Ashfield Adventure Pt 02

In part one I told how my young wife and I had moved to a cottage in the country, and fallen under the malign influence of our older landlord. I had watched helplessly as she performed lewd sex acts with him.

Part Two. A White Dress

We didn't speak much when we got in. Angie went straight upstairs for a long shower, while I made coffee and tried to collect my thoughts. They didn't come easily. What had happened seemed inexplicable, shameful. I had watched as an old man, old enough to be her grandfather, screwed the pants off my young wife, and I hadn't lifted a finger to stop him. Worse, I had actually enjoyed the experience.

The fact that we had been under some malign, drug-induced influence didn't make it any easier to swallow. I knew only that I was a weak-minded, cuckolded, poor excuse for a husband, but I also knew that on the whole, I was excited for things to continue.

And what about Angie? A chaste, prim and proper wife who didn't even like to make love with the light on, yet I had just spent the last hour or so watching her perform like a submissive slut, a wanton slave, and enjoy every minute of it, too. If anything, she seemed more compliant than I was.

She came down from her shower dressed for bed in a hooded, fleecy leopard-print onesie and pink socks. I'd bought the onesie for her the previous Christmas, but this was the first time I'd known her wear it. Her long hair was wrapped in a towel like a turban. It always took a long time to dry.

She poured a cup of coffee and came over to snuggle up beside me. She smelled good. We sat together in comfortable silence for several minutes before she spoke.

"Steve, I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. He just had a hold on me and all I wanted to do was please him. I was disgusted, scared, the whole time, but I was on fire, more aroused than I've ever been before. I wanted him to stop, but needed him to continue at the same time. I still feel like that now. He terrifies me, I'm so frightened of him, but I want, I need his approval just the same. It's like love, but different. Is that wrong? I don't want to betray you."

I saw tears run from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. I hugged her tight and hushed her, replying gently,

"You aren't betraying me. You are under his control, me too. And you know what? It doesn't matter that you enjoyed it. I've never seen you so fulfilled. I'm happy for you, really I am. I don't know where this is leading, but I'm sure we won't have any say in the matter, so let's go with the flow and see where it takes us."

We sat talking for an hour, reliving the experience, blow by blow, sharing our thoughts and feelings. Eventually she decided to head off to bed. I climbed the stairs with her and took a shower, before joining her.

Later we made love. It was the best sex we had ever shared together.

The following morning we both woke up feeling refreshed and positive. As we ate breakfast we both spoke about how good the sex had been the previous night and giggled a little, but we never spoke about Brian, or the about the events at his house. Having accepted the situation, there was no need to discuss it further.

Later we headed into town to do some shopping. It felt good to walk around the bustling town centre in the warm sunshine. She said she wanted to do some clothes shopping, so I left her to do that on her own whilst I got the groceries and had a coffee. Later we met up back at the car park and drove home.

As we parked up back at the cottage we noted Brian out in his garden. He was obviously on the lookout for us.

"Good morning," he called out cheerfully as we passed. "Hope you're both feeling good today?" His manner was so matter-of-fact, as if the previous evening had never happened.

It was an awkward feeling, engaging in everyday chitchat with him, after what he'd done to us, and I think I blushed, but answered as manfully as I could.

"Yes. Very well, thanks."

"And you, Angela?" His black, piggy eyes bored into my wife and her head immediately lowered submissively.

"Yes, Master. Very well, thank you." Her voice was low, deferential.

"Good girl, good girl" he grunted, in an approving tone, then turned away from her dismissively to address me.

"Stephen. Check your emails when you get in. I've sent you some questions, some information we need, before your admittance to our circle. I need you to reply sometime today, soon as possible."

I wondered just exactly who the 'we' referred to and what 'the circle' might be, but instinctively thought it would not be appropriate to enquire. I promised to deal with his email right away, and we passed on. He beamed a broad smile, but those black eyes bored into Angie as we walked away.

We soon put the groceries away and I went off into the living room, turned on my laptop, and opened the email folder. True enough, there at the top of the inbox I saw his message. I clicked it right away and read the opened document:

STEPHEN. Supply the following information.

Your date and place of birth.

Your height, chest and waist measurements.

Your shoe size.

Any known medical conditions/allergies etc.

ANGELA. Supply the following information. You will answer all points truthfully.

Your date and place of birth.

Your height. Your neck size. Your bra size. Your hat size. Your dress size. Your Waist size. Your wrist and ankle measurements. Your shoe size (these must be accurate measurements).

Any known medical conditions/allergies etc.

Date your last period finished.

