les histoires de chrislebo

The sound that came from Amy's throat as Stuart dropped to his knees behind her, slid his hands onto her panti-covered buttocks and squeezed was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. And when his fingers slid inside the waist-band and began easing the delicate item down her legs, she closed her eyes and shivered, goosebumps breaking out across her body. And when the panties finally reached the floor, she lifted her feet one at a time and stepped out of the no longer wanted undergarment, leaving her in nothing but the white halter top and the six-inch heels that adorned her feet.

"When perched upon a sexy pair of high-heel shoes, a woman's rear end is one of my favorite things on earth," Stuart said as he rose to his feet and stepped to her side. "The heels tend to highlight the buttock's natural muscle tone without stealing any of its softness," he continued. Then he rubbed his right hand across her naked cheeks, gave them a gentle squeeze and a light little slap. Then he withdrew the hand and slipped back behind her.

"But the benefits of high-heels aren't just limited to the lower body," he said, continuing his explanation.

"Besides the calves, thighs and buttocks, consider the breasts." And with that he reached around her and grabbed the bottom her halter, pulling it up and over her head, then down behind her back until it was stretched between her biceps, effectively pinning her arms to her sides.

Amy nearly fainted as the adrenaline rush hit home. She took a moment to gather herself and look at her reflection in the mirror, now naked but for the shoes and the halter stretched behind her back. Then she turned her gaze to Stuart's reflection.

"You see," Stuart continued, seemingly unconcerned with her nakedness. "When wearing heels, a woman tends to stand taller and maintain better posture, which in turns tends to lift and separate her breasts."

Amy then watched his hands as they eased over her breasts and squeezed lightly, then she groaned when his fingers moved to her erect nipples and pinched them, then twirled them gently. And when he pulled her against his chest and mauled her boobs, she closed her eyes in surrender

"Oh, my God," she gasped as her body melded with his. Then she reached back with her hands and grabbed hold of his pant legs. "Please don't stop," she whispered.

"Oh, but Mrs. Marshall," Stuart responded, his hands sliding off her breasts and onto her biceps. "I still have another pair for you to try. And I've saved the best for last."

There was desperation in Amy's eyes as she looked into the reflection of Stuart's eyes. "Please," she whined.

But Stuart ignored her, instead turning her so she was facing him, before slipping his thumbs inside the halter that covered her arms. "You won't be needing this anymore, Mrs. Marshall," he said. But before he removed the top he leaned forward menacingly. "Or would you prefer I just call you slut-toy?"

There was lust in her eyes as she looked at him. "I'll answer to anything you call me," she said softly, a cracking in her voice. "Anything at all." And then, after a significant pause, she added a single word. "Master."

Outwardly Stuart ignored Mrs. Marshall's newly verbalized subservience, focusing instead on sliding the halter-top down her arms and dropping it to the floor. Inside, however, he was smiling smugly. After all, Amy Marshall, his 36 year-old neighbor -- a married women, no less -- had responded exactly the way Derek and he had anticipated, accepting him as Master without so much as a whimper of protest as he toyed with her, peeling her clothes off one piece at a time in agonizing slowness.

With the halter now in a pile on the floor, Stuart took hold of his slut-toy's arms, guided her carefully back to the bench and gently pushed downward. Then, when she was finally seated, he lowered himself to his stool before her.

"I'll just slip these off," he said as he unfastened the straps from the slutty white high-heels and slid them from her feet. Then he reached over, pulled a large box from a nearby shelf and deposited it on the floor by her feet. Finally, he opened the box and pulled out a pair of thigh-high black patent leather boots with seven-inch spike heels, which he proceeded to hold up for Amy's review.

Dumb-struck, Amy stared at what she and her friends had always referred to as 'stripper' or 'fuck-me' boots, then she slowly raised her eyes to his. "Please, sir," she whispered wantonly, "May I . . ."

"But of course, Mrs. Marshall," he said with a mischievous smile. And with that he tossed the left boot back into the box, lowered the zipper on the right and spread it open. "If you'll just hold your right leg up . . ."

As soon as Amy lifted her leg, Stuart eased the boot over her foot, then slid it up her leg, over her knee and onto her thigh. He slid his left hand under her calf and eased the zipper up with his right, then lowered the leg to the floor on his left side.

"Other leg," he ordered as he pulled the left boot from the box.

Amy tore her eyes away from the shiny black boot that covered nearly the entire length of her right leg and turned to look at the young man. Then, without a word, she lifted her left leg as instructed. And less than a minute later that boot was on and her left leg was extended on Stuart's other side.

For several moments Amy's eyes were glued to those shiny boots, even as Stuart's were glued to the fully exposed pussy before him and the lust-crazed woman it was attached to.

"Stand up," Stuart finally said, rising to his feet and pushing the stool back with his leg.. "Let's see if you can walk in them."

Amy managed to tear her eyes away from the boots and look up her young master. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod of the head, she pulled her feet in, took hold of his hand and rose to her feet. Then she turned and made her way slowly towards the center aisle, making sure there was an ample amount of wiggle in her walk, all while feeling a level of excitement in her pussy that rivaled her first time with Derek.

When she reached the center aisle she paused, then turned slowly and started back, not allowing her eyes to leave the growing bulge in the young man's pants until she came to a stop two feet in front of him. Then she slowly raised her eyes to his.

"Can I keep them, Master?"

Stuart allowed a small smile to cross his lips as he reached out, slid both hands around her hips and grabbed hold of her ass cheeks, even as she was wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling her center hard against his.

"Ah, but you haven't earned them yet, Mrs. Marshall. We'll have to see how the rest of the evening goes," he replied smugly. Then he released her and dropped his arms to his side. "But right now, it's time for you to undress me."

Even though Stuart had released her, Amy did not immediately release him. Instead she wiggled her body against his and smiled. "I'll just have to try extra hard to please you, then, won't I?" she purred. And with that she pulled her arms back and, while backing off no more than an inch or two, slid her hands between his chest and hers and slowly eased the top button through its hole.

She was able to free the top two buttons before her breasts got in the way, powering her to back off a few more inches. Then she continued freeing buttons until she reached the top of his trousers, whereupon she pulled the shirt-tails from his pants and slipped the final button through its hole. Then she reached for his right hand, lifted it up and freed the button on the cuff, before lowering it to his side and repeating the process on his left arm. Only then did she allow herself to reach for his shoulders, slide her hands under his collar and push the shirt down his arms and onto the floor.

She hesitated, taking a brief second to admire his well muscled physique. Then she eased her hands onto his stomach and slid them slowly up his chest, where she rolled his nipples between her fingertips, before leaning forward to swirl her tongue around first his right nipple, then his left.

Dropping to her knees before him, she lowered her eyes to his shoes, then she slid her hand behind his left ankle and lifted the foot from the ground, noting how he took hold of her head to support himself as she removed the loafer and tossed it aside, and how he then maintained his hold on her as she slid the sock off and moved to the other foot.

With both shoes and both socks removed, Amy raised her gaze slowly upward and met his eyes. Then, while maintaining that eye contact, she reached for his belt and unhooked it, and then reached for the button on the front of his pants to set it free. Finally, she eased the zipper down and slid the slacks over his hips. It wasn't until she felt him stepping out of the trousers that she finally allowed herself to lower her gaze to his underwear and the large bulge hidden within them.

With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, she reached out with her left hand and eased it under his still hidden jewel, squeezing it ever so softly. Then, as she eased her right hand out to join the left, she again raised her eyes to his. She couldn't help the wanton smile that crossed her lips as she eased her hands from his crotch to his hips, before leaning forward to take his underwear clad manhood into her open mouth.

She could hear herself moaning as she went after him with her mouth, pulling him against her as she alternately kissed and nibred her way around the still-wrapped prize. She lowered her buttocks to her ankles, which allowed her to lean forward, crane her neck and attack him from below, now taking on not only his meat, but his balls as well.

Now it was Stuart's turn to moan as she lowered her hands to his thighs, took his briefs between her teeth and began pulling them down with her mouth, starting first on his right side, then his left, alternating back and forth, one side to the other until, finally, the cock she'd been working so hard to please sprang into view. But despite her hunger, despite her desire, she ignored the now free manhood, concentrating instead on continuing to work his underwear down his thighs to his knees, and then over his knees and down to his calves. Then, after Stuart lifted first his right foot, then his left, from the unwanted cotton underpants, she lowered her hands to the floor and lifted her head upward, the unwanted underwear dangling from her mouth.

They stared at each other briefly, her looking for all the world like a puppy dog seeking its master's approval, him trying hard to repress the grin that was threatening to breakout from ear to ear as he looked down on her, his prick sticking out hard and proud before him. Then, after several seconds had past, Amy opened her mouth and allowed his briefs to fall to the floor between them. And then she spoke in a hungry, seductive voice.

"Is there anything else your slut-toy can do for you, Master?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Stuart replied. "You may suck my cock."

Amy lowered her eyes to his manhood. "Yes, Master," she whispered softly, her voice cracking just a bit. "It will be my pleasure." And with that she slid her right hand to the head of his cock and lifted it until it neared his stomach, then she leaned forward and ran her tongue slowly up its length, starting at the base of his balls and not stopping until she'd bathed his entire length in her saliva. Then she slid her hand down to its base while she eased her wide-spread lips around its girth.

At first she stopped with the head only partly inside her mouth. Then she swirled her tongue around its tip and began sliding ever-so-slightly forward, then ever-so-slightly back. She closed her teeth so they were lightly touching him and repeated the ever-so-slightly forward, ever-so-slightly back motion, only this time allowing her left hand to fondle his balls while her mouth continued its slightly forward, slightly back motion.

She could sense the excitement building in the young man as his hand slid to the back of her head and pulled her forward in gentle encouragement. But she resisted his pressure, instead allowing her mouth to slide nearly completely off his meat while her right hand began stroking his length. And as a low groan escaped his throat, he slid his other hand to the back of her head, grabbed a handful of hair and began thrusting his manhood into her.

Surrendering to his hunger, Amy slid both hands to his buttocks and began sliding her mouth forward in concert with his attacks, She quickly lost all sense of time, aware only of her mouth sliding up and down the length of his meat, even as he was thrusting his manhood right back into her. She didn't even realize that she'd slid her right hand to her pussy and begun plunging her fingers into her horny wetness, instinctively matching each of his lunges with one of her own. But she was aware of just how close she was to cuming, and when she felt Stuart's body begin to tense, she unleashed her fingers with a frenzy, bringing herself to orgasm moments before her master exploded in her mouth.

For several moments he held her mouth over his cock, sliding it ever-so-slightly back and forth to drain the last of his cum into her. Then, with both hands still clutching her hair, he pulled her head off his meat and turned it upward.

"I don't recall giving you permission to cum, Mrs. Marshall," he said slowly

"I'm sorry, Master," Amy replied hastily. "I didn't realize . . ."

But Stuart just shook his head. "Ignorance is no excuse," he countered, releasing her hair. "Now, stand up." Once she was on her feet before him, he took hold of her biceps and spun her so her back was towards him, then he eased her towards the end of the bench she'd previously sat on.

"Spread your legs and bend over," he ordered, moving to her left side and placing his right hand on her bare ass, even as she was moving into the prescribed position. "This, Mrs. Marshall, is a small taste of what you can expect when you disappoint me." And with that he pulled his hand away from her ass, then sent it flying back.

WHACK!

"Ow!" Amy gasped, jumping instinctively even though she'd known the blow was coming. But despite the pain she quickly returned to her bent over position, resolving to show the young man that she was not only capable, but willing to take anything he could dish out. That's when the second blow landed on her other cheek.

Stuart couldn't hide the smile that crept across his lips as his slut-toy gasped and jumped, then returned quickly and without complaint to her prostrated position. And as his cock once again began to return to life, he couldn't help but revel in the power he held over her. That's when he decided to see just how far he could push her. That's when he leaned over, slid his hand under her tummy to her love button and began working his fingers lightly over her engorged bud.

"Oh, cuckolds brownie!" Amy gasped as small waves of lust shot through her body. But as soon as she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, Stuart let loose another series of blows to her ass, all while keeping up his assault on the love button.

"Oh, my God," she moaned as the pain from the blows melded with the pleasure of his fingers, sending shivers of pleasure-pain shooting throughout her body. She lowered her head all the way to the bench, causing her ass to stick out even more invitingly for her master's pleasure, a pleasure he was only too willing to take as he let loose another series of blows, a series that inflicted even more pain to her ailing bottom, even as his other hand continued to work her clit.

"Oh, cuckolds brownie!" Amy groaned again as she felt herself loosing control. "Can I cum, Master?" But Stuart didn't respond, instead sliding the hand that had been spanking her down to her pussy, then sliding two fingers into her sloppy cunt and shoving them home.

"Please, Master," Amy wailed, her legs beginning to sway beneath her as she struggled to keep herself from cuming. But still Stuart ignored her, continuing his assault on her pussy and clit, before suddenly withdrawing his hands, delivering one more blow to her butt-cheeks, and sliding around behind her. Then he grabbed her hip with one hand and his cock with the other and pressed it up against her pussy. And then he rammed it home.

"Oh cuckolds brownie, oh cuckolds brownie, oh cuckolds brownie," the older woman gasped, nearly falling forward as he slammed his meat into her pussy. "Please, Master!" she wailed helplessly. "Please . . . I can't . . ."

Stuart paused for a moment, his cock-head now barely inside her pussy. "Now, Mrs. Marshall," he said with a smug air of confidence and control, "you may cum." And with that he began ramming his cock in and out of the whimpering pile of flesh beneath him like a man possessed.

"Arrrrggghhhhhh!" The sound that spewed from Amy's throat as her body exploded in orgasmic bliss was more natural than human, and the shaking and convulsing that wracked her body nearly caused her to lose complete control of herself. "Arrrrggghhhhhh!" she cried out again, now struggling to hold her position under Stuart's onslaught, a struggle she lost a few moments later when her knees finally gave out and she collapsed onto the bench, finally pulling her pussy free from his cock.

But although her pussy was now free, Amy was not, a fact she quickly learned as Stuart dropped to his knees behind her and repositioned his cock at the entrance to her ass. Then, even as her suddenly feeble mind was struggling to comprehend what was about to happen, the young man began pushing into her forbidden hole. And although he was definitely gentler than he'd been when he'd attacked her pussy, he was certainly not as gentle as he could have been. And another wail spewed from Amy's throat.

Once Stuart was fully inside her -- and when he saw that Amy was putting up no resistance at all, even going so far as to arch her back so she'd be more accessible to him -- he pulled his rock hard cock partially out of her, hesitated, and then rammed it home. And as yet another scream filled the air, the young man began pounding his engorged cock into her over and over, harder and harder, and he didn't stop until another orgasm was shattering the older woman's body, even as he was shooting his own seed deep into her dark hole.

* * *

When Amy finally managed to regain her senses, Stuart was nowhere to be seen. For several long moments she held her position, face down doggy style on the bench, still wearing nothing but those shiny black patent leather boots. She took a deep breath, then pushed her exhausted body up from the bench and into a sitting position. Then she looked around, noting that not only were her clothes gone, but the shoes she'd tried on were gone as well.

After another moment she pushed herself to her feet and started for the front of the store, a small part of her wondering if the young man had abandoned her. But when she rounded the corner, there he was, fully clothed, bent over the front desk writing something in a log book. He looked up as she approached.

"I just have a few more things to do before I can take off. Your clothes are over there," he pointed.

She gave the clothing a cursory glance, then turned and stepped towards him, seemingly unaware that her naked breasts were perched invitingly above the counter.

"So tell me, Stuart," she started. "Do I belong to you or to Derek?"

Stuart couldn't help the small snort that escaped his nose, nor could he resist reaching out and tweaking her right nipple.

"Yes," he responded with a snicker. Then he again nodded his head towards her clothing. "Now, I thought I told you to get dressed."

In spite of herself, Amy couldn't suppress the smile that slid across her face. The answer Stuart had given was short and curt, but it did, in fact, answer her question. She belonged to both of them, and to anyone else they might bring into the club. And while for most women that would have been a shocking, even an unacceptable answer; for Amy it was . . . well, you know Amy.

"Yes, Master," she said, dipping in a mock curtsy with her index finger pressed under her chin. "Your wish is my command."

Stuart laughed. "And you'd better not forget it," he rebutted, picking a wadded piece of paper up from the desk and tossing it at her playfully.

Amy giggled lightly as she dodged the paper, then made her way to where her clothes lay. "I seem to be missing my panties and nylons, Master," she teased sweetly.

"Call it a trade," Stuart responded, chuckling lightly as he pointed to a table behind the counter upon which three shoe boxes sat; two containing the pairs she'd previously tried on, the other containing her own shoes. "Your panties and nylons for the two pairs of shoes."

Amy looked at shoes, then back at Stuart. "And the boots?"

Stuart stopped what he was doing and looked up. "Those are yours," he said simply. "You earned them."

With a large smile on her face, Amy slid up behind Stuart and wrapped her arms around him, pulling her naked body firmly against him. "Thank you, Master," she cooed.

Stuart allowed the hug to last a few seconds, then straightened up and pushed her away. "Now, if you don't get dressed and let me finish my work, we'll never make it to the party."

"Party," Amy beamed. "I love parties."

For the first week after her encounter with Derek Strong and Amy Marshall, Kara Johnmister had been moderately successful at finding some trivial, mindless task to help take her mind off the events of that day. On occasion she'd even managed to convince herself that it hadn't really been far and away the single most erotic event of her life. But as the days rolled by and the day of Derek's departure for college neared, Amy's words became increasingly difficult to get out of her head.

'If you don't call him,' her 36 year-old married neighbor had said to her the day after it'd happened, 'you'll regret it the rest of your life.'

And so, for the umpteenth time that day, Kara stood before the kitchen telephone, nervous butterflies dancing in her stomach as those words rang over and over in her head . . . 'You'll regret it the rest of your life' . . . 'You'll regret it the rest of your life' . . . 'You'll regret it the rest of your life' . . .

Finally, at 11:30 AM Wednesday, just a half-week before Derek's scheduled Sunday departure for college, she gave in and reached for the phone, her hands shaking so hard that she could hardly read his number on the card Amy had given her.



The phone rang three times before Derek picked it up. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Miss Johnmister," he said smugly, betraying his caller ID. "Amy told me you'd be calling, but I have to admit, I didn't think you had it in you."

Stunned by how the young man had taken control before she'd even spoken a word, Kara stumred out a weak response; the only response she could think of. "Amy said I'd call?"

But Derek ignored her query, instead getting directly to the point. "This is what will happen, Miss Johnmister," he said confidently. "That is, it's what will happen if you truly want to take our relationship to the next level.

"You will be at my house tomorrow morning at 11:00 AM sharp. You will be wearing a tank top with no bra, stretch-waist exercise pants, a tie-side thong, no socks, and shoes you can slip off easily. You may wear light make-up if you wish, but absolutely nothing else. Clear?"

Kara nearly dropped the phone, shuddering as chills ran down her spine. It was happening again, just like it did the other time. She, the adult, the mature one, the one that should have been able to find a way to deal with the situation, was coming completely unglued as a boy 20 years her junior exerted his will on her, pushing her to places that, truth be told, she still wasn't completely certain she wanted to go.

"But your parents, won't they . . ." she stammered.

But Derek cut her off. "Are you questioning me, Miss Johnmister?" he challenged in a firm voice, adding fright to the growing list of afflictions now affecting Kara.

"No, Sir," she responded automatically.

"You'd better not be," Derek said. Then, a moment later, he continued in a slightly softer voice. "Not that you deserve an answer, but my parents are leaving very early tomorrow morning and won't be back until midday Saturday. That should give us plenty of time, don't you agree, Miss Johnmister?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered weakly, but the line had already gone dead.

* * *

It was one minute before 11:00 the next morning when Kara pulled into Derek's driveway. Nervously, she looked at the mirror and brushed the hair from her face. Then she closed her eyes, took a long slow breath, exhaled and opened the door. She reached her feet and closed the door, then checked her reflection in the car window -- white tank top, stretch-waist exercise pants, no socks, sandals, and just as instructed, no bra and a tie-side thong underneath it all.

'Christ. I didn't even own a pair of tie-side thongs before last night,' she thought.

Then, after yet another calming breath, she turned and started for the front door.

She reached the door and hesitated; the doubts again creeping in now that the moment of truth was upon her. 'Are you sure you want to do this?' she thought to herself. 'It's not to late. You can still turn around and leave.'

But she didn't leave, nor did she move her finger towards the door bell. Instead, she just stood there, stricken with confusion and indecision. Why was she there? Was she really willing to surrender herself to a young man barely out of high school? And if she did go ahead with it, would she be able to face herself in the morning or would she be overcome with the same shame and offense she endured last time?

She shook her head slowly. "I don't know," she said in a near whisper. "I just don't know." And so she stood there, a statue frozen in time, unable to move until suddenly the door swung open. And there he was, her tormentor, standing before her in shorts and a tee-shirt, bigger than life itself.

For the longest moment the world was silent. Kara stood there nervously, uncertain whether to turn and run or stand and wait, while Derek simply stared at her through the eyes of a man who had no doubt that soon, very soon, he would have his prey. Finally, just when Kara didn't think she could take any more of the silence, the young man stepped away from the door.

"Come," he said simply, that single word exploding in her ears like no word before. And with her heart pounding in her chest, Kara found herself following the young man into the house, one foot moving slowly in front of the other, knowing full well that her fate had already been decided.

Once they were inside Derek eased the door closed, slid his hand onto Kara's lower back and guided her to the center of the foyer, turning her so she was facing the mirror on the far wall. Then, without further fanfare, he slid behind her, slipped his fingers inside the elastic waist-band of her exercise pants and slid them over her hips and down her thighs, stopping when they reached her knees. Then he slid the bottom of her top upwards until it reached her underarms, and then pulled the front up and over her head so it stretched between her biceps behind her back. Finally, he reached down, took hold of the ties on her thong and pulled. Once the ties came free, he eased the tiny garment from between her legs and slipped it casually into his pocket. Only then did he look in the mirror at her completely exposed breasts and pussy and nod his head approvingly.

He reached around her and traced his fingers lightly over her breasts, smiling smugly as her nipples hardened and goosebumps broke out across her body.

"So tell me, Miss Johnmister, what do you want from me?"

Kara swallowed deeply, lowering her eyes briefly to the reflection of his hands tracing slow little circles on her breasts, then raising them back to meet his. 'Why is this so difficult?' she screamed silently. It wasn't like she had any real doubt as to what the answer to his question truly was; she wanted him to do to her exactly what he'd done the week before, and exactly what he'd done to Amy. She wanted him to dominate her, to take her in any and every way he could imagine. She wanted him to humiliate her, degrade her, even punish her. And yes, she wanted him to bring her too more of those wonderful mind-blowing orgasms, over and over and over, just like he had before.

She struggled with her emotions, powering herself to cut loose the social mores that were holding her back. Who cared if she was a middle aged woman and he was barely out of high school? And what difference did it make what people would think of her if they ever found out about the things they did?

"I asked you a question, Miss Johnmister," Derek said abruptly, cutting through her reverie. "What do you want from me?" And then he eased his right hand away from her breast and lowered it to her crotch, rubbing her already wet pussy while his other hand squeezed and caressed her breast.

Kara closed her eyes, took one more deep breath and re-opened them, and then looked his reflection straight in the eyes. "I want you to take me like you did the other day," she said, her voice cracking even as her body writhed under his caresses. "I want you to be my Master, and I want to be your slut-toy."

Derek kept his right hand on her pussy while he moved his left hand from her breasts to her chin and turned her head back over her shoulder. Then, with their eyes barely six inches apart, he spoke.

"Are you certain of that, Miss Johnmister?"

She did her best to nod her head. "Yes," she manged to eek out. "I'm certain."

He released her then, stepping backwards. "Put your clothes back together, remove your shoes and come with me."

Hurriedly, she slid her top back over her head, pulled her pants up and kicked off her shoes. Then she scurried to the living room entrance where Derek waited patiently.

"After you, Miss Johnmister," the young man said, waiving his hand into the room.

Kara was looking at Derek as she eased by him, not looking forward until she was two full steps into the room. That's when she turned her head and saw a young man dressed in a simple blue polo shirt and shorts sitting in the middle of the love seat and staring directly at her.

Kara recognized the young man instantly, and why wouldn't she? After all, he wasn't just some stranger off the street -- far from it. He was Stuart Chambers, the 19 year-old mister of Pamela Chambers, Kara's best friend. He was the same young man that Kara had known since shortly before his second birthday, and the same young man that, until a few years ago, had called her "Aunt Kara" even though they were not actually related.

In fact, when it came right down to it, Kara had an almost lady-like affection for Stuart, having lived through all of his boyhood trauma's and successes vicariously through his lady. She'd celebrated his successes with Pamela, and she'd cried with her over his failures and disappointments. And now he was sitting on the love seat, staring at her, waiting.

All those thoughts flashed through her mind in a split second. Then, reacting with the speed that only sheer panic could cause, she turned around and looked at Derek.

"I didn't know you had company," she said, the cracking and squeaking in her voice betraying her nerves. "I can come back another time." And then she started for the front door, only to find Derek sliding over to block her exit from the room.

"Is there a problem?" he asked sarcastically.

