Article 48523 of alt.sex.stories:
From: anon34f5@nyx.cs.du.edu (Name withheld by request)
Subject:   HUSBAND Part 1
Date: 9 Jan 1995 08:22:54 -0700

Note: Although this was originally announced as a 16 part story, the
following as all that was ever posted anywhere. WIFE will be added to
the aastr in due time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Author's Note xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

	Hi, people! If you've read my husband's story "WIFE," this
note may make more sense to you. Essentially, my husband and I
both decided to write a kind of point\counter-point sexual
adventure, and that he would go first. I enjoyed the adventures of
Linda and Peter very much; it was a turn-on for me. Still, there's
something I need to point out. In "WIFE," Linda and Peter enact a
fantasy of Linda's. It doesn't take much thought to realize that,
actually, the story was my husband's little wet-dream. In
"HUSBAND," our couple are going to enact a fantasy of Peter's. It
goes without saying that this story is actually MY fantasy! My
husband sort of skirted around the edges of it in WIFE, but I
decided to bring it out in the open a bit more. I'm afraid this
has made him a little uncomfortable.

	In fact, my husband has only agreed to post this on the
condition that I make a disclaimer. Since I don't know anything
about the "internet," and haven't the time to learn at this point
and therefore can't post this myself, here goes:

	OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER: This story is MY fantasy. It is NOT my
husband's fantasy. My husband has NEVER had such thoughts in his
pretty little head (emphasize little), nor will he ever. He has
NEVER engaged in, nor had the desire to engage in, these activities
or anything remotely resembling them, nor will he ever.

	There. I think he's happy, poor thing. I don't know what
he's worried about, since he told me he's posting these stories
anonymously (He'd BETTER be posting these anonymously!), and HIS
story was just a little bit kinky. I can't help it that he
considers my story a whole lot kinky.

	So, for all of those that liked WIFE, I hope what follows
doesn't disappoint you. While the story transition will, I hope,
be relatively smooth, things are going to take a very different
tack for Peter and Linda. I just hope that people who liked WIFE
don't get too turned off by my fantasy.

	Also, as you can see, my story is longer than my husband's.
This is due to my much more fertile imagination and to the fact
that each time he wrote a section, he had to end it prematurely
because he got so turned on he could hardly wait to get me in the
sack and start fooling around. I, on the other hand, have much
more self-control.

	Well, that's all for now....

P.S. If you write to me, my husband has promised to pass your
messages on. Don't worry, he will. You see, I've got him under my
thumb like you wouldn't believe!

------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE FROM HUSBAND:  Only in her wildest fantasies!
------------------------------------------------------------

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx(End of Author's Note)xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

			HUSBAND  (Part 1 of 16)

	My name is Linda. You don't know me except through a little
story that my husband told you about a kinky sexual adventure we
both had a little while ago. Peter, my husband, lost a game of
scrabble and had to ante up by agreeing to let me act out any
fantasy I wanted. Ever gracious, I agreed to let him have a turn.
(If you don't play fair occasionally, they get so EXCITED. It's
like there are thousands of these little tiny scales that need to
be balanced every minute of every day, and if one isn't, my god,
the male ego simply goes bananas!)

	Well, Peter got what he wanted. In retrospect, I think he got
a whole lot more than he wanted. He's been a good sport about it,
though, and I think he's recovered from the experience. One of the
many reasons that I married him was because of his openness to new
things, and his willingness to keep learning and growing throughout
life.

	About a week after enacting my fantasy, on a Saturday
afternoon, we were returning home, via a long sight-seeing detour,
from shopping for some new backpacking equipment. Along a deserted
stretch of winding, hilly road, Peter suddenly pulled off next to
a stand of large pine trees. He put the car in park and turned to
look at me.

	"Is something wrong?" I asked.

	His blue eyes were sparkling. I knew the look. It meant he
was terribly excited about something, was having a hard time
expressing it, but had finally found the intestinal fortitude to
speak his mind.

	"No, no. Nothing's wrong, Linda." His right hand dropped to
my leg and began to distractedly toy with the hem of my skirt, and
to scratch gently at my nylons. He looked out over my shoulder
into the distance. "I've decided what I want. For my fantasy, I
mean."

	There was silence for a few moments.

	"It's okay. You can tell me," I prompted him.

	He took a deep breath and looked back at me. Peter is a
handsome man and very sexy. I've always been attracted to the
"intellectual" type. I suppose they remind me of my father, who
taught at the university level for many years. Throughout my high-
school and college years, I had a tendency to throw myself at these
kinds of men, men who had some depth below the surface, but whose
surface god or nature chose to create as something less than
perfect. I've been told I'm very attractive, and I suppose I am.
So when these young men found themselves in my arms, their
"gratitude," and sometimes even, I think, amazement that someone
like me would find them attractive, manifested itself in ways that
only complicated matters and usually drove me away.

	I guess it's a question of personal confidence. I know
firsthand, of course, the problems that women face in a world that
puts such premiums on looks and on unimportant surface things. I
have no doubt that men, too, struggle with this. It's regrettable
that so many men with beautiful and deep souls are often lonely
because the world has made it so difficult for them to acquire
enough confidence in themselves to make them truly attractive to
another person. So when someone like me approaches them, even
sleeps with them, self-doubts keep them from opening up or, even
worse, make them cling to and stifle the other person for fear of
losing something they feel they might never find again.

	When I found Peter my senior year in graduate school, though,
everything clicked. Good conversation at a meaningful level (not
just football and basketball statistics), a sharp sense of humor,
hot sex, fun times, you name it. And he's good-looking to boot (he
does look like a college professor. The daddy-syndrome strikes
again). He's tall (6'2") and lanky, and reminds me of a cowboy.
While he's very masculine, he has a strong feminine side that he
would deny. His movements are graceful and self-assured. Blonde
hair, gorgeous blue eyes, well-trimmed beard (I LOVE beards,
especially when they're where they belong, tickling the insides of
my thighs and crotch), hairy chest, long sexy fingers with well-
trimmed nails, tight little buns, and a perfectly sized, proud cock
capped with the cutest glans you ever saw. (I remember, the first
time we made love, that he even called it a "cock." Women, watch
out for men who call it their "dick!")