Age you lost your virginity.

Have you ever had any children? If so, how many?

Number of male sexual partners before current partner (full penetrative sex only).

Number of black sexual partners.

Number of female sexual partners.

Have you any experience of anal sex?

How many times a week do you generally masturbate?

Have you been whipped, beaten, or engaged in other forms of bdsm?

Have you ever been chained, tied or handcuffed for sexual gratification?

Have you ever had sex outdoors?

Have you ever been subjected to rape?

Have you ever fantasized about being raped?

Have you ever engaged in bestiality? If so, state which animals have had you.

I require this information by the end of today, (Saturday).

The extreme personal nature of the questions he was asking of Angie took my breath away. I felt embarrassed for her and knew that she would be mortified at having her most intimate secrets discussed and revealed. But I guessed that was part of the point. To shame and humiliate her, to underline the fact the she was now owned. I felt really awkward showing her the document and filling in the answers for her, but also I was a little turned on to learn about her sex life before she met me.

With a mixture of shame, anger, resentment and tears the questionnaire was completed and emailed back to Brian. To be honest, her answers were pretty much in line with what I expected. Of course she had never engaged in bestiality or bdsm. She'd never had children nor had she had any black or female lovers. I was relieved to know that she had never been raped, but was surprised when she reluctantly admitted that she had fantasized about it. She had had outdoor sex on one occasion and had never done anal.

The other surprises were that she'd had four lovers before me (she'd previously admitted to two) and that she masturbated around 5 times a week. I had rashly asked her about that once and she had become angry and said that she never did, she found that sort of thing repulsive. Neither of these things mattered much to me, but I think the admission that she hadn't been truthful about it was humiliating for her.

After such a good morning, the impact of Brian's intrusive questionnaire soured the mood for the rest of the day, but by the evening she was feeling less bad about herself and by the time we went to bed that night things were back to normal.

When I woke up on Sunday morning I found her space in the bed next to me vacant. She must have got up early, without disturbing me. I listened out to see if I could hear her in the bathroom. Instead my ears picked up some sounds of activity downstairs, some clattering in the kitchen, I thought. I lay back in lazy comfort for ten minutes or so, then got up, dressed and went down, drawn by the smell of bacon from downstairs.

The sight that greeted me in the kitchen made my eyes stretch wide. She was standing at the sink, with her back to me, washing the dishes. And she was naked. Actually that isn't completely true. The sheer, white panties she was wearing were totally see-through, except for a thin strip of lace at each leg, and a wider, elasticated lace strip at the waist.

I stopped in my tracks, gazing at her body, speechless. The way that the sheer knickers emphasized her nakedness, rather than covering it, took my breath away. With her long hair flowing down her back, almost to her waist, she looked amazing. Then her shoulders shook slightly and she gave a shy laugh.

"I know you're looking!" she giggled, then turned around, putting her hands behind her head, in a parody of a stripper's pose. Her full breasts bobbed alluringly. I could see that the panties revealed her lightly hairy sex. All she wore, apart from the sheer panties, was Brian's circular pendant, hanging on its silver chain at her throat.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, my voice hoarse, and she almost skipped across to me, throwing herself into my arms. We hugged tightly, her bare breasts pressing into my chest, and kissed passionately.

"I wanted to give you a little surprise, a treat," she said, releasing herself from my embrace. "Do you like them? I bought them yesterday. I'm going to stay like this for you all day! Go and sit down, your breakfast is in the oven. I had to be really careful frying the bacon!"

Actually she lasted about three hours before she became cold and reluctantly decided to dress more conventionally, but not before I had made love to her, twice. It was three hours I will never forget.

The reason for demanding our sizes became obvious a couple of days later, when Brian arrived at our front door on Tuesday evening carrying a bundle of clothing. He came through into the living room without so much as a by-your-leave and dropped the bundle onto the table.

He picked up the first garment and held it out. It was a robe, like the one he had worn on Friday, but this one was dark green, rather than brown.

"This is for you" he announced, passing it to me. "It is green to mark your status as an attendant. These go with it." He produced a gold braided waist cord and a pair of brown leather sandals.

"When you bring Angela to me on Fridays, and any other time she is ordered to attend, you will wear these and only these. You will be naked underneath, as we all will be." Try it on. I began to don the strange robe, but he stopped me.

"As I said, always naked underneath."

I hurriedly stripped, feeling embarrassment at my nudity, especially as he watched me closely, and pulled the robe on as quickly as possible. That brought home to me just how much worse it must have been for my poor wife. It was very loose fitting and hung open at the front, until I fastened it with the braided cord. Like the one he had worn, this one came down to the mid-calf, but it lacked the long hood that I had seen on his brown version. He passed over the leather sandals and I slipped them on. They were well made and comfortable.