Kara's heart was pounding wildly in her chest. "Please," she said in a voice only Derek could hear. "He's my best friend's mister. I've known him nearly his whole life. I can't, I just can't."

Derek smiled softly, reaching out tenderly to brush a strand of hair from her face before sliding both hands around to the base of her neck. "It was hard for you to call me yesterday, wasn't it?" he asked in an equally quiet voice.

She nodded her head weakly and whispered. "Yes."

He slid his right hand down her neck and onto her shoulder, easing the strap slightly towards the edge of her shoulder. "And even harder to come here this morning."

Kara glanced nervously towards the hand on her shoulder, then back into his eyes. "Yes," came the soft reply.



Derek eased his other hand down her neck and onto her shoulder, brushing the other strap towards the the edge of her shoulder to match the first one. And then he began gently squeezing her tense muscles, massaging them, kneading them.

"You want to stay, don't you?"

And even though she shook her head back and forth, Derek could see the doubt creeping into her eyes. "He's Pamela's mister," Kara managed to answer in a barely audible voice. "How could I face her again."

"But you do want to stay, don't you?" Derek countered, keeping up his gentle, tender pressure.

Kara stared into his eyes for several seconds, saying nothing, before finally lowering her eyes in shame. "I shouldn't," she whispered softly. "I really shouldn't."

Derek allowed his facial features to soften. "You do know that if you leave now, there's no coming back."

Kara looked up at him uncertainly and shook her head. "I could come back tomorrow, or later tonight, or maybe even . . ."

"No," Derek interjected in a firm voice. "If you leave now it's over; you can never come back. Is that what you want?"

Kara stammered. "I don't know. I mean no, I mean . . ."

Derek shook his head slowly and withdrew his hands from her shoulders. Then he took a small step to the side.

"It's your choice, Kara. What will it be, stay or go."

Kara looked towards the door, at the opening he'd given her. He was serious when he said she was free to go, of that she had no doubt. But still . . . She closed her eyes, bit her lower lip and shook her head. 'No,' she thought, 'I can't. It's Stuart; Pamela's mister. I can't. I . . .'

"Miss Johnmister," Derek said, breaking into her thoughts. "Are you leaving or not?"



Kara opened her eyes and turned her head back towards him, a pleading, yet confused look in her eyes. But she found no solace in his face, only the look of a man who was beginning to lose his patience. She turned her head away, once again looking towards the front door and the freedom that lay beyond it. She stared at the door for several seconds before turning back towards Derek. Finally, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and lowered her head submissively.

As soon as she dropped her head, Derek stepped towards her, a wry smile easing onto his face. "Okay, Miss Johnmister, it's time to begin." And with no further fanfare he returned his hands on her shoulders and slid the straps of her tank top down her arms, allowing the top to slide down her torso and gather around her waist, leaving her naked breasts visible to Derek, and her backside to Stuart.

By the time her foggy mind could come to grips with the fact that she was now naked from the waist up, the young man had moved on, sliding his thumbs inside the top of her tank-top and pushing down, allowing the thumbs to then slip inside the pants to push both top and bottom over her hips, down her legs and onto the floor. And by the time the startled gasp fully escaped her throat, Kara was totally naked, her clothes in a disheveled pile around her feet.

Derek continued moving swiftly, sliding his left hand behind Kara's head and gently grabbing a handful of hair. Then he turned her head so her glazed over eyes were looking directly into his.

"Step out of your clothes, Miss Johnmister," he ordered.

To Kara, it had happened way to fast. One moment she was standing there, staring towards the front of the house, trying to get up the nerve to walk out, and a moment later she was stark naked before not only Derek, but her best friend's mister as well, struggling to comprehend how, in the short span of less than two weeks, she'd gone from a normal, well-adjusted woman to a needy, wanton slut-toy who not only didn't seem to care that she was standing naked and powerless before two boys 20 years her junior, but actually seemed to crave the offense and shame she was currently experiencing, not to mention the degradation that was undoubtedly yet to come.

But it wouldn't be until later that evening, long after the events of the day were behind her, when she'd finally look back and realize that this was the moment of her ultimate surrender; that this was the moment she finally acknowledged the burning desires that heretofore she'd kept buried deep inside, and that this was the moment the battle that had been raging within her finally ended.

Derek, taking quick advantage of his slut-toy's surrender, turned her around and eased her up against the outcropping of wall that separated the main hallway from the living room. Even though Kara knew that her nakedness was now completely out front for Stuart's review, she offered no resistance. Even so, she could not bring herself to lift her head and look his way.

Derek could sense his slut-toys nervousness and shame but refused to ease up on her. He slid his left hand to her shoulder, then slid his right hand to her face to brush aside some disheveled strands.

"Tell me, slut-toy, does it make you feel horny knowing that Pamela Chambers' mister is sitting just a few feet away, oogling your hot, luscious nakedness? And does it make your pussy ache knowing that soon he'll be doing more than just looking?"

Kara's breath caught in her throat, her already rubbery knees nearly giving out completely as the true meaning behind Derek's words struck home. Still, she gathered herself quickly, took a deep breath and re-focused her attention on Derek.

"Yes," she said in a soft voice, but a voice that both boys could hear.

Derek dropped his right hand to her chest, allowing his fingers to lightly circle her D-cup breasts and gently pinch their hardened nipples. And then he slid his hand over the meat of her right breast and squeezed, bringing a gasp from his slut-toy's mouth.

"And can you feel his sex-crazed young eyes boring in on your fat, luscious titties?"

"Oh God, yes," was all the reply she could manage as her knees again nearly buckled beneath her.

"And are you thinking about him squeezing them, sucking them, even biting them?"

"Yes," Kara whispered desperately, losing more control with each new query her Master tared. "I am."

It was then that Derek withdrew his right hand, grabbed a tuft of hair with his left and pulled it downward.

"On your hands and knees, slut-toy, just like the bitch-in-heat that you are."

"Yes, Sir," she replied in a cracking voice as she dropped quickly to her hands and knees before him. And even though she was pointed directly at Stuart, she kept her head lowered, still unable to look him in the eyes.

She heard Derek step away, only to return a few seconds later. Then she felt him slide the tip of a riding crop between the back of her legs and begin patting her pussy.

"This is what's going to happen," he said. "You're going to crawl over to my guest and, using your hands and mouth, make love to his feet. Understand?"

The words sent a shiver down Kara's spine as the image of her on her hands and knees in front of Stuart, kissing, biting and massaging his feet shot through her mind. And with her body shaking visibly, she somehow found a way to gather herself enough to respond.

"Yes, Sir. I understand." Then, still struggling to get control of her nerves, she started crawling slowly across the room, with Derek's riding crop constantly tap-tap-tapping her pussy as she went.

She stopped crawling a few inches from Stuarts feet. The tapping on her pussy, however, continued, with each new tap causing tiny sparks to shoot through her already aroused body.

For a moment she held her position, neither retreating backwards nor reaching out for his feet, instead just holding her position, thinking that if Derek would just stop that damn tap-tap-tapping on her pussy . . .

But he didn't stop. If anything he started slapping a little bit harder, a little bit faster, pushing her just a little bit further over the edge until suddenly the riding crop withdrew from her pussy and landed a firm SWAT! on her bare cheek, followed an instant later by another SWAT! on the other cheek.

"Well, Miss Johnmister? We're waiting." Two more swats struck home before Kara could lean forward enough to bring her lips to Stuart's bare feet as they sat on the carpet before her.

Kara had no delusions about how she looked. She was a grown woman in a totally humiliating, degrading position, doing vile and disgusting acts to the feet of her best friend's mister while another young man stood above her, alternately tapping his riding crop on her soaking pussy and lashing it across her fanny. But in her new reality -- the reality she'd only moments before acknowledged -- her offense was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the sexual gratification that came from serving her Master well. And if he told her to degrade herself by making love to this young man's feet, well . . .

She spent several minutes -- minutes that felt like hours -- making love to Stuart's feet. She alternated from one foot to the other, kissing the crown of each, licking them, sucking on each individual toe, even nibbling on them, all while her hands gently caressed them.

She allowed her hands to slide up his calves, kneading them, before lifting first one foot, then the other off the ground and kissing and licking their bottoms. And through all her offense, Derek kept up that incessant tap, tap, tapping on her pussy, bringing her to the brink of orgasm several times, only to ease up at the last minute and deny her her release, keeping her on edge until, finally, he landed several hard swats across her backside before returning to her pussy to attack it with a vengeance and send her over the edge. And as her body convulsed in orgasm she wrapped her arms around Stuart's calves and pulled them hard against her head and chest, even as Derek was unleashing several more swats across her fanny. And when he was finally finished, Kara held her position, gasping for breath and feeling like nothing more than a two-bit tramp.

* * *

While she knelt there, her arms still wrapped around Stuart's legs, Derek moved across the room, picked up a small ottoman and carried it back, setting it down directly behind Kara. And then he took a half step backwards.

"On you feet, slut-toy!" he ordered.

Kara released Stuart's legs immediately and jumped to her feet, lowering her head in shame as she awaited Derek's next command.

"Sit down on the ottoman," came the order.

Kara looked behind her to locate the indicated ottoman, took a small step backwards and lowered herself onto the foot rest, her eyes still submissively lowered.

"Now, lay back," Derek ordered.

She complied without hesitation, her ass perched on the edge nearest Stuart with her pussy pointed directly towards him. Her head hung completely over the opposite edge, bent backwards until it came to rest against the back-side of the ottoman. And through upside-down eyes, she watched her young Master drop to his knees behind her, pull off his tee-shirt and shove his shorts down to the floor. A moment after that she was opening her mouth in anticipation.

Derek held her head with one hand while he guided his throbbing manhood through her parted lips with his other. Once he was inside her, he moved both his hands to her neck, holding it steady while he eased his cock slowly out, then in, then out again.

"So, Miss Johnmister, tell me -- do you like being a slut-toy?"

Kara tried to answer, but the cock sliding in and out of her mouth muffled her words. She tried to nod her head but Derek's hand held her steady.

"It seems we have a communication issue here," Derek teased. He hesitated, pretending to ponder the problem, before continuing.

"I know! I'll ask you questions. Then, if the answer is no, you will twirl both of your nipples between your thumbs and forefingers. If, on the other hand, the answer is yes, you will spread your legs wide, arch your ass off the ottoman and pull your pussy lips apart, making sure to give my guest a real good look at the inside of your hot, juicy love tunnel."

He paused then, still easing his meat in and out of her mouth. "Now, let's try it again. Do you like being a slut-toy, Miss Johnmister?

He half expected her to hesitate, to wrestle with his instructions and wage some sort of internal struggle. But she didn't. Instead, he watched as her hands moved quickly to her pussy and spread her hot, puffy lips wide, even as she was lifting her ass off the ottoman.

"Then you have no regrets," he followed up, noting how quickly she dropped her ass back to the ottoman, abandoned her pussy and reached for her nipples, alternately twirling them and squeezing the meat of her breasts.

"You want to continue being a slut-toy, don't you Miss Johnmister?"

In answer, she again reached for her pussy lips, spreading them wide as her ass shot into the air.

Derek paused then, watching as the excited woman slithered atop the ottoman, rolling her hips in the air as she held herself open to Stuart.



"Tell me, Miss Johnmister," he continued. "Do you want a Master to serve; a Master who will be there to guide you in your servitude, to give you pleasure when you're good and punish you when you're bad?"

By now her hips were grinding wildly, her fingers stretching her lips as her mouth took the cock that was sliding in and out of it.

"Then will you accept Stuart as your new Master?"

For a moment, she kept up her crazed self ministrations, not quite grasping his words. And then the meaning behind the words struck home and she came to an abrupt stop.

"Come now," Derek said, stopping the in and out pistoning of his hips, brushing her cheeks lightly with his thumbs. "You know I'm off to college this weekend and while I will be back from time to time, those visits will be few and brief in duration. You've come a long way in a very short time, Kara, much to far to turn back. You need a Master to tend to you. You need Stuart."

There was another moment of silence and stillness as Kara wrestled with her thoughts. Finally, her hips began to slowly raise off the ottoman again, and her fingers pulled her wet, puffy lips apart.

"Very good," Derek said in a soft voice. "Now, my little slut-toy, show Master Stuart how badly your body craves him. Masturbate for him. Bring yourself off while he watches. Become his."

And with that Kara slid her fingers into her cunt, working her hungry pussy, even as Derek recommenced his attack on her mouth. And barely more than a minute later, a minute that saw Derek ravaging her mouth, even as she was ravaging her pussy, her body exploded in orgasm. And a few short moments later, her conqueror began spewing his seed down her throat.

Several seconds passed before Derek eased his cock from her mouth, rose to his feet and pulled his shorts gingerly up his legs.

"Master Stuart, the slut-toy Kara is now yours." And with that he bent over to pick up his shirt, turned and exited the room.

* * *

For what seemed an eternity but was really not even a minute, Kara held her position, splayed out atop the ottoman in front of young Stuart Chambers, her new Master. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she waited, part of her still wondering whether she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.

Several more seconds passed before she heard a rustling sound that indicated the young man was rising from the couch and assuming a kneeling position beside her. Yet even though she sensed his approach, she felt shivers shoot through her body when his finger-tips touched her stomach.

"So, you want to be my slut-toy?" he asked softly as the finger-tips from his other hand brushed across her breasts, even as the first hand slid across her hungry pussy.

She swallowed hard, somehow managing to control herself enough to offer a raspy reply. "Yes, Sir."

And then, for another half-minute, silence ruled the room as Stuart's finger-tips danced their way lightly across her body.

Then, without warning Stuart withdrew his fingers and rose to his feet. "Sit up!" he ordered.

Kara eased her head and torso upright as ordered and repositioned herself on the edge of the ottoman. Then she lowered her head, still not having the nerve to look her best friend's stepmister in the eyes.

But when Stuart saw her turn her head away he shook his head and spoke.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Kara hesitated, not sure she was ready to face her new Master directly. She took a deep breath, then another, and finally lifted her head and turned towards him. And when she saw her best friend's mister staring intently back at her she shivered, somehow feeling more exposed, more vulnerable than she'd ever felt before -- even with Derek.

"Very good. I'm glad to see you know how to obey," Stuart said in a teasing voice. He paused briefly, feasting on her nervousness, then continued. "Now, on you knees."

This time Kara moved quickly. And even though she felt like little more than a cheap tramp as she moved to obey the young man, she somehow reveled in her offense.

Once she was in the prescribed position Stuart bent over and pushed the ottoman several feet away before returning to his slut-toy's side. Then, without further ado, he reached for the bottom of his shirt and ripped it over his head, before moving his hands to his waist and pushing his shorts down to the floor and kicking them aside.

Kara stared at the engorged manhood as it stood bold and proud barely a foot to her side, completely unaware that her mouth was hanging agape. She wasn't even aware that Stuart had slid his hand behind her head until she felt him take hold of a handful of hair and pull her even closer, leaving her mouth barely two inches from his tip. And as he held her there, she could feel her hunger growing as she sank further and further under his spell.

"You want this, don't you?" Stuart challenged, pulling her close enough to slap the underside of his cock across her face. When she failed to answer he leaned over slightly and spoke in a low, slow voice.

"I asked you a question, Aunt Kara. Do you want it or not?"

"Yes, I want it!" Kara gasped, the glistening of the sweat on her body making her look like some kind of deranged sex fiend as she reached out for his cock with her mouth.

But Stuart laughed a snide little laugh as he pushed her head away from his manhood and towards the sofa.

"Face and chest on the sofa," he barked, "knees on the floor, legs spread."

"Yes sir," she replied without hesitation, the authoratative tone of his voice sending her into instant motion as she quickly assumed the proscribed position. And then she waited; waited while Stuart took his time slipping around behind her and dropping to his knees.

She gasped when the tip of his meat brushed across her pussy lips, not quite certain it wasn't a small orgasm that shook her body. But when she reached back for his cock with her pussy, the cock was gone, only to reappear again a moment later.

"Please, Sir," she begged, even reaching between her legs with her right hand, trying to grab hold of her prize, only to once again find it gone.

Then she felt his left hand trail down her side, sending tickling shivers through her body.

Finally, just when her desperation had reached its peak, she felt him ram his meat home, causing an unintelligible scream to spew from her throat as he filled her up and stopped, leaving his meat buried inside her pussy as he grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her up from the sofa, twisting her head so she was partially facing back towards him.

"So, is this what you want, Aunt Kara? You want little ole' Stuart to give you his big, hungry cock?"

"Oh, God yes!" she gasped, even as his free hand was reaching around and latching onto her breast.

"And do you want him to squeeze your fat titties while he pounds your pussy?"

"Yes, yes," she cried out. "Please . . ."

But her voice just trailed off as he shoved her back to the sofa and began thrusting himself at her; in, out, in, out, over and over and over until . . .

"Oh sweet Jesus I'm cuuuuummmmmmmiiiinnngggg . . ." she cried, just as the orgasm exploded in her loins.

But even as she cried out, surrounded in her blissful orgasmic cloud, Stuart was withdrawing his meat and repositioning it at the gates to her nether hole.

"Oh, God yes," Kara managed to scream as she felt his manhood powering it's way into her dark hole. "Fuck my ass, Master. Please, fuck my ass!"

And fuck her ass he did, drilling her over and over as she frigged her clit with her hand until he finally, mercifully, began spewing his sperm into her, even as her own orgasm was wrecking her body.

And then it was over. Spent like she'd never been spent before -- physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually -- the woman who'd once been like a surrogate lady to the young man ****** on the sofa beneath her new Master.

* * *

Several minutes passed before Kara finally regained her senses. When she did, she found herself flat on her back on the floor, her right leg laying limply to the side. She also found her friend Amy kneeling above her wearing a short, silky, pale blue robe.

The prone, naked woman took a slow deep breath to clear her head, then spoke.

"You and Stuart?"

"Last night was the first time." Amy responded tentatively. "I would have told you, but Derek and Stuart forbid it. Still, I should have said something. If I had . . ."

But Kara cut her off. "If you had, I definitely wouldn't have done it." Then she pushed herself to her knees. "And if I wouldn't have done that, then I definitely wouldn't have done this." And with that, she reached out and untied the sash around Amy's waist, then slid her hands up her friends chest and pushed the robe off her shoulders.

It was a warm mid November morning in central Florida, and Amy Marshall was making her way slowly through the lingerie section of a local store. As was often the case, Amy's husband was out of town on business for a few days, and Amy was left home to 'hold down the fort.'

Typically, the weeks when Brad was away on business were good weeks for Amy, weeks when she was free to let the slut in her run wild, weeks when she didn't have to invent reamisters to be with Stuart Chambers, the 19 year-old boy who'd been dominating her life for about 2 and-a-half months now. This week promised to be no different.

It was a bit after noon when Amy returned home, entering the house through the garage door and making her way to the kitchen. She deposited the bags containing her 'take' for the day -- a new bra, a couple pairs of sexy panties, some nylons, a skirt and two tops -- on the center island, then moved towards the sink. That's when she saw the piece of paper laying on the counter.

She picked up the paper and unfolded it, then leaned back against the counter and started to read:

'You are to meet me at Murphy's tonight at 6:00 sharp. Your clothing for the evening is laid out in the bedroom. You are permitted to bring a purse, but other than that, you are to wear exactly what you find on the bed, absolutely nothing more, and absolutely nothing less. And make sure you park in the same spot.'

"Derek's home!" Amy gasped.

Derek was Amy's first master, the young man who first taught her the wonderful world of surrender and presentation, the young man she served before Stuart, and the young man she'd never truly forget. After all, in a strange sort of way, Derek was her first. And as everyone knows, you never completely get over your first.

She didn't for a minute question that the unsigned note was from him. After all, not only was Murphy's the grill and bar Derek took her to when he first took control of her, he also had his own key to the house and had assured her he'd make it home at Thanksgiving. He just happened to be a few days earlier then she'd expected, that's all.

With the note still in her hand, she turned and hurried to the Master Bedroom, eager to see just how her master planned on displaying her that evening. Truthfully, she couldn't say she was surprised at what she saw, nor was she surprised at what she didn't see.

The first thing she noticed was the brown print wrap-around skirt which, while it wouldn't exactly qualify as a mini-skirt, did manage to leave several inches of her shapely thighs on display. Sitting to one side of the skirt was a pair of her sexiest white panties -- a very tiny pair. On the other side sat her favorite brown stiletto shoes, the ones with the open toe and dainty strap that wrapped around the ankle. On the far side of the bed lay a semi-sheer white-on-white sleeveless blouse with a straight cut waist that would just barely cover the top of her skirt. Conspicuously missing were nylons and bra, which meant her legs and pussy would be easily accessible to her master's hands, and her breasts and nipples, while not exactly on wide open display, would be far more exposed than was proper -- even by Amy's very loose standards. And a small shiver shot through her spine.

It wasn't until she was about to turn away from the bed that she saw the final piece of her attire, a small, remote control vibrating egg like the one Derek had first used on her, laying atop her pillow. The remote itself, however, was nowhere to be seen. And another shiver shot through her body as lowered herself to the bed.

* * *

Amy spent the rest of the afternoon moving anxiously about the house, trying just about anything to get her mind off of Derek and all the things he might do to her that evening. None of her attempts at distraction worked, however, and by the time she started getting ready it was all she could do to keep from ripping her clothes off and digging her fingers into her pussy.

She allowed extra time to get ready. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was keep the young man waiting. Even so, it was a couple minutes before 5:30 when she finally looked in the mirror and pronounced herself a complete and utter slut!'

By the time she backed the car out of the driveway it was 5:35, and by the time she approached the bar it was 5:55. Just enough time to park and fix her face. When she finally slid through the front door of Murphy's, the clock over the bar indicated 6:00 on the button.

Before the door could even close behind her, Amy's eyes were moving to the booth at the back of the bar. She could see that the booth was occupied by one lone man, but set in the shadows as he was and facing away from the door, she couldn't make out his face.

"Party of one?" the young waitress by the door asked, breaking her train of thought.

Amy turned her head towards the young woman, keeping her body at an angle and her purse strategically placed in hopes of not drawing too much attention to her state of dress. "I'm supposed to meet someone," she replied, noting that it wasn't the same waitress that waited on them the first time. She wondered if that was good or bad.

"Oh, yes," the waitress replied. "I believe your party is already here. He insisted on the large booth in the back." Then she dropped her eyes to take in Amy's attire. "If you'll just follow me," she said, shaking her head slightly from side to side.

When the waitress turned and started towards the back, Amy took one long, deep breath to calm her nerves. "Here goes," she whispered under her breath. And then she started after the young woman. She hadn't taken two steps when the figure in the back booth turned to face her for the first time.

"Oh, my God," Amy gasped, a mere second before the vibrating egg in her pussy jumped suddenly to life.

* * *

Seeing the look on his wife's face when she suddenly realized that it wasn't Derek she was meeting, but her own husband, and seeing her body react when he turned the vibrating egg on high brought a wicked little smile to Brad Marshall's face. But it was a smile that quickly disappeared. After all, all those weeks of stress and grief could not be assuaged quite so easily. No, that would take some time, and the night was still young.

It had been late summer or early fall when Derek first began sensing that something in Amy's world had changed. At first it was just a feeling, an instinct, a gnawing in the pit of his stomach telling him that something wasn't right, that something was different. But it wasn't until after the seed was firmly planted in his mind that he actually started noticing specifics, like her hushed voice while talking on the phone, or her comings and goings at unusual hours with what at best would be described as flimsy explanations. And for the first time in their relationship, Brad began to wonder if he wasn't on the verge of losing her.

Once he recovered from his original fear, he began taking a closer look at their relationship, and the closer he looked, the more he wondered how they'd managed to keep it together as long as they had. After all, he had a preference for men and didn't hesitate to pursue that preference on his many business trips, while his wife definitely had a bit of 'tramp' in her and had never willingly denied herself the pleasures of the body.

But that was only part of it. What made their relationship even stranger -- in his mind, at least -- was the fact that they never, ever addressed the subject with each other, even though he had very little doubt that she knew as much about his secret life as he knew about hers. But suddenly, it was beginning to look like maybe that wasn't such a good foundation for a marriage after all.

Over the ensuing weeks, Brad's fears and trepidation continued to grow, ultimately bringing him to the point where he just had to do something. That's when he started snooping through her things, and that's when he found the diary buried deep in the files of her laptop.

The diary dated back to late June, and the first line of the first entry pretty much said it all; 'Yesterday I became a slut-toy, and Derek Strong, a neighborhood boy barely half my age, became my Master.'

At first, all he could do was stare at the screen, reading that one line over and over and over in absolute disbelief. 'Derek Strong?' he thought. 'Her Master? Why, the boy's not even 19 years old.'

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, then he opened them and began to read. And he didn't stop until he'd read the entire account of his wife's journey into subservience and presentation.

Once finished, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and tried to sort through his thoughts. It wasn't as if she'd betrayed him, not exactly, anyway. It was more like she'd crossed a line that, up until that point, neither of them even knew existed. Beyond that, he could tell from the tone of her writing that Amy was obsessed with her new life, more obsessed than he could ever remember her being, and the thought entered his mind that she might not be willing to walk away from it, even to save her marriage. And a queasy feeling began churning through the pit of his stomach.