	Peter reached over and killed the engine. He took a deep
breath and finally started talking.

	"I've been doing a lot of thinking about your fantasy. I
guess I've been struggling to understand and come to terms with why
I get so excited by the idea of you with other men."

	I nodded and took his hand. He took a second breath and went
on.

	"This is hard to say. Years of macho upbringing and all....
Anyway, part of the turn on was the idea that, by giving you up to
someone else, I'd become submissive to you and to the other man.
Look, I know we've played around with our ropes and the handcuffs
and things, but.... well, I've always been the one in control,
Linda. In my family, you know I was the oldest when my father
died. I was in control then; I felt I had to be. I've been in
control in our sex life, I'm in control at work, I'm always "in
control." Don't get me wrong. I enjoy it very much. There's a
part of me that's so damn competitive..... I've never given that
up, or thought of giving it up."

	"I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like to explore my
submissive side a little more. I mean, I don't think I'll ever
want to make it a permanent part of my life. But I'm fascinated
now, at least since your fantasy, with that part of sexuality."

	As he spoke, his eyes had wandered down to our hands resting
in his lap.

	"You want me to be dominant? To take control? I can do that,
darling."

	"Yes. Or rather yes and no," he said. He pulled his hands
away and started the engine. "Look, I'm expecting a phone call in
a few hours and we have to be there. I'll tell you more on the way
home." He was so excited he could hardly sit still in his seat.

	As we drove, Peter told me more. The phone call was to be
from a man, a stranger. I was to answer the phone. At the point
at which I picked up the phone, Peter's fantasy would begin.

	He was speaking in choppy sentences, and hurrying his words.
I noticed he was shivering. I've never seen him so nervous before,
even when he talks, on occasion, before large audiences.

	He told me that I was to do whatever was asked of me by the
man. That I would submit totally to this man. That Peter trusted
this man. And that Peter, in turn, would submit totally to the two
of us.

	Finally, he told me that this fantasy was going to be much
more complex, involved, and prolonged than mine had been.

	"Think you're up to it, sweetheart?" he asked.

	I didn't hesitate.

	"Yes." I looked over at him and put my hand on his warm
shoulder. "I'll do anything you or he asks. I love you, Peter.
I've promised you this and, if this is what you want, I'll make it
good for you. This IS what you want? Are you absolutely sure
about it?"

	He nodded and smiled. "Yes. I've thought it all out and it's
what I want." There was a brief pause. "At least I think so...."

	He turned and gave me a shit-eating grin. I hit him on the
shoulder. HARD.

	XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

	We were both in the den, I was reading and Peter was sitting
on the floor fooling around with his new toy we had just purchased,
a Swiss-made camp stove for high-altitude hiking, when the phone
rang. He looked at me, raised his eyebrows and pointed to the
kitchen phone. I put my book down and quickly made my way into the
kitchen. My heart was racing and my throat suddenly dry. I
counted to 5 to calm myself, then picked up the phone.

	"Hello?"

	There was an unnerving silence. I waited, tapping my toe.
Just as I was about to hang up, he spoke.

	"Who is this?" he asked.

	I almost asked him who the hell HE was, but I just barely
caught myself and bit my tongue.

	"This is Linda. May I ask who's calling?"

	"You're husband told you I would be calling. He did talk to
you, didn't he, Linda? What did he tell you?"

	The voice was smooth and almost unnaturally modulated, like a
well-trained actor's.

	"He told me a little bit. I really don't know that much.
What was he supposed to tell me?"

	There was more of that unnerving silence. I got the strange
feeling that he could almost see me through the phone and was
sizing me up somehow. A shiver ran down my back.

	"Tell me EXACTLY what he told you, Linda. And be polite to me
when you speak. I'm being polite to you."

	I rolled my eyes. I was getting fed up with his tone already.
I let out a long sigh and told him exactly what Peter had said.

	Softly: "Yes. I see. I see. Where are you, Linda?"

	What did he mean, 'where are you?' In relation to what? I
shifted the phone to my other ear, ran my hand up over my forehead
and into my hair and held it out and away from the back of my head.

	"Look," I began. "I'm trying to cooperate here, but I don't
see what the fuck...."

	When the voice interrupted me, it came with the power and
clarity of a 6 foot church bell laid flush against my ear. I had
never heard anything like it in my entire life. It wasn't "loud,"
just pure and resonating with potential....what? I could feel it
in the marrow of my bones.

	"JUST TELL ME WHERE YOU'RE STANDING. Describe it to me simply
and clearly. Do it now."

	I answered immediately, fighting to keep my voice steady.

	"I'm standing in the middle of our kitchen next to the phone
which is attached to the food-prep island."

	Silky smooth now, like the gentle caress of a lullaby:

	"Yes. That's better. And where is Peter?"

	I turned and looked through the dining room and into Peter's
den. I could see that he was still sitting on the floor and
tinkering with the new camp-stove. He looked up briefly and tilted
his head in a questioning gesture. I frowned and shook my head.
He looked back down.

	"Sitting on the floor in our den."

	"Linda, describe to me what you are wearing. Be specific and
leave nothing out."

	My ears started to burn just slightly. "I'm wearing a grey
sweatshirt that says "St. John's College, Annapolis," bluejeans
with no belt, white sox, a pair of white underpants, a wristwatch
and my wedding ring."

	"No bra?"

	"No."

	"Can your husband see you from where you stand?"

	I looked up again at Peter.

	"Yes."

	"Take the sweatshirt off."

	"Take it off?" I asked stupidly.

	"I know you heard me, Linda. And believe me, when I tell you
something, I mean it. Don't ever repeat anything I've said as if
I might be mistaken. When you've done as I've told you, turn and
face your husband."

	I set the phone down and pulled off the sweatshirt, tossing it
on the counter. I took a deep breath and faced Peter. I almost
hated to look: yup, he'd noticed and was staring intently at me.
I shrugged and pointed at the phone. A gentle smile came to his
lips. I picked the phone back up.

