told her as I crawled between her thighs, “tonight you are mine to use. I will fuck you sternly, and whip you cruelly, as you have asked, but before I do I mean to make you crawl the walls with passion. You may be the only friend I have left in a world that has turned upside down on me. I was foolish to have refused when Bob first gave you to me. My only excuse is that I did not understand that you Boss Bob’s offer of your body would be your

willing gift.”

“Knowing that makes using you for may selfish sexual pleasure quite another thing. Before we go further with our little game of harem girl, however, I want you to know that I’m glad you’re here. In part I’m glad because you have just given me the world’s best blow job. That much goes without saying. I’m also glad, however, because at a hard time in my life, you have used your loving mouth to relieve my pain. It is only right that I should use mine to relieve yours as well.”

I gave her pussy my tongue for a long time. I may not be as good as Bob at it, but what I lacked in ability, I tried to make up for with sincerity. I began by sucking the lip around her pussy ring. I then made Darla spread herself with her fingers, and ran my tongue deep into the open folds. I found a sensitive spot on the wall of her vagina, and gave it extra attention.

What began as moans turned to whimpers, whimpers that changed to cries of delight when my lips squeezed her clit, only to become screams of passion when I swirled my tongue across that tender sex nub. Then began a string of orgasms the equal of any I had seen my wife Sally enjoy while impaled on Bob’s tongue. Finally Darla gave me the surrender I had been demanding, and using my ears as handles, she forced my head out of her crotch.

“Please,” she begged, “Stop! Another minute of this and my heart will quit beating. No more, please! This slave girl will do her master’s bidding, but he must fuck her now. She begs him to fuck her now.”

“Granted,” I answered as I slid upwards bringing my hips into the saddle between her thighs, “but remember, a slave woman has no right to her own pleasure. Do not let me catch you enjoying yourself while you service my cock inside your belly.” I tried my best to make my command the stern warning of a true master, but I’m sure the grin on my lips gave me away.

Nonetheless, I would show her no mercy. In a single shove I stabbed my erection deep into her female core. I was rewarded with a soulful moan of shock and ecstasy. Now completely mine, my hips pounded her, and she matched my every thrust, jacking her velvet pussy on and off my manhood. For what seemed an eternity, Darla and I enjoyed each other in the best way a woman and man can. As we made love, I caressed her breasts and nipples with mouth and hands; I kissed her deeply with lips and tongue; and whenever I could reach an ear, I gave it my full attention.

When Darla had begged for and enjoyed her last orgasm, and I had filled her with my male seed, she hugged me to her, and said, “The only thing I don’t understand is how he could have taken Sally away from you. That was marvelous. Any woman in the world would be grateful to have such a lover.”

“A few days ago I could not have done so well,” I replied. “It’s not just a matter of copying Bob’s cocksman technique either. You have helped me understand a great deal that I never knew before. You are right, this sex business is a lot easier when I listen for the female signals. Guess what? I heard you, loud and clear.”

Darla looked at me, smiled and said, “I have been female property for too long. I don’t remember how to deal with the love thing, but if I were not already a man’s love slave, I would surely be yours. Go to Bob’s room and bring me his whip. Bring the binding wraps from my bag there. For this evening please let this poor woman pretend she belongs to you. Tie her hands behind her back and her legs spread wide. Fuck her again. Fuck her hard, and she will beg for your cock as a good concubine should. When you are finished, lash her tits with the whip that she can imagine that you will own her forever. If you can really hear my thoughts, you will know that this is what I want, what I must have.”

And so it went. I retrieved the wraps and Bob’s whip, and bound the lovely Darla, and fucked her, fucked her hard as she asked. She begged for more as she had promised she would, and I responded with all the cock I could give her. At the end, I jacked myself off between the mounds of her breasts, and when I came, I raised up and shot my cum across her nipples. Then, while she was still bound and helpless I whipped those breasts, her thighs, and the tender spot between her legs. She orgasmed even as I whipped her, and by the time I finished, the juices from her pussy, and my cum from off her breasts, were mixed together in a love potion on the thongs of the whip.

---------Darla explains being female

When we were both spent, Darla looked at me and asked, “When the time comes that Bob puts me for sale at auction, will you buy me please? I have saved some money. You may have it all to pay for me.”

“Why pay the bastard anything?” I replied. “Why wait for him to sell you? Why don’t you and I just say ‘screw you Bob,’ and take off where he can’t find us?”

“Oh, that would never work,’ Darla replied, “and you’re naive to think it would. Remember, in Boss Bob’s cruel world, he owns me. He is rich and powerful. He would find us no matter where we went. He would bring me back in chains, and I would be punished worse than you can possibly imagine. And, even if we could hide, how could we live without a job and no way to get one? And, what about Sally? You may think you could leave her behind in a trade for me, but I know you can’t. I won’t live with a man who dreams of a woman he can’t have.”