After that day, the thought of what he'd read, and what it might mean was with him constantly. He began watching Amy closer than ever before, and became acutely aware of any oddities in her day to day activities. For the first time in his career, he even tried to minimize his business travel schedule so he could spend more time at home. But nothing he did could put the haunting feeling to rest that he needed to do something drastic, and he needed to do it soon. The only question was, what?

It was a simple question, just one little word. 'What?" But it was a question that had remained unanswered until just last week when, after rereading the diary for the umpteenth time, it finally came to him. And for the first time in weeks, a genuine smile crept across his face. Maybe he'd been approaching the problem from the wrong direction. If you can't beat 'em . . .

* * *

The egg continued to vibrate wildly in her pussy for a good four or five seconds before it finally switched off, freeing Amy from her temporary paralysis. Suddenly concerned that she'd been standing there long enough to draw unwanted attention to herself, she quickly surveyed the room, then began the long, nervous walk to her husband's booth.

As she neared the booth, Brad rose to his feet and turned to face her, blocking the last few steps to the booth. Several seconds of silence ensued, with each looking deeply into the other's eyes, before Brad finally stepped aside and gestured towards the seat.

"Can I get you something to take?" the waitress asked Amy, noting that Brad's take was still full.

"The lady will have a Chardonnay," Brad answered before Amy could even open her mouth.

"I'll bring that right over."

Amy took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. Then she began sorting through the situation, trying to find some evidence that might suggest that her husband had not seen her diary. But the list of coincidences, while short, was quite damning.

First of all, while she knew Brad occasionally frequented Murphy's with clients, he certainly hadn't been there with her. And he'd never, ever taken her out in anything as slutty as what he'd laid out for her earlier on the bed. Further, knowing full well that she drank rum and diet cokes when they went out, he nonetheless ordered her a chardonnay, the very same take Derek had ordered for her all those months ago. And then there was the vibrating egg.

No, it was obvious Brad had seen her diary. Now the question was, what did he intend to do about it. And an uneasy feeling began creeping across her body as she turned her head towards her husband and opened her mouth to speak.

"No!" Brad said in an authoritative voice, raising a single finger in the air before the first syllable had left her mouth. "I'm really not interested in what you have to say. If I ask you a question, I'll expect an answer. Otherwise you are not to say a word. Understand?"

She almost challenged him, but stopped short, biting her lower lip as she tried to think. This was not the Brad Marshall she'd known, she reamistered, and certainly not the Brad Marshall she'd married. That Brad Marshall was a kind, loving man. And at the moment, there was very little love and kindness in face of the man beside her. So, as she saw it, she had two choices. She could stand firm and possibly put their marriage at risk, or she could weather the storm and hope for the best.. Deciding on the latter, she nodded her head slowly up and down.

"I said, if I ask you a question, I expect an answer.," Brad countered. "And if I'm not mistaken, I just asked you a question. So, one more time, do you or do you not understand?"

Amy swallowed deeply, becoming more confused, more frightened, with each passing moment. "Yes, I understand," she finally answered, lowering her eyes to the table before her. But despite the fear that was coursing through her veins, she couldn't help noticing the twinge that shot through her pussy as she submitted to her husband's authority.

"Good," Brad said. Then he turned his attention to the waitress as she made her way across the room with Amy's chardonnay.

The waitress slid the glass in front of Amy, then turned to Brad. "Would you care for menus?"

Brad shook his head. "That won't be necessary. We'll both have the Turkey Club with Fries. Oh, and there's no need to rush," he smiled, his gaze shifting to his wife. "We're in no hurry, are we, dear?"

"No, Sir," Amy responded, the 'sir' flowing automatically from her lips. And she couldn't help remembering that Derek had also ordered them the Turkey Club with Fries, and he had also informed the waitress not to hurry.

"Very well," the waitress said. Then she turned and headed for the kitchen.

Once they were alone, Brad turned to his wife, positioning his body to shield her as much as possible from the rest of the restaurant, and lowered his eyes to her blouse. "You look rather slutty tonight, dear. It's a good look for you."

Amy took a deep breath. "Thank you," she replied softly, not really knowing if she'd been paid a compliment or not, but correctly surmising that a response was expected.

"Still," Brad continued, "you don't look completely comfortable. Perhaps if you unbuttoned the top two buttons."

Amy lowered her eyes to her blouse, confirming that releasing two buttons would leave her open to the middle of her cleavage. 'So what's the story here?' she thought. 'Are you trying to teach me a lesmister, or do you just want to see how far I'll go?' She took a deep breath. 'Well, let's find out.' And with a deliberate slowness, she reached for her buttons and freed first one button, then the next. And then she waited.

Brad stared at the front of his wife's chest for a moment, then reached out, slipped his hand just inside the now open vee and spread it wider. Then he shook his head.

"Perhaps one more," he said, a controlling smile slipping across his lips.

A quiver shot through Amy's body as she realized that freeing one more button would expose her cleavage well below her breasts. Nevertheless, she reached for the button and slipped it free.

This time when Brad slipped his hand between the open lapels, he pushed them wide enough to expose a good amount of her breasts, then he slowly slid the hand over the exposed flesh, under the blouse and onto her right tit. And then he squeezed.

"Better," he said a moment later. "Don't you agree?"

Amy swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes, Sir," she replied, slipping a bit deeper into her submissive role.

She made no protest as Brad fondled her breast for several more seconds, but a short gasp did escape her mouth when he slid the blouse off to the side to completely expose the orb. And then, when his hand finally returned to her breast, she lowered her eyes to the bare breast in shock.

"You really do have beautiful breasts, you know," he teased, brushing his fingers lightly across her fully exposed nipple. "Maybe even nice enough to turn a gay man straight."

Amy lifted her head from her breast and turned to catch her husband's eye. "Please," she whispered. "Not like this. Not here."

"Why dear," Brad replied facetiously. "I pay you a glowing compliment and you don't even have the good graces to acknowledge it." He shook his head slowly from side to side, even as he continued to play with her erect nipple. "I must say, I'm very disappointed in you. I would have thought Derek and Stuart would have done a better job of training you than that."

Amy shot her eyes around the room quickly, confirming that, for the moment at least, no one could see her, then brought them back to Brad and swallowed deeply. "Thank you," she managed to whisper. "You're to kind."

Brad waited a second, then nodded his head. "Better." Then he removed his hand and slid the blouse back over her breast, but only enough to cover her nipple and part of her areola. Then he lowered his eyes to her skirt.

"You look warm, dear. Why don't you unwrap your skirt a bit."

A chill ran down Amy's spine at her husband's words. Then she shook her head slowly. "No, please," she pleaded in a voice that was barely audible. "I can't."

Brad let out a small snicker. "It wasn't really a suggestion, sweet-heart." And then he slipped one hand onto his wife's shoulder while the other hand slid into his pocket. An instant later Amy's body jumped against his hand as the egg sprang to life in her pussy -- full power. And for ten long seconds he held her shoulder firmly while she shivered against it. And then the egg went still.

"You bared your pussy to Derek right here in this very booth," Brad whispered as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Now you're either going to unwrap the skirt for me, or I'm going to expose both of your breasts -- right here, and right now." And then he began easing his hand slowly from her shoulder, pulling her blouse with it, not stopping until the breast was once again completely uncovered. And then he moved his hand to her other shoulder.

Amy lowered her gaze to her bare breast in stunned silence, then lifted eyes back to Brad. She knew from experience that the dark confines of the back corner of the room would serve to mask most anything that may happen under the table. But her breasts? No. It was only a matter of time before someone -- a waitress, a bus-boy, the manager -- ventured within sight.

She closed her eyes and took a long slow breath. Then, just as she felt his hand slipping down her other shoulder with her blouse in tow, she opened them and nodded her head quickly.

"Okay," she gasped. "I'll do it."

Brad stopped his hand, then slid it back up her shoulder. And then he reached around and recovered the other breast, before returning his gaze to Amy and nodding his head.

Amy hesitated a second, then took a deep breath and lowered her hands to her skirt, even as her mind was wondering how things could have possibly gotten so out of hand. But as nervous and scared as she was, the thought of getting up and walking out never entered her mind.

The skirt itself was held together by two simple buttons along the waist. She freed the first button, then moved her hand slowly to the second and slipped it free. Then she hesitated long enough to cast one more glance towards her husband. But when her glance was met only by his hard, steely blue eyes, she exhaled the breath she didn't realize shed been holding and peeled the skirt open, leaving her covered below the waist by nothing but her high-heel shoes and a very sexy, very tiny pair of panties.

Brad admired her for a moment, then reached his hand down to her center, nodding approvingly when she parted her legs without being told. Then he turned the egg on to the low setting and began tracing his fingers around the outline of her hot, swollen lips through her panties.

"You know, I could order you to remove your panties," he stated matter-of-factly. "And even though you'd plead with me not to make you, you would, in fact, do it." He paused, but continued stroking her pussy through her panties while the egg hummed softly inside of her.

"You see," he continued, "I'm beginning to realize that being powerd to do things that put you at risk is a turn on for you. And despite the fear and nervousness that come with the risk, the high that comes from playing the game is something you're unable to pass up." He paused. "Isn't that true, slut-toy?" And even as the question was leaving his lips, his hand was pulling the flimsy fabric of her panties to the side to expose her pussy, even as his other hand was increasing the speed of the egg.

"Oh, cuckolds brownie," Amy gasped. And then, when her husbands fingers came into direct contact with her pussy, she gasped again. Then she closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip, trying to maintain some semblance of composure as he slipped the hood from her clit and began lightly stroking the swollen bud it concealed.

"Please, Brad," she managed to plead between breaths.

"I believe I asked you a question," Brad retorted. Then he switched the egg to full power and went hard to work on her button. "Do you or do you not like being dominated?" he fired, his voice suddenly taking on an even more demanding tone.

"I do!" Amy gasped, now writhing under her husband's dominance.

"And do you or do you not like being exposed and fondled in public?" he continued.

"I do!" Amy gasped again, even as she arched her pussy from the seat to bring it into greater contact with her attacker's hand.

"And do you or do you not like being made to cum by your Master?"

"Yessssssss!" she gasped, barely able to keep her voice below a scream as her body exploded in orgasm. "I doooooooooooo!"

And then the egg switched off and the hand slipped away, and a moment later the still gasping woman opened her eyes to see not only her husband sitting beside her, but their waitress and the manager standing in front of the table.

Amy's initial reaction was pure panic, her hands automatically scrambling to cover her pussy and panties with her skirt. It wasn't until that task was more or less accomplished that she turned to her husband, finding a sly little smile that bordered on a smirk where she'd expected to find a look more resembling the wide-eyed terror she was experiencing.

Once their eyes met, Brad offered his wife a curt nod of the head and a subtle little wink, and then redirected his gaze towards the uninvited guests before them. When Amy turned her head to follow her husband's eyes, taking a close look at the waitress and manager for the first time, she realized that they were at least as nervous and befuddled as she was.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you two to leave," the manger managed to say, shifting his gaze quickly back and forth between the two of them before finally settling on Amy. "I'll escort you to the door as soon as you finish putting yourself together."

Buoyed by her husband's sense of calm, Amy quickly began regaining her composure. She even began to feel a little bit feisty.

"So," she said to the manager, her bravado now very nearly back in full form. "You haven't seen enough yet? Now you're going to stand there and watch me get dressed?"

"Wwwwhat?" the manager stuttered. He hurriedly shifted his gaze to Brad, then back to Amy. Then he turned to the waitress, took hold of her arm, spun her around and pulled her away from the table, not stopping until the two of them were a good ten feet away and facing the other direction.

In actuality, it wasn't the act of redressing that was foremost on Amy's mind. Instead, she turned sideways so she was facing directly at her husband, then leaned against him, making sure to press her bosom hard against his side, even as she was sliding her hand down to his crotch. She couldn't help the shiver of anticipation that shot through her body when she realized that her husband's cock was rock hard.

"So, Master," she cooed softly into his ear as she rubbed his manhood. "Are you going to fuck me tonight, . . . or are you going to play your faggot card?"

For the briefest of moments an angry look flashed through Brad's eyes at his wife's slur, but it faded quickly when he saw the playful look that now occupied her face. Realizing then that she was embracing the game completely, a small smile slid to his face, even as he was sliding his hand inside her blouse to take hold of her breast.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Slut, when I'm damn good and ready to, and not one minute sooner." And then he squeezed her breast hard. "Understand?"

"Ow!," Amy gasped. Then she pushed herself away and playfully stuck her tongue out. Only then did she begin going about the business of putting herself back together, lifting her ass from the seat, repositioning her skirt and slipping the buttons through the holes.

Once the skirt properly attached, her hands reached instinctively for her blouse, taking the lowest button and slipping it through the hole. But then, even as she was reaching for the next button, she froze. And as a mischievous little smile slid across her lips, she dropped her fingers back to the lower button and undid it. And then she turned to look at her husband.

"Ready when you are, dear," she said in a mockingly sweet voice.

Brad snickered softly, then nodded his head approvingly and slid out of the booth. He turned and offered his hand to his wife, who slid out behind him without making the least effort to keep her skirt from riding up her legs, even as she was arching her back to put her ample chest even more on display than it already was.

Once on her feet, Amy turned to her husband and lifted her arm. "Master," she said, lowering her head submissively yet speaking in a voice not only loud enough for the waitress and manager to hear, but loud enough to turn a few heads in the main part of the restaurant, as well.

There was an approving smile on her husband's face as he slid his arm through hers. "This way, Slut," he replied in an equally loud voice. And then, in a very slow gait, he proceeded to make his way towards the front door, taking care to present a full frontal view of his wife to as many patrons as possible.

Once outside in the still warm early evening air, they turned and made their way to the overflow parking lot in silence, still arm in arm, looking for all the world like two normal people leaving a restaurant after a nice meal. That facade vanished the instant they reached the car, as Amy, knowing from her prior experience with Derek just exactly how secluded they were, decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

Catching her husband completely off guard, Amy spun him around and shoved him against the side of the car. Then, before he had an opportunity to recover, she tossed her purse on the hood of the car, grabbed hold of the front of her blouse and ripped it open, sending the remaining two buttons flying to the ground, even as the garment was slipping down her arms and floating to the ground. Then the completely topless woman stepped forward and pressed her naked chest against her husband.

"You didn't answer my question," she started in a coarse, husky voice. "Are you going to fuck me, or are you going to play your faggot card?"

Brad had read about the blow job Amy had given Derek right in this very spot, and he'd seen the parking lot earlier and knew just exactly how deserted it was. But he also knew that it was not at all unusual for Murphy's to start getting busy between eight and nine, at which point the overflow parking lot could suddenly become much busier than they'd like. But eight o'clock was still well over an hour away, he reamistered. And besides, he had to admit that seeing his wife completely bare her upper body in a public place was sparking feelings inside him unlike any he'd ever experienced.

He took a deep breath and looked around furtively, confirming that were there no people and only one other parked car in sight. And then he turned his eyes back to his wife, who by now was rubbing herself wantonly against him, even as her hand was drifting down to his crotch in search of his hidden treasure.

It was Amy's hand coming into contact with his crotch that finally snapped him from his daze and stirred him to action, moving him to once again reclaim control of the night. He grabbed his wife's arm and pulled it away from his pants, then he slid his own hands between their bodies, grabbed hold of the front of her skirt and ripped it open. Before the skirt could even reach the ground, he grabbed hold of her biceps and spun her around, not stopping until their positions were completely reversed and her backside was pressed against the side of the car. Then he backed away just enough to grab hold of her panties and rip them down her legs. That's when he reached behind her head, grabbed hold of a tuft of hair and pulled her away from the car. Then he spun her around and guided her to the side of the hood, pushing her chest downward until it was pressing against the hood. Only then did he release her hair and take two small steps backwards.

A short pause followed, a pause aimed not so much at allowing Brad to regain his composure or admire his handiwork as it was at allowing his wife's lust and hunger to build. Even so, he couldn't help taking a moment to take in the erotic sight before him -- his wife, now dressed in nothing but a pair of high heel shoes with dainty ankle straps, bent over the hood of her own car in the back corner of a public parking lot. Just the thought of it was enough to cause a shiver to shoot through his body.

Several seconds passed before Brad stepped up to her left side, placed his left hand on her back and his right on her ass. Then he pulled his right hand away, detouring just long enough to switch the egg on high, before returning his hand quickly and firmly to her ass -- WHACK!!!

Amy gasped, her body jerking against the hand on her back as the egg sprang into life and the blow landed firmly on her buttocks.

"It seems to me you're getting a little uppity for a slut-toy," she heard Brad comment, even as she felt him withdraw his hand and -- WHACK!!! -- deliver a second blow to her buttocks.

"Oh, cuckolds brownie!' she groaned, instinctively pushing her ass back against his hand.

"First, you take not one," -- WHACK!!! -- "but two young men as your Masters," -- WHACK!!! -- he continued, even as she continued her wincing and groaning beneath him.

"Then you deceive me," WHACK!!!

". . . and argue with me," WHACK!!!

". . . and sass me." WHACK!!!

"Oh, my God," Amy gasped, her shaking body hovering dangerously close to release.

"And then, to top it all off," he said, leaning down to her ear, "you call me a faggot!" WHACK!!! WHACK!!! WHACK!!!

That's when Amy lost it, her body exploding in her second orgasm, jerking spasmodically before slumping to the car as her husband delivered yet another blow to her rear end -- WHACK!!!

Brad switched the egg off and backed slowly away. Then, as the last few shudders were working their way through Amy's body, he kicked off his shoes and began undoing his belt. It was less than a handful of seconds later when, now naked from the waist down, he slipped up behind his wife, pulled the wire that was attached to the egg, removing the now quiet ovate object from her dripping pussy and tossing it nonchalantly towards her purse. Then he brought his very erect cock to the gates of her womanhood and eased the tip just inside, moving his left hand quickly to her back when she instinctively jumped at his intrusion.

"So, you want to get fucked by a faggot, do you?" he said, slipping his cock out of her pussy and rubbing it over her swollen lips.

"Yessss," came the guttural response.

Brad smiled to himself. "Yes, what?' he questioned, even as he eased the head of his cock back into her pussy before quickly withdrawing it.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," Amy groaned wantonly before lifting her head and turning back to her husband. "Yes, Master," she wheezed. "I want to get fucked by a faggot." And then she dropped her head back to the hood and, in a voice that left no doubt that the game was finally over, whispered, "Please . . ."

"So be it, slut," he replied. And then he eased his meat back to the gates of her hunger, slid his hands to her hips, hesitated briefly, and slammed his cock home, clutching onto her hips as she pushed her chest off the hood and let out a yelp that was loud enough to be heard at the other end of the lot.

Brad began pounding his meat into his wife, to far gone to be concerned with any danger Amy's scream may have presented. He slid his hands up her sides and around to her breasts, grabbing hold of the pendulous orbs and pulling her towards his chest, even as he continued to attack her, thrusting into her pussy even as she pressed her pussy back in opposition.

They were both grunting now, overwhelmed by the hunger and lust their little game had stirred up, neither concerned with anything other than satisfying their pure naturalistic needs. It was no wonder that, as fiery and hot and rough as their assault on each other had been, it was equally short, with both of them exploding at very nearly the same time.

Their body's went nearly rigid as they jerked the final spasms from their systems. When Amy's body finally went limp, she slumped forward, her breasts slipping from Brad's hands as she settled back to the hood of the car. An instant later Brad fell forward on top of her, supporting the majority of his weight on his elbows. And for several moments that's how they stayed, each struggling to refill their lungs with air and quiet the pounding in their hearts.

Eventually Brad pushed himself from the hood and backed away, followed a second later by Amy, who pushed herself upright and turned to face her husband.

"Wow," she said in barely more than a whisper as she slid forward into his arms.

They held each other for some time, her still naked, him naked from the waist down, neither with a care or concern for anything but the other. They were nearly completely recovered when Brad slid his hands to Amy's hips, turned her slightly and backed her up so her backside was pressing against the passenger door. Then, as a sly smile made its way across his lips, he lowered his right hand to her left thigh and lifted it towards his waist.

"Well, well," Amy smiled, rocking her pussy slowly against him. "Who say's you can't teach an old dog new tricks." And with that, she wrapped her arms firmly around his shoulders and lifted her right leg, wrapping it around his waist and locking it with her left. A soft coo left her throat as she felt Brad easing his cock against her pussy. And then, while leaning against the side of the car in an overflow parking lot, they made soft, tender love for the first time in a very, very long time.

* * *

They'd both climaxed some time earlier, yet neither was willing to let the other go. It was as if they both finally realized that, as much as they'd always loved and needed each other, something had been missing in their lives, and having only now rediscovered it, they weren't quite willingly to let it go -- at least not just yet.

It was a pair of headlights sweeping into the parking lot that finally got their attention, bringing the two of them instantly awake. They held their position, bodies together, arms wrapped around each other, and listened . . . and waited.

Although they couldn't see the car, they could tell that it had come to rest in a parking spot some ways away. The engine went off and the doors opened, and then the sound of young men's voices began filling the air.

About 30 seconds passed before the cars doors closed. It was that long again before the voices were finally far enough away for Amy and Brad to exhale the breaths they'd been holding.

"Maybe we should start thinking about getting out of here," Brad offered. Amy smiled and nodded her head, before reluctantly releasing her arms from Brad's neck and easing from his hug.

She looked around, quickly locating her discarded clothes. She went for the blouse first and slipped it on, and then realized the buttons were no longer attached. Her panties had landed in a muddy, greasy spot and no longer looked fit to be worn. Her skirt, although also ripped in several places and missing its buttons, was nonetheless clean enough to at least keep her pussy from dripping on the seat.

She smiled to herself, sighed softly and turned towards Brad, who had just finished fastening his pants and slipping on the belt.

"Maybe we should take the the back roads home," she said.

Brad looked at his still mostly naked wife and smiled. "Yeah, I think that might be a good idea."

It had been two and-a-half months since Stuart Chambers first took Kara Johnmister as his slut-toy, and a day more than that since he'd taken Amy Marshall, another middle-aged friend of his lady's. Yet even now, every time he thought of it a large, cuckolds brownie-eating grin came to his face. After all, he had what other guys didn't even dare to dream of; two constantly horny women at his beck and call who would do anything he demanded without hesitation and without question. It was better -- far better -- then anything he'd ever dared dream of. The only problem -- other than finding the energy to keep both of them satisfied -- was keeping his secret from his lady. After all, what was the likelihood that she'd understand, let alone approve?

* * *

Pamela Chambers, Stuart's lady, pulled her car into the parking spot a couple minutes past noon and turned off the engine. As most women do, she then proceeded to check her appearance in the mirror, primping her hair and making certain her lipstick was applied just right. Only after her appearance passed this essential scrutiny did she grab her purse, exit the car and head for the mall entrance.

She was making her way through the center-court, headed for her favorite store, when she spotted what appeared to be the back of her mister about thirty yards in front of her.

"Stuart," she called out. But her call went unheeded.

She picked up her pace and tried to close the gap. But before she could catch him, he turned into a woman's lingerie store. That was when she first noticed the girl -- make that woman -- he was with.

She slowed her pace, fairly certain the young man would not appreciate running into his lady at a time like this. But before she could turn away and start down another wing, she saw Stuart's hand slide to the woman's ass and guide her to the side, turning her so her profile was towards Pamela.

"On, my god!" Pamela gasped, lifting her hand instinctively to cover her mouth when she realized that the ass her mister's hand was on was none other than Kara Johnmister's, her best friend. Pamela looked around nervously, then slid behind a nearby fake tree and returned her attention to the store.

She watched her mister guide Kara to an underwear display, where he pointed out a pair of tie-side thongs. Then, to her even greater dismay, she watched him pick a pair off the rack and hand it to her.

After that he led her to a part of the store she couldn't see, but when they emerged three minutes later, Kara was holding a frilly black bra while Stuart was holding a very tiny, very revealing nightie. When the two stepped up to the counter to pay, Pamela turned and quickly made her way back to the mall entrance and out to her car.

It wasn't until she was safely inside the car that she finally had a chance to gather her wits and really think about what she'd just seen. Her mister -- that sweet, innocent young man -- was being used as the permisteral play toy of her heretofore best friend, a 38 year-old divorcee.

"Damn you, Kara Johnmister," she spat. "Damn you to hell!" And with that she started the car, threw it into gear and made a bee-line straight for her house.

* * *

Pamela Chambers -- who in point-of-fact was Stuart's step-lady, having been the young's guardian since shortly after his man died barely a year into their marriage -- spent the majority of the afternoon pacing the floor and wondering how she should deal with her new-found knowledge. She had no doubt how Stuart would react if she tried broaching the subject with him, so that avenue was clearly out. Yet it was equally obvious that she couldn't just let it lay. After all, he was just a kid; that barracuda she used to call her best friend would chew him up and spit him out. How could she -- his Mother -- let that happen?

She took a deep breath, held it briefly, then let it out. There was really only one option. She had to confront Kara, and she had to do it the first chance she got.

* * *

It was a bit after 5:00 when Stuart finally made it home.

"Hello," he shouted as he entered through the side door. "Anyone home?"

Pamela, who'd been waiting nervously in the family room, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm in here."

Stuart rounded the corner and found his step-lady sitting on the sofa against the far wall. He smiled at the only lady he could remember, the woman he called 'lady' with as much love as any young man could have for their lady. To him, as to her, red made no difference. They were as much lady and mister as anyone.

