Through the Looking-Glass

Through the Looking-Glass

By Don Jetman



- Prologue -

This one's hard. Not because of mistakes or regrets. In fact, on the
surface, it was what I always wanted. But, well, maybe I can just take you
there and sort it out along the way...

August was long and steamy. If only I could say the same about our sex life.
We were miserable - over-worked and stressed in yet another new city, with
never enough time to get the house in order and make it a home. We had
done this all before, taking it day-by-day, looking ahead by week, then
month segments, knowing that over the horizon, someday, we'd have a
regular life again. And maybe even sex.

Dave often enters our life at the most opportune times, so conveniently
that I always wonder if L has reached out to him in desperation. I believe
it was a Sunday afternoon when he called. His conversations were always
deceptive - not in a malicious way, but laced just lightly enough with
innuendo to make me wonder if I was imagining what I wanted to hear.
Always polite, always clever and funny, he's the too-perfect friend I
never had. It was always different with L. He said things that made her
giggle and blush, things I couldn't hear when her ear was pressed against
the phone until it was damp with sweat. I watched her body language as
they talked. The stress seemed to drain from her, the hard edges
smoothing. The magician in him could made her somehow more feminine, not
in a way I could describe exactly, but he could, just, take her to a place
where she became cat-like, her bare legs moving in languid, effortless
sways and turns, her words melting from the familiar careful use of hard,
brittle "t"s and "c"s, to phrases lifted in pitch at the end like a little
girl, following by quiet purring when she'd rather I didn't hear.

Whether it was L's idea or his wasn't clear, but we were invited to spend
Labor Day weekend with him. Or, as long as we liked, according to L.
"Could we stay the whole week?" she asked. Now, a week with Dave was one
thing to L - lots of sex with him, and usually a little kinky stuff thrown
in as a bonus. I knew she liked that. But the week to me meant giving L to
him when he wanted her (and when she wanted him), me growing hornier by
the day as the games went on, and possibly watching him paw her in front
of his friends as he paraded her on his arm at one of his famous parties.
Not that we hadn't been there before, but I wasn't sure if an entire week
of masturbating while Dave fucked her every night was what I needed to
chase my stress away. But L got her way. She always does. It was a long,
slow blowjob with a furious finish that made me wonder if she had been
practicing with someone else. She denied she had been practicing, but I
would have bet both my left and right nuts she was thinking of Dave. That
I didn't ask.




- Chapter 1 -

We went to dinner the first night, to a Moroccan restaurant filled with
delicious smells and exotic music. A belly dancer made her rounds to table
after table, a dark-eyed beauty who flirted like she meant it. I was
stricken with a kind of erotic panic when she danced for us. Stunned by her
tiny waist, firm breasts and a velvety rippling belly so close, so perfect,
I found the flickering candle on our table made the h y p n o t i c undulations of
taught muscle under smooth, dark skin seem even more impossible.
Within minutes I had been sucked into Dave's world, pulse pounding, hands
shaking, completely taken by this woman, feeling I had lost control too soon.
Dave and L woke me from my trance, finally bursting with laughter as the
dancer placed a hand inside my shirt, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and
made her way to the next table.

It didn't take Dave long to guide the conversation into uncomfortable
territory. He wanted to hear about L's month with Derek, a trial game we
played with a health club owner in the past. It was a month of agreed-upon
ownership of L by Derek, a Dom-submissive relationship between them,
completely out of my control. As uncomfortable as I was during Derek's
"ownership" of L, I really wasn't ready to rehash it again, especially in
public. L didn't seem to mind, and even teased me now and then with little
smiles that anyone else would have taken for loving affection, but smiles
I recognized as gentle jabs at my admittedly hysterical behavior back
then. As Dave drew more details out of her, all I could think about was
how I hoped no one at a nearby table overheard. Dave soon caught on, and
not-so-innocently led L down a few of the darker paths of the experience
(darker for me, that is). He delighted in L's telling of how it ended, how
she had twisted me into knots and dangled the shocking offer to share her
bed permanently in front of Derek, only to see us both flustered and
frustrated when she brought the game to an end, her way. I saw Dave's
admiration of her in his eyes, and had to admit my own embarrassment
didn't stop those same feelings from surfacing.

It had been after that month that Dave boasted that he might accomplish in
a week what Derek couldn't in a month, that he would send her back to me a
changed woman. L spent that week with Dave, keeping a personal diary for
the duration, and he made good on his promise. She ended the week having
sex with multiple men as Dave watched, and she did indeed come back to me
a changed woman, at first quietly proud of breaking new boundaries, but
eventually slipping into a period of deep guilt and shame over what she
had done. Six men. One night. Numbers she wrestled with for months, until
sexual indifference replaced the shame for much too long. Dave never knew
the long-term consequences of her visit (at least I wasn't aware that he
did). But he risked opening old wounds. I wasn't having it, even if L
wasn't forward enough to stop him.

"I think we've played enough of that game for a while," I said finally.
"We're still kind of in recovery-mode anyway."

"Do you mean you're still recovering?" L asked me suddenly. "Because I'm
fine. Would you like to watch me do it again?"

It was one of those moments that fractures reality, a sudden
disorientation that has you believing you might actually be dreaming.
We sat there in dead silence as L picked at her plate, glancing up at me as
though she was still waiting for an answer. I'm not sure Dave was confident
that he still had control. Then, slowly, a little smile began to grow on her face.
L looked up at me, still smiling for a few seconds, and told me, "I'm not going
to have sex with six guys in front of you, so just relax." A young couple at the
next table looked up for a second, then gave each other a knowing smile before
ordering another round of d r i n k s. I glanced back at them. The pretty,
fresh-faced wife saw me, then smiled briefly into her lap.

Later that night, as we slipped into bed in Dave's guest room, it was
still a nagging thorn in my side.

"Would you really spend another week with him, and let God knows how many
more guys fuck you? All in one night?" I asked, hedging my bet she
wouldn't reopen old wounds.

"Are you kidding?" she told me. "A week by the pool with a man who buys me
expensive dresses, wines and dines me like I'm his princess," she paused a
second and smiled at me, "and can seduce me with intelligent conversation?
Why wouldn't I want that?"

"You know what I mean," I went on. "Owning you for the week, changing you
into, well, something - um, somebody else. You act like the last time
never happened. Like it was nothing. You were a mess."

I didn't get the response I wanted. She laughed at me. For far too long. I
let my exasperation show with a frustrated sigh. Were we going to fight
our first night here?

L put a bare leg over me, then rolled on top of me. Her laugh hadn't died
completely, but her eyes were sympathetic.

"C'mon, do you really believe he could change me into someone else,
permanently? I know you're excited, but aren't you letting your
imagination get the best of you? He's an amazing guy, but I think you're
giving him super powers."

I didn't find much consolation in that - had it not been for Dave, L might
never have become a hotwife. But honestly, it wasn't all his doing. My
initial fantasies, and L's innate potential had played a large part. Had
he changed her more than I ever could have on my own? I wasn't sure I
wanted the answer to that.

"Besides," she whispered, "something very hard is telling me you like the
thought of it." She was rotating her hips against me, pushing my erection
into the soft pillow of her lower belly. That, and her quiet whispers of
how many times Dave would have her before the week was over, made me
forget his super powers. Well, mostly. Lovemaking turned to fucking after
a minute, and we made enough noise to wake the dead. Dave may take her as
many times as he wanted during our stay, but I'd damn well let him know
that I was first this time. Right. Absolutely.

L tensed suddenly and gasped. Dave stood by the bed, watching. What I
thought was L's approaching orgasm was actually her shocked response when
she noticed the dark figure looming over us. She was off me in a second,
and we both lay there, naked, still breathing hard, startled by his presence.

"As your host, I feel obligated to finish what you started, Don, " he told
me. He stepped out of the shadows and opened his robe. He had a raging
hard-on, just as mine was slowly losing its rage. I caught myself staring
at it as I never had before - I had never really looked that closely at
his cock. I had seen it many times in the past, sliding in and out of L,
and at more of a distance as L held the purple head in her mouth. But now
I realized I had always been careful to steer clear of any connection to the
homoerotic. Now it was only a few feet from me, at the edge of the bed,
and I couldn't stop staring. There was no desire to suck him, or even
touch him, but here was the cock that L had taken inside her so often, the
first cock she had taken after many years of faithful marriage. She had
run her fingers over it so many times, taken it between her lips and her
legs both as a lover, and as willing victim to a harsh master. She must
know it so well by now, every inch of thick, veiny stalk and angry,
reddened head. Why shouldn't I look, study it, capture the memory of its
powerful urgency minutes before he fucks her?

I left the bed, knowing it was my turn to retreat to the shadows. Dave
took my place beside L, kissing her deeply as his hand moved between her
legs. She was still breathing deeply, and what little light filtered into
the room from the hallway revealed her flat belly rising and falling, her
skin damp and shiny with sweat. It was sweat that she had given up to me
only minutes before as she panted on top of me, teasing me with images
exactly like this one as her orgasm, and mine, approached. I went to her
side of the bed, opened a condom, gave it to her, and watched as she
slowly, lovingly, rolled it over his cock. She looked so adoring, on her knees,
attending to the rigid cock that rose from the new master of her bed, an
adulterous handmaiden preparing the instrument that would unleash the
a n i m a l in her, and her final bliss.

There wasn't any lovemaking when he mounted her. They fucked - immediately
and furiously. In minutes L was crying out, coming under him, her head
thrashing from side to side in one of the most violent orgasms that I'd ever
seen from her. He was rough with her, battering her harder as she came, and
she loved it. It seemed to prolong her orgasm, and her cries of pleasure. The
sounds of his grunting were all too familiar, and I knew that had the condom
not been in place, the urgency of his thrusts meant that he would have filled her
with everything he had. He had taken her violently, and she had accepted with
the same violence. Then, just as quickly, it was done.

We held each other after Dave returned to his own bed. With the nagging
reminder of my erection still digging into her belly, L told me softly,
"You can make love to me if you want." I wasn't sure how to answer. I'm
not into pity-fucks, and L's offer wasn't one of lust. Why did she really want
this? To feel closer to me after sex with another man? She admitted as much
in the past, but had always simply climbed on top of me and shown me.
She had never passively "allowed" me, with words like these. Or, was this
insurance, her concern that my ego wouldn't last the week without some
careful stroking? When I didn't answer, she tugged at me, pulling me on
top of her. "Make love to me," she whispered again. This time her words
were laced with the heat I recognized. She was still soaked between her
legs, so wet that I wondered if the condom had broken. I was inside her
before I knew it.