	"Okay," I said.

	"Is there an extension that Peter can pick up and still see
you?"

	"Yes. There's one in the dining room."

	"Have him pick it up."

	Peter was still watching me. I pointed to the phone in my
hand and then in the direction of the dining-room extension. He
stood up and moved to the phone. There was a soft click as he
picked it up.

	"Hello, Peter."

	"Hello," Peter said.

	"Linda, my name is Charles. Forgive my rudeness for not
introducing myself sooner. Tell me, Linda, when was the last time
you and Peter fucked?"

	I looked at Peter. He was looking down at his feet, ignoring
me.

	"Last night."

	"Beginning now, and until I say otherwise, no more sex between
the two of you. Peter has told me you have a two-week vacation
planned beginning next weekend. Mountain-climbing or some such
dangerous activity. You are going to cancel the first week of that
vacation and the three of us will be spending it together. Do the
two of you have a guest room of some kind?"

	Peter was still staring at his feet as if they were the most
interesting things in the world.

	"Yes," I answered.

	"Good. Starting Saturday, a week from today, Peter will move
out of your bedroom and into the guest room. Move all of his
things out. The bedroom will be shared by only you and I, Linda,
at least on most nights. When was your last period?"

	"A week ago."

	"That won't be a concern, then. A letter will arrive mid-week
addressed to you, Linda. It will contain a list of articles you
are to purchase and the address of the establishment where you will
find them. Nothing too expensive. Make sure you have them before
next Sunday. I will arrive at 5:00 p.m., Sunday evening. I am
very punctual. One more thing before I go. Linda, grasp one of
your nipples and hold it out, away from you, until it begins to
hurt."

	I did as he asked and waited.

	"Peter, you can see your wife, can't you?"

	I glanced at Peter and he returned my gaze.

	"Yes."

	"Good. Which nipple is your wife pulling for me?"

	"The left nipple."

	"I see. Linda, this will only be temporary, but I want you to
release your nipple, remove your wedding band, and hand it to your
husband when this call is finished. Peter, I suggest you don't
lose it. I will see the two of you in a week. Remember, no sex.
Goodbye, Peter."

	"Goodbye."

	"Goodbye, Linda."

	"Goodbye."

	The line went dead. I hung up the receiver, released my now
stinging nipple, and put my sweatshirt back on. I happened to
notice that I was very aroused. I removed my wedding ring, walked
to Peter and handed it to him. He sheepishly accepted it, then
stuffed it into his pocket.

	Suddenly grabbing me, he hugged me tightly to him. I returned
the hug, then kissed him passionately. He was shivering. God, I
love this man. I know that I can do and endure the things that
will make him happy in this. But I'm not so sure about Peter.
Does he know what he's in for? Well, it's too late now for second-
thoughts.

Article 48524 of alt.sex.stories:
From: anon34f5@nyx.cs.du.edu (Name withheld by request)
Subject: HUSBAND Part 2
Date: 9 Jan 1995 08:27:10 -0700

			HUSBAND Part 2 (2 of 16)

	I'm not sure what I expected from Peter during the week
leading up to our "vacation," and to Charles' arrival. He didn't
exactly mope, but he was strangely withdrawn and reticent. He
seemed to want to avoid discussing what had happened and what was
about to happen, so I didn't push the issue. On Sunday night, and
then again on Monday, he had attempted to initiate a love-making
session. I couldn't decide if he had simply forgotten about the
prohibition, or if it was a test of some kind, but I gently and
firmly put a stop to it. After a deep sigh, he rolled over and
fell asleep. I had decided that, if we were going to do this, we
were going to do it right. Peter lacks a certain amount of self-
discipline; I've been told that I have too much.

	I got home from work on Wednesday evening to find the promised
letter, addressed to me, in the mail. As expected, there was no
return address. The only enclosure was a list of serial #'s and
the name and address of a store located in the seedier part of
town. I'd never heard of it, but I put the list and address in my
purse and called work to tell them I would be in late on Thursday.
I told Peter about the letter at dinner and that I would be
stopping there Thursday morning. He only nodded and continued to
pick at his food.

	Thursday morning I stopped at the store. It would be an
understatement to say that I was extremely uncomfortable and
nervous. I wondered how often a single young woman, dressed in a
conservative business suit, shopped here. There were a lot of
pornographic videos, adult toys, etc. The few customers in the
store were men who seemed to be a touch resentful that I was
hovering about (actually, I wasn't "hovering," I was trying to make
myself as inconspicuous as possible. It didn't work. I felt
conspicuous as HELL). I handed the clerk, a balding, fat slob of
a man, the list. He seemed to be expecting me and, after
practically licking my body with his eyes, returned with a large
bag. I paid what he asked without checking the contents and got
the hell out of there as fast as I could. Thursday night I put the
bag, unopened, in the back of our bedroom closet and forgot about
it.

	On Friday night, Peter and I went out to dinner and did some
dancing to celebrate the beginning of our vacation. I was starting
to get a bit horny over the past few days, and the dancing didn't
exactly quench any fires. Peter had a hard-on the whole night, but
bravely "kept it to himself" on the dance-floor. My panties were
soaked by the time we got home. I hadn't had sex in nearly a week
(okay, it may not be that long for SOME people...), and had avoided
masturbating.

	As I lay in bed Friday night, listening to Peter's rhythmic
breathing, I suddenly realized that the weekend was here. I was
beginning to get a little scared about what the next week would
bring. The excitement, though, was almost palpable. So much so,
in fact, that I didn't drift off to sleep until the wee hours of
the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

	On Saturday, Peter and I moved his things out of the closet and
dresser and into the guest room just down the hall from our master
bedroom. We stayed up and watched a movie, then slept in separate
beds in our own home for the first time in our marriage. It was a
strange, strange feeling. I kept telling myself that this was what
he wanted...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

			DAY ONE: Sunday
		 vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

	We spent the day doing some laundry and house cleaning, then
tinkered in the yard with a new patio that Peter had been
"installing" for what was now going on 3 months. Covered with dirt
and sweat, we worked until about 3:00.