"Hi, Mom" Stuart he said lightly, entering the room and plopping himself down in his favorite recliner. "I'm famished. What's for dinner."

"Meatloaf, baked potatoes and salad," she answered. "It'll be ready in about 45 minutes."

"Great," he replied, pushing himself to his feet. "That give's me enough time to shower and change."

"Are you going out tonight?"

"Just over to Ralph's," he answered. "I told you last night, remember? The Texas Hold 'em party?"

It was 6:15 when they finished dinner, and 7:00 when Stuart finally left the house. Fifteen minutes after that, a determined and quite angry Pamela Chambers, dressed in a blue jean skirt, a peach colored cami with no bra and a simple pair of sandals, also left the house.

* * *

"Pamela," Kara said as she pulled the door part way open. "I wasn't expecting you. Is something wrong?"

"Can I come in?" Pamela replied bluntly.

Kara looked nervously into her house, then back towards her friend. "Actually, I have plans tonight and I'm running a bit late."

"It'll only take a minute."

Another hesitation followed before Kara gave a nervous shrug and pulled the door fully open. "Okay, but just for a minute."

Kara led her friend into the living room, then turned to face her. "What's going on, Pamela?" And that's when Kara's worst fear became reality.

"You bitch! How could you?" Pamela screamed in response, unleashing the anger she'd been struggling to hold in.

"What are you talking about," Kara retorted with a feigned look of innocence.

"Don't give me that cuckolds brownie! You know exactly what I'm talking about," came the frantic response. "You and Stuart!"

And there it was, out in the open at last.

Silence ruled the room for a moment, each woman staring at the other -- Pamela with fire in her eyes, Kara with a look of total dismay. Finally Kara managed a deep breath and tried to plead her case.

"I'm so sorry, Pamela. I know I should have exercised better judgment. It's just that . . ."

"Exercised better judgment?" Pamela shot back. "Why you little slut! You're nothing but a cheap whore."

"Pamela, please," Kara pleaded. "It's not what you think."

"Oh, it's not, is it?" Stuart's mom retorted, taking an aggressive step towards the other woman. "Then you're not relaxing with my baby?"

Kara staggered back from her friend, bumping into the edge of the sofa and falling onto the cushion.

"Well?" Pamela fired out, stepping forward so she was towering above the now seated, cringing woman. "Are you fucking him or not?"

Several seconds of silence followed. "Yes," Kara finally replied. "I am."

"And are you or are you not old enough to be his lady?"

Again, a soft 'yes' slid from Kara's mouth as she lowered her head in shame.

"Then enlighten me," Pamela continued, keeping up the pressure. "How, exactly, is it not what I think?"

The answer, when it came a few seconds later, did not come from in front of Pamela, but behind her, and it did not come from Kara's mouth, but from that of her mister.

"If you'll shut up and stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, I'll tell you."

Pamela nearly jumped out of her skin as she raised herself away from Kara and turned to face her mister. "Stuart? You're supposed to be playing cards tonight?"

The initial feeling of shock and surprise that Stuart had felt when he first saw his lady's car pulling into the driveway had quickly given way to a feeling of unbridled anger as he listened to the woman that had raised him unleash her verbal tirade on his slut-toy. Yet despite his rage, somewhere deep inside he knew there was a right way to handle the situation. And it was with great effort that he struggled to hold his temper in check.

"It's not her fault," he said in a very slow voice.

"Not her fault?" Pamela questioned, her mouth hanging agape at her mister's ridiculous statement. And then she turned to look into Kara's eyes. "Why, she's nothing but a two-bit tramp."

And in spite of his efforts to control his temper, when he heard his mom call Kara a two-bit tramp, Stuart lost it.

"And just what the fuck entitles you to be her judge and jury?" he exploded. "You don't know the first thing about our relationship." So much for handling things 'the right way.'

The look in her mister's eyes at that instant was unlike any look Pamela had ever seen, and without even realizing it she took a small step backwards. She tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly developed in her throat, then opened her mouth to answer his verbal query.

"I'm your lady!" she replied with all the false bravado she could muster. "That's what entitles me to be her judge and jury. And as far as not knowing what's going on, I saw it with my own two eyes at the mall this afternoon."

Stuart clinched his jaw tightly, struggling to maintain his composure. But when he turned his head towards his slut-toy and saw the stunned, glazed-over look in her eyes as she sat there shaking visibly, he nearly lost it on the spot.

He closed his eyes and fought the urge to lash out at his lady, taking long, slow breaths until he managed to regain some sort of control. When he finally opened his eyes again and looked into the vacant eyes of his slut-toy, he knew what had to be done. And with a small part of him screaming out in outrage at what was about to happen, he turned back to his lady, his anger now strangely lessened, replaced by a feeling eerily similar to the one he felt when he was about to enpower his will on Kara or Amy.

He took a challenging step towards his lady, powering her to back into the front of the wing chair that sat opposite the sofa, then took another step forward, powering her to lower herself into the chair before him. Then he leaned forward, placed a hand on each of the arms of the chair and spoke in a voice that was so strained it sent shivers down his lady's spine.

"You may have seen two people at the mall, but you did not see what you think you saw."

Pamela was in a state of shock at how events were unfolding. She'd come here to confront Kara, but instead found herself at odds with Stuart. She'd intended to do whatever was necessary to protect her mister from that tramp she used to call friend, but now found herself cringing helplessly. Still, she managed to gather herself for one more retort.

"I saw my innocent mister being led down a very dangerous path by a woman that's twice his age and supposed to be my best friend," she whispered. "What else was there to see?"

By way of response, Stuart leaned even closer, then spoke in a voice Pamela had to struggle to hear. "The truth," he said simply. Then, without turning his gaze away from his lady, he spoke again, only this time his words were not directed at Pamela.

"Slut-toy, stand up!" he barked.

It's hard to imagine how such a simple combination of words could have had more impact on two women. For Kara, it was her worst nightmare come true. The young man she called Master was calling her forward in the very presence of his lady. She found herself paralyzed by his words, unable to obey his command, yet somehow not willing to argue it. So instead she just sat there, frozen, unable to counteract the flood of emotions that were overwhelming her senses.

For Pamela, the words were a sudden revelation. There was no mistaking the look in her mister's eyes, nor was there any mistaking the tone of his voice when he asked -- no, ordered -- the other woman to stand up. 'Slut-toy,' he'd called her, the words spoken by someone who had every confidence that he'd be obeyed. And when Pamela shifted her eyes from her mister to her former best friend, she knew the truth the instant she saw the look in her face.

She shifted her gaze back to Stuart. "I . . ."

"Silence!" Stuart barked, sending his lady cringing further into the chair. "You came here with accusations, now you're going to learn the truth, the real truth." Then he turned his head just enough so he could see Kara and spoke again.

"I thought I told you to stand up, slut-toy."

Kara's stomach was in knots, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She lifted her eyes just enough to look in her young master's direction, then took a furtive look towards Pamela as she struggled to cope with her predicament. If she did nothing, she risked losing not only her best friend, but her Master as well. Yet if she obeyed him, the resulting emotional scar could mar each of their lives for as long as they lived. She took a deep breath, then released it. And as the air streamed slowly from her lungs, she realized that, above all else, she could not deal with losing Stuart. So, still not completely certain she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life, she lifted herself slowly to her feet.

"Yes, Master," she said in a near whisper. But it was a whisper that nearly shook the house to it's foundation.

In contrast to Kara's whispered words, the gasp that left Pamela's mouth was nearly ear shattering. "Oh, my God," she cried, instinctively moving to rise to her feet. But before she was hardly able to move, Stuart's hand was on her shoulder, holding her back.

"I told you you were going to learn the truth," Stuart said in a soft, yet somehow threatening voice, "and that's exactly what you're going to do. Now, sit down and don't move again until I dismiss you. Understand?"

Now it was Pamela's stomach that was in knots; Pamela's heart that was beating out of control in her chest as the young man she'd raised since the age of two leered over her, now clearly in control of the room and everyone in it, including her. What's worse, she knew his one word question hadn't been a rhetorical one. He did, indeed, expect an acknowledgment. So, after taking a nervous breath, she nodded her head slowly.

"Yes," she replied in a raspy voice. "I understand."

"Good," he said with a small nod. Then he turned towards Kara. "Remove your clothes, slut-toy."

It was a command his slut-toy had feared was was coming, and one his lady was completely unprepared for. Yet when it came neither woman made a sound, the only things betraying their emotions being the look of shock on Pamela's face and a look that somehow encompassed both fear and lust on Kara's.

Several long seconds passed before Kara was able to draw her eyes away from Pamela and look at her Master. Then, knowing Pamela's eyes were still locked directly on her, she finally acknowledged the order.

"Yes, Master." Then she lifted her hands to her blouse and began releasing the buttons.

Pamela watched in stunned silence as Kara's trembling hands went to work. She watched the hands as they moved nervously from one button to the next at a steady, albeit slow, pace, continuing the process until the last button finally fell free. Then she watched her shrug her shoulders awkwardly and send the garment slipping down her arms and floating to the floor.

A fog seemed to be settling over Pamela's brain as she continued to sit there, mesmerized by the the events that were unfolding around her. She was in such a state, in fact, that she failed to notice that the nervousness in Kara's actions was slowly giving way to a hunger that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

In truth, the change in Kara over the last few moments had been staggering. The shock and confusion that had ruled the earlier part of the encounter had given way to shame, offense and embarrassment when Stuart ordered her to her feet. Then, when he ordered her to remove her clothing, the shame, offense and embarrassment were joined by a very strong dose of fear.

There was no denying that her trembling fingers had made it difficult for her to slip the first two buttons through the button holes. In fact, her fingers were still trembling when she finally freed the last button, but by then the fear and shame had begun giving way to an eerie kind of excitement, an excitement that bordered on arousal.

With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, she let the blouse slip off her shoulders, slide down her arms and flutter to the floor. And when her fingers finally reached the clasp on her pants, her juices that were flowing freely in her pussy.

By the time she began sliding her pants over her hips, her whole demeanor had changed. That she was still in a mental daze was an undeniable fact, that she was nervous and scared a certainty. But now there was no denying the excitement, no denying the arousal . . . and no denying the lust.

Aware that Pamela's eyes were glued to her body, Kara wiggled her way slowly out of her pants, using a bit more hip action than necessary to kick the garment from her feet and across the floor. Then, while standing there in nothing but her bra and panties, she looked to Stuart for confirmation that she was to continue. And while there was no denying that a part of her was hoping he'd say enough was enough, a larger part of her was clearly yearning for more -- more shame, more fear, more excitement . . . and much more lust.

It was the lust part that got its way as Stuart gave a short, but somehow emphatic nod of his head, a nod that caused a sexual shock wave to shoot through Kara's body and nearly buckle her knees. Then, even as the lustful haze that was filling her mind grew stronger, she turned her gaze back to Pamela.

It was at that moment -- the moment she turned her head and caught Pamela staring directly at the damp spot in her panties with her mouth hanging open -- that Kara realized that the situation was affecting her friend at least as much as it was affecting her. But it wasn't until her friend managed to lift her gaze from the damp spot to reveal the glazed over look in her eyes that the true meaning of what that meant filtered through to her brain. And another quiver shook her womanhood.

But Kara didn't allow herself to dwell on Pamela's discomfort. Instead, she let the smile slip from her face as she eased her hands behind her back and released the bra clasp. A moment later the bra was on the floor and her beautiful breasts were on full display, complete with erect nipples sticking out brave and proud in front of them. And when she saw Pamela's jaw drop almost to her chest as her eyes took in the majesty of her 36-D's, she almost orgasmed on the spot.

By this time, the newly released slut in Kara had taken complete complete control of her emotions. No longer was there any concern for her pride or dignity. No more did she care where she was or who was watching. She didn't even care that the other two people in the room were lady and mister. The only thing that mattered to her as she slid her hands slowly up her tummy and onto her tits was the burning hunger that was consuming her. And as she squeezed her mounds roughly and pinched her nipples, a sharp gasp escaped her mouth.

She held that position for several moments, squeezing and massaging her breasts, rolling her hips and breathing heavily, not releasing the orbs until she had Pamela squirming uneasily in the chair. Then, with a slowness intended to magictize the already stunned woman and push her even closer to the edge, she eased her hands towards her panties, slipped her thumbs in the waistband and eased the damp, flimsy item ever so slowly over her hips and down her legs.

~

From Stuart's point of view, things had started out pretty much the way he thought they would when he ordered his slut-toy to her feet. He'd expected the initial reluctance that Kara had displayed, but had had every confidence that, when it got right down to it, her craving for the rush that came from her offense and embarrassment would prove to much to resist. And once she did give in to her lust, he knew her initial actions would be tentative, but would grow more confident as her state of arousal increased.

And also as he'd expected, his slut-toy had obeyed him completely, and by so doing clearly demonstrated the extent of domination he held over her to his lady. Now, not even his lady could deny just how wrong she'd been about their relationship. And now that that was established, it was time to send his lady scampering home with her tail between her legs so he could take care of unfinished business with his slut-toy. After all, Kara had been most obedient today, and obedient slut-toys should always be rewarded!

He wondered briefly if he hadn't been too cruel to his lady, if maybe his actions hadn't been a little over the top. But he pushed the thought quickly from his mind. 'No!' he thought emphatically. After all, she'd started it by sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. And besides, it wasn't as if it was her he'd ordered to undress. No, she was getting exactly what she deserved for barging in with help that was neither asked for nor desired.

But even before he could vanquish that thought from his mind, even before he could go back to patting himself on the back for pegging Kara's responses so perfectly, things took an unexpected turn -- a most unexpected turn.

~

Kara, now completely naked but for the damp panties lying around her ankles, stood as steady as her pounding heart and lust-filled pussy would let her as both Stuart and his lady looked on. She knew what she was supposed to do, she was supposed to turn towards her Master and await his next instruction. And if it hadn't been for the completely unexpected effect her submissive strip-show had had on Pamela, not to mention the equally unexpected effect Pamela's reaction to it had had on her, that's exactly what she would have done.

But she had had an effect on her obviously lust-dazed friend, and that in turn, had kindled an equally strong lust in her. It was a dizzying lust, a hungry lust. But mostly, it was a lust that needed to be acted on. And with or without Master's permission, that's exactly what Kara intended to do. So, after one final calming breath, she stepped out of her panties and moved to the front of Pamela's chair, then she leaned over, took hold of Pamela's hands and began backing away.

The look on Pamela's face as Kara began pulling her to her feet was one of absolute stark terror. Instinctively, she pulled her hands back, holding her position in the chair.

But Kara, with a sultry smile on her face, reached for them again, this time holding them firmly enough to prevent Pamela from withdrawing them easily. And again she began backing slowly away.

"Please don't," Pamela pleaded softly. But even as the words were slipping through her lips, she found herself rising to her feet, then allowing Kara to turn her so her back was to her mister.

"I shouldn't have come," Pamela continued desperately. "I know that now, and I'm sorry. If you'll just let me leave, we can forget the whole thing." But in spite of her words, she made no effort to turn for the door. She didn't, in fact, even try to withdraw her hands from Kara's grasp.

"Really? You can forget the whole thing?" Kara challenged. "You can forget that your mister is my Master? And you can forget that he ordered me to undress in front of you?" She eased herself closer to her friend, then released her hands and brushed a few stray strands of hair from Pamela's face. When she spoke again her face was so close Pamela could feel her breath on her face.

"And you can forget how you felt as you watched me undress, how you felt when you first saw my naked breasts, or how you felt when you saw my pussy and realized that I was at least as excited as you were? You can forget all that, Pamela? Really?"

Pamela opened her mouth to argue, but closed it without uttering a sound. What was the point? Truth was she couldn't forget it, and Kara and Stuart both knew it. Even if they were to allow her to walk out the door right then and there, she would never be able to forget the events that transpired there that evening. And she certainly wouldn't be able to forget the effect they'd had on her.

So, instead of putting up an argument she could never win, she took a deep breath and swallowed the lump that had somehow become lodged in her throat..

"It isn't right," she finally answered. "It just isn't right."

Kara continued running her hands through Pamela's hair, then brushed her fingers across her cheek. "It's as right as we want it to be," she finally answered. Then she slid her hands down to Pamela's hips, leaned forward and began nibbling on her ear. A moment after that she forsook the ear for the neck, sliding her lips down to plant soft little kisses up and down its length.

"Noooooooooo," Pamela whispered desperately as her whole body shuddered. But she offered no further argument, and the effort she made to push Kara away was feeble, at best.

Pamela was finding it increasingly difficult to resist her friend's advances as her body continued to betray her. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to quiet the urges she was feeling as Kara made soft, easy love to her neck and ear, nor could she suppress the soft moans that managed to sneak through her lips. In another place or another time, she reluctantly acknowledged, who knows what could happen. But not here, not now, and certainly not with Stuart standing only a few feet away.

'Stuart!' she groaned silently as thoughts of her mister lept back into her mind.

She lifted her hands to Kara's head and pushed it from her neck. "I can't do this, Kara," she said, her cracking voice betraying the emotions that were tearing her apart.

"Yes," Kara whispered softly back. "You can." Then she moved her hands to Pamela's shoulders and began caressing them tenderly. "You want it as bad as I do. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your body."

"But Stuart," she countered, leaving the sentence hanging.

"He understands," Kara replied. "Of all people, your mister understands."

Pamela struggled for words, desperately seeking that one defense that would not only free her physically, but emotionally as well, anything that would allow her to understand and counter the emotional war she was waging -- and losing.

"Please," she finally whimpered, offering the only words that came to mind. "I'm not like that. I'm not a lesbian."

Kara slid her fingers inside the spaghetti straps that held Pamela's cami up, then began easing them to the edge of her shoulders. "I know you're not," she whispered as she allowed the straps to slide freely down her arms. "Neither am I."

Pamela felt her heart leap into her throat as the straps slid from her shoulders. She again tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she lowered her head, allowing her eyes to verify what her mind already knew -- her cami was bunched around her waist and her breasts were completely uncovered.

She closed her eyes, bit down on her lower lip and took a deep breath. Later, she'd look back on that moment and realize that the thought of covering her nakedness never entered her mind. But that would be later. At the moment, all she could find the strength to do was open her eyes, ease her head up and look into her Kara's eyes, knowing that her mister was standing a few feet behind her, staring at her naked back.

~

Believe it or not, Stuart was at least as shocked as his lady at the actions that had recently transpired. If he had to put a label to it, he'd call it Kara's coming out party; the first time since her 'awakening' that she'd been with anyone other than Derek, himself and -- on the few occasions when both of Stuart's slut-toys were included in his games at the same time -- Amy. And never -- not with Derek, not with Stuart, not with Amy -- had Kara ever taken an aggressive posture. And while it was true that the events of the evening had started out a bit awkwardly for her, the end result was undeniable. Kara had not just come out of her shell, she'd shattered it, bringing all her hunger, all her needs, and all her pent up naturalistic lust with her. And the victim of it all . . . was none other than his own lady.

But as surprised as he was at his slut-toy's actions, he was even more surprised at his lady's. To Stuart, Pamela Chambers had always been just his lady, not a real woman with real sexual needs and yearnings. But clearly that was a real woman standing before him and just as clearly she did have real sexual needs, needs that -- from his permisteral observation -- hadn't been fulfilled since his man died almost 16 years before.

Sixteen years, he thought. No wonder she'd been so vulnerable to Kara's attack.

But his surprise went beyond even that. If he were powerd to be vulgarly honest, there was no way he could deny the excitement he was feeling as he his lady surrendered to the sexual advances of another woman. Nor could he deny that it wasn't his slut-toy his eyes were glued to, it was his lady. And despite the parent-young relationship they shared, he couldn't deny the arousal building inside him any more than he could deny the throbbing he'd felt in his pants when he watched her top slide down her torso.

Pamela lifted her eyes from her exposed breasts. Too shocked to speak, she stared into Kara's eyes in stunned disbelief, her breathing now coming in short, shallow gasps. Finally, she gathered herself enough to utter one simple word.

"Stuart?"

Kara reached up and tenderly took Pamela's face in her hands, brushing her cheeks lightly with her thumbs. "You should see him," she said in barely more than a whisper. "I've never seen him so on edge before."

"No," Pamela gasped, instinctively, reaching to cover her breasts.

Kara laughed lightly, then released her face, gently took hold of her arms and eased them back to her sides. "That's a good thing," she teased. Then she lifted her hands and lightly trailed her fingertips across Pamela's naked nipples.

A low, guttural sound escaped Pamela's throat as Kara's fingers traced their way across her aroused tips. Then, when those same fingers slid lightly over the meat of her bosom, a shiver shot down her spine, even as goosebumps were breaking out across her flesh. And as a deep sigh escaped her lips, she allowed her eyes to slide closed, giving herself over to the gentle pleasure the fingers were providing.

Although vaguely aware of the passage of time as she stood there, Pamela made no move to alter her circumstance. And when the question drifted through the back of her mind -- was this surrender? -- she ignored it, pushing it from her mind unanswered.

She became aware that Kara's hands were leaving her breasts, moving to her arms where they gently lifted each one and slipped them from the cami's straps.

Feeling Kara's naked breasts pressing against her own, Pamela opened her eyes, only to close them again as Kara reached around her waist and fumred with the snap of her blue jean skirt. She kept them closed as the skirt slid over her hips and down her legs. But when the hands slid inside the top of her cami and began easing the garment over her hips, hooking inside the waistband of her panties as they went, she opened them again. Then, in response to the last little voice still screaming inside her head, she reached out to stop the hands from completing their task.

A silent standoff ensued, a standoff that saw the two women staring into each other's eyes, neither speaking, neither moving. The standoff reached the 5 second mark; neither moved. It stretched to 10 seconds, then beyond. It wasn't until it was nearing the 20 second mark that Pamela finally allowed a deep sigh of resignation to pass her lips. A moment later her hands were again at her sides, and a moment after that she was naked, a pile of no longer needed clothes lying at her feet.

Kara moved quicker now, sliding her hands up the woman's sides, then onto her C-cup breasts. She pinched the nipples hard, squeezing and kneading the heaving breasts roughly as Pamela grabbed hold of her hips and fell against her.

"Oh my god," Pamela gasped, desperately trying to keep her wobbly legs from giving out, even as her friend continued working her tits. "Oh my god."

Kara released the breasts without warning, but she was far from done. She moved her left hand behind Pamela's head, grabbed a tuft of hair and pulled her head back, even as she was pulling her naked body closer against her own. Then she eased her right hand between their bodies and slid her fingers to the edge of her friend's dripping cunt. Then she slammed them in.

"Aaarrggghhhhhhhhhhhh," Pamela cried out as the fingers dove into her pussy. But instead of withdrawing them and slamming them home again, Kara held them there as she leaned her face closer to her victim.

"So, do you understand now?" she asked.

"What?" Pamela gasped. "I don't know . . . what you mean."

Kara pulled her friend closer, if that was possible, then eased her mouth to her ear. She bit lightly on the ear lobe and ran her tongue around the inside of the ear. Then she continued.

"Do you understand what it's like to want something your mind is telling you you shouldn't have, and to want it so badly that nothing else matters, not even that it's the mister of your best friend?" She hesitated, then twisted her hair a bit more and ground her fingers deeper into her pussy. "And not even if it's your best friend herself, with your mister standing nearby watching your surrender?"

"Please, Kara," Pamela groaned, her body writhing under the assault. "Please don't make me."

"Answer the question, Pamela!" Kara countered with a touch of softness in her voice. "It's the only thing that will set you free."

Then she relaxed her grasp of her hair, relieving some of the tension on her neck. But she did not remove her fingers from her pussy. "Do you understand what it's like to be a slut-toy, or not?" she whispered.

With redness in her eyes and a small tear sneaking from the corner of her eye, Pamela nodded her head as best she could. "Yes," she responded weakly. "I do."

A sly smile slid across Kara's face. "In that case, slut-toy," she started, "allow me to introduce you to . . . Master." And with that, she withdrew her fingers from Pamela's pussy, took hold of her arm and spun her around until she was facing directly at her mister. Then she reached around her, returned her right hand to her pussy and slammed her fingers home.

"Oh cuckolds brownie!" Pamela yelled out, closing her eyes and grabbing desperately for any part of Kara's body she could reach as an orgasm ripped her body.

After a few moments, Pamela was able to regather herself. She realized that Kara had withdrawn her right hand from her pussy and was now tracing her fingers lightly over her body. She eased her eyes open slowly, only to find Stuart standing a bit less than ten feet away with his eyes takeing in her nakedness, watching as Kara's fingers toyed with her aroused body.

A shiver shot through her and a hollow emptiness took possession of her stomach as she watched her mister examine her in a way no mister should ever be allowed to do. She watched him as he looked her over carefully -- all of her -- and watched as his eyes lingered on her breasts and on her center. It wasn't until he lifted his eyes to hers, however, that she noticed that the uncertainty and anger that had possessed him earlier was gone, replaced by a confidence she'd never seen in him before, a confidence that said without question, 'I am the Master! I am the Man!'

"It looks like Master approves," Kara whispered in her ear from behind, breaking her reverie. Then she twisted her hair again and pulled her down to her knees, tilting her head backwards so she was looking up backwards at her face while her front was on open display to her mister.