"No... ," she told me gently, "... get a condom."

"What? Why?" I was already inside her, thrusting, lost in the sensation.
My God, she was so wet!

"Because he wants you to. He made me promise while we're here."

She didn't give any more explanation than that. She just looked up at me
with expectant eyes that told me I could have her too, under the same
conditions. Well, I was here to play too, so I put the condom on and
slipped back inside her. Besides, I knew I'd never get any s l e e p until I
got off, and the conditions were a hundred times better than sneaking
away in the night to jerk off.

L lay there under me, quietly, while I pushed into her. She warned at my
second stroke to go slowly, that she was a little sore, but other than that
seemed content to lie there and watch me. There was no reciprocation,
no heavy breathing, just a contented smile on her face as she ran her
hands over my chest and shoulders.

"You like to watch him fuck me, don't you?" she whispered as I sweated
over her. "Watch him fuck me with his big, hard cock? His cock feels so
good, Don. Sooo good. I want him in me, Don. I want you to see him in me,
to see him make me come. He makes me come sooo hard, Don. You like that,
don't you? Watching me come with him? Watching him come inside me?"

As heated as her words were, she continued to lie there calmly, yet
seductively, allowing me to have her, urging me on with images of her and
her lover fucking. I was beyond any concern of pity-fucking. I was beyond
any bruised ego, even as my wife passively allowed me to have her after
rutting with her lover. She was still smiling as I came, that same contented
smile that, under these conditions, often meant something else entirely.

Afterwards, I lay beside her in the dark, replaying the events of that
night, digesting them, committing images and words to memory, weighing
their effects on me, and ultimately on L as well. Dave had taken her,
literally right out from under me. I watched L accept his cock willingly,
greedily, seconds after I had been inside her. I wondered about the
contrast she felt within those seconds. Was the physical difference
between Dave and I - my cock, then his almost immediately - one she could
detect blindfolded? What were her thoughts? Were the changes in her
arousal subtle or overwhelming in those seconds between husband and lover?
What would it be like to know - to really know - her every thought and
emotion? As I drifted off to s l e e p, my frustration wasn't that my wife's
lover had interrupted us while we fucked and had taken my place inside
her, but that I would never completely know her deepest secrets as she
surrendered her orgasm under him.

- Chapter 2 -

Staying with Dave was a bit like coming home - our room with a spacious
bath, the well-stocked fridge and bar, and the very pool where memories
were made that live on in our hotwifing Hall of Fame. He has a way of
making you feel all of it really does at least partially belong to you.
We're never intruders there. Which is a good thing, because we (or at
least I) pay a subtle but expected price for all this comfort - the
unrestrained use of my wife. And yet, Dave has never kept a tally, never
acted as though he extracted the price of his special brand hospitality
from us. We're all in the game together, and although he has a special
place in L's heart, and between her legs, he's never taken advantage of
the trust we've given him. In fact, in the past, at times it felt as though
we should somehow reimburse him more than we had - he's the master of
games, and the games are never dull.

As we settled in, there was some adjusting on my part, some recalibration
to L's habits no doubt learned and taken to heart on her last visit without
me. She spent much of the time in the house nude, some days never
bothering to dress after her morning shower. On our second day I noticed
she wore her wedding rings on a thin gold chain about her neck. It was a
small thing, but one Dave knew would drive home the idea that, at least
for a while, she wasn't mine anymore. It was a constant reminder as she
strolled around naked, especially outside around the pool. The gold
and diamond that symbolized our marriage glittered against her bare skin,
boasting that our vows had been suspended until she saw fit to replace
the rings on her finger.

She played in the pool and sunned herself on the surrounding deck naked
as well, seeming to know just how much sun was tolerable without her clothes.
Not that I minded - I loved looking at her body, especially in circumstances I
wasn't used to at home. I loved that she was so at ease, so comfortable in
her skin, as though living naked with two men was the most natural thing
in the world. She had dropped a few extra pounds lately, and I could tell
she was proud of it. She looked absolutely delicious. Unfortunately, she
was the only dish in the house I didn't feel free to sample at will.

Eventually we all spent time out of our clothes around the pool, which
predictably led to Dave and L making out on a lounge chair while I watched
with a very lonely boner. She rarely let him on top when they fucked,
which was an ongoing habit of L's in our bed at home as well. She loved
control, and had learned to get what she wanted, those subtle little
motions and wiggles that hit the right spot for her as a cowgirl. Watching
her use the same moves with Dave was a bit unsettling at first, but
eventually intriguing - I could watch her from a perspective that told me
so much about her I couldn't know while down under. She worked at him with
so much pleasure, her back arching, covered with tiny droplets of sweat that
sparkled in the afternoon sun. Her sweet little ass and hips swiveled and
pumped, sucking his cock inside, then expelling it, over and over and over,
the muscles in her thighs flexing, hard as heavy rope, then soft as silk again
as she rose and fell on his cock. She almost always came first, then had to
finish him with her hand or mouth. When she blew him, the furious finish was
unmistakable - and always with her rings and necklace tossed carelessly,
almost violently back and forth, making little jingling noises that drove me
crazy as she worked on him. It wasn't lost on me that her rings were often
soaked in sweat and semen by the end of the day.

I watched like this for the first two days, feeling too awkward to
masturbate to their fun, but finally gave in on the third. L would notice
now and then and threw me these beaming smiles as she rode him, I suppose
happy that I had acclimated, or maybe just proud that her cowgirl skills
were hot enough to get a husband off while watching another man fuck his
wife. Either way, it was great fun, and very liberating for both of us. L
would do her pacing kitten walk over to me after I came, dip a finger in
my come, and tease me about making me taste it. Sometimes her hands
were still wet with his semen, the shallow spaces between her fingers
glistening with little pools of thick, pearly liquid. She'd put the slimy
tip of her finger on my lips and tell me to "open up". I did a few times,
to her delight, but it's not my bag. Still, the look on her face was
priceless - it was all about control, and getting her own way.

When we've played with Dave in the past, there was always protocol. We've
done lots of role-play with him, from off-the-cuff games at his parties,
to some fairly heavy BDSM scenarios in the privacy of our home. This time
there didn't appear to be any. Other than the condoms I had to wear, he
never told me L was his for the week, or what he expected for limits.
Unscripted, this could simply be a fun week, the three of us together with
lots of sex. But I've never known Dave not to have a plan, often with clear
and simple beginnings, then evolving into a convoluted maze that had me
twisted in knots by the end.

By mid-week, I wanted to fuck my naked, two-man wife. So, playing the good
submissive husband, I took Dave aside and asked him if I could have sex
with my wife while we were his guests. He looked at me strangely for a few
seconds before replying.

"Didn't she tell you? L decides who she fucks this week."

Then, in his usual cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, he said, "You know Don, your
odds aren't looking very good if your own wife hasn't asked you yet. She
really hasn't let you touch her?" He's the best at making one feel very small
at critical moments, and I did feel microscopic. The truth was, he had taken
her to his bedroom every night. Sometimes she'd fall into bed with me at
three in the morning, and sometimes neither of them appeared before
breakfast the next day. And at three in the morning, smelling of sweat and
semen, she always had an excuse to keep me waiting, always teasing a little
by d r a p i n g a bare leg over mine, her soaking wet pussy pressed against my
thigh. Well, at least now I knew I could ask, and I might get lucky - with my
own wife. Was there something wrong with this picture? Nope. The plot just
thickens. But I had a feeling the twists and turns ahead were killers.

We became a comfortable threesome surprisingly soon, thanks to L's ease at
having two full-time men in her life. Whether it was an afternoon visit to
an art gallery, Dave's notorious shopping sprees for L, or just a pleasant
walk through a nearby wooded park, L would walk between us, put an arm
around each of us, and wear a smile more joyous than I had seen in much
too long. She'd look up at me, her fingers probing seductively into my
side, then do the same with Dave, always drawing a huge grin from him. I'd
always get this odd mix of emotions; I was elated to see her so alive, so
free and uninhibited, yet at the same time, felt the familiar little pin
pricks of angst when she looked at Dave the way she did. I knew that's
what put the spice in our arrangement, and that Dave had never taken
advantage of her adoring stares. I knew they were exceptionally sexually
compatible, but that Dave had never made that a divisive issue. Still,
there was the fact that Dave had made her happier in a few days than I had
seen her in months. Rationally, I knew it was the proximity effect of new,
relaxed surroundings, and having her favorite lover's cock in her night
after night with my patient, tacit permission. I suppose there was a part
of me that wanted to be able to give her this myself, twenty-four/seven.
But this was a game, not life, and I knew L understood that as well.
Still, like a potent d r u g, it was so tempting to crave a steady supply,
indefinitely.

But the changes in L ran deeper than a libidinous week under Dave's roof
could account for. I suddenly realized that the w o m a n - c h i l d I had
known since we met years ago, the girl I taken my wedding vows beside,
was much less a c h i l d and much more a woman these days. There were
less giggles, and more thoughtful stares. There was a hint of calculation,
in the way she talked, dressed, and even fucked. Always the tease, she
had gradually substituted a kind of "thoughtful omission" for her girlish
innuendo, and replaced much of her old habit of using inhibited euphemisms
for sex with graphic, unapologetic words that fell from her lips like warm
honey. "Fool around" was now often "fuck", and "penis" had become "cock"
without a blush.

Yes, it was what I had wanted from the start, all the little details I had
bound to my hotwife fantasies before I ever dreamed L would become one.
She had made herself more exotic, more exciting, more of a woman, almost
as if she had been molded by my fantasies. But L has never been "molded"
by anyone. She's always been her own person, independent, stubborn, and
practically immune to change. As much as I welcomed the siren in her, in a
way I mourned the loss of the c h i l d. I had always found the contrast so
sexy - the good little girl who lapsed into the dirty little girl on a rainy Saturday
afternoon, the career professional who confessed she loved the risk of
getting caught by doing "something dirty" in public. It was always about
contrasts, and never knowing when she'd surprise me with the nasty L at
the most unexpected times or places.

But honestly, as a w o m a n - c h i l d, L looked to me as more of a parent,
and I had become accustomed to the uneven weight of power in our
relationship. That power was shifting now, to a more equitable balance,
and at times even to her favor. It was an exciting, gratifying, sexy thing to
behold. But was I a bit frightened of it as well? Was it only the loss of my
w o m a n - c h i l d that made me uneasy, or was it a prickly erosion of my
ego, or even fear of becoming the c h i l d to her parent that tickled my angst
a bit more these days? If there had been a shift in power, an exchange that
still shifts back and forth between us as husband and wife, but a change
none the less, I knew Dave had been the agent of change, and L had been
his apt pupil. As much as I had been the one to plant the seed and fertilize it,
I was now reaping what I had sown. Some of the fruits were bitter, and some
were sweet, but the harvest was inevitable.