“Anyway, I’m not sure I want to escape.”

That last statement came as a shock to me. “How can that possibly be?” I asked. “He can’t really mean anything to you. Why not shake him off and leave? We don’t really own slaves anymore. This is the millennium, the beginning of the 21st century, the age of feminism, equality of the sexes, and partnership between male and female.”

“BULL SHIT! Darla almost exploded with disgust, “The bull shit of those who can’t tell the difference between a sophomoric theory of what they would like a woman to be, and what everyone knows she actually is. Homo Sapiens has been what might be called ‘civilized’ for five, maybe ten thousand years, but we and our primate predecessors have been around for a million or so. That means for every one year in which we have cultivated crops, raised cattle, or lived in a hut, a hundred years passed in which our ancestors were no more than grunting savages, wandering hunters and gatherers, scavengers of carrion, all trying as best they could not to be eaten by some other animal as wild as they were.”

“All those wild years live on today within our genes, our hormones, and in the primitive cells of our brain stem. A few thousand years of civilization can hardly be expected to have changed us very much. True enough, along the way we have made social and technological progress. True, we slaughter each other more efficiently now, and to our credit, we take less pleasure in it than we once did. Our savagery has been coated over with a civilized veneer.”

“Still,” Darla continued, “that veneer is thin. Much of our primitive past remains within us, and survival, hate, fear, and above all sex, still dominate our thoughts. If you do not think so, why do men and women see sex, and do sex, so differently? The politically correct of our century might not agree, but sex between men and women is not only not equal, it isn’t even the same thing.

“On the civilized conscious level,” Darla argued, “sex feels good to a man, but he will not admit even to himself what moves him to cohabitation. On his more subconscious level, the modern male still has his primitive instinct him to sire children in his genetic image, lots of them, and along with that instinct, is the urge to impregnate as many women as circumstances will allow.”

Darla couldn’t restrain a broad grin here. “The key to the male sex drive tho, is ‘what circumstances allow.’ Mother nature has also stamped ‘hunter and warrior’ across the male genes. Just as important to a man as sex, and often more so, is the urge to go out and throw a spear, or a football, or maybe take over a corporation or two. Men like sex, but they think about it only when there isn’t something else to take their attention, like money, mealtime, the NFL and NBA playoffs, or the World Series.”

“The instincts of a woman, are a different matter.” Darla shook her head a little as she went on. “For thousands of years sex was a woman’s very survival. Nature’s woman wasn’t big and strong. When danger came, she could neither defend herself nor run fast enough to escape, and danger was all around her, all the time. If she was to keep the lion from eating her, or avoid rape by marauding males out to plant their seed in her womb, she had to have a man. She had only one way to get one..., her sex.”

“Women thought about their survival all the time,” Darla continued with certainty, “and that meant they thought about sex all the time too. We still do. Watch your children as they pass through puberty. The flow of new hormones doesn’t change the focus of our teenage boys the way it does our girls. Boys don’t suddenly give up baseball, or anything like it. True, as they start to grow hair on their faces and crotch, they also begin to sniff around the girls, but ask any teenage girl, their attentions are entirely sporadic and undependable.”

“On the other hand, as girls begin to grow breasts they spend every waking moment thinking boys, talking boys, and if at all possible, doing boys. As we become more mature as women, we learn to be less obvious about it, but nothing really changes. Getting a man is what we are about, and having done so we are loyal creatures. After our man has fucked us and made us his, do you think our survival instincts a million years old will allow us to just pick up and leave him?”

“But women do leave their men,” I protested. “You left Sam. If Sally hasn’t already left me, she’s well on her way. The divorce rate in the United States is nearly fifty percent. Moreover, there are millions of sexually dysfunctional women, and millions more who will fuck a man from time to time but who could care less about it. And what about all the lesbians? It seems to me that an awful lot of women have indeed overcome their million year instincts.”

“Well, I don’t really know where homosexuality fits in all this,” Darla replied. “I don’t have any experience with it.” All the rest of what you say, however, just goes to prove my point.”

“You see,” she continued, “we would stay with you, we want to stay with you, but as often as not, you never tap into our passions, and/or you throw us away. A woman who has not been properly captured, seduced and fucked in the primitive way may stay with her man, but then again, she may not.

“Anyway, the decision to stay or leave may not be her choice. As often as not, even when she tries to stay, the man abandons her while he chases off after something, or someone, else. Ignored, or abandoned, either or both, the woman does what her primal instincts tell her to do. She wanders off to look for a male who will court her, fuck her, protect and support her, and above all pay some attention to her.”

“And what about frigid women, or the ones who don’t give a damn about sex?” I interrupted.

“Some of those, a small minority I think, are simply quirks of nature, born emotionally unsuitable for sex. Or, perhaps their instincts fail because of some childhood trauma that leaves them unable to give themselves unconditionally to a man.