"But you're not for Master," she whispered, "you're for me." Then she reached down, grabbed hold of her right breast and squeezed. "Aren't you?"

"Ugghhhh," was the only response she got.

Pamela was rapidly losing all contact with sanity as Kara toyed with her mercilessly, leading her on an emotional roller-coaster, eliciting emotions she never knew she had. She'd thought that once she was naked, once she'd been thoroughly shamed and humiliated in front of her mister, and once she'd been thrown over the edge of orgasmic bliss while her mister looked on, that the worst might be over.

She was wrong. And as yet another shiver shot down her spine, she realized that, not only was she no longer in control of her own destiny, she no longer cared.

"Crawl," Kara ordered, her voice breaking through her thoughts even as the hand in her hair was steering her towards the coffee table and giving a small push of encouragement, powering her to knee-walk across the carpeted floor, not stopping until Kara pulled back on her hair when she reached the end of the coffee table.

"Turn around, sit on the edge of the table and spread your legs," Kara continued, pulling up on her hair to ensure her speedy obedience, a gesture which proved unnecessary as Pamela immediately moved to comply, even opening her legs to her mister without protest.

"Now, lay back and hold your hands over your head," Kara ordered, finally releasing her hold on Pamela's hair.

Pamela lowered her backside to the table without comment, then stretched her arms over her head until she was spread out and exposed like she'd never been before. She looked up at the two people standing over her, first catching Kara's eyes, then her mister's. And goosebumps once again broke out across her body.

"Now it's play time," Kara said, sliding between Pamela's wide-spread legs and dropping to her knees.

Kara slid her fingers across Pamela's tummy, dragging them lightly down her sides. A smile crossed her lips when she saw the new slut-toy jump. "Ticklish," she commented matter-of-factly. "I'll have to remember that." Then she gave her sides a small goosing, sending Pamela to another writhing retreat.

But it wasn't a tickling that interested Kara right then, as became evident when she slid her hands to the inside of Pamela's thighs and pushed them wider, and then slid the hands back to the heart of her womanhood and slipped two fingers from one hand into the already cum-soaked pussy while two fingers from the other hand slid the hood off of her love button. Then she lowered her head.

When her friend's tongue flicked across her clit, Pamela almost lost it on the spot. "Oh, cuckolds brownie," she cried out, instinctively closing her eyes and writhing atop the table as Kara's tongue continued its sensual dance around her love-button. She clutched the edges of the coffee table above her head as she arched her back and rocked her pelvis. And when her friend's mouth closed around her swollen bud, sucking it while the tongue flicked across its tenderness, she lost it, screaming out in ecstasy as another orgasm exploded inside her.

Several seconds passed before Pamela was finally able to get her breathing under control. She opened her eyes slowly, finding Kara no longer kneeling between her legs, but instead standing directly beside her with a still unsatisfied look in her eyes.

"Now it's my turn," she said in a coarse whisper. And with Pamela's arms still stretched out above her head, Kara swung her leg over her prone body, straddling her conquest and looking directly down at her face. Then she grabbed hold of Pamela's hair, lowered her pussy to her face and, with a hunger that threatened to consume her, began grinding her wet pussy against her friends mouth. Less than a minute later her body erupted in orgasm, spewing her juices all over her friend's face.

After the orgasm had run its course, Kara eased herself to her wobbly legs, then made her way towards Stuart and eased her spent body against his, sighing contentedly as he wrapped his muscular arms around her.

It was several more seconds before Pamela was able to open her eyes and lift her head. And when she saw Kara standing with her naked backside pressed up against her mister and his arms wrapped around her, all she could do was sigh as she eased her head back to the coffee table. Nearly a half-a-minute more transpired before she was finally able to push herself up from the table and rise to her feet.

Silence ruled the room as the three people stared at each other. It was Stuart who finally broke the quiet, nearly twenty seconds after his lady had risen.

"I think you'd better leave now," he said quietly, using all the self-control he could muster to counter-act the nearly overwhelming emotions and desires that were coursing through his veins. "We'll talk in the morning."

It took a moment for the fact that her mister had just dismissed her to register with Pamela, but when it did, it wasn't relief that her ordeal was finally over that swept over her, rather it was a strange, unexpected feeling of emptiness. She struggled briefly to deal with the feeling, before finally managing to gather enough of her wits to realize that Stuart was right -- she needed to leave, and she needed to leave now.

Still, she couldn't deny the unexpected feeling of remorse as she nodded her head weakly before turning to gather her clothes. Less than two minutes later, the hastily dressed woman took one final look at her mister and her still naked best friend, then turned for the door. Ten minutes later she was home, and forty-five minutes after that she was throwing her hastily packed suitcase into the trunk of her car.

"But it's been two days!" Stuart retorted, the exasperation evident in his voice.

Kara leaned forward, resting her arms on the kitchen table that separated her from Stuart Chambers, the young man she called Master, the man who was also the mister of her best friend -- better make that former best friend.

"We've already been through this," she said in the most comforting voice she could manage. "The note said she needed to get away for a few days and clear her head." She reached across and placed her hand on his. "She'll be back when she's ready. Just give her a little time."

Stuart shook his head slowly. "I should never have called you out like that."

"We've already been through this," Kara countered. "Maybe you shouldn't have called me out. Maybe I should have disobeyed you when you did, or at least stopped short of seducing her. And what about her? She was certainly capable of getting up and walking away anytime she wanted. It wasn't like we were threatening her or anything."

She paused, then continued. "Listen. Things got a bit carried away. But nothing happened between the two of you. It might be uncomfortable for a bit, but you can work through it. It may be to far gone for her and I, but certainly not for you two."

Stuart took a long, slow breath, then nodded his head slowly. "I just wish she'd come home."

* * *

It was 10:00 the next morning, three days before Thanksgiving, when Stuart again returned home. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine and exited the car. Then he headed for the front door and slipped into the house, pulling the door closed behind him.

He sensed her presence almost immediately. A moment later the closing of a cupboard door in the kitchen confirmed it. His lady had finally returned home.

For a moment he held his position, composing himself, visualizing how he'd approach her, how he'd talk to her, how he'd somehow find a way to make things right between them. Then he took a deep breath and started down the short hallway that led to the kitchen.

* * *

It's bad enough when you find out your best friend is having sex with your mister. It's worse when you confront her about it, only to have your mister turn up unexpectedly and turn the tables on you, revealing himself as your friend's Master before ordering her to undress right in the middle of her own living room. It can't get much worse than that, right?

Well, for Pamela Chambers, it had.

Who would have imagined that she, a 38 year-old widow, would have gotten aroused watching her friend humiliate herself by submitting to her mister and undressing right in front of the two of them? And who would have imagined that, when approached by her naked friend, she would allow herself to be seduced, undressed and dominated right in front of her mister?

But even that wasn't the worst of it. Not by a long shot. After having been brought to numerous orgasms by her friend, then being powerd to eat her pussy, she stood before her mister, naked and humiliated, hoping against hope that he'd take hold of her, throw her onto the couch and fuck her for all she was worth.

But not only did he not fuck her, he rebuked her, ordering her to get dressed and leave. He, a kid of 19 years, ordered her, his horny, desperate lady, to get dressed and go home, when all she could do was lust ************ for his body.

That had to be the lowest, most demeaning moment of her life.

In fact, in Pamela's mind it was so bad that she doubted she'd ever be able to face her mister again. So, after dressing hastily, she'd raced home, thrown together a suitcase and headed for an old mountain retreat she'd been to years before.

It was late in the evening when she finally arrived at the Inn. She checked in, then headed directly for her suite, where she hastily unpacked her suitcase and changed into her nightgown and robe. Finally, she pulled the bottle of Scotch she'd grabbed at the last minute, poured herself a take and settled into the chair on the small patio off the main living area.

Sleep didn't come easily that night, and when it finally did, it was a restless relax, an uneasy relax.

. . . 'Yes, Master,' she gasped, moving quickly to remove her clothes as ordered, not even bothering to unbutton her blouse, rather just ripping it open, sending buttons flying everywhere.

'I'm ready, Master,' she said after the last article of clothing had been removed.

Her mister -- make that her Master -- moved quickly, grabbing her by the arm and throwing her to the couch. She landed on her back, her legs spread wide, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. That was when she noticed that he was naked. Had he been naked before? Funny, she couldn't remember. No matter.

She looked around, noticing for the first time that they weren't alone. People were crowded around the couch, more people, in fact, than she would have thought could even fit in her living room. Her neighbors were there, strangers also. Even the mail-man was there. And then she saw Kara, standing off in a corner, alone, watching with a knowing smile on her face.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a stinging hand slapped the side of her face. 'Look at me,' her mister commanded.

'Yes, Master,' she answered quickly, returning her gaze to his, surprised to find him kneeling between her legs, his large, lovely cock poised at the gates of her womanhood.

She heard murmurs coming form the people gathered around, but she dared not divert her eyes away from her Master.

'Do you think she's really going to do it?' one voice said.

'It's just so disgusting,' another added.

'With her own mister,' yet a third chimed in.

And then the voices began to meld together, bringing a chorus of sluts, whores and tramps to her ears until she couldn't stand it any longer.

'Stop!' she yelled out. And suddenly the room was as quiet as a church on Sunday morning.

She refocused her attention on her mister. 'I don't care what they say, Master. It doesn't matter. I love you, I need you, and I want you.' And a moment later, a soft whisper eked from her throat. 'Please let me be you slut-toy.'

Her mister leaned over, reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling her head from the sofa. 'Is this what you want?' he sneered, thrusting his cock firmly into her pussy, then holding it deep inside her.

'Yes,' she screamed. 'Oh God, yes.'

'And this?' he again questioned, withdrawing his cock before again slamming it home.

'Yes, yes, yes!'

'And this, and this, and this?' he challenged, throwing himself into her, filling her up like she's never been filled before.

'Oh my God,' she screamed out as the most powerful, most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced ripped through her loin. 'Oh sweet Jesus, yes.' And then she collapsed onto the sofa, closing her eyes as she tried to gather herself . . .

Pamela awoke with a start, gasping, shaking as the orgasm wracked her body. "Oh Jesus," she said out loud as the realization hit home that she'd not only just had an amazingly hot dream, but that it'd led to one of the most intense orgasms she'd ever had, and it had centered around her giving herself to her mister in front of an uninvited audience that didn't hesitate to voice its disapproval.

She rose slowly from the bed, only then realizing that her nightgown was ripped wide open, hanging by mere threads from her shoulders, a casualty, apparently, of her ********** wet dream. Without giving it a second thought, she slid it off her shoulders and headed for the bottle of scotch. Then, armed with a fresh take and dressed only in a pair of cum-soaked panties, she settled into the arm chair in the corner to think.

The following day found Pamela aimlessly wandering the mountain trails, pausing here and there to admire a particularly beautiful view or a deer or two in a distant clearing, all the while with her mind churning through the events of the previous 24 hours.

There was no denying how turned on she'd been -- both in the real life saga with Kara in the presence of her mister and in the wet dream that had ensnared her last night. Further, she couldn't dispute that a large part of the thrill had been the surrender, the offense, and the taboo, things that had never, ever entered her mind before yesterday.

She found herself torn; torn between giving into her ********** desires on the one hand and finding a way to do 'the right thing' on the other. Yet despite the fact that this internal war continued to haunt her throughout the day, when relax finally came that evening there was no contest -- it was the dark side that reared its head as the same chilling dream that had filled her head the previous night returned, sending her once again into the throws of orgasmic bliss.

It wasn't until midway through the following day while she sat in the mountains watching a doe and her fawn romping through a meadow that she was finally able to settle things in her mind. Stuart was her mister; her step-mister, yes, but her mister nonetheless. And the bond they shared as lady and young was one that should not -- could not -- ever be ***d. So, with a deep sigh and the hope that, somehow, she'd be able to make things right with Stuart, she headed back to the inn to pack her bags and head home.

* * *

She stopped for dinner on the way home, not actually pulling into her garage until shortly after 8:00 PM. Not surprisingly, Stuart wasn't home -- undoubtedly at Kara's. She unloaded her suitcase and, since she'd ripped her normal nightgown to shreds, changed into an older one, a lilac colored teddy. Finally, a bit after 9:00 PM, she settled into bed and turned on the television.

She awoke the next morning calm and refreshed, and more than a little surprised that the wet dream that had haunted her relax the previous two nights hadn't returned. Maybe that was a sign that she'd made the right decision. Even so, it was with mixed emotions that she slid from the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Once her morning needs were taken care of, Pamela slid her old terry cloth robe --the one that fell well below her knees -- over her teddy, pulled the sash around her and tied it closed. Then she headed for the kitchen. It was forty-five minutes and two cups of coffee later when, as she was emptying the dishwasher, she heard a car door closing in the driveway.

She stopped -- frozen like a statue -- and waited. A handful of seconds slipped past before she heard the front door first swing open, then closed. Her mister was home.

Nervously, she closed the dishwasher, then the cupboard, before turning towards the kitchen door. A full ten seconds passed before she heard his footsteps moving down the hallway. A moment after that, there he was, framed in the middle of the doorway staring back at her.

An awkward silence filled the air as both parties eyed each other, both barely able to control their nervousness, and both struggling to deal with the decisions they'd recently made. Could they really go back to the way things were? Could they really just pretend that the other day had never happened? Maybe a better question was 'how could they not?' After all, any other decision, any other course of action was . . . unacceptable. Wasn't it?

It was Stuart who finally managed to swallow the lump in his throat and open his mouth. "About the other day," he started. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have allowed myself to lose control of the situation like that. And I should never have ordered Kara to remove her clothes."

Both the words he'd said and the tone with which he'd said them made it immediately clear to Pamela that, not only was her mister stepping up to take responsibility for what had happened, he also was not going to press the matter further. Yet despite the fact that those were the very words she'd hoped he'd say, somehow hearing them didn't provide the relief she thought they would. Somehow, there was a wrongness about them; a wrongness and a large empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"No," Pamela finally replied, exhibiting more control than she'd have thought possible. "It wasn't your fault." Then she took the few steps necessary to close the distance between them and raised her hands to lightly brush the hair from his forehead.

"I should never have interfered like I did," she went on. "You're a man now, more than capable of making your own decisions. I should have treated you like one, not like a still wet behind the ears teenager." She stopped then and ran the back of her hands across his cheeks, even as her emotions were welling up inside her.

She'd known form the moment she'd first made the decision to re-build her relationship with her mister that it wouldn't be easy, but she'd believed with all her heart that, together, they could find a way to get through it. What she hadn't factored in was the effect his physical presence would have on her; how his mere presence would cause her breathing, which had been nearly under control a few short moments earlier, to begin coming in shorter and quicker gasps, or how the gentle stroking of his cheeks would cause her already hard nipples to ache with desire.

Slowly losing her grip on the situation, she found herself unable to stop her mind from drifting back to that fateful evening. She closed her eyes, remembering the feelings that had flooded her body then, knowing they were very much akin to the feelings that were seizing control of her now. She relived the scene in her mind, allowing herself to fall even further under its spell before somehow managing one long, slow breath. Then she opened her eyes and looked at her mister.

No, she didn't want to go back to the way things were. She wanted more. She wanted what Kara had.

"Nobody tied me to the chair and made me stay," she said softly, somehow managing to control her voice. "I stayed because I wanted to. I stayed because I was horny out of my mind and in the middle of the single most erotic thing I'd ever experienced. And I stayed because I wanted to get fucked, not only by Kara, but by you." Another hesitation followed before Pamela finally gathered herself enough to continue, only this time there was a noticeable crack in her voice.

"And God forgive me, I still do." Then she added the single, all telling word. "Master."

Shocked may not have been the best word to describe Stuart's emotional state at that precise moment, but it came damn close. After all, in spite of everything that had happened, she was still his lady, and he was very much aware that what she was offering, while maybe not exactly illegal since they weren't red relatives, was certainly skirting the bounds of moral decency. But that, apparently, was something she'd decided she could live with. The question now was, could he?

He allowed his mind to drift back to that evening. He pictured the growing hunger in his lady's face as she slowly gave in to her lust, and he pictured her naked body laid open in total sexual surrender before not only Kara, but him as well. And then he pictured the look on her face as she screamed out in orgasm over and over and over.

It wasn't until both fingers were completely buried in her ass that Stuart finally broke the silence, releasing his hold on her tit even as the first words were flowing from his mouth.

"Hands on the counter around your head," he said simply, nodding his head curtly when his order was obeyed with neither comment nor hesitation. Then he leaned over slightly and slid his left hand under her tummy and down to her love button, before slipping back its hood with two fingers and allowing a third to begin dancing across its swollen redness.

"Arrrgggghhhhhhhhhh," Pamela gasped as a bolt of lightning shot through her loins. Instinctively, she shoved her ass backwards, further impaling her anus on her mister's fingers, even as his other hand kept up its attack on her love button.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she wailed, her groin writhing wildly between his hands. But then, before she could achieve her pleasure, the one finger stopped its attack on her clit while the two fingers of his other hand froze in her ass.

"This is the way it's going to be," Stuart said without preface. "As Master of the house, it is only fitting that the master bedroom be mine. Understand?" he challenged, jabbing his fingers back into her ass.

"Ahhhhh!" she gasped sharply, and then responded without thought. "Yes, Master."

"You will take over my old bedroom, although as long as you prove to be a worthy slut-toy, you will be permitted to share my bed. Do you understand that?" And he gave her another jab in her asshole, which elicited another pained, yet prompt affirmation.

"Yes, Master."

"Finally, as Master of the house, all household decisions will be mine. In furtherance of this, I will also take

over all financial matters pertaining to the household. Accordingly, I will be made a signer on all checking and savings accounts, in addition to being put on all the investments. Is that also clear, slut-toy!" And this time, when he rammed his fingers into her asshole for emphasis, he also slid his finger back onto her clit, sending his lady nearly, but not quite, over the edge.

"Yes, yes, oh God, yes," she cried out. And then, after her mister's fingers slipped completely from her asshole and began slowly caressing her butt cheeks, she was able to gather herself enough for a more controlled answer. "You can have anything you want," she managed between still heavy breaths. "Anything at all." And then her head slumped back to the counter in total presentation.

For nearly a minute, Stuart allowed his lady to rest, his right hand softly caressing her buttocks while his left big finger hovered near, but not quite on, her love button. Then, when he sensed that she was finally beginning to regather herself, he started again.

"Now, Pammy, let's talk about your annoying habit of sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong." He paused long enough to feel the tension return to her body, then continued. "Like with Kara the other night."

And then, before she had time to reply -- WHACK!!! WHACK!!! -- two hard, stinging right hands landed squarely on her butt.

"Ow!" she screamed, lurching suddenly upright, only be to be stopped by Stuart's right hand as it moved quickly from her buttocks to her back and pushed her firmly back back to the island-top.

"But I thought . . .," she stammered. "I mean aren't we . . ." But before she could clearly organize her thoughts, her mister's right hand withdrew from her back and -- WHACK!!! WHACK!!! -- delivered two more blows to her exposed buttocks.

"You thought that since everything seems to be working out, I'd forget about your little transgression," he interrupted. "Is that it?"

The now nervously shaking woman struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. "Yes," she answered softly, even as she braced for another blow.

But the anticipated blow didn't come as, instead, the right hand of her Master slid between her butt-cheeks and down to her pussy, where two of his fingers slipped easily into her box, even as the big finger of his left hand was sliding over her clit.

"Let me see if I have this right," Stuart continued as he began gently working the clit and pussy of his lady. "You put your relationship with Kara, my relationship with Kara, and our relationship with each other at risk, and you think that, just because it looks like everything might work out, I'm simply going to forget all about it?"

He paused again, continuing to let his fingers work their magic, knowing by his lady's movements and groans that they were having the desired effect. Then he continued.

"Is that what you're saying, Pammy? Really?"

Pamela shook her head slowly, groaning in hopeless resignation as she realized her mister wasn't 'simply going to forget all about it.'

"I'm sorry," she said in a weak, cracking voice. "I thought I needed to . . ." But she didn't finish the thought, knowing instinctively that nothing she could say in her own defense would hold up in her new reality.

"Please forgive me," she finally managed to utter, completing the statement just as her mister's right hand withdrew from her pussy and -- WHACK!!! WHACK!!! -- delivered two more stinging blow to her rear end.

Before the sting of the blows could work its way through her body, Stuart's right hand was returning to his lady's groin, only this time, even as two fingers were slipping into her pussy, his thumb was pressing against the gates of her dark hole. And a shiver shot through Pamela's body as the thumb popped inside her, and a guttural, lustful moan filled the air.

Stuart worked his lady with a s******* far beyond his years. He tweaked his finger across her swollen clit, then worked his fingers in and out, around and around her pussy, even as his thumb continued to work her nether-hole.

He could tell by the way she was grinding herself against him that her excitement was growing. And he could tell by the way she was grasping for air and by how her hands were struggling to grab hold of the flat surface of the island that her orgasm was near, and that the only thing needed to send her completely over the edge was . . .

He slammed the fingers and thumb of his right hand as deep into her as he could, even as he was unleashing his left hand on her clit, sending her instantly into a shivering, shaking delirium as her body exploded in the orgasm it had thus far been denied.

But Stuart wasn't satisfied with just an orgasm, so instead of withdrawing and letting her orgasm run its course, he gave her pussy one final assault, then withdrew his right hand and -- WHACK!!!, WHACK!!!, WHACK!!!, WHACK!!!, WHACK!!! WHACK!!! -- delivered six more blows to her already pink buttocks before returning his hand to her pussy, this time sliding all four fingers into her and pumping her for all he was worth. And then a whole new round of orgasms wracked his lady's body, causing her legs to give out, sending her crumbling to her knees on the floor with her head and chest leaning against the side of the island and her hands desperately grasping the edge of the counter-top.

It wasn't until the last of her orgasmic shivers began to fade that Stuart finally backed away. Then, as a sly little smile slipped across his lips, he grabbed the bottom of his tee-shirt and pulled it over his head. Now it was his turn. And a handful of seconds later he stood completely naked behind the still slumped over body of his lady.

"Look at me," he ordered without fanfare.

His words had the desired effect, shaking his lady from her orgasmic daze. She managed one long, deep breath, then stretched her head slowly from one side to the other. And then, as rational thoughts once again began to form in her mind, she pushed herself away from the counter and, while still on her knees, turned to face her mister.

Her breath caught in her chest when he first came into view. There he stood, her mister and Master, standing before her in all his naked glory, wearing an erection the size of which she'd never before experienced, and a look on his face that left no doubt that the new Master of the house knew just what do do with it.

Pamela held her gaze on her mister's erection for several seconds, not so much examining it as lusting for it. It took more effort than she would have thought possible to finally pull her eyes away from it, lowering them first to take in his powerful thighs and slender calves, then lifting them to wander up his tight young stomach and over his broad, muscular chest before finally coming to rest on his eyes. And chills shot through her pussy as the realization set in that, from this day forward, the gorgeous hunk of manhood before her would be her Master, and that he could -- and undoubtedly would -- demand far more from her than anyone had ever asked before. And a low, guttural groan eased from her throat as the hunger reawakened in her pussy. And almost without realizing it, she repositioned herself on her hands and knees and began slowly crawling towards the young man she now served, making certain her eyes never strayed from the engorged piece of manhood before her.

Stuart looked down at the woman he used to call Mother, watching as she made her way towards him on all fours, crawling like the hungry, desperate natural she'd become. He tried to keep a stoic expression on his face, to somehow suppress the grin that was trying to cross his lips. But in hindsight, it was no wonder he was unsuccessful. After all, that was the moment when the last shreds of doubt fell by the wayside. The slut-toy groveling before him was his, and she would be for as long as he chose to keep her. And this time, the body that shivered with barely controllable lust was his.

Pamela came to a stop at her mister's feet, her eyes barely a foot in front of and a few inches below her goal. She raised her eyes to his briefly, then lowered them back to his center. And then she lifted her right hand from the floor and reached for her prize.

"Aarrrgghhhh," she cried when Stuart's hand grabbed hold of her wrist and twisted it away.

But Stuart only shook his head and snickered. "That's not exactly what I had in mind, Pammy," he teased. Then he tossed her hand to the side. "Now, unless you want another spanking, I suggest you turn around and make like a good little slut-toy. Understand?"

Pamela lowered her right hand back to the floor and then, after putting on the most wanton, lustful look she could manage, looked up at her mister and said the words that would take their game to yet another level.

"What if Pammy likes getting spanked?" she purred playfully.

In response, Stuart bent over, grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted it to the side. "The trouble is, a spanking won't be your only punishment." Then he released her hair, straightened himself up, slid his hand over his cock and began stroking it with long, gentle strokes. "I trust I'm making myself clear, Mother."

It took every ounce of energy Pamela had to tear her eyes away from her mister's cock and the hand that was gently stroking it. "Very clear, Master." Then, without further instruction, she turned around so her back was towards him, spread her knees apart and lowered her head and shoulders to the floor. Then she reached behind herself, grabbed hold of her butt-cheeks and spread them even wider then they were already spread.

"Is this better, Master?" she cooed, getting more into her new role with each passing second.