- Chapter 3 -

Dave had planned a party Saturday night, so Friday afternoon he and L
went out to find her party clothes. I wasn't invited to go along, and knew
better than to ask. It was probably better to be surprised anyway. L wore
a sexy pair of shorts with little cuts up the outside of each leg. It was
the kind of style that suggested she wanted to show more, without being
slutty, and it worked. I was shocked when I noticed her gauzy, nearly
transparent top. Draped over her bare breasts, it exposed her belly, and
in the right light, her breasts and nipples could be seen as though she
wore nothing over them at all. I bit my tongue at first, then complained.
She may be arrested, I told her. She couldn't go out like that in public,
I said. Dave intervened, explaining that in this climate many women
dressed in scanty outfits there, and that it was accepted in public. I
just stared. And as I did, L's nipples grew hard, obscenely so for public
display. I was making things worse. So I looked away, mumbled something
about being careful and to have a good time. L gave me a huge hug,
pressing her pouting nipples against me, and told me I worry too much.
Then she took his hand and walked through the door, her top dissolving in
the afternoon sun.

As trusted as he is by us, Dave is also always somewhat of an enigma, so
I used the afternoon to explore the house. There were things I needed to
know - blanks I needed to fill in. The basement was as I remembered it.
Just down the hall from our guest bedroom I found the small but well-
stocked wine cellar with a few cases of his favorite l i q u o r stacked in
one corner. It was here, as I helped him restock the upstairs bar one night,
that he prepared me for L's lovemaking with his nephew, Rick. We watched
them quietly from the shadows a few minutes later as L kissed him deeply
for much too long, then finally came, half-whispering, half-crying his
name over and over. I remembered her taking his face in her hands and
trying to make out the words she whispered to him, how lovingly she took
him in her mouth and finished him, and how they collapsed together on his
sofa and slept there through the night.

Dave's bedroom was on the second floor, a large, neat, sparsely decorated
space with a king-size bed against the far wall. Tall windows lined the
adjacent wall, filling the dark burgundy, thickly carpeted room with
afternoon light. There in front of me, covered with a gleaming white duvet
that seemed to glow like a spotlighted stage, was the bed where he took L
so many times. As I stared, motionless, a few feet away, I imagined how
many times she had come in this bed, and wondered what words, what sounds
these walls had heard as he and L fucked, made love, and all the things
in-between that made them such familiar lovers. So many secrets here.
Things I would never know, things said and done, long forgotten by L, or
that she would never dare to tell. It was the bed of the man who first
made my wife a hotwife, and I felt small here in a place he may think I
hadn't the privilege to stand. But at the same time, I again felt this
uncanny mix of excitement and loss. Even when submissive, L had the power
here. She was no longer the wife who blushed at the sound of "fuck" or
"cock". Now she used the words, not crudely, but skillfully, manipulating
our pillow talk in a subtle display of her power. I may have told myself
we were a threesome while in his company, but I was a far distant third, a
watcher, a giver, not a taker.

I found several other bedrooms on the second floor, all unremarkable in
their sparse, eclectic furnishings and empty closets. At the end of the
hallway, inside a doorway without a door, I found a smaller room lined on
one side with the same tall windows I saw in Dave's room. Everything was
stark white here - walls, carpet, bed - everything. The mid-day sun was
blinding, making the room seem as is if the walls themselves were the
source of the unrelenting, blue-white light. The large, gleaming white
adjoining bath and shower seemed oddly out of place for such a small
bedroom, but uncomfortably odd in another way as well.

Of course - this was L's room during her last week-long stay, Dave's "Story
of O" script, his bet that he could own L after one week alone with her. She
wrote in her diary here, brief letters to me that both excited and shocked me
when I finally read them. It hadn't worked quite as he had planned. L fought
unexpected embarrassment and shame after giving herself to a small group
of men, all in one night. It was a long healing process, one that seemed to
make her more resilient, but with a thicker skin that sometimes scared me
a bit. L confessed, long after the event, that although initially it was just a
game to her, Dave did own a piece of her after that week. She wouldn't
tell me any more than that, as much as I begged to know what piece or how
much I'd have to sacrifice. She'd just smile and assure me that the variety of
her tastes for all things was expanding, and that everything she was to me
in the past was still mine. But the new things? Well, she wouldn't say, but I
imagined they were Dave's. I wished I could know what she went through
that week, hoping fragments of her emotions had stayed behind like ghosts
that I could summon. Instead, the white walls just stared back at me, as
though anything she left here has been completely consumed.

Downstairs, things were more familiar. It was the place of past parties,
events where I loved watching L on Dave's arm as he presented her to his
guests as if she was his very own. Through the glass doors and lanai was
the pool were I had taken part as an extra, meeting and chatting with some
of the most tempting women I had ever seen in the flesh, then after hours,
sharing L with Dave in our first real threesome. These were memories that
grounded me - times when, although the angst was palpable, it faded
quickly. L was joyous here, absorbing everything Dave had to teach her
through each pore of her always overexposed body. We were both students
then, with no history to cherish or regret. There were ghosts here, and I
could almost see them.

Down a short hallway I had never noticed was a single door, the only
closed door in the house. Assuming it was locked, I was surprised when the
knob turned freely in my hand and the door opened into a small room lined
with bookcases. A large antique desk sat in its center, piled with stacks
of binders and papers. I browsed as discreetly as I could, uncomfortable
with snooping into Dave's business affairs, but unable to help myself.
There was certainly nothing sexy, only several bound book galleys,
contracts, and rejection letters to authors ready for mailing in open
envelopes.

Only one of the desk drawers was unlocked. As I quietly inched
it toward me, I was faced with a photo of L staring up at me. I knew he
had taken photos of her during her last stay, and that he had passed them
on to the men who attended her "party" the last night. But Dave never
shared any of these with me, even ones he had taken of her long ago. I
lifted the small collection from the drawer and stared, one by one, at
pictures of my wife. I had to give him credit - the quality was gorgeous,
as though they had been taken in a studio. As an advanced amateur
photographer who had taken many photos of L, in and out of her clothes, I
recognized immediately he was more talented than I. Sprawled on his bed in
a black crotchless body stocking, the little petals of her sex displayed
in detail, she had a come-hither look that reeked of a longing for the
photographer himself. Another, taken by the pool, showed her stretched out
on a lounge chair, naked, neck arched backward, mouth open in mid-orgasm,
while tiny droplets of sweat covered her from head to toe, glistening in
the sunlight. A third showed her pressed against the window in her tiny, white
bedroom, naked, wrists tied with black velvet rope above her head, her ass
f o r c e d backward toward the camera. There were no shadows in that room,
and she was clearly dripping wet between her legs. The last was on his bed
again, this time spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles tied to the four
corners. Two thick, white pillows were tucked under her belly, raising her
ass and exposed sex in the air as she smiled beguilingly over her shoulder at
the camera. It was the smile she gave me, the smile that she used to answer
one of my questions when she couldn't (or wouldn't) use words. Knowing
Dave took these was enough to make me green with jealousy, not possessive
jealousy, but because I'd have given anything to see them. He knew that and
refused. But these were passed along to other men, men who no doubt took
them as advertising, as a preview of the featured entre in an arranged
gang-fuck with a willing wife. How many men had seen these at the time?
And how many by now, many months later?

But why would he keep a few copies in his desk drawer? In an age of
digital photographs, why would he have paper copies at all? It was much
easier to email the files to others, in large numbers. Were these simply
his favorites? Would he take a brief break from his work and masturbate to
pictures of L at this very desk? Still, why not keep them on his computer
and bring her to the screen at will? I felt a sudden chill when I finally
realized I was meant to find the photos. Left alone in the house, tempted
by the only closed door, the only unlocked desk drawer? Dave knew I would
find them. He knew I would want to see more. He knew I would obsess about
strangers seeing her like that. And, he knew I couldn't say a word without
revealing I had invaded the privacy of his office. After looking again at
each of the photos for as long as I dared, they went back in the drawer,
but not out of my memory.

By the time L and Dave returned I was sipping a beer by the pool, hoping
my erection would subside before they noticed. It didn't. L noticed, ran
up to me grinning, and gave me kiss. She put her hand down my trunks and
made busy with her fingers for a few seconds. "Wait till you see what we
bought!" she gushed, then went back inside, unbuttoning her top as she
went. Later, L went for a swim while Dave barbecued, and we all sat in the
shaded lanai and talked about their day. L didn't bother to dress after
her swim, and I still marveled at how at ease she had become practically
living in the nude. Dave mentioned their embarrassment at a nice
restaurant that afternoon when the management asked them to leave. It
happened that L's transparent top was a bit over the top for their liking.

"Dave bought me a new blouse and we went back, just for fun," she told me.
"Anyway, I was still mortified when they made us leave - but none of the
customers seemed to mind."

I watched her as she blushed, sitting between us, naked as the day she was
born, slowly nibbling at the end of her hotdog bun. A small glop of
mustard fell on her delicious breasts. I wanted more than anything to lick
them clean.

- Chapter 4 -

I found L in my bed Saturday morning, spooned against me. She had put on a
one woman fashion show for us the night before, modeling the clothes Dave
had bought her that afternoon. L was never the type to obsess about clothes,
even though fifty pairs of her shoes took much more than her share of our
bedroom walk-in closet. She always dressed in earth tones, preferring
roomy, comfortable styles that, although not exactly matronly, sent a
clear message of professionalism, or the carefree w o m a n -c h i l d inside,
depending on the occasion. The styles Dave chose for her (or, they chose
together), were colorful and meticulously fitted, if a bit on the tight
side, which L had always disliked. One was cutting edge modern, while the
next was tastefully retro in a very innocent but subtly sexy way. Blouses
were clean and classic, skirts were short without being slutty, and even
the two negligees reeked of class and frightening price tags.