"Good" he declared. "Now you are ready for action." He turned his attention to my wife.

"Angela, remove your clothes, please." Despite the 'please', it was not a request.

She hurried to comply and in no time stood before us completely naked, head bowed and arms at her back, as she had been trained. The silver and black circle at her throat enhanced her nakedness. Brian grunted his approval and briefly fondled her breasts. The back of his pudgy fingers brushed her belly and soft pussy hair. Then he turned away and presented a length of white fabric.

"You will wear this, my dear. Let me show you how it should be worn."

Holding it out I could see it was merely a length of sheer white chiffon, 2 metres or so long. A lozenge shaped hole had been cut out in the middle, maybe a metre long and 30cm I guess, at the widest point. The edges were all hemmed. A simple, but clearly a professionally made garment. He beckoned her closer and placed it over her head and onto her shoulders, carefully arranging it so that the hems hung down equally at front and back, at about knee-length. Then he produced a length of white braid and wrapped it twice around her waist, tying the ends loosely, so that the garment (you could barely call it a dress) flared out above and below the waistline, showing the outside of her thighs and buttocks to the hip.

She looked stunning. The chiffon was very finely woven, as light as a feather, and it covered her body without concealing any detail. Her breasts, her buttocks, the swell of her belly and navel. Her nipples were so hard it seemed they might burst through the thin fabric. I could clearly see the dark shadow of her pubic hair showing through, fine and light though it was. The long slit in the material was wide enough to reveal much of her cleavage. It could clearly be parted enough that the top could be pulled off the shoulders and arms to hang down on the waist cord, exposing the upper torso completely, as Brian now demonstrated.

She stood demurely, eyes down, breasts exposed, buttocks, sex and thighs only semi concealed. He stood back, admiring his handiwork and clapped his hands, joyfully.

"You have magnificent tits my little slave!" he laughed. "Now..."

He drew the hanging chiffon back around her shoulders and neck, arranging it neatly, unable to resist a brief fondle of breast while he did so. Then he handed her a pair of sandals, of the same design as the ones I wore, but hers were white leather. At his urging she put them on, adjusting the straps for comfort.

Finally he produced a hair tie, a scrunchie I think they're called, made of the same white chiffon as the dress. Gathering her long, fine, hazel hair in one hand he threaded it through the elasticated scrunchie, which he now arranged high on her head, so the resulting pony tail did indeed look like a pony's tail hanging down her spine.

He turned to me again. "This is how she should be presented. Make sure the hems of the dress are equal front and rear, and that the pony tail is neatly brushed and arranged high up on her head, like this.

One more thing. When the weather is cold or wet she will need to be protected from the elements as you walk to my house, or at any other time she needs to be outside. This garment is strictly for outdoor use."

He held up a heavy cloak of finely woven dark green wool, embroidered with swirling patterns of gold and green snakes and leaves. He presented it to her, helping her put it on. Reaching just below the knees, with a deep, red satin lined hood, it was a sumptuous garment, clearly very expensive.

He gently drew the cloak around her shoulders and arranged the hood around her head. Her face was almost hidden in its depth. A single loop and peg secured the fine garment just below the throat.

Brian grunted his satisfaction. "As I said, strictly for outdoors. As soon as you cross the threshold it comes off. It is for protection, not concealment. The sandals too, outdoor use only." He turned to me.

"Stephen, you will use your judgment to decide when she may wear the cloak, but be warned, if I feel you are using it unnecessarily, it will be taken away from her. Remember, protection from the weather, not to cover her modesty."

It seemed he was satisfied. He clapped his hands in delight.

"Good. Good. So this is how you shall both present yourselves to me on Friday evening, and on any other occasion she is summoned."

He turned, about to leave, then appeared to remember something.

"Ah, yes. I nearly forgot." He drew a small box from his pocket and opened it, taking out her gold wedding ring that he taken from her the other night. He passed it to me.

"She may continue to wear this. It has been slightly modified."

I examined the plain gold band and at first couldn't see any difference, but then noted some new engraving on the inside. I peered suspiciously at the fine, flowing letters. They read 'Property of B.S.'. His own initials, Brian Shaw. I showed it to Angie and she looked closely at the inscription, before putting it back on her left hand, easing it over the knuckle of her ring finger.

And that was that. He left us in peace then and we saw neither hide nor hair of him for the rest of the week.

To be continued...