As Stuart looked down at his lady's ass, perched before him so invitingly, he couldn't help notice the transformation that had overtaken her in just a few short minutes; couldn't help noticing how the uncertain, frightened woman he'd first toyed with had suddenly turned into the playful, lust-filled natural now prostrated before him. It was a transformation similar to the one Kara had gone through, only with Kara it had taken weeks, while with his lady it took less than thirty minutes. And a smile crossed his face at he thought about all the possibilities their new situation presented. Then he shook his head from side to side, pulled his mind from the fantasy it was threatening to drift into and refocused on the matter at hand.

"Yes, slut-toy. That's better." Then he dropped to his knees behind her, slid his hand over her pussy and gave it a couple of soft little pats. "Much better, indeed." And then, with no further foreplay, he withdrew his hand, positioned his cock at the gates of her womanhood and rammed it home.

If either Master or slut-toy suffered any delusions that their first act of love would be a slow, tender and passionate act that would cement their relationship as lovers, they were dashed in less time than it took the lust-filled naturalistic howl that flew from Pamela's throat to fill the room.

Pamela responded to her mister's attack quickly, pulling her hands from her butt-cheeks and pushing herself up from the floor, even as she was shoving her pussy back onto her Master's attacking cock. But Stuart countered by placing his hand on her back and shoving her head and shoulders back to the floor, then holding her there as he thrust himself into her with a hunger he'd never before felt; not with Amy, not with Kara, not with anyone.

"Is this what you wanted the other day, slut?" he challenged in a menacing voice, timing his lunges to match his words.

"Arrrgggghhhhhhhhhh," Pamela gasped in response, shoving herself back against him, grinding her dripping pussy against his cock, even as he continued to hold her shoulders down to the floor.

"Fuck me, you Mother-fucker," she screamed out. "Fuck me like you've never fucked anyone before!" And again she tried to push herself up from the floor, only to again be rebuffed by her Master.

"Oh, I'll fuck you alright, you little tramp," Stuart countered between gasps of air. And then he threw himself at his slut-toy with everything he had, thrusting his cock into her pussy over and over and over and over, not caring about anything except inflicting his mastery over the naked body beneath him, and about pummeling it back into presentation.

"Oh, fuck!" Pamela cried out, sinking further and further under the spell of wanton lust that was threatening to consume her. Gone now were her attempts to lift herself from the ground, and gone were her thrusts in retaliation to his. She was vanquished, little more than a limp piece of horny, wanton womanhood, able to think of nothing but the fucking her mister was inflicting on her.

"Oh, my God," she gasped. "Oh, cuckolds brownie! I'm gonna . . . I'm . . . I'm . . . Arrrgggghhhhhhhhhh!" she screamed as an orgasm the likes of which she'd never dared dream of wracked her body, sending shivers and chills and . . . "Arrrgggghhhhhhhhhh!" And then she lost it completely, nearly passing out, even as her mister began losing his rhythm and thrusting at her with increasingly spasmodic lunges as he emptied his seed into her wet, dripping cunt.

And then it was over.

Stuart slipped out of his lady's pussy, then sat back on his ankles. He struggled to gather himself, to gain control over breaths that were still coming in short, heavy gasps, while before him, his lady's limp, nearly lifeless body rested in very nearly the same position she'd been in when the fucking started -- head and shoulders on the floor, knees spread with her ass perched above them. The only significant difference was, where before there'd been a shiny sheen surrounding her pussy lips, now there was dripping cum.

He allowed himself a moments rest, recovering sooner then he'd expected. Must have had something to do with his slut-toy's pussy spread out right in front of him. He chuckled silently, then reached out and --WHACK!!! -- laid another hard lick on her fanny.

"Ow," Pamela yelped, coming instantly alive. But as quick as she was, Stuart was quicker, lifting his ass from his ankles and leaning forward to grab a handful of his lady's hair and pull her upright.

"Mother-fucker, is it?" he said in a soft, gravelly voice once he'd pulled her to her knees.

"I'm sorry, Master," Pamela pleaded, reacting quickly. "It was the moment. I was just so . . ."

But Stuart didn't let her finish. "I'll show you Mother-fucking," he sneered as he rose to his feet, pulling her along with him.

"Ow," his lady yelped again, struggling to keep up with him.

Once they'd both reached their feet, Stuart spun his slut-toy towards the island and pushed her forward. "Lean forward," he ordered. "Elbows and forearms on the counter, legs spread wide."

"Yes, Master," came the immediate reply.

Once she was in position, Stuart wasted little time. He stepped behind his once again properly submissive slut-toy and slipped two fingers into her pussy, twisting them around slowly, then easing them in and out, in and out.

But it wasn't her pussy he was after now, so after only a few short strokes he withdrew the fingers, then moved them to her dark hole and pressed them against the tightly closed entrance. Then, using their combined cum as lubricant, he slipped the first finger inside.

He could see the tension spreading across his lady's body as the first finger made its way inside, but she said nothing, instead allowing him free access, her only protest being a sharp intake of breath as he began moving the finger gently but firmly from side to side, top to bottom.

From there, silence seemed to rule the room for several long moments as Stuart continued working the finger in and out, up and down, left and right, over and over and over. Then, noting the increased effort in his lady's breathing, he began sliding the finger out, carefully stopping just before it popped completely free. Then he brought the second finger along side and eased the two of them back in. And as quick as that, the silence was gone, replaced by a low, guttural groaning that seemed to emanate from deep inside his lady's throat.

Unlike earlier, Stuart now found himself moving slowly, patiently working his fingers in and around his lady's ass-hole, his single-minded purpose to make certain that when he was ready, she'd be ready. And as he continued his slow motion assault, the ever increasing moans and groans that filled the air gave evidence that soon, very soon, it would be time.

It was a handful of seconds later when Pamela, a glazed-over look in her eyes, turned her head over her shoulder to face her Master. "Is this all you've got?" she challenged in a powerd whisper. "I thought you were going to show me what a real lady-fucker was."

Even though it was his right as Master, Stuart elected not to admonish his slut-toy. Instead, he offered a brief little grin before easing his fingers slowly from her ass. Then he repositioned himself so the tip of his cock was at the entrance to her darkness, and then he began inching his one-eyed monster forward.

"Oh, cuckolds brownie . . . Oh, cuckolds brownie . . . Oh, cuckolds brownie."

Despite his slut-toy's taunting, Stuart worked her carefully, easing himself into her one millimeter at a time, then backing off, then reclaiming the surrendered ground plus a millimeter or two more, slowly repeating the process over and over and over until . . . He was in!

For a moment, he held his position, buried deep inside his lady's ass, his hands holding tightly to her hips. He could sense her relaxing a bit, seemingly growing more and more comfortable with his manhood buried in her ass with each passing second. Still, he kept his patience, waiting, until . . .

Pamela opened her eyes slowly, then again craned her head towards her mister. But when she opened her mouth to speak, a low moan was the only thing she could manage.

Stuart gave a soft snort at her failed effort to communicate, then slid his hands up her sides, eased them forward, slipped them between her arms and body and onto her breasts. Then he leaned forward until his mouth was next to her ear and squeezed her breasts.

"Is this what you wanted . . . slut!" he challenged, feeling a shiver running down his spine as she pushed herself against him.

"Fuck me, Master," Pamela managed to respond.

But he ignored her plea. "Is this what you thought it'd be like?"

She shook her head weakly, gasping for air. "I never . . . imagined . . . never . . ."

And then, with a satisfied sneer on his face, Stuart withdrew his hands from her breasts, placed his left hand on his lady's back and pushed her down to the island top. Then he eased his right hand around her side and down her tummy, not stopping until the finger slid over her clit. And then, ever so slowly, he began stroking her love button, even as he eased he cock first out of her ass, and then slowly back in.

"Oh, God yes," Pamela moaned. "Fuck my ass."

A sudden gasp escaped her throat as Stuart's cock reached its point of full insertion. "Oh, fuck," she groaned. And then all intelligible sounds vanished, replaced be a deep, throaty series of gasps and groans as her mister began picking up the pace, ramming his meat into his lady's ass over and over, deeper and deeper while she wallowed helplessly before him. And quicker than she would have thought possible, her whole body went rigid and a deep, dark bellow filled the air as yet another orgasm shook her body, even as Stuart was dumping his seed inside her.

Stuart's body jerked spasmadically as the last of his cum spewed from his cock, then he went completely limp, his body collapsing on top of his lady's. For nearly a minute that's how they stayed, two body's melded together, neither possessing the strength or desire return to reality.

This time, it was Pamela that stirred first, reaching backwards and running her fingers up and down her mister's thighs. Still, it was several more seconds before Stuart finally stirred, and several seconds after that before he found the strength to lift himself upright.

Once her mister was upright, Pamela pushed herself to her feet. Slowly, she turned to face the young man she now served, then just as slowly eased herself against him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. And then a soft purr of contentment slid from her throat. She was home. After all these years, she was finally home.

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Dreamwalker: Forbidden Lust



It was a bitterly cold, wet morning. The icy wind howled through the leafless branches of tall dark trees cutting ruthlessly into any exposed flesh it could find. It found the thin, hollow cheeks of old Tom Grady, as he huddled against the merciless chilly onslaught that threatened to freeze him to the bone. His black well worn boots trudged up the stony path that led to his friend Colonel James Rhys or the Colonel as most people called him.

Jimmy wasn't really a friend but more of a partner. Not a partner as in a couple but a partner in crime. Because what they did together was certainly a crime.

Two old men and an eighteen year old girl, fondling, rubbing, kissing and sucking. Helpless, subservient, compliant, eager to please, she seemed to like it and even if she didn't, they certainly didn't care. They took turns with her, sometimes alone, sometimes together, taking her in all positions and places. And she took it with perverse docility, only her eyes mirrored the emptiness in her soul.

Tom couldn't wait for tonight's session. He and the Colonel always had their night of sin every Sunday evening. What made the nights so special was that they always used the same girl. One would have thought that they would be tired of using the same girl again and again but that certainly wasn't the case. She was special, very special. She was special because she was the Colonel's only flower Angelina or Angel as they fondly called her. She was the reamister he was braving the filthy weather to feel her warm body in his old, gnarly fingers.

His knock went unanswered for a few minutes before the door opened to reveal the tall figure of Angela. For some reamister Tim felt a chill in his bones and it wasn't from the weather.

Angela was not what you would call beautiful. Her name seemed inappropriate for her face as she looked a bit backward. Her eyes were too wide apart and her nose too broad. Her mouth was too big, although she had thick, juicy lips which Tom knew she used very well. Her treasure lay in her body which was so voluptuous that if it belonged to a smaller girl she would have looked fat. Her breasts and buttocks stuck out from her slight frame in right angles, giving her an S- shaped posture. She was a dumb blonde stereotype, a buxom young girl that looked like a CGI fantasy figure with about as much permisterality. Tom couldn't take his lecherous eyes off her. He wanted to tear the flimsy pink nightgown off her rack.

She was normally quiet and moody but tonight there was something odd about her demeanor. Tom noticed she was even more spaced out than usual- her huge, wide apart eyes were as cold and as empty as those of the dead. She just stood at the door and stared at him, her face completely bereft of any form of expression. Tim thought it odd that she answered the door. She never answered the door.

"Where's your man?" he asked curtly as he hurriedly came indoors and slammed the door behind him.

Angela continued to stare at him. Tom noticed that even though her eyes were staring straight at him, her ice blue pupils moved slowly from left to right. Like she was relaxing, he thought. Was she relaxwalking?

"Where is your man?" Tom repeated, gently this time.

"Daddy is not here" she said laconically. Her voice was flat and without the thick countryside accent she normally had.

"Then where is he?" Tom asked surprised.

"Daddy is no longer in this world. Daddy is in the well."

A cold shiver crawled up his spine and goose pimples broke out over his skin.

"What! What are you saying?"

Angela offered no other comment. Tom called out the Colonel's name. No answer. He proceeded to search the house expecting resistance from Angela. But she stood in one spot and followed his movements with blank, unblinking eyes. The Colonel was nowhere to be found.

But the well...? thought Tom in horror.

There was a disused well in the backyard. The thought of his friend being at the bottom on such a cold evening chilled him to the bone. He went to check...

A few minutes later paramedics pulled the *** body of Colonel Rhys from the bottom of the well. He had been bashed over the head with something hard and it was a miracle that he was still alive. He ended up in a coma and Angel was promptly arrested.

***

Chief of Police Jeremy Jones couldn't relax. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying his best not to disturb his wife who lay next to him. Eventually he lay on his back and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his right hand straying into his pajama trousers to touch himself. His mind, his thoughts, his dreams were full of only one thing: his flower Karen. He wanted her so badly he thought he would go mad.

He suddenly got out of bed and silently left the room. Walking to the furthest door on the right side of the house, he placed his hand on the knob. He felt guilty and afraid but at the same time he felt excited. He turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

The room was submerged in darkness but a thin sliver of moonlight came through the half closed curtains and fell across her relaxing form. He walked over to the edge of the bed and stared down at his flower. She was a ravishing creature- long raven black hair, an oval sensual face with smoldering dark eyes, a pert nose and luscious full lips. Her breasts were small but perky and seemed to punch holes into anything she was wearing. She had a perfect heart shaped bum that seemed sculpted from hard wood and legs that went on forever. Right now she lay on her belly, her face to one side, her hair a messy halo around her head on the pillow. Her right thumb was stuck in between her impossibly succulent lips, her eyes half-closed in relax. She had on a t-shirt and a pair of baby blue briefs that fit her bum like a glove. Her exposed cheeks reflected the moonlight. She looked absolutely adorable.

Jeremy shivered and he felt his arousal mushroom into a full blown erection. He wanted to touch her so badly. He found it incredibly disturbing that he had these feelings for his only flower. He had had them for a long time and they got more intense as she got older. Now she was twenty three and shockingly beautiful and her sensuality had eclipsed even the love he had for his wife. He had always been a faithful husband and man and had never done anything to offend them. But this passion, this lust was threatening everything he held dear including his sanity. If he consummated his lust he had no doubt of the consequences it would bring to his family.

He reached out and gently touched her back. He knew she was a very heavy relaxer and could relax through a great deal of groping before being roused awake. Anyway he could always pretend he was checking that she was properly tucked up in bed.

After a slight hesitation he placed his hand on her bottom. His fingers inched slowly to her exposed flesh. He closed his eyes as he savored the soft, firm skin under his fingers. He left his hand there for a long time. He let his fingers trail the crack of her bottom and was even bold enough to give her ass cheek a gentle squeeze. Her only response was to grunt in her relax and wriggle her bottom slightly. He reluctantly decided to leave. He badly wanted to feel her sharp, pointed breasts but she was lying on her belly and he would have to turn her over to get a good purchase. That would surely wake her. Taking one long, last look, he left the room. He didn't get the chance to try and get back to relax. The phone rang and his deputy informed him that Colonel Rhys was in the hospital.

***

Middleton is an old, obscure English town lost in the countryside. Its population is barely above 5000 and its crime rate is probably the lowest in the world. It hadn't had a violent crime in the past two decades and this recent incident was going to upset the proverbial applecart. Chief of Police Jeremy Jones was very annoyed that his beloved town's idyllic existence had been shattered by this shocking incident.

Colonel Rhys was a loner that was rumored to be filthy rich. However he lived in a dilapidated cottage with his only flower after his wife left him. He hated any form of technology and only managed to own a phone. He avoided banks and it was rumored he kept his money in gold bars stored somewhere in the house. No one cared to find out because he was a decorated soldier and owned an impressive arsenal that he was more than willing to use on trespassers or would be burglars. There were also rumors that he was shagging his flower. Jeremy didn't like the man but then again, nobody did except for maybe Tom Grady who was a real creep.

Jeremy walked into the interrogation room and faced Angel across the table. She was wearing a see-through night gown and he could see her nipples. He felt instantly aroused and he was glad he was behind a table. Angel looked disoriented. She kept looking around her like she didn't know where she was, her face a mask of confusion.

"Angel, what happened last night?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

"I don't understand. What am I doing here?" She sounded scared.

"You're man is in a coma."

"What!" She looked at him in horror.

Jeremy was confused. She didn't look like she was play acting.

"Angel" he said softly, "You told Tom Grady that your man was in the well. That's where he was found with his head bashed in. An ashtray was found with red on it. Unless Tom is lying it seems you were the only one in the house. He said you were acting strange like you were on haves. What happened?"

"It was a dream..." she whispered, "Only a dream."

"What?"

She threw her head back and began to scream.

***

Jeremy couldn't get anything out of her again and a shrink had to be called. While he sat brooding in his office, staring at a framed picture of Karen, his phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Chief Jeremy Jones?"

"That's me. Who's this please?"

"My name is Amaka" Jeremy raised an eyebrow. The name sounded African but her English was flawless and without an accent. Her voice had a soft metallic quality and sounded cold. He had an idea she would be beautiful in a sinister way. "I have information on what happened last night. I would very much like to see you alone."

"Come down to the station."

"No" she said sharply, "Meet me at my place."

"Where do you stay?"

He made her stand next to the bed and he sat down opposite her. Her wide hips were directly in front of him and the thin black V of her panties looked so enticing. He hooked a finger to each side and slowly pulled it down. Her glorious black bush was revealed to him. He placed his tongue on her wetness and gently slurped at her. She moaned helplessly.

He turned her around and he relished the sight of her naked buttocks. He took his time to fondle and feel them.

He pulled her down on the bed and spread her legs. She gasped as he pulled down his trousers and she grabbed at him.

"You're so big, Daddy" she moaned, "I want you inside me."

Jeremy didn't waste any more time. He penetrated her slowly and she screamed. He humped her for a long time until eventually he came with a grunt. She wrapped her legs round his waist and begged him not to withdraw.

"Again, Daddy" she wept, "Screw me again..."

The next morning Karen woke up and was acting funny. He had crept back to his room after the escapade and she had woken up alone. He expected her to feel awkward now that they had broken the sex barrier but she seemed to be looking at him in a really strange way. She was acting like she couldn't recall what happened last night but knew she and her dad must have done something wrong. Jeremy decided it must have been haves and left for the station with a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong.

He went in to check on his suspects and noticed Amaka was in a cheerful mood.

"You might want to check your e-mail" she whispered to him.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's a surprise."

Jeremy locked himself in the office and booted up his old PC. He found he had a new message and he clicked on it. It was a video file. With a feeling of dread he opened the file. He watched for a few minutes, his facing going white.

It was him and Karen having sex. He was finished.

He told his deputy to bring Amaka into his office. She had a knowing smile on her face. Jeremy asked his deputy to give him some privacy.

"You really are a dreamwalker, aren't you?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, "It was you I was fucking last night and not my flower, wasn't it? You made Angel assault her dad and then you stole the jewelry."

"He was a monster that deserved what he got" she hissed "Now you are getting your just desserts."

"How did you film it?"

"I left the laptop camera on. Brilliant, huh?"

"You, bitch! What do you want?"

"Oh, just my freedom. Then get rid of the evidence. I will simply vanish, never to return to this godforsaken town. So will the video. But don't ever think that I will be gone for good. I will be checking up on you and Karen. As long as the both of you still dream, I will never be far away."

***

Angel was charged with assaulting her man but her testimony of use in court got her committed to a psychiatric facility. Tom Grady was arrested after being implicated by Angel's narration of her harrowing ordeal. Colonel Rhys eventually pulled out of his coma and as soon as he was well enough got arrested. Marcy was later released on bail after being charged with breaking and entering. Jeremy dropped the assault charge. The Chief of Police never slept with his flower again and when Karen told him of the strange erotic dream she had about him, he told her it was exactly what it was: a dream.

As for Amaka, he never saw her again.

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My Fiancee Takes An Older Man



I lay under the duvet and watched my fiancée stride naked into the bedroom, her body fresh from a bath. She approached her drawer of sexy underwear and peered inside. Her figure was insanely gorgeous. It never ceased to amaze me how fantastic she looked without clothes on. She was slim with a voluptuous ass that I could always compare with the most stunning models in the world. Her legs were beautiful, her waist tight and her tits small and perky. She hated me calling them small, often threatening to save for a boob job, but they were perfect for fitting in my mouth. She was 31, more than 2 and a half years older than myself.

"I wonder what I should wear," she said, turning to face me with her hands on hips.

Her pussy was shaven bald. That was something she had obviously done in the bath and without my prior knowledge. I loved it in all kinds of fashion, bald, hairy or cropped. She had a habit of taking the whole lot off when she intended to be naughty.

She pulled out a pair of boy shorts and slipped them up her legs until they were clinging to her hips and accentuating that magnificent rear.

"Do you remember that guy on the internet bought me these?"

I was erect. Her history of male admirers on the web was something we rarely talked about anymore. She had never met any of them, but she had plenty of fun and there were times when rewards were arriving through the post on an almost daily basis.

"You may masturbate over me," she said, eyeing me through the mirror. "But do not come."

I needed to wank, badly. She had enpowerd a sex ban for the last few days, saying she was saving herself. That I was not the man she was saving herself for sent shock waves to my loins.

"What about these?" She was holding up the skimpiest of g-strings with a pink garter attached.

I nodded, almost begging for her to wear them. I had tried to touch her several times that week, but each time I was dismissed and teased that her body temporarily belonged to someone else and only when that someone else had enjoyed the pleasure of it would it be returned to me. She enjoyed teasing me and I was addicted to it. She rarely wore lingerie for me anymore, but she was certain she would for him. "I'm going to be for him everything you wish I'd be for you," she had promised.

We had a great relationship. An understanding one which few could appreciate or emulate. We could never say either of us had been unfaithful because everything we had ever done had been either with the others approval or so small it wasn't worth the hassle. We had occasionally swung with another couple. The girls sometimes did things together, my fiancée once even going as far as to 69 with the wife. We had few rules. If one of us went out we could pull another permister, but only if no one we knew was there. We didn't often socialise outside of our home town and so it was on only a few occasions either of us had kissed someone else in our 6 years together. It was more something that we knew and had never played with. Once on a holiday we had been takeing too much wine and I was speaking to a woman, who confided she was a lesbian. I soon had my other half joining us and before long they were kissing. They kissed for most of the night and eventually disappeared into the ladies toilets for forty minutes. I was jealous only that I didn't get to watch, but loved the fact my fiancée had finally gone all the way with another woman.

"Is this cute?" she asked, giving a twirl.

"Very. You should put on your matching stockings."

She paused, then clasped the g-string with her fingers and pulled it off. "I've got a better idea." She looked at me, a devilish smile on her face. "You're going to hate me when you see this." She disappeared to the spare bedroom.

The man she was dressing for was the husband of the couple we had a habit of swinging with. He had told me of his desires for my fiancée for years, and she had often fantasised about having him to herself for a night. It was only since the couple's relationship had hit a particular rocky patch, of which we were not even sure of the depths or facts, that she and he had begun texting on a regular basis. They only did it during the day and often when both were at work. I got to read the messages and the arousal was tremendous. There was never a hint of jealousy, as this was one of my all-time greatest fantasies. What was happening was open and with permission. Occasionally my fiancée, and only very recently, had experimented with humiliating me about him. It was not something I had thought I would enjoy, but each time was mild and in the heat of the moment. My cock always grew to its hardest so it wasn't easy to deny my own enjoyment.

"I'm doing this for you as well," she had insisted earlier in the week when they made the final arrangements. We agreed certain rules and then she offered her darkest requirement. "You have to let me do this."

"Tell me what it is first."

"I might want a few minutes alone with him at some stage in the evening."

"To do what?"

She looked at like I was an idiot.

"Okay," I agreed. "That should be okay." My cock was pulsating. It was more than okay.

"I'll let you know if and when the time comes," she added.

She entered the bedroom, barking a reminder that I was not allowed to come. My eyes darted to her outfit. Her cruelty was mesmerising. My favourite outfit, which I often begged her to wear for me. A fantasy she rarely indulged.

"This is what I'm wearing tonight," she said. "And that's final."

She admired herself in the mirror. Her purple basque corset, black stockings and suspenders and a g-string. There was a matching thong for the corset which she evidently decided wasn't revealing enough. The g-string was cleverly worn over the suspenders for easy removal. She completed the look with a pair of the sluttiest red heels, which she had only ever worn once. I was jealous. It had finally been achieved. I pleaded with her to jerk me off.

She laughed at me. "I'm not yours and I'm not cheating on him." She came to the bed and pulled back the duvet, her eyes on my fingers wrapped around my shaft. "If you dare come..." There was a silent threat. "I'll not be happy." Her words promised a punishment of more depth if I dared.

I couldn't help myself, the sight of her and the thoughts of the night ahead overwhelming. I came hard and in front of her. She watched each spurt, smiling.

"You can't say you weren't warned," she said, and turned on her heel. She picked up a short denim skirt and black cardigan. "Just something to wear over my lingerie... For a bit."

As my orgasm subsided, I became clouded with doubts about what was to happen later that evening. I put it down to the fact I had just masturbated to a climax and that sooner or later my arousal would return. I noticed the smile on my fiancée's face as she gave the mirror a final glance. She was looking forward to the evening ahead.

The front door was knocked at 7:45pm. She had told him to be there at 8 and we suspected we had an unwelcome visitor.

"Whoever it is, get rid of them," she said. "I don't want anyone to see me in this skirt." She hid in the kitchen. "Except him." She giggled.