There was a clear message, not from the clothes alone, but in how L wore
them. A clingy, turquoise silk top became a daring show of pouting nipples
as it clung to her swaying breasts like a second skin. A crisp, white blouse
unbuttoned halfway to her waist revealed even more as it fell open each
time she turned to give each of us a good look. A blue and white summer
dress, thin enough to assure anyone she was naked beneath it, became
nearly transparent when light shone through it from behind. But it was her
attitude that surprised me. She was showing off, twirling, grinning, swaying
her hips, leaning toward us just enough to promise her body might be ours,
then whirling away again and to disappear, reappearing in a new outfit that
flaunted her body in a different way. It was sexy. It was fun. But it was also
uncomfortably not L.

There was an edge to the evening, an edge that was no doubt to remind me
that the new L was Dave's - dressed by him, seduced by him - as though she
was more than his house guest. I felt she was his creation during these times,
and although I loved her in her sexy new role, it was a role she played
because of him, not me. He truly could "own" her at times, and the boiling
intimacy just below the surface had me more nervous each time they served
me some of it. And they enjoyed doing just that - teasing, pushing, retreating,
ramping the anxiety, knowing I couldn't watch but couldn't look away. In the
end, Dave took her hand and led her upstairs to his room, leaving me alone
with my angst and confusion. Resigned to spending another night without sex,
I retired to my basement bedroom, masturbated while imagining how he was
using my wife's hungry little body just two floors above me, and fell into
a fitful s l e e p. My dreams weren't pleasant.

- Chapter 5 -

"Wanna have sex?"

They were the first words she uttered that Saturday morning, soft, sexy,
and whispered in my ear from behind. I could feel her bare breasts against my
back, her thighs tucked up under mine. Her hand found my dick, and she
milked it gently, breathing a little "Mmmm..." as she felt it come to life.

"You know I love you, right?" she said, suddenly more serious. "You have
to remember it's a game, OK? This week, but especially today, tonight. I
don't mean I don't like it - I do. I like being with him, and I like teasing you,
because I know it's what you want. But it has to be what we want. I don't
want us to regret this when we go back home."

Her invitation to have sex now sounded ominous. Another twist. Another
turn. Was it L's, or Dave's?

"You know Dave pretty well. He's never done anything to hurt us, has he? I
mean, everything we've been through with him has been good, hasn't it?"

"I'm not so sure of that," I told her. "Your last visit here? Was that
good?"

She paused for a few seconds, then sighed.

"I just wasn't ready. But maybe I never would have been - until he pushed
me. I'm not ashamed of what I did. Not now."

Outwardly she had fully recovered, but I still had my suspicions that the
damage was deeper than she let on, or recognized. It had changed her.
Again I was reminded that with the changes, as a more mature, sexually
adventurous woman, some of the ***** I loved was gone. We had both gained
and lost, but in my case I suspected my sum balance wasn't equal to hers.

I was always the practical one, the over-thinker, the worrier, as L put
it. Now, for L's sake, and my own, this wasn't the time to overthink. And
to her point, we had always come away from Dave's games richer in
memories, and closer as a married couple. Still, I didn't know how to
answer her. She wanted encouragement, approval, and my trust that all was
as she claimed. Without my approval, I suddenly believed I could have undone
everything that Dave had made her. I could have my little girl back, my blushing
bride who only teased me under the covers at night, and who quietly
harbored fantasies that she would never share. The sudden realization that
I might have that power, to one-up the rival for my wife, was an almost
overpowering temptation. But in another instant, I sensed the selfishness
in that decision, knowing that I'd abandon my dignity forever for the
emotional rush of the short-sighted, macho attempt to out-play a rival who
was only an imaginary one at that. There was only one right path to take.

"OK," I told her. "I believe you."

She went to the nightstand to get a condom, opened it, pulled the covers
off me, and rolled it on with practiced skill. It occurred to me that we
had used more condoms since meeting Dave than we had used during our
entire marriage. It was a little dig he used when we first role-played,
and I remembered him telling us one night that L was allowed no contact
with my semen throughout the night, only his. It was only implied, but I knew
he was planting the idea that if L was impregnated that night, it certainly
wouldn't be by me. He'd made L milk me with the condom on, then made her
boil the contents in the microwave. Funny how those memories come flooding
back when you're feeling completely powerless.

"We're going to try something new," L said, again retrieving a small
object from the nightstand. "You've been through a lot this week, and I
know I haven't been here for you for sex, so I want to make it up to you.
Men are supposed to love this - it massages your prostate while you come.
Can I?"

I recognized it - a small, squiggly looking phallus with plastic loops on
one end, advertised as the "ultimate" prostate massager. We had never
tried anything like it, and I knew the toy was new to L. No doubt it was
Dave's idea. I didn't ask.

Surprisingly, L knew how to use it, probably after being given
instructions by Dave. Or had they already played with it in private? She
posed me on the bed, on hands and knees, lubed the thing, and slowly
invaded my ass for the first time. I didn't like it. It felt cold and
foreign, and made me feel just a little too submissive. I couldn't help
recalling pictures of leather-clad Dommes with huge strap-ons, violently
pegging some poor guy whose ass must be taking a beating I couldn't
imagine. L kept asking if it hurt, and it did for a while, but I went with
the game, just as she wanted.

She circled the bed and leaned in to face me, stroking my shoulders and
chest, telling me how wonderful the week had been, and thanking me for
bringing her. She climbed on the bed beside me, reached between my legs,
and walked her fingers over the condom as she told me how she posed and
stripped for Dave the night before in his room, how she teased him like
she often teased me, and how finally he tied her to the bed and took her
just the same way she was taking me now. She closed her hand around the
condom, squeezing and releasing, as she whispered, "I loved it, Don. I
came with him in my ass. The first time that's ever happened. I want you
to feel it too. I want you to feel that good. Tell me, honey. Tell me you
want him to do it to me again. Tell me you want me to do it to you too.
Tell me you want all that...please...tell me...tell...me...tell me..."

I'd have said anything, anything, to make love to my wife for the first
time that week. I told her she could have whatever she wanted, with him,
with other men, any kind of sex, any time she wanted, and that I'd do
anything to be allowed to have her, then and there, on that bed. She
kissed me deeply, so deeply that I was left shaking, thrusting my poor
cock in the air, so close to finally having her. She rolled off the bed
and went behind me again, pulling my cock back between my legs, gently
stroking it with both hands. The damned condom dulled what I expected from
her agile fingers - it was fucking t o r t u r e knowing how good she was with
her hands, and how I'd already have come without the condom. She began
squeezing and milking when I started to lose my erection, knowing what it
took to bring me right up to the edge. Still, it wasn't the most pleasant
feeling - bound in the condom, with the plastic prostate gizmo in my ass.

"I have so many nasty stories to tell you when we get home," she purred.
"Things he won't let me tell you now, things we did here in the house that
you never knew about, things we did in public, just yesterday. I know
you're jealous sometimes when you see us together. I know sometimes you
think it's more than just sex. But he treats me like a cheap whore in
public, Don. He tells men we don't even know how good I am in bed - all
the filthy things I do to him, and that my husband knows everything. He
whispers to me that I'm his piece of meat. He tells his friends I'm the
tightest married pussy he's ever had because you've never fucked me like
he does."

She began to rock the prostate plug slightly as she talked, then worked it
in and out so slowly I wasn't sure exactly when she had begun. There was a
sudden urge to piss and come at the same time, held in check by my
desperate need to hear more of the soft onslaught of words that had only
been shared by L and her lover. She milked me harder and faster, pulling
my condom-skinned cock back toward her while she talked.

"But you know what, Don? I don't know why, but I like it. I like the way
men look at me when they think I'm sexy, when they imagine what I might do
with them. I like being the slutty girl I was never allowed to be, flashing my
boobs in public, not wearing panties, not having any doubts that men want
me. But most of all, I love it when he ties me up and fucks me, Don. He plays
with me, does things to my body, things that make me lose control and submit
to anything, anyone. And I come, Don...so hard, so many times with him...
oh God I can't tell you how good it feels when he pounds me with his cock -
over, and over, and over inside me until he comes too..."

It was a helpless release when I came, listening to her confessions -
as though every shred of control over my bodily functions vanished at the
same instant. And yet, it wasn't like any orgasm I had known before. It
was a loss of awareness of everything around me, an instantaneous lapse
into a d r u g - l i k e state that was euphoric for an instant, then faded as
everything was slowly drained from me - all my energy, all concern and
angst, and all sexual arousal as well. I felt I was shrinking as my internal
fluids were sucked from me, as though L's grip on my cock was some
ultimate vacuum, sucking me dry as she toyed with my prostate using a
kind of magic touch that she had kept a secret until that very moment. And
it refused to stop. Pleasure became emptiness, which eventually became
pain. When I begged her to stop, she did, stroking me lightly as I collapsed
on the bed. She sat there beside me, fresh and pink and naked, as I opened
my eyes to reclaim reality. Her touch was calming, reassuring - but the
touch of a wife, not a siren I needed to fuck.

"See - I told you," she purred. "Now you know. You see things differently,
the way I did the first time. It's wonderful isn't it? And it gets better,
and better, and better, each and every time."

- Chapter 6 -

Dave was gone when we surfaced for breakfast. L and I had showered
together and dressed after our morning...well, I suppose it was sex. It
was her turn when she gently pushed me to my knees under the hot water
and I lapped at her freshly shaved pussy until she cried out, thrusting her
hips against my mouth and moaning that I ate her better than any man ever
had. I supposed it was a compliment. I took what I could get under the
circumstances.

L seemed as full of energy as I was drained. She flitted about the kitchen
making us French toast and bacon as though she had lived there for years.
I couldn't help staring as she put my plate in front of me. She had chosen
a tiny pair of white elastic shorts for the day, no doubt purchased on her
shopping trip with Dave. Her smooth belly pooched just a little above the
deep V in the front that plunged almost to her clit. Everything beneath
was outlined in exquisite detail under the white material, and I suspected
that if she stretched a bit farther to reach the plates on the top shelf,
the pretty little nub would be freed into the fresh air and morning light.
It was as though the chance of exposing her sex was more shocking than
seeing it fully bare, and I had seen it many times, only just recently as
I tasted her in the shower. She wore nothing else, and I supposed that
when Dave arrived she would strip off the shorts as well to satisfy him.