	"I guess we better get cleaned up. We've got company coming
in a couple hours," Peter said, tossing the various rakes and
shovels in the wheelbarrow.

	I wiped my hands on my dirty sweatpants and stood up.

	"Peter?"

	He stopped and turned to look at me.

	"Yeah?"

	"Still sure you want to do this? It's not too late to change
your mind. I'll understand."

	He put the wheelbarrow down and crossed his arms.

	"I'm sure. How about you?"

	"I'm sure, too. I'm just worried that things might not work
out like you expect. And I'm worried that it might somehow affect
us. Our marriage, I mean..." I said. I'd made my decision to give
my heart and soul (and body) up to Peter and his fantasy. Had he?
This had the potential to be terribly exciting and fun, but it also
had the potential to be a great disaster.

	He came over and kissed me, sweetly, in the middle of my
forehead.

	"Everything will be just fine, darling."

	After showering, I put on a bright and colorful sundress over
a skimpy pair of hip-cut cotton panties. Peter wore a pair of
brown slacks and a white dress-shirt open at the collar. We
settled in the living room with some books, sipping a soft Bordeaux
and listening to Mozart's Die Zauberflaute, and waited.

	At precisely 5:00 p.m., the doorbell rang.

	I hesitated for a moment and, when Peter didn't get up,
assumed that I was to answer it. I moved quickly to the door, took
a deep breath, and opened it.

	The man standing before me, between two expensive suitcases,
was, if you'll forgive the trite and hackneyed expression, tall
dark and handsome. Black hair, greying at the temples (45, maybe
50 years old?) with wide shoulders and slim hips. Handsome, but
austere face, with piercing, steel-grey eyes; the kind of face
women fall in love with even knowing full-well the potential for
heart-ache and pain (even violence?) that such a face and eyes
represent. While his bearing screamed refinement and elegance, he
was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The muscles on his arms were
well-defined and sculptured, but not massive like a weight-
lifter's. More like the graceful sinews of a swimmer. Peeking out
just below the left sleeve of his shirt was the bottom part of a
tattoo. I couldn't make out it's details.

	Our eyes locked momentarily. Quickly, I had to break the gaze
and look down at the steps between us. There was something there
I wanted very much to explore, but just as strongly needed to
avoid.

	"Hello, Linda. My name is Charles. I believe you and Peter
are expecting me." I recognized the voice immediately from our
previous telephone conversation. A very masculine, professionally
trained voice. Smooth and undulating (a "melt in your panties"
kind of voice). There was that edge, though, that edge of danger
and power that remained unmasked in its timbre.

	I suddenly realized that he had been standing there for an
uncomfortably long time. I opened the door and motioned for him to
enter.

	"I'm sorry. I guess I'm in another world," I said, laughing
nervously. " Please come in, Charles."

	He entered and set his suitcases near the stairway.

	"Thank-you, Linda."

	"Peter's in the living room. Would you like something to
drink? We're having a nice dry red wine..."

	"I don't drink. Thanks anyway. Let's move into the living
room."

	As we entered, Peter rose from the couch, smiled and shook his
hand.

	"It's nice to see you again, Peter," he said. Then, to me,
"Peter and I met once before."

	There was a nervous silence.

	"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" I asked.

	"No, I'm just fine."

	I smiled and nodded. As I moved to the couch to have a seat,
he spoke again.

	"I see no point in wasting a lot of time with pleasantries.
We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other as the week
progresses. I prefer that we begin talking about some necessary
things. Go ahead, Linda, have a seat on the sofa. Peter, you may
sit in the center of the floor, please."

	As we settled, Charles leaned back against the mantle of our
fireplace and folded his arms. He glanced around briefly at the
room, then looked intently at Peter and I in turn.

	"Thank you for inviting me into your beautiful home and into
your life," he began. "The relationship we are about to form is
purely consensual on your part and on mine. The primary ingredient
of this relationship is the fact that I now have total control over
your lives, a control that you have voluntarily relinquished. If
that control is ever questioned or tested in any way, I will walk
out the door and the "game" is over. That's not going to happen,
though. I rarely need extraneous methods to 'control' people." He
smiled sweetly like a little child who doesn't know what the words
mean, telling you to fuck-off.

	He looked at me with unblinking eyes and continued.

	"Linda, your husband may own your soul and heart, but I own
your body for the next week. When I tell you to do something, do
it immediately. Never question me, never hesitate, never fail to
do everything within your power to comply and to please me. Are we
of a like mind?"

	I looked into Peter's eyes as I answered.

	"Yes, Charles. We're of a like mind."

	His gaze fell on Peter.

	"Peter, you just heard your wife pledge her body to me. It no
longer belongs to you, or her, in any way. Do you understand the
implications?"

	"Yes, I believe I do."

	"No, I don't think you do. I think she has a better grasp of
what this is going to mean, as well as the full potential inherent
in this situation. True submission is only understood through
experience. But no matter. As your wife learns to prostitute
herself to me, so will you to both her and I in many ways. Do you
realize that, just as your wife would comply immediately if I told
her to turn around and bend over so that I could fuck her in the
ass, so that same power and its ramifications now looms over your
head, Peter? Submissive fantasies are one thing, but the reality
of submission is so much different, so much purer and more clear.
It goes to the bone like a spinal tap. Have you ever sucked
another man's cock, Peter?"

	Peter's face was turning very red. He didn't look up when he
answered.

	"No."

	"No, I didn't think so. I haven't either, but then I've never
been in the position you've put yourself and your very cute wife
in. Your wife knows the joys of cocksucking, though. She has
learned, I'm sure, the little secret that there is a tremendous
amount of power in submission. A little bit of advice that will
help you through the coming days and nights: don't submit a little
bit. Submit totally. Put everything you've got into it, Peter, or
you'll have a very hard time of it." He shrugged. "I couldn't
really care less, but it is your fantasy, after all. Accept the
many humiliations that I give out to your wife, and that your wife
and I give out to you, like a good boy and the time will be so much
more pleasant for you, so much more erotic. In other words, learn
to submit like a girl, Peter. Learn the pleasures of giving up the
pink."