I opened the front door and it was our guest, eager and early. Sixteen years older than my fiancée, he was well-dressed, smiling and mannered as he handed me a bottle of wine. I welcomed him into the living room and told her who it was.

She entered the room, blushing, and they kissed on the cheek. The awkwardness had arrived and I believed we were all grateful when I was pouring the first of the glasses of wine. We had more bottles in the fridge and I expected there to be plenty drank before the night was out.

I had deliberately laid the remote controls and a newspaper on one of the sofas, indicating it was my seat and leaving them to sit together on the other. They made small talk together, him and I talked about the day's football results, she poured herself more wine, there were a few jokes. No one mentioned his wife, despite the fact we wondered if they were no longer together. The atmosphere began to change and she soon had her hand on his knee, her red nails dazzling under the light.

I took the initiative to leave them alone and excused myself for the toilet. I took my time climbing the stairs, a distant memory of the first night of our swinging as a foursome flashing before my eyes. We had been takes and played a stripping game. All four of us were finally naked, giving each other dares, but I badly needed to piss. So I went upstairs, took time to clean my cock at the sink as his wife had been crudely declaring her need to suck it. I perhaps took five minutes, nervous and trying desperately to pull myself hard again. I was young, nervous and alien to the world we had entered. When I entered the living room, my girlfriend, as she was at the time, was on her hands and knees, sucking his cock like a porn star. The wife was next to them, watching and encouraging her. She stopped only when she realised I had sat down.

I pissed, stopped, pissed some more and flushed. I washed my hands thoroughly. If something was going to happen perhaps it was best I left them for as long as possible. The night was still young and if they were feeling half as nervous as I was a few more takes were going to be in order.

I headed back down the stairs and opened the door. They were sitting together, doing nothing. My fiancée leaned forward and set down her glass. I sat down and made a comment about a referee's decision in the early kick-off. When I looked up they were kissing.

After only a few seconds they stopped and he reached quickly for the wine, pouring both him and her more. They drank, giggled and she made the next move, putting her arms around his neck and meeting his mouth in the middle. Their tongues entwined, there was a clear smile on her face, occasional moans and lots of kisses. This lasted much, much longer and I was straining in my trousers. The sight of my fiancée enjoying another man's tongue in her mouth was one of the most erotic moments of my life. I had no woman there to enjoy, no partner of his to swap with. I was not part of the equation and this was both different and exciting.

She came up for air after a few minutes and took another take. He rubbed her leg, his fingers finding her stocking tops. She smiled to me, and I returned it. He had eyes only for her. She spread her legs for him and his hands travelled further up, under the skirt. She moaned the moment he began rubbing the outside of her g-string. I moved closer for a better look.

She ordered me to fetch her mobile phone, which appeared to surprise both him and I. He must have stopped touching her as her fingers suddenly wrapped around his arm and pulled him to her pussy.

"Get me my mobile... Now."

I was confused, but she was insistent and I had no reamister to disobey her.

"Touch it like it belongs to you," I heard her say to him as I entered the kitchen.

When I brought the mobile back to the room they were kissing again, her g-string was pulled to the side and he had inserted a finger. Her eyes were shut and neither of them took any notice of me standing there with the mobile in my outstretched arm. I was ignored for what must have been at least 2 minutes while he manipulated her most delicious of inner sanctums. I had been reduced to a mere servant, powerd the indignity of watching my wife-to-be have another man give her the pleasure she had refused to permit me for a week. But it was what I wanted. To watch another man with her.

"Thank you," she said, taking the mobile. Her fingers searched for something, appearing to scroll downwards, until she hit a button and put the phone to her ears. "Hello, I'd like to order a taxi."

Him and I looked at each other as she called out the name of the local pub. We thought this was to be a kinky night in. What was she planning? The frustration on his face may even have outstripped my own. She ended the call.

"Don't stop fingering me," she told him, and melted when he complied. They were kissing again within seconds.

She rubbed his crotch as I asked her why she had ordered us a taxi.

She giggled, then moaned as his fingers worked her into a frenzy.

"Why have you ordered us a taxi?" I demanded, her ignorance affecting my tone.

She kissed him harder and nibred on his lower lip.

I sighed. She was in complete control and nothing I said, whether in defiance or subservience would change her behaviour.

The kiss was broken and she looked at me. "The taxi isn't for us, baby." She squeezed his cock through his trousers at the final word, teasing me with a phrase she usually reserved for me in private. "Its for you." She stood up and found the zip of her denim skirt. "I am going to fuck my boyfriend and I don't want you around when I do it."

My insides crashed together. Butterflies in my stomach became fireworks in my chest. My heart pounded. There were no words of protest on my lips. The room was amok with betrayal, with punishment, with sex.

She pulled her skirt down and revealed that g-string clad ass in all its glory. I may as well have been foaming at the mouth. She had managed to transform my desires from wanting to watch him have his way with her to wanting her for myself. And I knew there was no way that was going to happen. She straddled him right before me, her ass a vision. Jealousy pumped through my veins like it hadn't threatened to in years. His hands were all over her backside, they were kissing again and she was rubbing herself up and down on his crotch. His erection was poking through his trousers and she glided her pussy over it with expert precision.

"I can't wait for you to fuck me when he leaves," she told him.

"I will, I'll fuck you really hard," he replied.

I was desperate to see what would happen next. I couldn't leave. I just couldn't. Then it struck me. This was a set-up. I was supposed to fall for it. She hadn't ordered a taxi at all. It was just to turn me on. It was working. I needed to stroke my dick more than ever. She was into him like an natural in heat. The way she was kissing him suggested she had been waiting for this man all her life. I was irrelevant to her.

"I need your cock," she said. "I wish that taxi would hurry up."

I smiled. Every part of her effort for the evening was perfect. The elaborate hoax all the more thrilling because it had been her creation and for a few minutes I had believed it.

A horn triple-blasted outside.

"Oh, about time," she said.

My eyes went from her to the curtains and back again.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

She was dry-humping him and I was almost certain she whispered into his ear. My heart was beating faster and I had no choice but to peek out the window. There was indeed a taxi sitting at the end of the driveway.

"You really did book a taxi for me?"

She sighed, her frustration clear. "Yes. Now get out. This is your punishment." She rubbed his cock through his trousers and smiled. "Tonight I really do belong to him."

"Oh yes," he said, and gave her ass a playful spank and a squeeze.

To see him taking charge of her, my fiancée, was another step I hadn't planned. Yet there I was standing at the door, struggling to leave, and yet knowing that I would do whatever she wanted. I stared. I wanted her to let me stay, or at least compromise and tell me to wait upstairs for a while. She whispered. Definitely this time. He looked at me, then whispered something back to her, his hands on her waist now in a complete display of ownership.

She turned her head to me, her eyes erotic and devilish. "You can... Leave... Now."

"But-"

"Go. Have a few takes and unwind. He wants me to himself and what he wants he gets." She kissed him and didn't look at me again. "He's the man of the house when he's here." Their lips met again. "Aren't you?" she asked him.

"Yes I am," he said, and his hands travelled to her ass cheeks, mauling her flesh.

I was staring.

"Get out," she said, louder. "And take a good mental image of this with you."

I was reluctant, almost terrified to leave, but her tone insisted this was what she wanted. And badly. I found the handle of the door and opened it. As I entered the hall I allowed the living room door to gently close over behind me, watching her in his arms one last time.

I heard her call out before it shut, "Don't forget to lock the front door. Unless you don't mind someone walking in and catching another man fucking your wife-to-be."

I went to a different pub than the one the taxi was ordered for. One where I was less likely to bump into someone I knew. I knew my mind would never focus on any conversation and I wanted to be left alone. Such thoughts I had going through my mind. That image she had planted.

I ordered a pint of beer and found a table. I took out my phone and set it before me. I watched it like a hawk, hoping to receive a text or a call about what was happening. My cock was hard within seconds. I contemplated texting my fiancée, writing out several beginnings but neither finishing nor sending anything. I was fortunate when a gorgeous barmaid came to lift my empty glass and asked if I wanted the same again. A trip to the bar was something I couldn't possibly achieve.

The clock on the phone told me I had been away for over half an hour. It would take no longer than that to take a second beer. How long was I supposed to be away for?

"There you go," said the barmaid.

I gave her the precise change and watched her tight ass as she walked back to the bar. She was anywhere between 18 and 21. Every man's eyes were on her. I thought of my fiancée, and wondered what was happening to her right at that moment. Another man's eyes were on her, of that I was certain. The red surged to my cock and I downed a good mouthful of my pint.

My phone lit up. 1 message received. There was a catapult of excitement in my stomach. My fingers raced to unlock and read.

"Fuck sake," I complained aloud.

A simple network standard text to inform me I was now benefiting from- I hit delete without reading anymore. The tease was the best and worst part of the excitement. It certainly added to the roller coaster of emotions. My jealousy was alive and well. I was not thrilled that my girl, my woman, my slut – oh now it was true more than ever – was with someone else and I wasn't there to watch. My cock was hurting, struggling for release. I fixed myself as best I could under the table, hoping not to draw unnecessary attention.

I finished the second beer and wondered whether I should leave. She hadn't told me how I would know when to return. What if they were finished and she expected me home earlier than this? What if I turned up and she was furious at my interruption? I could handle that.

I stood up and held my mobile in front of my crotch. It would look like I was going outside to make a phone call, and it would hide my erection. Which was when I decided what to do next.

There were no taxis available for another hour, I was told. I asked was there anyway I could share a taxi with someone leaving the pub in the next hour. The woman on the end of the line checked. There was none booked to go or come from where I was. I hung up. My frustration only added to my arousal. There was music pumping from the pub. A group of three sexy, young women walked towards me in short skirts and knee-high boots. One of them smiled as they passed. I considered that they would make for a welcome distraction. Then I thought of my fiancée, conjuring an image of her getting fucked doggy style.

I started the walk home. Twenty minutes or so it would take.

When I got home it had been raining heavily for the last 5 minutes. I put my key in the door. But it wouldn't open. I tried again. It became clear that someone had locked it from the inside and left the key in. My jealousy stirred to new heights, this offense bordering upon insulting. Whatever was happening inside she didn't want me barging in.

I knocked and knocked. Several times and yet there was no answer. I grabbed my mobile and dialled her number at once. It rang and rang. There was fury growing inside now. If she ignored me completely...

She answered, giggling. "What is it?"

"Can you let me in please?" There was sarcasm to my manners. "I'm standing at the front door and someone's put a key in the door."

She laughed. "Yes, we're not long finished."

I hung up and waited patiently for close to a minute. It was him who opened the door and allowed me into my own home. He was wearing only his trousers. There was an awkwardness between us. He was the quiet type at the best of times and I was utterly lost for words myself. I bore him no animosity. It was my fiancée who had changed the rules.

She wasn't in the living room. I walked through to the kitchen, also empty, and finally into the conservatory where I could only stand and stare at her sitting naked on a sofa, with her legs closed together but not crossed.

"What if one of the neighbours looks over the fence and sees you like that?" I said.

"Don't be silly," she replied, and looked at my wet clothes. "No one would be out in that weather." He entered the room and sat beside her, putting an arm around her. "Besides, he likes me like this."

He nodded. "Absolutely."

It seemed instinctive when she leaned into him, his arm wrapping around her even tighter. It didn't matter if I was there or not, when he was in the house she was his. I couldn't explain why the image aroused me, despite my anger.

I sat opposite and watched them, dying to ask a dozen questions. For some reamister, I couldn't. Not while he was there. I was embarrassed. In fact, I was ashamed to. He had assumed ownership of my wife-to-be and I felt under his authority.

"You'd love to know what we did, wouldn't you?" She was calculating in her taunting.

I felt so humiliated, and yet I admired her cunning.

"Wouldn't you?"

They were both watching me, his hand caressing her right breast. I looked to the floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

She whispered something to him. It was drowned out by the rain beating against the conservatory roof.

"Look at her," he ordered, though his voice was calm and not very loud.

I could feel my face redden as I looked up. "Yes," I said.

"Yes what?" she demanded.

"Yes, I would like to know what you did while I was out."

"Like?" he asked.

I was silent.

"He asked you a question, answer it or you'll be sent out again." She had such a dominant tone to her voice that I dared not tempt her again.

"I would love to know what happened." I knew how incredible she could be in the bedroom. We had enjoyed years of mind-blowing sex. When she wanted to turn a man on, her efforts were incredible. That she had been alone with him was both destroying and making my night.

"Well..." She parted her legs and slipped two fingers into her pussy. "Mmmmm." I wanted her pussy there and then. "Oh..." There was something glistening when she pulled her fingers out again. "This is his cum." She stared at me, neither offering nor implying an apology. "I let another man cum in my pussy."

I was seething with anger, staring at her fingers and doubting first my eyes, then her words. This was something we had agreed with each other would not happen. It didn't matter that we knew he had had the snip. It was a step too far. I could live with him fucking her. I could enjoy it. But not this. I watched her rub his cum into her pussy lips. My head was spinning, my heart pounding and every inch of me awash with nerves. The cruellest of betrayals and yet my balls were aching, such was the magnificence of my arousal.

"Jealous?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted.

She laughed, crossed her legs and kissed his chest. "I think this is going to be a regular thing."

"I hope so," he said.

She ran her hand down to his crotch. "Oh my God, you're hard again." The reaction on her face promised she was enjoying herself, that she was more than comfortable and that she was happy. I couldn't help a part of me being grateful for that. No matter what had happened, I had been encouraging her for months. She looked at me. "Go pour yourself a beer."

I did as I was told and entered the kitchen. I opened a tin and was pouring it into a pint glass when I looked at the window, viewing into the conservatory. I could see her pulling down his trousers. The glass filled with more beer as I watched her take his cock into her mouth. I doubted it was the first time that evening.

When I finished pouring I rushed back into the conservatory. She looked at me as she held his cock an inch from her lips. "Who told you that you could watch?"

"For fuck sake," I said. I was no longer in the mood to be out of the room. I wouldn't let her power me to leave again. Enough was enough.

"Let him watch," he suggested.

"Do you mind?" she asked, wanking his cock slowly and treating him as lord of the manor.

"No."

"Okay," she looked up to me, "you can sit over there, but no interruptions. I'm going to give my boyfriend a wonderful blow job and nothing is going to get in my way."

I sat on the chair on the other side of the room. My head was repeating her reference to him as her boyfriend. I both loved and hated the idea. Desired and despised. It was as wonderful as it was worrying. I watched, breathing in a fantastic view of her ass as she bent over on her knees to take him deep into her throat. I could see some of what she was doing, but not all of it. The rain beat harder on the roof, droning out his moans.

She pulled her mouth away from him for a split-second. "Your cock is so fucking beautiful." I knew she was saying it as much for my ears as his, teasing my love of dirty talk. She put it back in and sucked up and down for several seconds, then licking the shaft down to his balls and back up again. "The head is so big."

I wanted to masturbate as I watched. I felt unable to open my jeans, as if I would be causing a scene or doing something wrong. Logic was not something which was rooted in that room and the beer was doing little to dampen the effects of her slutty acts.

"I can't wait til you cum in my mouth."

I noticed she was playing with her pussy with her free hand, the juices evident. Were they hers or his or both? Her tongue was all over his balls.

"I'm gonna swallow every drop and clean you up after."

I wanted to come behind her and fuck her pussy hard as she returned to sucking his cock. I was desperate to, but the rules we had set in place beforehand were clear. This was her night of one-on-one sex with him. A threesome was out of the question. I was out of the equation.

"If you were my husband I'd do this to you everyday."

He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down hard onto his cock, fucking her mouth in a way that would normally have me in her bad books. She took it all like a brazen slut. He grunted and then his body appeared to spasm. I was frozen on the spot. Across the room, shielded from my vision by my fiancée's mouth, he was shooting load after load of his cum into her. True to her word, she guzzled it down. I was lucky if she did this to me once every couple of years.

"That was incredible," he said, as she slowly licked all around his shaft and particularly his head. "You're amazing."

He allowed himself only seconds of composure before he stood up, lifted her onto the sofa, spread her legs and dived face first into her pussy. She threw her head back and squealed. When we had been swinging with him and his wife in the past this was something he had a particular passion for. It was something my fiancée said he was great at too. His tongue licked up and down her lips, he complemented her taste, and rested eventually on her clit. He added his fingers, first to her clit, then to her insides. Her moans escalated.

I was terrified of someone outside hearing and turned on the stereo. Neither he nor her appeared to notice. Or care.

She ran her hands over his head and pulled him tighter. Her eyes were shut, her body close to shuddering at his mercy.

"You've no idea how good that is," she said.

He seemed to renew his pace with her encouragement, refusing to settle for good.

"Oh my God, keep doing that... Fuck..."

She gushed as his fingers pounded her pussy. He lapped up her juices. I knew what it was like to be between her legs worshipping her and to experience someone else doing that to her, and doing it so well, was incredible.

"Fuck, you're the best I've ever had," she said.

I looked at her face and she was staring back at me. She was smiling, knowing I would never forget a word she said. That they would bounce back and forth in my head and that no matter whether they hurt me or not, they would power my cock to its hardest.

"I wish you could do that to me every night."

She had to bite her lip as her body jerked under the pleasure, gushing again. She tried to power her eyes onto me throughout the moment, but his momentum carried her forward. His fingers were driving into her at a phenomenal speed. My wife-to-be wasn't just sharing herself with another man. She was sharing one of the greatest experiences of her life.

I lost count of the number of times she gushed with overwhelming ferocity. Each time she would try to hold my stare. Each time she would surrender to the superiority of his touch.

"Keep... Doing... That." Her body was beginning to shake. "I'm... Gonna... Cum." Her orgasm was earth-shattering, her naked form bouncing over the sofa and held down only by his grip on her thighs. She tried to pull away from him. He held her in place and teased pleasure beyond her limits. "No, please."

He gave a final lick of her pussy and released her. She collapsed onto the sofa and curled up, her hair a mess, her eyes glazed. He touched the back of her knee and ran his hand up to her ass cheeks. She began to shake again and pushed him away. New boundaries had been broken.

I had anticipated her needing a hard fucking after her orgasm, as was so often the case in our relationship. This time was different. She was spent. I turned the music off.

"That was amazing," she said after a couple of minutes, flipping onto her back.

"I know," he said, and pulled her up into his arms. They shared a long, passionate kiss.

I watched my naked wife-to-be in the arms of a naked man, listened to them complement each other some more and struggled to sit still. I had never needed release more in my life. I felt like a young teenager experiencing arousal for the first time, fighting the most desperate of urges to be alone.

"I need the toilet," I said, and walked out of the room. Although it was tempting to jerk off over what I had witnessed, I was lying and only pretended to leave. I closed the living room door to the stairs and crept back to the kitchen, eager to discover their secrets.

There was silence for 20 or 30 seconds, broken only by a couple of smooching sounds.

"I really got off on humiliating him."

"I hope he's okay," he said. "I wouldn't want there to be any animosity between us."

"He should be okay. He wanted me to do it."

"Did he know you were going to send him to the pub?"

She laughed. "No, I told him I'd send him upstairs for a while or take you upstairs and make him wait down here. He was up for that, but I didn't think he'd be able to help himself from joining us."

"You are so beautiful," he said. There was another kiss. "You'll have to come down to my house next time."

"Yeah."

"Do you think he'll allow you?"

"I'll come down whether he allows me or not. If he says no I'll just tell him I'm going to a friend's house."

Despite everything I had experienced, this threat was something which still struck me unexpectedly. She was treading a dangerous line between game and affair. My cock ached.

"I don't mind him watching," he began, "but I'd love to have you on your own again. That was the best part of the night."

She giggled, saying nothing, then I heard kissing noises.

I was preparing to sneak back to the living room and abruptly open the door to upstairs when she broke the kiss and asked him, "Do you want to take a photo of me on your phone?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Then do it. Quickly, before he comes back."

I panicked. I didn't think I wanted him to have a picture of my fiancée. Especially as she was naked. What if he showed it to someone else? My fears were clouded by a selfish desperation to see the pose. I was caught in the moment. There was no time to interrupt.

"Spread your legs," he said. "Beautiful."

I surmised she was likely allowing him a close-up of her pussy. She couldn't be identified that way.

"Smile," he said.

I heard the camera click and it was too late to do anything to stop them fulfilling my betrayal. He would possess a part of her now. I would never know exactly what the picture portrayed, but my imagination was running wild. The fact she was told to smile revealing the final composition of the pose.

"Stay as late as you can," she said. "He's going to want me to tell him everything that happened while he was away and I'm too tired for it tonight."

"If I stay any longer, I'm going to want to fuck you again."

My offense was complete. My hands were trembling. My cock and balls aching for release. For her. Was this the beginning of an addiction? Was it mine or hers? What I had started was now out of my control. My arousal only distilling further confusion in my feelings. I honestly didn't know if I genuinely enjoyed or disapproved of what had happened. I feared the come down. The potential regrets when I finally achieved my release.

I heard them embrace again. "Don't tempt me," she said.

When I returned to the conservatory she was no longer in his arms. She complained she was cold and I retrieved her dressing gown for her. He took the hint, ordered a taxi and kissed her good night. Even that was only a peck on the lips, much inferior to their previous smooches. He shook my hand and thanked me for allowing him to be a part of the experience.

"No problem," I found myself saying.

"Goodnight," he said, giving a final bow to my fiancée, and headed to the front door. He lowered his voice, so only I could hear him. "You're a very lucky man to have that girl to yourself every night of the week."

I nodded.

"She's stunning, she tastes great, she loves sex, she's up for anything."

My eyebrows were raised most by the 'up for anything' statement.

"She loves you," he continued. "Remember that."

I locked the door behind him and raced into the conservatory, desperate to give her the dirty fucking she so crudely deserved. She had so blatantly and deliberately turned herself into a whore that I was determined to show her just who she really belonged to. It was another part of the night we had agreed upon. That after he left she would be mine again and I would fuck her while she recounted the evening. Especially, I hoped, the parts where I was excluded.

She was already standing when I entered, holding her arms up. "Baby, I know what you're wanting to happen now, but I can't. I'm just too tired and I want to go to bed." She hugged me and her voice turned to a whisper. "None of that was supposed to hurt you. It was your fantasy I was indulging. You said you wanted to be humiliated."

I couldn't answer. She was completely correct. I had played with fire, begging her to fuck him in front of me for months... Even years when I thought about it. When telling her my fantasies I had often found the biggest turn on was to be humiliated by her in front of him. I did not mean anything cruel, though, and a part of me did feel hurt at being excluded for hours. There was also a raging erection which dictated otherwise.

"Come to bed," she said. "Its late and we can talk in the morning."

I couldn't get to relax that night. Her body was lying next to mine, the heat and her scent a constant distraction. I needed to hammer her juicy, wet pussy. There was no chance. When I tried to touch her, she groaned and pushed me away. She was naked, her ass jutting out against my erection. There was only one thing for it. I waited until I was sure she was arelax, then I sneaked downstairs and thought about what had happened. It was such a relief when finally I stroked myself in private. I had been aroused for too many hours without pleasure. A variety of images careered through my mind, some I had witnessed, others I was powerd to imagine. His 'she's up for anything' comment fuelling my thoughts.

I noticed her mobile phone lying on the table before me. Curiosity had me leaning forward to check it. I was surprised to see there was an unread text from him. I had a dilemma. If I opened it, it would no longer appear as unread and she would know I had seen it. I wrestled with my emotions for a few seconds, then I gave in.

The message said "Hi sexy. What a night. I finally got to fuck you alone. Can't believe he doesn't bind your hands behind your back. Really enjoyed dominating you that way. Did you say about coming down next weekend?"

I came within half a minute. What plans was she making behind my back? What kinky sex games had they played when I was away? Quite evidently they had enjoyed more than an average fucking session. I couldn't believe it. Would she tell me? I set her mobile down on the table again, cleaned up and went back to bed, groping her naked ass as she slept.

It was afternoon when we awoke. Or rather she woke me with her mouth wrapped around my cock, urging me to a full erection. My first thoughts were of the night before.

"Tell me what happened while I was away," I said.

She parted her legs and switched my cock to her hand, wanking me intently. "Do you want me to tell you that this pussy, your pussy, was fucked good and proper last night by another man? That it was so much better than I ever imagined it could be."

My cock twitched, betraying any hope I had of playing it subtle.

She smiled, then leaned in for a long kiss. When she broke it she resumed her previous position, lying across my thighs and stroking me. Her pussy lips were glistening and she started to rub herself.

"Tell me," I said.

"Tell you what?" Coy as she played it, there was no fooling me.

"Tell me what happened last night."

"Maybe I want to keep it my dirty little secret."

I thought of her hands tied behind her back, imagined her being fucked by him doggy style and I could almost hear her screams in my head. "I want to know everything," I said.

She wanked me harder. "Baby, you can't know everything. I want to keep some things private." She licked the head of my shaft. "Between me and him."

There was an intense feeling in my stomach. It raced to my head. Anger, hindered only by arousal. I grabbed her by her hair and yanked her down, powering her to engulf my cock. I humped her mouth, knowing what a slut she was turning into. All my years of encouragement and finally she was behaving just the way I wanted. She was caught somewhere between resistance, muffling a scream, and presentation, running her tongue around my shaft. I was in the mood to use her and fucked her mouth harder. She had rarely been a fan of rough play and that only heightened my intention to punish her.