We ate in relative silence, with L glancing up only now and then to grin
at me. I ate like I had been emptied, and she made me seconds, then
thirds. A full stomach did wonders for me, and we cleaned the kitchen,
then went for a walk in a nearby park. L was clingy and giggly for a
change. She never took her arm from around my waist, and wanted to
stop at every hidden clearing to make out. She kissed lovingly, not fiercely,
and her kisses were long and heartfelt. She'd run her finger over the fly of
my shorts now and then, but nothing was rising inside. Not that I didn't
want her, but I was still feeling empty below my belt, and a little sore
where my prostate had taken a very rough "massage". Not that there weren't
plenty of other guys we passed that would have been up for the task. L
wore the same tiny white shorts, adding a red and white checkered blouse
that covered the inviting open V that exposed her belly, but left it
unbuttoned halfway down the front. It reminded me of what she told me -
that she loved flashing men in public, and it she took every opportunity
to show that she was naked beneath it. I watched guys do double-takes and
stare, a few even daring a whistle as she walked by. But L only had eyes
for me, and it felt pretty damned good.

We stopped for lunch at an outdoor cafe, and I ate like I hadn't had
breakfast. L picked at a salad, then finished with a slice of her favorite
desert - cheesecake. Our waitress wore a top that rivaled L's for
attention grabbing, and was so well-endowed that all attention was on her,
not L. But I only had eyes for L. She was dazzling, sitting across from me
in her open blouse and with her new care-free attitude, and I felt things
beginning to stir again down below.

As I stood at the register to pay our tab (our busty waitress was busy
flirting with a table of men in business suits), I noticed a young blond girl
in a red mini dress standing at our table, talking to L. Although our waitress
had all the guys' attention, L told me that the girl said she had hoped I was
just a friend or relative, and asked if L would consider having a d r i n k with
her sometime. I wondered if everyone could see the new L, flaunting her
sexuality with abandon. I knew men wanted her, but now it was women as
well - or at least one ballsy lesbian with very good taste. I could tell L was
flattered, but I knew girls weren't her thing, under any circumstances. She
laughed it off as we walked home, but mentioned, "She was really pretty,
don't you think?". "You'd make a sexy couple," I joked. "Don't worry," she
assured me. "That's one thing Dave hasn't taught me." She paused, thinking
for a second. "Now, maybe if he had a wife...". Her sly grin told me she was
teasing again, in spite of my mental picture of L and the blond writhing and
moaning, naked on our bed together as I watched.

We had the house to ourselves again when we returned. L slipped out of her
blouse and shorts and went for a soothing swim, so I followed her into the
pool, leaving my clothes on the tile deck. We splashed and played like
kids, finally taking turns groping each other under the water. L led me to
a grassy spot beyond the pool, went to her knees, and sucked me while she
cupped my balls in her talented fingers. She had me urgently hard, over
and over, slipping me in her mouth, then backing off, looking up lovingly
at me as my dick twitched in the air. When I suggested we go inside to
finish, she whispered, "No - here." When I worried the neighbors might be
listening in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, she said, "Let them." She
brushed the grass from her knees, and told me, "Keep your leaky friend
hard - I'll be right back."

Soon I watched her pace back towards me from the house carrying two huge
white towels in her arms. She wore a men's bright white dress shirt
several sizes too big for her, and nothing else. The shirt must have been
Dave's - that much was clear. She spread the towels out on the grass and
guided me to one of them. "I want you right here," she told me with an
evil smile. I lay back just where she wanted me, and she climbed on top,
straddling me, her moist pussy resting on my cock. "Oh - wait," she said
suddenly. Reaching into the folds of the second towel, she held up a
single condom, still in its wrapper. "You know the rules, right? Dave
doesn't want you in me without protection." Without giving me time to
object, she opened it and rolled it onto my impatient erection, then sank
down onto it, taking me inside her tight little pussy I remembered so
well.

She fucked me like a demon. For a little while. "Oh - I forgot - you liked this
so much, I wanted to try it again." She stood and retrieved the plastic
massager from the towel, placed a dab of lube on the end, and told me to roll
over. "Well, I think I've had enough of that kind of fun today," I told her, a
little worried about what a second session might feel like. "Well, Don, if you
want back inside me, this is the only way - Dave's rules, you know?" I'd have
done just about anything to have her after watching her prance around naked
all week, knowing Dave had taken her every night since we arrived, and I could
only stand by, limp and disappointed. So I let her impale me with the thing
again, rolled over, and felt the fist of my wife's pussy close tightly around my
dick. I put my hands on her as she rode me, sliding them up under the shirt
and over her firm breasts, feeling her nipples harden under my fingertips. She
closed her eyes and moaned. And she fucked me like her life depended on
making me come inside her.

It was an odd sensation, and more pleasant this time. I could feel the
thing pressing against me inside, still foreign, but sending little stabs
of pleasure through my groin and belly each time she rocked and pressed
into me. When I raised my hips into her, the thing pushed back with a
sudden rude reminder that it was still there, hard and unforgiving,
filling me like Dave must have filled her on so many nights.

Then, suddenly, she moved off me, rolling the condom off with an intense
expression, as though following some unheard instructions, no doubt from
Dave. "I want to see you. I want to see you come. Not in this thing - for
real, on my fingers - all over my hand, Don. Will you do that for me?"
She was already milking me, and without the damned condom it felt amazing.

"If I could only show you how good he makes me feel. When he's in my
mouth, or my pussy, or even my ass, I feel so owned by him, Don. Yes, he
takes me, but I'm giving him everything too, every ounce of pleasure I can
give a man, and at the same time, I'm getting so much from him, more than
any sex I've ever had. I just collapse inside and become whatever he wants
me to be. Can you let go, Don? Can you let me show you how that feels?"

She began working the plastic massager against my prostate, in and out,
quickly, with short little stabs that almost vibrated. She was between my
legs looking at me, grasping and releasing the base of my cock as she
talked.

"He owns my body now, Don. You know that, don't you? He fucks me over,
and over, and over, and I can't help it - I come so hard, so many times with
him. But you know that too, don't you, Don? You want him to fuck me, don't
you? You want him to make me come with his cock in me, don't you, Don?
You think about us together, fucking, coming, and me being a slave to a man
who isn't my husband? When I tell you I love his cock so much I can't stop
thinking about it, it makes you come, doesn't it, Don? Doesn't it? Doesn't
it?"

I gave up everything with her last few words, grunting, thrusting, and
imagining them together with L's face in perpetual orgasmic bliss. And
with her firm, skillful fingers still clutching the base of my cock while she
pumped the plastic massager in my ass, I came in a small, steady river
that covered the waiting hand that used to display the shiny gold band
dangling from the chain about her neck. A split second later, as I felt her
nails lightly rake the head of cock, she told me, "He owns us both, Don.
Now he owns us both." I just kept coming, spurting, thrashing around
on the grass-stained towel as she pumped the plastic cock into my ass
and watched me give her everything. And in those few seconds, I knew
she was right.

- Chapter 7 -

Dave returned home with a companion. I recognized her perfect, hard body
and shining blond hair immediately. It was Gail, the mysterious woman I
had met at an earlier party here. There are pretty women, and then there
are the drop-dead gorgeous ones. Gail put all of them to shame. With the
most stunning face and body I had ever seen in the flesh, she was the kind
of woman men stare at from a distance but fear to approach. She had been
aloof at the party, but spoke to me a few times about L and Dave together,
telling me how lucky L was to be on his arm (and to have him as a regular
fuck as well, I assumed). Gail's relationship to Dave was never clear, but I
always thought she may have been an ex-wife, or at least one of his
special conquests. Dave kept all his relationships close to the vest, and we
tried to respect his privacy, as he respected ours. Still, although L never
mentioned her, her cool, confident sexuality and catlike stroll through the
crowd of guests never left my memory.

An hour before the Dave's guests were to arrive, he took me downstairs to
the room I (almost) shared with L, and Gail led L upstairs, whispering to
her along the way. Dave explained to me that tonight I might be pushed
farther than he ever had before, and that L would be as well. He asked if
I could take outwardly exposing L and me as a hotwife couple to a few of
his closest friends. I admitted that I had a pretty good idea at least
some of those who attended his past parties already knew, and that L had
told me he had shown suggestive (or filthy?) pictures of her to the men
who took her when she was there last. He smiled for a second, and agreed I
was correct. But tonight was to be mixed company, six additional guests,
three couples, that he had chosen just for our occasion. When I reminded
him that L had always refused to share me with other women, and that
"swinging" was definitely not on her menu - ever - he smiled a second time.
"I know her well enough to know that, Don," he told me. "Tonight is a
fantasy come true for both of you, but not in ways you might expect. So I
wouldn't count on getting lucky if I were you, if you know what I mean.
But there will be an audience tonight, so if you don't think you can take
sharing what L and you are, in front of a small, sympathetic group of my
friends, let me know now." When I asked him what L thought, he told me,
"Just leave L to me. Tonight she's not your concern."

He had done it again. He had planted the seed of excitement, fear, and
confusion while pushing me toward an uncertain situation that may test my
limits. Usually I'd have L by my side when we gave in to his game. I could
tell by the look in her eyes, and often the flush of excitement on her
face, that she was a willing player. I wondered what he had told her, and
what Gail was preparing her for. Was she as willing as before, or would I
notice a hint of hesitation, or even objection on her face if she was
there beside me? Knowing we were in this as a team was important to us,
and by separating us at the time a decision had to be made, Dave had
severed that link.


***


Dave is all about ritual and ceremony, but there wasn't any of that when
he brought me back upstairs to meet his guests. He introduced me to them,
and we made small talk as if it were one of his ordinary parties, if you
could call any of Dave's parties ordinary.

A gorgeous Asian woman in her thirties flirted with me as her fiftyish
husband stood by and smiled cordially. She was as tall as I, at least 6'1",
and had long dark hair that fell in a gleaming sheet to her waist. Her green
dress was so tightly fitted that I had to imagine her naked beneath the
delicate, silky material. An slit along the thigh that opened to her hip
practically guaranteed it. She kept touching me as she spoke, her green
eyes drilling into me when I answered. She seemed to enjoy playing the
h y p n o t i c predator as her husband watched with pride and satisfaction.

A WASPy couple in their mid-thirties greeted me as though they knew me,
and I soon remembered them (well, at least her) from a former party. He
could have been an accountant, or a banker, with his clean-cut vanilla good
looks and round, Harry Potter horn-rimmed glasses. She could have been a
school teacher, fresh-faced and reserved, with golden blond hair that fell in
loose curls to her shoulders. Imagining her cheating on her husband had my
heart racing. I knew all too well how exciting it was for him each time his
"innocent" wife was "corrupted" by yet another lover. I could almost see that
tangle of thick, golden hair soaked with her lovers' semen.

