~ Escalation ~
You would think that I'd have a deep-seated anger toward my husband for the treatments I'd experienced. That impression would be wrong. During the week, we were a regular couple, married for many years. Greg is a wonder loving husband. We have "normal" sexual relations (whatever that is) during the week, but I had never once achieved orgasm under those circumstances. The only way I could get off was to be subjugated, humiliated and forced. Almost from the beginning of our arrangement, I blamed myself for anything that may have gone too far and chided myself when I was too afraid I hadn't gone far enough.
We continued with our candle play off and on for a couple more months with additions and variations, but for me it soon went from an evening of multiple phenomenal climaxes, to a couple of enjoyable ones, down to a single moan midway thru. Once again, the sex drug was losing its effect. I needed a fix of something more powerful, daring and dangerous. Greg promised me a fix that would take me to new heights.
Our dungeon play was always strictly limited to Fridays and Saturdays and on a cool Saturday evening in February, I was once again chained to the wall, this time standing. My feet were bare, but I wore a mid-length dress that had lots of sheer fabric. It reminded me of my high school graduation gown. I was blindfolded and my feet were beginning to hurt since I'd been restrained in a standing position for over an hour, awaiting my fate.
From upstairs, I heard Greg's footsteps across the hardwood. Then a creek of the floorboards told me he was in the front foyer. I listened as the front door opened with a familiar squeak of its hinges, I heard him speak in a muffled voice, and then other voices became audible. Male voices. I counted the different ones. Two. Three. There were at least three other men at our front door. Even more surprising, I heard a woman's voice.
"She's downstairs in the basement. She's been waiting for it," Greg said in a deliberate volume that assured I could hear. "The slut's all yours."
My heart began to race. I knew what was about to happen. My mind wrestled with whether I wanted it to happen. I'd never been disloyal to Greg. I'd never looked at another man since we'd been together. Did I really want this to happen? I turn it over and over in my mind as the door opened and I heard footsteps on the wooden stairway. I could see the light from upstairs around the corners of my blindfold.
"Mmmm, you weren't kidding, she's pretty." A male hand stroked my face and sandy blond hair. It felt rough, the hands of someone who used them for a living. Greg's hands are large and strong, but not as calloused and chapped. He began to grope my breasts.
I could feel a tingle at my pussy, growing in intensity. My mind still vexed by this state of affairs, but my libido had gone ahead, as it often did, and decided it wanted whatever could be melded out that night. A trickle of my juice ran down my leg and beaded at my ankle. Please, don't let them see this, I though still desirous of some form of dignity.
"Well, looky there. She's running like a cheap faucet," I heard the woman's voice say. As bad as it felt to have the men notice, it seemed far worse to have the woman discover my lack of control. "She wants you boys."
I heard a click and felt a sudden glowing warmth. Even through my eye covers, I could see the stark concentration of a flood light focused on me. Around the edges of my blindfold I stared into a harsh blear of white light. Savagely the blindfold was pulled away. I could see nothing else but the light. With my aching eyes blinded, I looked away. From the side, I could vaguely make out figures standing there, observing me.
"I'm not sure about this." My voice wavered. I detected four men other than Greg and a woman. I wished I could have held a hand over my eyes, but they were tightly constrained by the wrist cuffs.