"You're going to tell me everything I want to hear," I began, grunting. "You had my permission for last night, but you're my property and I demand to know what happened." I released her and tossed her petite frame to the other side of the bed.

She looked at me, a slight moment of fear in her eyes. She noticed something in mine. I panted, aggression capitulating to lust. "He used me as his little slut." She knew the danger of pushing me when I was angry. "I let him do it, baby." Her fingers danced circles on her clit, the other hand spreading her lips. "I wanted to be his mistress... His whore."

My cock stood on end, as hard as it ever could.

"You'd have been so humiliated if you'd seen the way I acted."

I had started jerking off without realising.

"I was begging him for more." She shut her eyes. "I just wanted to be his and not yours for a night."

"Oh God," I said.

"He mauled me." Her pussy was loving her fingers.

I yearned to touch her, but touching myself while she told me what happened was too good.

"He did things to me you wouldn't believe. Things you wouldn't have the experience to think of." She moaned. "It was great sex."

"Better than you and me?"

She didn't hesitate. "More passionate, more intense." Her body was beginning to shake, her fingers and memories working in unimister. "I really want fucked by a cock."

I started to raise myself, ready to fuck that little cunt of hers.

"No, baby," she said. "Not yours, not now."

My inner reaction came as a surprise, given my more powerful mood. I felt rejected, but I actually enjoyed the feeling and welcomed it. "But there's no one else here."

"I want you to fuck me with the black dildo. I want to imagine its someone else, someone big."

My cock and balls ached for her moist insides. "Just let me fuck you."

"No!" Her pussy was spread open. So inviting. Just not for me. "I want the dildo."

I sighed in frustration, elements of rejected arousal beginning to overwhelm. I leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved her biggest toy. Ten inches of thick rubber cock for her pussy. I crawled towards her and rubbed the head up and down her lips.

"That's it, baby."

I continued to tease, allowing her juice to coat the tip, then I slid it up to and over her clit. Her hand came down and pushed it towards her entrance. I feigned presentation and she released her grip as I descended the dildo ever nearer. But I pushed it beneath the opening of her cunt, smiling as I sensed her annoyance.

"Baby, I need it."

"Then beg for it." I was holding it at her most desirable of spots, working it back and forth but never enough for the head to enter her. "Beg to be fucked by this big cock."

"Give me it now. I need it. I need to feel like a dirty whore again."

I plunged it into her cunt, being deliberately rough. I treated her like a common slut from the streets. She moaned, shut her eyes and raised her hips to meet it, gagging for more. I worked it in and out at an incredible rate. I had rarely heard so much noise from her. "What are you thinking about?" I demanded.

"Last night."

"More." I slackened the pace as a warning that I was in control now. It was my way or not at all.

"About his cock inside me, fucking me good."

I reached down and found my own cock, giving myself a good tug as I worked the dildo into her.

"He had me in so many positions. It was so fucking good, baby." She was nearing her orgasm. "I loved doing it behind your back." Her legs shook first. Then her torso. Her hands were on her breasts, kneading her nipples. "Oh my God." As suddenly, it was over. She slammed her legs shut and locked the dildo still.

"Can I fuck you now, baby?" I asked, my cock ready to shoot load after load into her.

She opened her eyes. Her chest was heaving. "Come here," she said, reaching her arms out to me. She pulled me down on top of her, my hard cock resting between her inner thigh and pussy. "Just hold me for a bit."

Rejection. On one side anyway. Desire on the other. I was denied her sexually, but emotionally she wanted me.

"I love you so much." We were kissing again, tongues entwined. "Don't ever forget that. When I get carried away with my words in the heat of the moment don't take too much notice."

"Were you exaggerating? Did he not have you in a load of positions?"

She blushed, neither admitting nor denying it. "I love your hugs." We lay there for twenty or thirty minutes, my fiancée enjoying the emotional closeness between us. Her kisses ranged from slow and intimate to fiery and passionate.

My cock was hard against her the whole time. Not once did she touch it with her hands, never mind even mention it. In the silence between us there was one image in my mind. I had to mention it. "Did you really let him cum inside you?" I already knew the answer, despite my disbelief.

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I'm so ashamed."

I kissed her. "Don't be. I encouraged you to go for it with him. Its my fault. I kept telling you to do whatever you wanted with him."

She opened her eyes again. "I'm sorry. I got carried away. I only told you because you confided in me about your offense fantasies."

"I'd rather you told me than hid it altogether."

She moved ever so slightly underneath me and my cock was right against her moist lips. I believed it was finally going to happen. Her pussy was going to open up and let me in. "He's single now," she began. "He told me he and his wife are living apart."

"What happened?" I asked.

"He didn't go into much detail and I didn't ask too many questions. It was only after we'd finished and all of a sudden you were at the front door. So I stopped the conversation. It was strange what he did say." She looked me right in the eye. "He said their swinging had boiled out of control."

The dangerous realities of the world my fantasies worshipped. I felt excitement.

"I'm not unhappy they're not together anymore," she said.

There was silence for half a minute as the depths of that statement sank in. "Why?" I asked.

"I never fully enjoyed sharing you with her. I prefer it to be all about me. Whether its him watching us or you watching me and him. I don't want another girl there."

"Do you want to see him again?" I ventured.

She looked uninterested. "It was fun." There was a reluctance in her voice.

"And?" My heart was thumping. It was obvious to my conscience what I wanted.

She stretched and threw back the duvet. "We'll see, I'm not making any promises." She stood up and slipped on a negligee, wiping tiredness from under her eyes. "I don't think so."

I didn't mention the text message and neither did she. In fact, she didn't seem to go near her mobile all day. I was disheartened. Smack back in reality. Welcome to the mundane. I spent a couple of hours on the internet in the evening, looking at pornography for a while. Nothing compared to what I had witnessed the night before. When she went to bed, I waited only a matter of minutes before I headed downstairs. I went straight to her phone to check up on her.

A wave of joy and jealousy threatened to knock me off my feet. They had been texting each other, the times coinciding with my time spent upstairs on the computer. I navigated their exchange in the order they had been sent. The first being her reply to his overnight text, when he asked about the following weekend.

HER - "Ur naughty. I didn't ask xx."

HIM - "You change your mind?"

HER - "I'm not sure xx."

HIM - "Honey, I don't want to pressure you or him into doing anything that would make either of you unhappy. I like you both a lot, although in very different ways lol."

HER - "I like you too xx."

HIM - "If I was there I'd be kissing you right now."

HER - "Who said I'd let u? Just kidding. I wish you were here now xx."

HIM - "Me too. I wish it was me fucking you all day today. He doesn't know how lucky he is."

HER - "I didn't let him fuck me xx."

HIM - "Really? Why not?"

HER - "I'm saving myself. Night night xx."

There was no reply from him. I wondered had there been more and she had deleted them. It appeared not. The time of her last sent text tied in with the time she had gone to bed.

I sat back on the sofa, the same sofa where I had left them to it the night before. She had told him "I didn't let him fuck me." Was that right? Had she planned our seemingly spontaneous bedroom encounter in the afternoon to go according to her plan? That she would be fucked only by the black dildo and not my cock. What was she saving herself for? Or rather, who?

I masturbated again, re-reading their texts and imagining what they had done together.

When I awoke the next morning she was already up, confirming my suspicions that the sex ban was to continue. I shook my head. I would torch her sex ban and fuck her senseless. She was a dirty bitch. My dirty bitch. I was not having her deny me my sexual gratification another day. I kicked my legs out of bed.

Strangely, she was not downstairs either. I checked the calendar. There were no appointments made and she hadn't mentioned anything the day before. I called her on my mobile, but it just rang and rang until eventually it cut off. I tried again. I must have spent a total of four of five minutes standing there, listening to the repetitive dial. I was becoming paranoid. I was being stupid. Of course she wasn't with him. It was just my imagination working overtime.

I texted her, asking where she was and if she was okay. There was nothing untoward or particularly accusing about that.

The minutes ticked by.

Beep! Beep!

I hit read. "I'm fine, just out at a friend's house."

When she came home her behaviour was normal, poles apart from my own ever-changing nature. Nothing sexual happened between us. She watched mind-numbing television. I stifled my boredom with a couple of hours on Facebook. Finally, I repeated my ritual of checking her phone when she went to bed. Not only were there no new texts between them, but the old ones had been deleted. That did heighten my suspicions. Suddenly she was being careful.

She was at work the following two days, Tuesday and Wednesday. Each day dressed in a black skirt with tights underneath. An extremely rare occurrence. Each night I checked her phone. There were no new developments. She shunned my attempts to have her tell me what had happened between them, promising only that she would tell me when she was in the mood and that I would appreciate that moment when it came along. I was determined to engineer that moment immediately. At bed time, she used the age-old argument every woman indulges.

"Not tonight, baby," she began, pulling down her panties, "I'm tired."

"You're always tired!"

"Well, I'm the one in this relationship who has a job." She pulled on only a negligee and climbed into bed. "Maybe if you worked, I wouldn't be so redy tired all the time."

She may well have hit the nail on the head and, really, I couldn't argue. But despite my growing fondness for offense on some levels, I couldn't have her talking to me like that. She screamed as I threw her face down over my lap. Her hands were flailing at me in protest. I secured her wrists and held them together over her head. Her amazing ass was exposed.

"I'm your fucking husband-to-be," I said, and smashed the palm of my hand across her cheeks.

She cried in pain. This was not playful.

"You'll service me when I require it." Bang! My hand reigned down hard again, concentrating on her left cheek.

She struggled to free herself. I clamped her wrists harder and delivered several striking blows to the same cheek. I loved to concentrate on one area and redden it for the morning. I could imagine her sitting at her desk in the office and squirming onto the other cheek. She begged me to stop. "You're hurting me!"

I suppressed my laughter and administered a triple onslaught to the left cheek, adding a fourth and final slap to her unsuspecting right. "Call me 'sir', if you want me to stop."

"Never." It was one word she detested. Even in her school days she had refused to acknowledge her teachers as such, despite the school's policy in that respect.

I spanked her again, then caressed her cheeks, squeezing them at times. "You'll call me sir and you'll know who's really in charge here."

I could sense the anger in the pit of her stomach. The resistance to male domination. She knew full well I had no reamister to relax. No occupation to confine me to a bed time. I could hold her there all night if the mood took me. The walls of her defiance had to be closing. I smacked her hard again. She squirmed unlike any time before. "Please stop," she said, a sound of hurt in her voice.

"Say it."

Silence.

"Last chance."

She turned her head away.

"Okay." I unleashed a half dozen smacks, each stronger than the previous. I raised my hand for a seventh, knowing I had no choice but to hit her harder. To really cause her pain. She had to be broken.

"Sir," she managed, accompanied by no further words of plea.

Strangely, I felt as if I had been defeated. I had to stop and release her. The rules were clear. She curled up beside me, facing the other direction. I had beaten her and yet it was I who lay there for the next two hours with a mixed feeling to the situation. With one word of compliance, she had her peace. Yet still I was unsatisfied.

I decided to get a glass of water and headed downstairs. I checked her mobile again, out of an increasing habit. No new text messages. No sent ones either. There had to be something going on. My suspicions were increased more by my urges than any significant lead. I hit exit to go back to the main screen. My thumb accidentally touched the green call button and I froze. I blinked, a cross between surprise and joy. She had called him that very afternoon at 16:46. Virtually the second she had left work. Had she no shame?

My fingers danced through the menu until I found her calls register. Her previous call had lasted 21 minutes. She must have spoken to him throughout her entire journey home, ending the conversation only when she knew she would be in my company. Not necessarily, I realised. I hadn't checked her incoming calls. Within seconds it was confirmed that the last call to or from her phone had been the 16:46 call to him. But I had new information too. He had called her at 12:58, even before her lunch break began. I wondered how long that call lasted, and what they were discussing. She couldn't have seen him. Surely not. Her lunch only lasted 30 minutes, and she was still expected to answer the work phone.

My thoughts wandered into further wonders and within a couple of minutes I was masturbating again, angry and aroused at what she had reduced me to. No matter what control or domination I attempted to exercise, she was the truly conniving mistress. A fantasy I had often conjured about her.

I didn't last long. The images in my mind graphic. Of him and her.

She arrived home from work on the Thursday, dressed in another sexy black skirt. She strolled over to the sofa where I was waiting and straddled me. I was shocked to discover that they were not tights she was wearing. They were stockings. She kissed me.

"I love you, baby," she said, her tongue fighting for mine.

My cock was hard in an instant. Finally, I thought, finally I have earned my reward. "I love you too."

We kissed for several minutes, my hands straying to her blouse and undoing the buttons. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"Lick my nipples."

I eagerly obeyed her instruction. Her nipples were one of my favourite parts of her body. A place I was all too often denied, as she complained they were too sensitive and that she didn't like having them touched.

"Squeeze them."

I was thrilled to be enjoying this rare indulgence.

"Tweak them."

I was stunned, but I didn't hesitate.

"That's what he did to me on Saturday."

My eagerness increased and my fingers pinched her nipples.

"I couldn't stop him."

I thought of the text reference to him binding her hands. "Why couldn't you stop him?" I was looking up to her face.

Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. She bit her lip, her smile widening. "I just couldn't."

Liar, I thought, and enjoyed the feeling. The betrayal. The secret. I pulled her panties to the side and my fingers played with her pussy, encouraging more tales of her Saturday night sexual shenanigans. I was delighted when she didn't reject my advances.

"He was so much better than he'd ever been before. He really let himself go with no one else was around. Especially now his wife's off the scene."

She pulled my mouth to her clit.

"I thought it would just be a one-off, to fulfil your fantasy and to have some fun myself."

Her fingernails roamed my shaven-head.

"But he fucked me so good, I want him inside me again."

We locked eyes.

"What do you think about that?" she asked.

I entered her cunt with my tongue, playing my own game of silent ***.

"Do you mind him fucking this pussy again, baby?"

I no longer knew what I minded nor what I craved. I licked her beautiful clit and fingered her pussy, loving each and every time she met my stroke with a thrust of her own.

"Oh baby," she began, "that's it, lick me like that. Oh, worship me where I gave myself to him. Where he fucked me senseless until he came."

"You're such a dirty slut," I dared.

"I know." She pulled my head back to her clit. "I want to a slut with him again. I wish he was here right now. I'd suck his cock so good while you eat me."

I started to undo my jeans. "I want to fuck you so much right now."

"I bet you do." Again, she grabbed me and silenced me with her clit. "I want you to want me more than you've ever wanted me before. Oh baby, that's so nice."

I pulled my jeans down and jacked my hard cock as I ate her.

"You got something hard for me there?"

I moaned a "Yes," through her clit.

"Let me see it."

I leaned back and displayed my erection for her.

"Nice, baby, but..." She licked her lips. "I don't want your cock."

"But-"

"I'm not discussing it. You're not fucking me."

I was tempted to grab her hips and power it inside her, whether she permitted me or not.

"I know what you're thinking. If you do that, it'll be the last time you ever get this pussy. We're playing by my rules now." Her fingers strayed to her clit. "It can be fun or it can be ***. You decide."

"But you let him-"

"Stop it. Say you are going to play by my rules."

I couldn't speak. Her pussy was delicious, so close and so desirable. I needed it.

"Say it, or you'll never get this again."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

She nodded, though still I was uncertain if this was a heat of the moment game or part of a bigger plan. "Now say it, baby. Say it and I'll let you fuck me now."

"I'll play by your rules," I said, without hesitation.

"Good boy, now fetch my black dildo." She slid a couple of fingers into her wet cunt. "I want you to fuck me with it."

"But I thought you said you'd let me fuck you now?"

She giggled. "You can, baby, with the dildo. Go on now, be a good boy and go get it for me."

She was incredible. I had no idea how she manufactured these situations, but there I was climbing the stairs to retrieve her toy. I had submitted to her magnificence. Her beauty. Her dominance.

When I returned she was bent over the sofa, her skirt up round her waist and her panties pulled to her ankles. Her face was buried in a pillow and her ass was sticking up in the air. "This is how he finished me off on Saturday night. Fuck me with that while I think about what he did to me, baby."

She was sensational, hurting and healing me with statements and images. A part of me wanted to be nasty in return. I came behind her and rammed the black dildo into her eager cunt, powering her to take each and every one of the ten inches. It was so much bigger than anything she was used to, mine or his. She moaned and cried, thrusting back for more. How could she fit so much into such a tiny frame?

"Baby, I was so horny on Saturday night it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to put his cock in my ass."

There was a bitter flame of anger to my jealousy. Anal had been a vital part of our sex life for years. Until suddenly she complained it had started hurting her and banned it 18 months earlier. With her ass being so sexy, so fuckable, I often pleaded for her to let us try again. To imagine that she contemplated giving it to him had me driving that dildo into her with a renewed power.

"I felt empty in my ass for the first time in years and his cock was so lovely. Would you have been angry?"

"Yes," I admitted too easily.

She laughed. Then the dildo hit her spot and she lost all control of her senses, bucking back wildly against it. I rubbed her clit with my other hand. She tweaked her own nipples. She gushed juices over the dildo, but I wouldn't stop. More juices flowed until finally she shook with her climax. She put her hand on the dildo and tried to stop me. I resisted for a few torturous seconds. Then relented and watched her lie back in a slump.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

She pulled me up to her lips for a long, deep kiss. "But things have changed."

I felt panic. "What things?" I was also eager for the answer to be sexual, to be challenging, to be exciting.

"He's single. Available."

"You don't mean you're thinking of leaving me for him?" There was nothing erotic about the thought.

"Oh, baby, no." She pulled me in for kisses of reassurance. "I could never leave you. I love you so much. If you want me to stop this behaviour, tell me now and I will. Nobody and nothing is more important to me than you."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I could never be with him, we both know what he's like. I don't think you'd ever cheat on me and we both know he has cheated on every woman he's ever been with."

I was still curious. "You said he's available, what did you mean?"

"That I don't have to worry about his wife or another woman catching me with him. All I need is your permission."

"Permission for what?" My cock was hard, straining for release, and her pussy looked so beautiful.

She hesitated, and I knew then that there was more to this than she was going to tell me. "Well... I want to go to his house this weekend."

I thought about what that meant. My sexy wife-to-be who was denying me my sexual privileges heading to another man's home with only one intention. To be fucked. I was reluctant. Yet I knew if she pleaded I would cave in.

"I want you to come too," she added.

I was delighted, an expression she read all too easily on my face. "For me to watch?"

"Maybe to watch," she answered, then kissed me. "Maybe to join in."

"Yes, definitely."

She smiled. "I have one condition. We will only go if you do not fuck me before then."

There was something attractive about her denials. They were cruel. But they aroused me. "Okay." I went to place a finger on her clit.

She caught my hand in hers. "You can't touch me either. Unless I expressly request it."

I nodded, then shook my head. This was crazy. "I have one condition of my own."

She shot a harsh glance.

"I get to dress you."

She smiled. "Okay, but if it is anything ridiculous I will refuse to wear it."

"It won't be."

"Do you have any ideas?" she asked.

"I do." I paused. This was my fantasy. If she didn't like I would be crushed. "I want you to dress as close as you can to a dominatrix."

She looked surprised. "I don't have anything particular like that in my wardrobe."

"You have your buckle-front corset, and your high boots with the thick heels. Wear your slutty red lipstick too. I've never seen you look more amazing than when you're dressed up like that."

She was smiling. "I'll not be dominating him, though. I like being submissive for him. He's a real man."

"You'll be dominating me in so many ways."

She laughed. "Yes, baby, I suppose I will." She planted a smacker on my lips. "Roll on Saturday."

By Friday night, the night before our planned visit to his house, she was having half a bottle of wine to herself and I could tell it was hitting her. She was teasing me about masturbating, saying it was obvious I was relieving myself at night. I said nothing.

"What a shame you have a fiancée who won't attend to your needs, that you need to sneak downstairs to play with yourself." She was wearing a short skirt and adjusted herself so her panties were just visible. "What a shame she's too consumed with thoughts of another man's cock to see to yours."

I squirmed in my seat.

"Are you hard now, baby?"

"No," I lied.

"Pity. I might have let you fuck me, if you were."

I shot my eyes to hers. "I mean I am hard. I'm hard right now."

She shook her head. "I need a man that knows when he's hard. Without hesitation."

I pleaded for several minutes. Then begged for more. I yearned for that pussy. I contemplated getting on my hands and knees, showing my complete dedication for her and to ask approval to worship her with my tongue if nothing else. I even stupidly told her I was prepared to go so far.

She sipped the end of her wine and shut her legs tightly together. "Your sex ban continues."

* * * * *

We were both awake early on Saturday. I didn't mention the evening. She had made the plans all on her own and I was privy to very little. She said nothing about it either and I went so far as to wonder whether the whole thing was a hoax, part of some sexual mind game she was developing.

I was watching the full-time results in the football when I decided to take a piss. It was almost 5 o'clock in the afternoon and still there had been no mention of later. I trudged up the stairs and pushed open the door to the bathroom. She was sat on the edge of the bath, legs spread, and shaving her pussy. I stared at her, loving her attention to grooming.

"Leave a little tuft of hair above your clit," I commanded. "I like you like that way."

She immediately shaved it off. "He likes me bald," she said.

I was staring at her pussy, wanting it so much. She watched my eyes and a wicked smile crossed her face.

"You're gagging for it, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"You know the rules, don't you?"

I confirmed that I did.

"Tell me them."

I sighed. "I am not allowed to touch you unless you expressly request it."

"Good boy." She held the razor out to me. "Would you like to help groom me for my lover?"

I hesitated.

"Come on, it means you can get close to this pussy."

I kneeled between her legs, inhaling the freshest of scents from her. Her lips were beautiful. They looked tender, untouched. Clean and eager for worshipping. I took the razor in my hand. She guided it to a spot below her pussy.

"Be extremely careful. If you so much as accidentally graze my lips I will enpower the ultimate punishment on you."

I looked up to her. "What's that?"

"I'll go without you tonight."

I tended to her body, being gentle and caring. Her pussy stared right at me. My heart was beating hard and my cock throbbed in my trousers.

"And make no mistake about it, baby, I will be getting fucked tonight. Think about it. How you'll finally get to see what you missed last week."

I fought the temptation to touch her. My resistance was much stronger than I imagined. Only because I knew I couldn't cope with a further denial. The thoughts of her leaving me at home so she could travel to his house for a night of sex without me was torturous. "I want you so bad right now," I confessed, handing the razor back to her.

She spread her legs further. "If you take me now, I'll not stop you."

"But you'll punish me for it later."

She smiled. "Its your choice. What do you want more? To fuck me here or watch me later?"

I was frozen before her. Her pussy ever so delicious. I had to fight the urge to dive in. This required serious thought. If I finally fucked her she would be off without me later. I couldn't guarantee she would even come back the same night. I knew what way her behaviour was changing. I needed to chaperone. I backed away.

"A real man wouldn't even think about it, baby."

I lost all control and dived forward. Her hand blocked her pussy.

"Good things come to those who wait, though." She took her hand away, exposing all that I desired. "If you are patient, you will be rewarded."

I ran my hand over my head, confusion rife. I didn't know how much more of these games I could take. She had complete control over me. I would do anything she wanted. I couldn't think for myself anymore.

"Too late, baby." She stood up. "Offer rescinded."

I watched her march out of the bathroom, her slim naked form a beautiful picture. Her firm ass swayed as she walked and I followed her to the bedroom like a lapdog.

"Would you like to help me dress?" she asked.

"I've already told you what I want you to wear tonight," I argued.

She smiled. "Baby, you're sweet. I will wear what you wanted tonight, but I will change into that when we get there. I need something sexy, but slightly more conservative to wear on the way down there and for an hour or so until I loosen up with a take."

* * * * *

I drove to his house. She sat next to me in a short denim skirt, high boots with thick heels (the same boots I had asked her to wear later) and a tight white top with no bra. She had a black cardigan over the top, one button done across her breasts. We had agreed on a lacy black thong for underneath.

"Do you want me to flash you, baby?" she asked, as we sat at red traffic lights.

"Yeah, please," I answered.

She gently pulled her skirt up her thighs and revealed her shaven pussy.

"Where's your thong?"

She laughed and pulled her skirt down again as the lights changed to green. "I dared myself not to wear it in the end. I have absolutely no underwear with me tonight, baby."

"What if we were in an accident? What would people think?"

"Drive carefully then," she insisted, and pulled her skirt up again. She spread her legs and gently parted her lips with her fingers. "My pussy is alive tonight."

"Can I touch her?"

She didn't answer.

"Can I?"

Her eyes were shut and her silence continued.

I placed a hand on her bare knee and slowly moved it up her leg.

"This is wrong," she said. "I promised him I'd keep myself fresh for him."

My hand found hers and began to navigate over her knuckles and underneath towards the sweet, moist lips of her pussy. I could feel the heat of her sex less than a centimetre from my fingertips when a car in the next lane darted across the front of us. My hand switched back to the steering wheel and I narrowly avoided him.

"That was close," she said.

"I know, that idiot nearly caused an accident."

"I didn't mean that." She pulled her skirt down again.

I moved my hand back to her leg, but she caught it and stopped me.

"Sorry, baby, we're nearly there. I can't give you my pussy. Its his."

My frustration broke through another barrier when I conceded defeat. My erection proving I was sinking to yet further depths.