The third couple was as mismatched as I could ever imagine - he towered
over her by at least two feet, with huge arms and a body insanely bulked by
thousands of hours in the gym. She was petite, but just as obviously a gym
rat, with toned arms and legs and a waist that would have been the pride of
any fitness model. He pumped my hand when we met and seemed to have
the aggressiveness of a stereotypical Bull. She was severely introverted, with
a quiet little voice that instantly brought to mind Jennifer Tilley in The Getaway.
Sweet and vulnerable, with a body that could give a man a boner at fifty
yards, I wondered how many men would dare to look twice with a
husband like hers at her side.

Several sofas, a love seat, and some extra chairs had been arranged in a
large oval in the center of the room. Dave served the wine, and tiny
chocolaty morsels topped with fresh strawberries, with the warning that
the kick from the wine was nothing compared to his "brownies". I watched
the other guests imbibe and partake of what I understood to be Dave's pre-
party "inhibition relaxants", and ingested with similar caution. I may
have overdone it with the brownies.

Eventually, Dave led me to a small leather recliner with buckled leather
restraints attached to the arms and base, which I now realized might be my
chosen observation spot for the entire evening. Dave buckled me in,
smiled, and asked, "Are you ready?" The room was already spinning a bit,
and I remember asking where L was. "She's here," he told me. "This is her
night. Are you ready to watch her?" I told him I was, but I wasn't sure
what I was ready for. I imagined her being given the choice of any man in
the room to fuck, and wondered whom she would choose, if not all of them.
Or maybe she and Dave would fuck, giving L her secret fantasy of doing it in
public, or at least in front of an agreeable audience. I remembered L's college
story, when she reluctantly admitted that while having sex with a guy in an
upstairs frat house bedroom, realizing that a small group was watching the
entire time made her very horny. As adamant as she was about swinging in
the true sense of the word, she still loved fucking where the neighbors
might hear us, or a stranger might happen by to see.

As Dave turned away, I saw L come down the stairs with Gail beside her.
They held hands as they took one step after another, certainly not looking
like sisters, but very much like good friends, and both very beautiful.
Everyone's attention was on them. Gail's glowing platinum hair and tiny
black dress offered a stunning look at her perfect long legs and plunging
neckline. L was dressed much more conservatively in what appeared
to be a black business suit. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, I
could see she had nothing on under the jacket, the deeply cut opening
above the buttons exposing the inner curves of her bare breasts. Gail
gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and handed her off to Dave, who
introduced her to the three couples, much as he had done with me.

Dave dimmed the lights after L's arrival, and I struggled to see across
the room as L met the others. She glanced at me now and then, but quickly
looked away. She was pretty good at Dave's games when the time was right,
almost always able to fall into the role he had for her. L was so surprisingly
good at times it was hard to tell when she was acting. She always claimed
she said and did things that she knew would excite me, but there was always
some doubt on my part that her performances were rehearsed, evidenced by
a certain inflection of her voice, or an all-too-real sob of pleasure when she
submitted to Dave's Dom persona. There was an increasing bite in her words
when she told me she'd rather fuck him than me during one of his scripts
that had L and I owned by him. Sometimes I wondered which she relished
more - the words or their meaning. I'm not complaining. It's always been L's
private mysteries that make her surprisingly hot at the most unexpected times.

Then, as they stood in near darkness across the room from me, The Asian
woman reached forward and unbuttoned L's jacket. She spread the lapels so
everyone could see, and I could hear her comments to the others - "such pretty
little things, aren't they?" L stood angled away from me, but I could make
out the curve of her bare breast jutting from behind the black lapel, her nipple
pink and hard, her smile never fading as she sipped her wine. When the huge
body-builder spread the lapels of her jacket wider and lowered it off her
shoulders a few inches, I'm sure I saw her straighten her shoulders a little,
pushing her breasts up and outward for him to admire. When he took her
nipple lightly between his fingers, L jumped and pulled away for a second,
but then let him fondle her breasts until Dave stepped in to dress her again.

Slow, somber music seemed to signal everyone that the show was about to
begin. They took their places on the couches around the oval as Dave led L
toward me, through the single spot light over the empty oval's center. When
they stopped in front of me, L finally looked down at me, but with a cold
expression I didn't recognize. The room was deathly silent.

Dave turned L to face his guests, and began.

"Tonight is about corruption of the innocent. Our guests tonight are a
married couple - a husband who has willingly shared his wife with other
men, and a wife who gives him his fantasy by surrendering her body to the
whims of others. So, is she innocent? I say she is. Has she been unfaithful
to her husband? Yes - many times, at least with me. How many times, L?
How many times have I fucked you? How many times have you begged
me to fuck you?"

She answered so quietly I couldn't hear her. He told her to speak up, to
tell everyone.

"Many times," she answered. "I don't know how many."

"More than ten times?" he asked.

"Yes"

"More than twenty?"

"I don't know - maybe. Yes."

"Did you enjoy it, every time, L? Be honest."

"Yes"

"Was it better than with your husband. Again, we want the truth."

"I - don't know - not always..."

"Aren't you sure, L?"

"No - um - I mean - I don't count them. I don't always compare you to
him."

"But you do, don't you? At least much of the time. You do compare us.
Don't you?"

"I - I guess - sometimes."

"You can be honest, L. No one's here to judge you. You compare me
to your husband every time we fuck, don't you?"

After a long silence, she whispered, " Yes..."

"And, are your orgasms better with me?"

"Sometimes..."

"Don't be coy, L. Think of all the times we've fucked. Think of all the times
you and your husband have fucked. Do you come harder with me? Are
your orgasms better with my cock inside you?"

L lowered her head showing reluctance or shame for the first time. She
turned and looked directly into my eyes when she answered.

"Yes - they are. I'm sorry, but they are. It's true."

A murmur rose in the room, and I could see the others whispering among
themselves.

"So we have as our guest tonight a wife who gets more pleasure from other
men's cocks than from her own husband's," Dave continued. "But can she
still be innocent? "Tell us, L, before tonight, have you told your husband that
I fuck you better than he does? That you come harder in my bed?"

"No. I couldn't."

"So, in your mind, in his mind, it's all still a game. You're still innocent?"

"Y-Yes - I guess so."

"But you realize, that by your confession here tonight, you're no longer
innocent. You've corrupted yourself with your confession to your husband,
and to everyone in this room. You're no longer the pretty little wife who
lies to her husband about his cock, about how other men, including me, are
better. But you probably think that's hardly enough to corrupt you
completely in his eyes. Words are cheap. You would have to do more
to convince him, right?"

"H-He won't believe it. Not really. I've said lots of things when we play
- but it's a game - he always knows it's a game."

"Well, maybe you're right. Maybe."

He put a hand on L's shoulder, and gently pushed her to her knees in
front of me.

"The last time we spent time together here, that very enjoyable week
without your husband, do you remember what you told me before leaving, L?"

"Y-Yes"

"Why don't you repeat it, now? Tell me again what you told me then."

"That you own me."

Again the sound of hushed voices rose in the background. It wasn't only
what she said, it was how she answered him. There was no hesitation in her
voice. Was I imagining that there was even a hint of pride as she stared
up at him?

"And do you still feel owned when you're in my home, even when your
husband is with you?"

"Yes"

"If I tell you to take my cock in your mouth in front of all these people
and your husband, what will you do?"

"I'll do it, if you want me to. I'll do it for you."

L's eyes were glassy and wide, and she was breathing heavily. Everything
seemed to fade into the background except her face and her moist lips as
she said the words out loud - that she wanted to suck his cock. In fact,
her face wasn't completely recognizable and seemed to morph slightly until
all I could see was her mouth, her hungry, cock-sucking mouth, begging for
it. Then her face would return, the sweet face I knew, but with the same
wet, hungry mouth.

Dave reached down, took her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.

"If I tell you to do your husband first, will you, L? After telling him
most men are better, do you think you can make him hard, make him come?"

"Yes, if you want me to."

"So, you think he still sees you as innocent? That you're playing a game
for him? And that he'll get hard just like he used to when his little
wifey puts her lips around his dick?"

"Yes"

"Then show us."

L unzipped me, loosened my belt, and opened my pants. I was already
partially hard, and couldn't wait to feel her mouth on me. I felt hyper-
sensitized. Every time L touched my pants I imagined growing bigger and
harder. Her fingertips were electric, yet soft and comforting. I was aware
of those around us, but at a level that didn't seem to matter. I felt L's
lips guide the head of my dick inside her mouth - her warm, sucking mouth.
I imagined us alone on a warm beach, my cock immense and hard, my loving,
horny wife eagerly devouring it. There was a sense of timelessness, that
we could go on forever, her sucking, me coming, her greedy belly never too
full to take more of my come.

Reality intervened when the ache between my legs intruded. I opened my
eyes to see L still sucking, harder and harder, her fingers pulling and
stretching me. But I was completely limp. It was a chilling feeling, like the
sudden jolt of car accident. Goosebumps rose over my entire body as I
watched L's futile attempt to bring me back to life. The ache in my belly
and cock began to grow - a dull, throbbing that was strangely familiar.
Now I was aware of the people around me, and it wasn't pretty.

Finally Dave moved her away slightly, and my ever more flaccid dick fell
from her lips. She just sat there on her knees, her hands on my thighs,
staring at me, pupils as large as dimes.

"So, do you think he believes you now, L?" Dave asked. "Do you think he
knows that he's only a small part of your sex life, that I, and so many other
men as well, satisfy you more?"

"I don't know - I don't know why he can't get hard - I want him to get
hard. I really tried. But, he just can't."

"Now, now - you can't blame yourself, L. We both know that I taught you to
suck cock, and that no one is better at it. So redeem yourself for us.
Suck me."

I'll never forget how eagerly she opened his pants and had his cock in her
hands, then how greedily she licked and sucked. He was huge, instantly,
and stayed that way until he stopped her minutes later.

"You need to tell him, L. He needs to hear it. Do you want to stay an
innocent forever? Do you want him to see you that way? Look him in the
eye. Make him understand."

L knelt between my legs again. My dick was still exposed, shriveled and
tiny, oozing drop after drop onto my belly. She put her hands on my thighs
again, looked down at it, then up into my eyes. She was trance-like. Her
dark eyes tunneled into mine, her chestnut hair half-covering her face in
wild disarray, her mouth still open and moist from Dave's relentless
supply of pre-come. And with more resolve than I'd ever seen, she hit me
with words that stung straight through my altered state.

"Do you see why? Do you understand now? I'm not your innocent wife.
I have sex with other men. They fuck me, and I love it, and I come so hard
with them. It's not like when I'm with you. Do you understand? Do you?"