	Charles was pacing now, his hands in his front pockets, thumbs
out. Dear god, I was starting to get so turned on....

	He suddenly leaned down, cupped Peter's chin with his hand,
and looked into his eyes.

	"Make no mistake about it, Peter. Your wife is going to be
debased, humiliated and used. We're going to act out games that
would make a jaded whore blush. Her mouth, cunt and ass are going
to be reamed out like they never have been. Her and I, and maybe
even others of my choosing, are going to do things you never
dreamed of. Some of them I may even let you watch. Nope. There
will be no "loving" around here for a while, Peter. Just a whole
lot of fucking going on. And when I'm tired of fucking her, her
and I are going to fuck YOU!"

	He let go of Peter's chin with a curt shove and looked up at me.

	"Linda, your little husband has an erection. Come here, kneel
down, and take it out. You and I want to see his cock, don't we?"

	I moved to Peter, knelt down, and unzipped his pants. I
removed his hard cock, already wet at the tip, and began
to stroke it. He leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes.

	"Look at me, Linda," Charles said. His long legs rose behind
Peter's head.

	I looked up into the pools of steel at the center of his eyes.

	"Tell your loving husband how pretty he will look sitting on
the tip of my hard prick. Tell him how excited you will be, how
proud you will be, how you can hardly wait, to see his lips around
my cock. Tell him the truth."

	My cunt throbbing and wet, I told him.

	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx end of part 2 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Article 48525 of alt.sex.stories:
From: anon34f5@nyx.cs.du.edu (Name withheld by request)
Subject: HUSBAND Part 3
Date: 9 Jan 1995 08:31:32 -0700

			HUSBAND  Part 3  (3 of 16)

	"That's enough for now, Linda; stand up. Put it back in your
pants, Peter." I stood as Peter re-arranged his sticky cock into
his pants.

	"I think I would like some ice-water, Peter. Would you like
anything, Linda?"

	I shook my head. Peter stood up between us; his face was
flushed and he avoided my gaze.

	"Go into the kitchen, but don't bring my water until you are
called. Linda and I have a few things to discuss."

	Peter left, and I stood there before Charles, feeling
uncomfortably like a shy little girl rather than a grown woman. He
didn't move for a moment, just looked me up and down. Slowly, he
raised his right hand. He put just the tip of his forefinger
lightly to my lips. Without thinking, instinctively, I let my
tongue slip under the tip of his finger, licked the underside
gently, then returned it to my mouth. The briefest of smiles
flickered in his eyes.

	"Suck it," he said.

	I opened my lips, took his finger in and began to suck on it.
As I stood there in my own home before this stranger, my hands to
my sides, slowly "fellating" his finger and looking into his eyes,
he spoke to me.

	"You're a brave and kind soul, dear Linda. And while we both
know you are not "pure," there is a sublimely innocent aura about
you. Believe me, that is a rare thing, indeed. If I thought for
a moment that what I am going to put you through would corrupt
that, I'd leave this instant. But I think you will survive it."

	He closed his eyes briefly, then gently cupped my chin as my
lips and mouth continued to work on his finger.

	"Your husband is another matter. I would share the worry I
sense you have, except that I suspect he is more resilient than you
suppose."

	He withdrew his finger suddenly and stepped back a pace.

	"Pull your panties down to just above your knees, and hold the
hem of your dress above your waist."

	I did as I was told. Standing like that, I began to feel the
first twinges of embarrassment. He looked at my exposed belly,
groin and thighs for a little bit, then walked past me. I heard
him seat himself at the sofa. I stood there, my backside exposed
to Charles, knowing I had not been told to move. There was total
silence. I closed my eyes, wanting something, anything, to happen.

	"Leave the panties at your knees, but drop the skirt and come
here."

	I released the hem of my dress, then turned and walked,
awkwardly, to him. He sat with his legs splayed and his hands
folded behind his head. I stopped at the edge of the sofa, between
his knees.

	"Kneel down and take my cock out. Never mind unbuckling my
pants, just undo the zipper."

	I knelt down and reached for his zipper. The bulge of his
erection was big; very big. I unzipped him, pulled the top of his
shorts down through the opening, and reached in for his cock. He
adjusted his hips a bit, and I finally managed to work it free.
I'd never seen anything like it.

	Long, and thick like an oak stump, it was wrapped with gnarled
purple veins from the base to just below the crown. The crown
itself was a huge, juicy, mushroom-cap that perched atop the rod
like a fat balloon. I was mesmerized, and found myself gently
running my fingers over the veins and around the incredible tip.

	"Yes, I know. I've gotten a few positive comments in my time.
It's hard to believe, but you WILL take all of it. Stand up now,
Linda, turn around, and have a seat on it."

	I rose, turned, and raised my skirt again. His hands grasped
my buttocks and guided me down. As they cupped around my bottom,
his fingers spread me wide. I knew I was soaked. The tip found
the center of my cunt as I dropped my skirt and put my hands on his
thighs. I started to settle down slowly. Suddenly, Charles
gripped my waist and impaled me totally with one sudden jerk. I
gasped and closed my eyes tight. I'd never in my life felt so
stretched and so full. As the huge tip plunged up into me, it hit
my cervix like a bell. My whole body jerked reflexively. Charles
took my shoulders and leaned me back against him.

	"Sorry. I forget myself sometimes in certain positions. Did
you know, Linda, that compared to body weight, the human penis is
the largest in the world? From an evolutionary point of view, it's
strongly selected for. Men with large cocks are that much closer
to the cervix and, therefore, much more likely to procreate."

	No, I didn't know that. What I DID know, however, was that if
he hit that spot again, I was going to go through the ceiling.

	I started to move my hips, but he stopped me.

	"Don't move. Adjust your dress around us so that anyone
seeing us would not know for sure whether we were connected. Keep
your legs together and leave your panties around your knees."

