The Story of Elaine: making my wife a Fuck-Toy
The introduction to the club's best Dom
Chapter 5: one giant (and very surprising) step
It really hadn't been all that late when we went to bed, but when the alarm went off in the morning to the racket some caterwauling C&W artist, it was not at all a welcome start to the day. I hit the snooze button and rolled over. The next blast was just as bad and there was no point in fighting it. I staggered out of bed and after a quick shower as a last-ditch effort to force a return to consciousness I made my way downstairs.
"Good morning, sweetie!" my wife chirped as I made my way, yawning, into the kitchen.
"Good morning, slut!" I replied as she came to me and slipped her arms around my waist.
"Looks like your slut-wife wore you out, doesn't it? She giggled.
"Keep it up, honey and I'll have you plugged into those eggs and you'll spend the day bouncing around like a jumping bean. I wonder how long those batteries last?"
She went up on tiptoe and gave me a kiss. "Don't forget that Marianne's coming over tonight, okay?" she reminded me.
The mention of Marianne perked me up a little; which did not go unnoticed by my wife. Elaine poured me a coffee and ran upstairs to dress.
I had a muffin with it, and then went back up to brush my teeth. Elaine was struggling with an earring as I cut through the bedroom. Sweet Jesus, did she look good, too. Her black skirt was a little shorter than the one she wore yesterday, and her red blouse was a real attention getter. It only revealed a tiny amount of cleavage, but it just seemed to invite a second look. "Wow! You look great, babe!" I said.
The drive in was uneventful, and for a Friday, the traffic wasn't too bad. I dropped Elaine at her school, once again watching her beautiful ass wiggle and sway as she went up the walkway. Andy Morris was just ahead of her, and he waited to hold the door open for her. I smiled to myself as I drove off.
The kids were spending most of their time going over year-end review sheets, and I spent most of the day entertaining myself with a variety of visions of Marianne bouncing around on a big stiff one while poor Adam was exiled to a distant corner, no doubt choking the chicken in solitude while his beautiful petite wife fucked her brains out.
When the imaginary videos playing in my head finally began to feature Marianne and me conjoined in every conceivable way, I figured I had better find something else to occupy my time.
I have always been handy with tools, and it had occurred to me that I could easily make some interesting and functional S&M furniture that could masquerade down in the unused basement recreation room as futons, recliners, picnic benches, exercise devices and whatever. I took out a sheaf of graph paper and began to make some preliminary sketches as the grade juniors worked quietly away.
My creations were simple and uncomplicated, but not at all crude, and I was happy with several of the designs, the best of which resembled a cross between a vaulting horse and a medieval pillory. It really was quite clever, I thought
"Hum... Interesting! Cool!" a squeaky voice whispered, not two inches from my ear. My heart stopped beating and my chest felt like it was packed with dry ice. Standing behind me and looking over my shoulder was the overly cute and overly precocious Betsy McAllister, pampered daughter and only child of the Reverend Charlie McAllister, who was none other than the pastor of Sunrise Hills Christian Tabernacle and a scion of the Southern Baptist Convention not only in our community, but in the entire State.
She was fortunately alone there at my side, and I folded my drawings over and smiled up at her. "What can I do for you, young lady?" I asked quietly.
Betsy was grinning from ear to ear. "It's okay, Mr. H! I know what those things are! I'm cool!" She bent closer and whispered in my ear, "Stuff for weird sex, right?"
Visions of my hearing for due cause for dismissal popped into my head, even more vivid than the ones of Marianne had been. "No, Betsy", I replied, forcing a patronizing and authoritative smile; "This is lawn furniture."
She had the audacity to pat me on the shoulder reassuringly as she placed her sheets of review questions down on my desk. As she pointed to the question she was having trouble with, she whispered softly, "Mom and dad do that stuff all the time when I'm away at youth group or at summer camp. I know, cause I set up a web cam and recorded them once. Now, I do it all the time. It gets pretty wild!" She tittered and the whole damn class looked up.
I just stared back at her. She had apparently forgotten what she was going to ask me and just slithered back to her desk. Every time I looked up she was grinning at me like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
Three-thirty arrived and I felt the relief of literally being saved by the bell. I would burn the papers one day in the fireplace, but not before some of the designs saw the light of day as useable items in our personal dungeon. Just the same, I had learned two lessons; keep your personal life out of school, and never underestimate the resourcefulness of a teenager.
Elaine came down the walkway with her cute little boobies bouncing along like two frisky puppies. God, she was gorgeous. I glanced over at the staff room window where Andy was looking out and watching my wife, his hands shielding his eyes from the glare as if he were holding up a set of field glasses. Yes, I was really getting off on this.
Elaine slipped into her seat and leaned across to kiss me with that cheerful, "Hi, sweetie!"
I kissed her back and told her just how much those morning and afternoon greetings meant to me. That was no bullshit. She clipped her seatbelt and away we went.
I was going to tell her all about the irrepressible Betsy McAllister, but she beat me to the punch. "I'm so excited about Marianne and Cleveland coming over tonight..." She began.
"Cleveland?" I grimaced, interrupting her; what kind of a name is that?" (I was soon to gain a tremendous amount of respect for Mr. Clarence Cleveland and his classy wife, but you'll have to wait for that part of the story.)
"Jim! Never mind! Marianne really, really likes him, and she thinks you will, too!" my wife gushed. "She says he is the best Dom in the club, and that we are so lucky he want to come and meet us."
"You mean, meet you," I corrected her.
Elaine paused and I knew I was the recipient of one of her annoying 'for assholes only' stares. "Sorry, honey; go on," I said.