Through my stunned silence that followed, all I could finally muster was a
weak, "Yes." I didn't know if I meant it. I didn't know that she did either.
But it was real enough to take the wind out of me. And I assumed
it was real enough to everyone who watched.

- Chapter 8 -

He left her standing alone in the middle of the circle of sofas and
waiting couples, the room darkened, with only a small recessed ceiling
light over her. A quiet Gregorian chant began in the background, a sign
that Dave hadn't lost his touch for the dramatic, or of ritual. L just
stood there, hands at her sides, head bowed, staring at the floor in front
of her. I tried my best to peer through the shining chestnut hair that
fell over her face, desperate to see her eyes, desperate to see some hint
that she was in the game and not just a victim of it. The couples around
her just stared, whispering a few words to each other now and then, but
apparently in a quiet trance themselves. The music droned on. L swayed
slightly from side to side now and then, but never looked up, never moved.

A sudden uneasy feeling crept over me, and the cuffs around my wrists and
ankles felt tighter, as if they were anticipating an event that would make
me want to escape. L stood there, so vulnerable, so submissive in her back
suit and heels, that I imagined her a sacrifice, a willing one, which
might require a price I was u n w i l l i n g to pay. The music went on forever
and seemed to soak into me, escalating my fear to something just short of
panic. I could feel the chair shaking, then realized it was me, tugging at
the cuffs that held me there. Then, from the darkness beside me, a voice -
soft, soothing, reassuring.

"It's only a game. You know that, don't you? Only a game."

I turned my head to see Gail's glowing shock of hair and perfect face
beneath it peering into mine. She knelt beside my chair, her long fingers
and perfect nails resting gently on my hand. I could still hear the echo
of her voice as she looked away, fixing her eyes on L. Her hand remained
on mine. The room seemed tilted at a slightly odd angle, and so dark
beyond the circle of couples that I thought we might have been transported
to a place beyond Dave's house, far removed from any moral consequence, a
place of no escape without the forfeit of my wife. A part of me knew it
wasn't rational, but another part of me thrived on the anxiety and pushed
reason into the black fringes of the room.

The damned chanting droned on. A musky, smoldering odor wafted by me,
vanished, then found me again, this time stronger. It smelled of the smoking
embers of a wood fire mixed with the odor of musty old books in a place that
had been abandoned for hundreds of years. Suddenly, Dave's mention of
Dante's Inferno came to mind. I remembered his grin as he sat beside L the
night before, stroking her thigh as he asked me if I thought I could survive
the Nine Circles of Hell once my guiding angel had lost her way. Now I was
flooded with imagery, of Dave as Satan, and his guests as flagrant practitioners
of lust and adultery, unable to escape the Circle of Lust. I imagined L as the
prize, welcomed into the Circle by Satan's minions, her corruption the final
severing of vows to her husband. I became obsessed with the imagery while
my attachment to reason hung by a thread. Then, I felt her hand tighten
around mine, and looked again into Gail's bright eyes. I could see the words
form on her lips as if in slow motion, but could only hear the incessant chanting.

"It's - a - game."

If this was hell, I had a new guiding angel. She was too perfect, aloof,
unattainable, and held mysteries that I had no hope of ever knowing, but
she was all I had. Finally, my chair stopped shaking and the room righted
itself to a level, but still dark, foreboding place.

***

He was tall and well-muscled, but extremely lean in a way that promised an
agile but strong body. Appearing in the circle as if he was suddenly
transported there, he stood six feet in front of L, studying her, his wide
chest rising and falling with the precise, controlled breathing of an
athlete. L looked up at him, then scanned his body from head to toe. He
was naked, except for a tiny flesh-colored thong that barely contained the
outline of a thick rope of flaccid cock beneath it. Her eyes stopped there,
fixed to it, her face slowly morphing from an u n c o n s c i o u s trance to
a look of hunger I recognized all too well. A hint of betrayal pricked me - she
didn't care that I saw her staring at his cock, or that everyone in the room
saw her. She was beyond modesty or fidelity. She just looked...hungry.

He wasn't her type at all, her fantasy lover with thickly muscled thighs and
ass, the dark swarthy Mediterranean man with a thick beard. The man before
her was pale and slim, with golden hair that lay flat against his even brow. He
was a modern day Viking, with fine, even features that flattered him among
all Scandinavians. He seemed to me almost a machine, the perfection of the
physical, an equal to my guardian angel, Gail.

I watched him undress her. He was gentle, but methodical. She was naked
to her waist after he took her jacket, but she showed no signs of
embarrassment. When he touched her breasts, she reached out to him, but
he stepped back, leaving her swollen nipples in the light for all to see. She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lifting her breasts for him. Was
it intentional, I wondered? Or was she simply gathering her resolve to be
patient, to control her hunger in front of an audience? He undid her
slacks as though it had been practiced, or maybe he was just better at it
than I. She wore black stockings under them that seemed to stay magically
at mid-thigh. He took her slacks, one leg at a time, easily removing them
as she lifted one foot, then the other. She stood before him, before
everyone, in nothing but her black heels and stockings. The light caught
the sparkle of a drop of her juices between her freshly shaved sex,
and I marveled at how quickly it had grown red and swollen. When he
touched her there, her knees buckled, she leaned forward into him.

The kiss that followed was violent, aggressive, as though he would devour
her tongue, then her insides. A deep, passionate kiss from another man,
and L's often surprising surrender to it, was always something that
twisted me a little. It f o r c e d a stab of jealousy into me, a pin-prick of
worry that L's interest was more than just physical. Even after assuring
me that it was just a physical part of sex that felt good to her with the
right man, I could never quite shake it when it happened. This kiss had
none of that. It was entirely physical, almost b r u t a l in the way he held
her, in the way he attacked her mouth, and in the way she responded. As
absent as the emotional angst was at the moment, I was stunned by her
immediate, willing surrender to him, then her own uninhibited hunger as
she sucked his tongue. He held her there, his hands firmly under each of
her arms as though she was an object, not a person at all, just delicious
flesh, to eat, or fuck.

There were quiet murmurs from the others when she began to grind
her hips into him, straining up on her toes to feel his cock between her
legs, or at least against her lower belly. It was only after he picked her
up, raising her off the floor so she could match his height, that she
wrapped her legs around him and dug her hips into his cock, now a
thick, rigid bulge under the tiny pouch of the thong. I trembled again
when she began to whimper.

When the chanting suddenly changed to Chris Isaak's "Baby Did a Bad Bad
Thing", the room seemed to shift again. As closely as I was focused on L
and her lover before, I now saw the entire room - the circle of couples
watching, the small disk of light where L fought to get more of him, and
barely visible in the distance, Dave - our Merlin, our Svengali, our
Lucifer - standing silently in the darkened shadows.

The shift was abrupt, so much so that it threw me. It was more than
uneasiness, more than angst - closer to panic. I fought to control it.
A part of me struggled to reason with the other half - I had seen L with men
before; I had seen her obsess over men, come under them with frightening
passion, even play with them in public like boyfriends. But now I had
absolutely no control. There was no opting out, no reassuring glances from
her, no comfort of privacy while I watched her give herself to a man we both
knew was part of our game. She was doing this in front of an audience, with
a stranger that I couldn't imagine she would chose. Had Dave chosen him for
her? Would she now do anything for Dave? Fuck anyone? Had I lost her?
Had the last vestige of what was sexiest to me, the hint of little-girl shyness,
the demure daytime wife I had known for so many years, gone to join Dave
in Hell's shadows?

The music went on and on, looping into more choruses of the pounding
message - baby did a bad bad thing baby did a bad bad thing baby did a bad
bad thing. L was humping him in the spotlight, her hands now exploring
lower, dipping into the elastic pouch that could no longer confine his
erection. I could see her arms flexing and working, her hands holding
the entire length of his cock, pressing it into her belly as she moved
against it. She worked it in circles, her flat little belly glistening with more
and more of his pre-come.

When the first quiet moan escaped from her, I tried to escape from my
chair. I searched the room for help, and discovered the Asian woman
watching me intently, a small smile on her beautiful face. I was part of the
spectacle now, genuinely trapped while my wife betrayed me in ways I
wasn't able to rationalize. Others began to watch me as I pulled at the
cuffs that held me, and my panic escalated.

Then, through the fog of confusion and fear, a soft hand found mine again.
Gail the Angel leaned close to me, again whispering, "This isn't real.
Remember? This is a game. This is your game. L's game. Everyone's game."
As if by magic, she calmed me. Her soft voice, incredible beauty, and the
sincerity with which she comforted me, all worked together as I fell back
into my chair and tried to catch my breath. Seconds later her hand went to
my lap, opened my pants, and closed over my erection. I was shocked to
find that, through all my hysteria, I must have been hard the entire time.
I collapsed and gave in to it. I no longer believed I could sort the real
from the unreal. I was defeated and defenseless, with only Gail to guide
me through either Heaven or Hell. And I was pretty sure Heaven would
have nothing to do with this.

He had L on the floor now, pinning her under him as she circled his waist
with her thighs and pulled him closer. They tore at each other, kissing,
licking, sucking, so violently that I couldn't tell when he entered her.
He took her like a machine, his cock so hard it threatened to burst,
pumping, thrusting, battering her while his own groans joined L's. She
went wild, thrashing on the floor under him as she made obscene
a n i m a l sounds I had never heard from her before. I won't lie.
I envied him. I wanted to be him. I wanted her to make those sounds
for me, to lose control with me like she did for him. I wanted his huge,
hard cock that never seemed to tire, to stretch her with it relentlessly,
driving her to levels of abandoned lust I doubted she had ever experienced.

And as Gail stroked me, a dull ache rose from the base of my cock, into
my balls, then much deeper from within. My erection softened, a little at
first, but almost completely as the ache became more persistent. I wanted
to tell her, to tell Gail I didn't understand, that she was so beautiful, so sexy
- how could this happen? She continued for a while, then stopped, as
though it was expected.

"She took it from you. They took it from you. This morning. And this
afternoon. Remember?" she purred. I remembered alright. And at that
moment, although I knew the only sex I had with L all week was probably
part of the game, I learned that it was the part that would ruin me sexually
while I watched L willingly perform in Dave's version of the Circle of Lust.
He had persuaded her, taught her, to do what it took to render me impotent
for her ultimate act - proving, before witnesses and her husband, that the
"good girl" in her was gone forever.