	I straightened my dress primly around us. The only sign to
the casual observer that anything was out of the ordinary, other
than me sitting on his lap, was my exposed, half-lowered panties.

	"Peter, you may return," Charles called out.

	As Peter came around the corner, he hesitated momentarily when
he saw us. He stared for a second, then moved to the side of the
couch and handed Charles his glass of ice-water.

	"Thank-you, Peter. So, the question is, do I have carnal
knowledge of your wife or do I not? It seems most likely, doesn't
it? On the other hand, she could just be sitting innocently on my
lap." Peter's eyes went to my panties at my knees. Charles
followed Peter's gaze and smiled. "Yes, there is that. But that's
only circumstantial evidence. I suppose the only way to be sure
would be to raise your wife's dress and have a look see. But that
would be rude and untrusting of you, wouldn't it? I have a better
suggestion. Look at her face, Peter. Look into her eyes. You've
lived with this beautiful woman for several years. Does she have
the look of having a mature cock buried in her cunt, of being
penetrated by a stranger like a simple whore, or is this just a
friendly, innocent little lap-sit with a nice man?"

	Peter looked into my eyes. I tried, but couldn't mask the
lust I felt or the flush in my cheeks. He smiled briefly and
looked back at Charles.

	"I would say there's nothing innocent going on here at all,"
Peter said slowly.

	Charles laughed and put his hand on my forehead.

	"But you must be mistaken. This is the face of an angel. Are
you suggesting that your wife, the love of your life, the sweet
young girl you married and who has pledged her soul to you, now
sits in your very living room with a strange man's cock up her
hole, in front of you no less? What has happened to the innocent
Linda, the little-girl Linda of your dreams? Is this really
happening, Peter?" The sarcasm dripped from Charles' voice. In
the meantime, it took every bit of self-control not to begin moving
my hips; the feeling of being penetrated and not being able to
move, not being able to "fuck," was almost painful. Peter didn't
answer, just stood there waiting.

	"Put some nice music on for us, Peter. Then have a seat at
the other end of the couch with that fat book you were reading when
I arrived. I don't want you to pay any attention to your wife and
me for a while. In fact, I don't want to catch you with your nose
out of that book at all."

	Peter moved to the CD and put on a Brahms violin concerto,
then sat at the end of the couch and took up his book.

	Charles leaned close to my ear and licked the inside with the
tip of his tongue. He whispered lasciviously.

	"Sweet little slut of mine. Remember that whoring is
shameless when done with a pure heart. Forget the man at the end
of the couch who sits there not knowing how truly deep I am in you.
In the next few days, the times when I and other men fuck your
cunt, your ass and your mouth will seem to go on forever. I will
use your body as I choose, then give you as a gift to other men.
I will not forsake you, though. My cock will be home, the one
place where you will seek sanctuary when the others have abused the
freedoms with you that I have granted them. But the easiest part,
the truly special part, will be the many times you watch and help
in the prostitution of your own husband. Imagine how sweet it will
be to see the man you love, the one man more than any other that
you associate with "masculine," being fucked by other men as he has
fucked you, as others have fucked you. How sweet, in fact, that he
will learn the feminine pleasures, the pleasures of submitting,
pleasures that you could tell him about but that he would never
understand; could any wish be more loving on your part?"

	The whisper had grown louder. I suspected, but was not sure,
that Peter could hear every word. As he "whispered," Charles began
slowly to fuck me. Drawing his cock out, then pushing it in
slowly, so slowly the anticipation was indescribable, Charles
softly told me what I was to tell my husband.

	"Darling," I said. "I want to watch as you suck Charles'
cock. I want Charles to fuck you as he's fucking me now. I want
to jerk you off, to suck you, while he humps your ass. I want..."
Charles suddenly put his hand across my mouth.

	"I think that's sufficient, Linda. He has the idea."

	With that, Charles began to seriously pound into my bottom.
I closed my eyes and felt his cock, like a tree limb, ravage my
stretched vagina. I was so wet, the sloshing and slapping noises
grew to an obscene level. I opened my eyes and glanced at Peter
sitting quietly, his face red and buried in his history of the
Civil War, crotch bulging.

	I arched my back as the first wave of my orgasm rolled over
me. Charles was holding my head in his hands. I leaned forward as
he released me, and put my hands on my knees until, shaking and
shivering, the last of the orgasm dissipated. I couldn't tell if
Charles had cum or not.

	"Well, Peter, I guess that settles the issue; there certainly
isn't anything innocent going on here. And I'm glad you decided
not to look up. It's best you couldn't see the look of true
abandonment and animal lust on your wife's face while I fucked
her."

	"And what a great fuck your wife is, Peter Tight little
hole, too. Too bad her cunt's not used to a fairly good-sized
cock, like mine. I'm sure she's going to be sore for a while.
Once they're broken in, though, it doesn't take much to keep them
used to it."

	Still leaning forward, I was trying to get my breathing back
to normal. Charles had put his hands under my dress and was
caressing my buttocks. Whether he had cum or not, one thing was
certain: he was still rock hard. In fact, he started to raise and
lower my ass with his hands.

	"Put the book down, Peter. We need to address Question of the
Day #2: Did the nasty old man with the big pecker cum in my wife
or not? Just think, all that yucky sperm from someone you don't
even know, sloshing around in wifey's pussy even as we speak. How
awful! How disgusting! Don't you just feel terribly degraded,
Peter? I know I wouldn't stand for it. But there you sit, your
cock still in your pants like a sissy, listening but not even being
allowed to watch your own wife being reamed out right next to you.
It kind of makes me wonder about my own sex."

	Charles was once again bucking hard into my bottom. I leaned
forward even further and grabbed my ankles. Suddenly, he stopped.
He raised me up the length of his cock and the tip slipped free. A
shudder ran through my body as he pulled out. He sat me back down
on his lap with his cock running up the length of the crack of my
ass. I noticed Peter had looked back down at his book.

	In one violent and unbelievably quick motion, Charles reached
behind me, grabbed his glass of ice water, and tossed it in Peter's
face.