As shocking as it was, I somehow knew it was coming. I had no choice.
Defeated and lost in this new world, I said goodbye to the "good girl" and
watched as the phantom lover used my wife as a succulent piece of meat at
the end of his tireless cock. I watched L use him as a declaration, not just to me,
but to Dave, and to his guests, as if they were every woman and man she
would ever meet, that she had stepped through a new doorway, just as she
had when she first became a hotwife.

I'm not sure how much time passed. They only stopped to change positions
when L pushed him off her and climbed on top, riding him slowly, her head
back, eyes closed, a faint smile on her face. She paused when she rose
over him, keeping the head of his cock just inside her, frozen for a few
seconds like an erotic sculpture in the narrow beam of the spotlight. He
was so relentlessly hard, the veins of his cock still full and throbbing
under the skin after so much time. It glistened in the light, wet with L's
juices, so long, so thick, so much an object of envy, I was certain, by
everyone in the room. When she lowered her hips to meet his and it entered
her, inch by inch, I imagined it inside her, filling her as though it became a part
of her, a part she proudly owned, her trophy for winning a conflict she had
fought for so long. He was no longer taking her - L was taking what she wanted,
what she needed, and in the midst of her pleasure was flaunting her
performance in front of me. As she worked him in and out of her small but now
not so fragile body, I could hear her voice in my head.

"This is who I want to be - it was always my destination, from the first time
you told me your fantasies, the first time I fucked Dave, then other men, to the
final step tonight. You helped make me who I am now, dear husband. You made
the path, then showed me the way, finally sending me along it on my own. Do
you like who I've become? Are you grateful for having found the man who owns
me now, who helped me find, then embrace my inner slut? Are you happy now?"

As more time passed, I felt consumed by it all. L and I had talked about
exchanging power - hell, we had played with it on and off, but always in a
scripted way. It was always a game where we both knew all the rules, and
the probable outcome. Now she had taken it all without her usual caution
or my consent. I was tied, d r u g g e d, and impotent while the world around
me became a dark corner of Dante's hell where my wife performed for its
inhabitants. I was powerless in every way, while L seemed to siphon libido
from everyone in the room, accumulating it in a way that powered her
ability to extract the rawest form of lust from him as she rode her phantom
satyr. She had everything. I had nothing. The thing she rode would never
tire, a true magical beast with limitless reserves of lust for her to draw
on. I was an impotent, captive spectator. Even Gail's repeated attempts to
fondle my lifeless dick were futile. And her words, still whispered in my ear by
those full, promising lips, "It's a game. Only a game," became a meaningless,
repetitive recording. I still clung to them though. They seemed my only lifeline,
offered by a stunning angel who took my breath away the first time I laid eyes
on her so long ago. My dark world was ruled by two women, an impossibly
beautiful, unattainable angel, and her dark sister, my naked wife, writhing in
endless, unapologetic ecstasy on a supernatural creature's cock, playing gladly
to a voyeuristic audience of strangers. Was my chair growing larger, or was I
shrinking in it? I felt very, very small in the grand scheme of the evening.

It was inevitable, I suppose. He was on top of her when he came, grunting,
with his head back like a wolf calling to his pack. She ran her hands over
his chest, calmly, in awe-filled satisfaction, and let him empty himself
into her. Then, under the ever-pounding cadence of babydidabadbadthing, I
could barely make out her quiet whisper as she stared up at him.

"...yes...yes...yes...yes..."

Gail's hand tightened on mine, and she kissed me suddenly, blocking my
view. It was a deep, passionate kiss, lascivious in the way she
penetrated me. She thrust her tongue into me, sucking at my mouth as
though it quenched some bizarre thirst. Then she was on my lap, straddling
me, her dress hiked up, her bare legs woven through the spaces under the
chair arms that bound me. She moved as though we were fucking, grinding
her hips into me in a practiced, even, nearly mechanical way.

I felt the cool wetness of her sex on my dick, and soon found it coming back
to life. She was as insistent, as hungry, and as tireless as L's phantom beast.
I wanted to touch her, to stroke the perfect skin I had always considered
untouchable, to tease her nipples with my fingertips and then wet my fingers
in the slick pool of liquid that seemed to flow from between her legs. But my
hands remained tied, helpless as they were throughout the night. It was
t o r t u r e, but of a better nature than my earlier panic. Quiet applause came
from the room in front of us, and as I opened my eyes and shifted my sight
past Gail's shining hair, I saw the beast holding L in his arms, carrying
her up the stairway toward an even darker place, a place filled with
memories of her former week-long s u b m i s s i o n to Dave and his
accomplices.

As Gail continued to devour me, my dick rose to half-mast and found its
limit, but she never put it inside her, never even tried. Her frantic kissing
and humping was all I got, even as she soaked my lap and desperate
cock with the juices that seemed to pour from her. Soon the others
followed L and her lover up the stairs, leaving Gail and I alone just
outside the empty circle of light on the floor a few yards away. Her
advances continued, silently, until they became an attack. I tried to
raise my hips to enter her, but she seemed to know just how to avoid me. I
bucked and groaned, begging her to free me. I needed to show her that I
wasn't that small, impotent man, that I was more than the helpless target
of a game chosen to confound me with my wife's betrayal. If I was ever
to fight for and regain my manhood, this was the woman who had the
power to restore it. But she just kept at me, f o r c i n g herself into my
mouth, pulling at my nipples under my half-opened shirt, grinding,
grinding, grinding what was left of my erection into a lifeless worm of
flesh, all to the maddening drone of babydidabadbadthing that never
stopped.

Eventually, I just gave up. I turned my head away from her kisses and went
limp in the chair. I was drained of all energy, physical, mental, and sexual.
I was hollow, emptied and weak, and despite the siren on my lap, I only
wanted s l e e p.

Gail unfastened the cuffs at my wrists and ankles, took my hand, and led me
downstairs to the bedroom that L and shared on this and many past visits.
I collapsed on the bed and watched Gail strip. As much as I lusted after her
in her clothes, the sight of her naked was impossible to describe. The
essence of physical perfection, aloof, and unfathomable, she slid into bed,
lay her lean, tanned body against me, and I slept.

- Chapter 9 -

The next morning, the right thing, the fair thing, is that Gail redeemed
me, brought my wounded pride and manhood back to life with a body too
perfect to have ever promised I might have her. In truth, when I woke, she
was gone.

When we left, the air between L and I was thick with silence, with things
that couldn't be said in public. It was quiet t o r t u r e during our flights
and three hour layover to return home. In the days and weeks that
followed, had I found L changed, the c h i l d in her corrupted, lost to our
descent into Dave's Circle of Hell? Yes - and no. She confessed that
Dave's hold on her was real, and more intense, but I continued to
recognize the c h i l d in her when it escaped, even if it was to be more rare
and guarded. L is still L, a bit more fearless, and a bit less "little
girl" than before. But that was happening anyway, so gradually I hadn't
thought about it until Dave captured the changes in those few hours,
condensed and frozen in lurid detail much like his secret photographs
he led me to discover.

Perhaps my mistake was assuming I knew L too well. Along with that came a
quiet comfort that allowed the minutia of daily life to level the heat of
our marriage. There was still heat, but not the fierce, gut-punching highs
that fueled our sex life for weeks and months after an unexpectedly
memorable adventure. Now, suddenly I found L still had many more
mysteries that she hadn't shared. It's what drew me to her the moment we
met - she makes men believe she's shy, or playful, or businesslike, then
takes delight in shattering their misconceptions. She lives to tease, to
surprise, and sometimes to shock. She can be an enigma, even to her
husband, which is much of what I still love about her. Forgetting that, or
at least taking it for granted, was what had shaken me that night when I
watched her offer a stunning reminder.

There are still other mysteries - dark, shadowy places in Dave's
imagination we haven't explored. Gail remains an enigma. Part Guiding
Angel, part Dominatrix, her true agenda is forever hidden behind those icy
blue eyes and cool smile. There are photos of L, records of obscenities with
whereabouts, destinations and purpose unknown. A full account of events
after L, her tireless satyr, and six horny guests climbed the steps to the
second floor while I was tied to my chair remains L's loosely held secret
with only a handful of details.

At times my account makes the event seem nightmarish. Looking back, it's
hard to relive it second by second. There were moments of panic, most
likely exaggerated by Dave's d r u g- l a c e d snacks, but even through
the worst, a real sense of the erotic was never absent.

Angst has always been a part of the attraction of sharing L. It's that
exotic rush - the teetering between desire for her and seeing another man
have her - the burning of possessiveness and jealousy simmering beneath
seeing the beauty of her body locked in the most primal sex with another
man. It's having to wait until after they share orgasms to finally have L to
myself in our bed. It's always there when we play, but in a controlled way,
a way that assumes the outcome, and L's behavior. But that night, Dave
prepared a dose of mega-angst, as though he plucked it out of my chest
and showed me my own beating heart. We became archetypes that night -
the sex-starved cheating wife, her virile alpha male, and the helpless
cuckolded husband. It was far from a cheap copy, a play we had scripted
from beginning to end. In the moment, my angst, my helplessness, my
disorientation, was real, as was L's desire to prove to me and the others
that the little girl in her was gone, that she loved to simply "fuck" without
guilt or regret, and that the kinds of men she fucked were entirely of her
own choosing. Today, it's not a memory that brings regret or trepidation.
It's a memory that shines a light on who we are and what we do. It
crystallizes moments of fear and desire, and paints the erotic in colors L
and I had never seen before.

Dave answered questions we hadn't asked, even to each other. But they
were questions that silently loomed over our increasingly mundane marriage.

"Is this all there is? Where do we go next?"

We hadn't even spoken the words, but L and I later admitted they needed
to be said. And Dave always seems to know what we need.



-End

A very well written story, very descriptive in creating a visual. I think you captured an experience we all would or have wanted for our wives.

Thanks very much - glad you found it enjoyable. My stuff is long on introspection and shorter on graphic sex than many stories, and I know that limits my audience. But it is my way of working through issues that challenge my understanding at the time. And if even a few others identify with it, it's worth the effort.

Don

Many definitely identify with it, Don. Thanks again!

Don,

just spotted it. Don't go to this section much since all the BS started and GH and Stormdog left.

Outstanding effort. I think you should repost it at Lushstories. I think it will be well received. That's where the others are and I post some LW caps.

Thanks, wittol and Timmy. I'll take a look at Lushstories, but I was thumped pretty soundly at another popular HW site after it was posted there - "Ugly", and ""Sorry I read it" were remarks that come to mind. And no, it wasn't Literotica, which I abandoned a long time ago for much of the same. It's probably best that I keep this stuff to myself from now on.

Don