	"WAKE UP, PETER!" he barked, his voice like iron and steel.
"This is life, you asshole, not a story. I'm fucking your goddamn
wife. Here, Linda, turn around and take it in your mouth."

	I quickly stood, a little frightened, turned, knelt and put my
mouth over the head and down it's length as far as I could manage.
As I worked the tip, Charles began to masturbate.

	"Don't swallow what I give you, wifey. Keep every drop in
that sweet mouth of yours." He arched his hips and shot a long
stream of cum that hit the back of my throat. I had closed my
palate off in expectation of that and didn't gag, but a few strands
of semen fell down onto his belly. He pushed me back and off his
erection.

	"There. Now kiss Peter and give him half. I want to see you
swallow the other half, Linda."

	I quickly moved to Peter, put my lips to his, and opened my
mouth. I passed what I thought to be half of the load Charles had
given me to Peter, then swallowed the rest. That half-salty, half
sweet taste went straight to the back of my throat.

	"Good girl, Linda. Your turn, Peter. You're sure as hell not
going to spit it out. Get it over with and swallow it like a good
little boy. Take your medicine."

	Peter swallowed, then made a motion with his throat like he
was about to gag, but kept it down.

	I was still as horny as I'd ever been in my entire life. Part
of me felt sorry for Peter. But another part was enormously
aroused by the idea of what had happened and what was going to
happen. This is your fantasy, my love: live with it. I know I was
beginning to enjoy it immensely!

		xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Article 48526 of alt.sex.stories:
From: anon34f5@nyx.cs.du.edu (Name withheld by request)
Subject: HUSBAND Part 4
Date: 9 Jan 1995 08:36:16 -0700

			HUSBAND Part 4

	"Now that wasn't so bad, was it, Peter? A little semen down
the throat and in the stomach never hurt anyone. Now take your
panties off, Linda, and give them to your husband. Peter, rinse
them in some warm water, then come and clean me up."

	I stepped out of my panties and handed them to my husband. As
Peter left the room, Charles motioned for me to approach him. I
stopped between his splayed, open legs. His semi-erect cock lay to
the side, still glistening with my saliva.

	"Kneel down, Linda."

	I did as I was told, my hands on the tops of my thighs, and
waited.

	"You realize, of course, that you will have the most difficult
task over the next few days. My role comes easily and naturally,
and remains the same. You, on the other hand, will need to switch
from one role to another. You know what I expect of you, and I
have no doubt that you will satisfy those expectations. What your
husband expects from you, however, is another matter. Do you think
you can provide what he needs, Linda?"

	"A female dominant?"

	"Of course. But one who submits to me. Well?"

	I thought for a moment. I'd had dominant fantasies, but had
never really "acted" on them, as well as submissive ones. The
entire frame of mind to each, however, was so different that I was
not so sure I could easily slip from one to the other.

	"I don't know. I'll try."

	He shrugged. "That's all we can ask of you," he said, as
Peter returned to the room.

	Charles motioned for him to kneel next to me.

	"Go ahead. Clean me, Peter."

	Peter reached forward and began to wipe Charles' cock with my
wet panties. Even Peter's hands, which were much larger than mine,
looked small as they worked on Charles' penis.

	"That's very nice, Peter. Now I'd like you to go up and have
a seat on the bed in the master bedroom. Linda will be up in a
little bit. Just sit quietly until she gets there. Oh, and by the
way, it's time we establish the proper dress code around here.
Peter, I want you nude at all times, beginning from the time when
you get to the bedroom. Linda, I want you wearing a dress at all
times, but you may never wear any undergarments. This applies so
long as we are here at home. I'll decide what we will all wear
when we go out socializing. You may run along now, Peter."

	With Peter gone, Charles leaned forward and took my hands in
his.

	"I trust you have the items that I asked you to purchase?"

	I nodded.

	"Good. When you go up to Peter, these are the things I'd like
you to say and do. You may embellish them if you like, so long as
my basic instructions are followed."

	I listened to Charles' "instructions," then slowly stood to go
up to Peter. As I was about to turn, Charles suddenly rose and
took both my wrists in his left hand. He spun me around and away
from him. Releasing my wrists, he put his left hand on the back of
my neck and forcibly bent me forward until my head was just a bit
lower than my waist. I put my hands on my knees to steady myself.
His right hand threw my skirt up and over my back. It then moved
down into the cleft of my buttocks. He suddenly thrust four
fingers into my cunt, and his thumb into my ass, in one quick and
electrifying motion. I couldn't stop the embarrassing little
squeal his double penetration forced from my lips. As his hand
held me by my bottom like that, he once again began to talk.

	"Enjoy your time with your husband, little girl. But don't
forget who owns you now," he said. As he spoke, his hand pushed me
forward. I had to release my knees, then catch my forward fall
with both my hands on the floor, while my ass, held in both
orifices by his probing fingers, pointed up into the air. My god,
but it was an embarrassing and humiliating position! I could feel
my cheeks burn crimson and the blood rush to my head.

	"Everyone should contemplate life from this position, I think.
We all need to be reminded occasionally of what servitude means in
practical terms. And I think I'd like especially to hear from your
own lips how it is you understand your own. Tell me what it is you
want, Linda."

	I closed my eyes and, rising and falling on tiptoe, began to
push my ass up toward his fingers.

	"I want you fuck me, to fuck my mouth and my cunt and my ass,
day and night, Charles. I want you to use me. I want that cock,
like a sledgehammer, to pound me to tears. And I want to watch you
fuck my husband like a girl, to put his ass on, like putting on a
tight boot, over your cock, and to see your cum dripping from his
little, red, distended ass-hole. I want.."

	"Well, well," Charles interrupted. "We certainly wax poetic
when we're horny, don't we? There's nothing like a little good,
old-fashioned lust to bring out the Emily Dickinson in all of us."

	His fingers suddenly withdrew. There was a resounding "slap,"
as his hand smacked my ass hard, sending me further forward and
onto my knees. My rear stung and I fought back a small sob.

	"There is poetry in pain and punishment, too, Linda. Don't
overlook how profound and fundamental cruelty is. Believe it or
not, the dividing line between it and love is blurred and
indistinct. Those who would have us believe otherwise are shallow
people. They propagate their own cruelties with great abandon,
call it love, then smugly denounce those whose honesty holds a
mirror before them that they dare not look into."

	He reached down and gently pulled my skirt down and over my
ass. A hand touched my head, rested for a moment, then was gone.

	"Go to your husband. I'll follow in a bit. Enjoy yourself."

	I stood up and rubbed my smarting backside. Charles went into
the kitchen and I heard the refrigerator door open as I went up the
stairs.

	I stopped at the top of the stairs for a moment to compose
myself. I "switched gears" mentally, took a few deep breaths, then
turned the corner and entered our bedroom.

	Peter sat, naked, on the edge of the bed.

	"So," I asked, "having a good time, husband?"

	He shrugged sheepishly, but I could tell he had been
masturbating from the pre-cum smeared on his large, hard cock
poking up from his lap.

	I put my hands on my hips and looked him up and down.

	"My god, you're sexy, darling," I said. "Do you have any idea
how often I've fantasized about other men fucking you? Charles
will be coming up in a little bit to do just that. I can hardly
believe it. But you're not just going to let him do it because it
turns me on, are you?"

	I moved in front of him and firmly squeezed the tip of his
penis in my fingers.

	"Nope, you're also going to do it because you're so goddamn
turned on and curious, you can hardly stand it. Just think about
it! Another man's cock all the way up inside that cute little butt
of yours. And not just any old cock, either. You saw and felt how
big he was! Jesus, I'm creaming just thinking about the sight! He
hasn't fucked me there, yet, but you have. Let me tell you
something: it's gonna hurt, Peter. It's gonna hurt a lot. But it
gets better. In fact, it gets so much better, you're not going to
believe it. Trust me on this," I said, squeezing his cockhead so
hard he grimaced for a second.

	"Charles sent me up to help get you, dear husband, all nice
and ready for him. He said he wants to butt-fuck you with no
hassles or impediments. It's going to be my job to get you as
accessible as possible for him, darling."

	I patted his cheek then leaned down and licked his lips.

	"Now get up on the bed, facing me, on your hands and knees."

	Peter got up on the bed and knelt down, his hands and elbows
on the edge of the bed and his ass in the air behind. I savored
the sight for a moment, then went to the closet and into the little
bag of goodies Charles had sent me to purchase.

	I removed a fairly large black dildo, maybe seven or eight
inches long and two inches in diameter. Peter kept his eyes on me
the whole time.

	"Suck on it for me, Peter," I said, gently using the tip to
toy with his lips. He opened his mouth and took it in. The
contrast between his pink lips and the fat, black cock-shaped
dildo, was amazingly erotic. Holding his chin and looking into his
eyes, I began to fuck his mouth with it. Now, as many times in the
past, I wondered what it was like to be a man and have a cock; what
the sensation was like. It must be so strange! After having my way
with his mouth, I slowly withdrew it's glistening length. I patted
the top of his head.

	"That was very nice, darling. You make a marvelous cock-
sucker," I said dreamily. I took a bottle of my hand-cream from
the dresser and moved up on the bed behind Peter. I knelt down and
squirted some into my palm. I warmed it for a second, then pressed
a coated finger to his anus and slowly inserted it. He was tight,
and the ring of his ass clung to my finger. Peter only shivered
slightly as I withdrew it.

	After coating the dildo with cream, and adding more to the
crack of his ass, I placed the tip at his hole and began slowly to
push.

	"Peter," I said. "Push back and out with your sphincter.
Your shoulder muscles are all bunched up, too. Try to relax. It's
not so bad if you just open up to it."

	The head of the dildo entered in a quick little jerk, then I
slowly began to rotate it as I inserted it deeper. Peter was
moaning just a bit, and pushing his hips and ass up to meet it. The
sight and the idea of fucking my husband has always been a turn-on
for me.

	Using my left hand to fuck him with the rubber cock, I reached
my right hand, the palm of which was full of soft cream, around and
under his belly. I grabbed his hard-on and began to masturbate him
in rhythm with the fucking motion of the dildo in my left hand. It
didn't take too long, but Peter began to do all the work himself.
He'd move his ass up, impaling himself on the dildo, then forward
into my creamy palm in a rocking motion, back and forth, back and
forth...

	I withdrew my hand and patted his tight ass. Moving back a
bit, I contemplated the glorious sight of my husband on his hands
and knees, the end of a nice black dildo peeking out between his
cheeks, his cute balls nestled just below and between his spread
thighs. I masturbated for just a moment, quickly frigging my clit
with my right hand.

	"Don't move, Peter," I said. I got off the bed and rummaged
again through the bag. I found what I was looking for and held it
up in front of Peter's semi-focused eyes: another rubber penis,
this time attached to the inside of a leather gag. Only about half
as long as the one now in his ass, this one was much thicker around
the base.

	"Open up and take it, Peter," I commanded, putting it to his
mouth. He did as he was told, taking its full length all the way
into his mouth and to the back of his throat; his lips were
stretched wide around the base. I pushed the last few inches in,
then fastened the dildo\gag around his head tightly in the back.

	I put my hands on my hips and enjoyed my handiwork.

	"All husbands should be so lucky, darling. Both holes
plugged, stretched and full!" I said with an evil grin. Peter
closed his eyes and put his head down on the bed.

	A voice came suddenly from the doorway.

	"I agree. Peter is a very lucky husband," Charles said. He
was leaning against the door, eating an apple. He had a thumb
tucked haughtily in the waistband of his jeans.

	I stood in front of Peter and waited as Charles leisurely ate
his apple. I noticed the dildo in Peter's ass was coming out just
a bit, so I reached behind him and gently pushed it back in all the
way. Another little moan came from his nose.

	"Gratification delayed is so much sweeter," Charles said as he
moved toward us. "I believe it would be appropriate for you to see
your pretty wife have a turn first, Peter."

	As Charles took me by my shoulders and turned me away from my
husband, then bent me over the dresser directly across from Peter's
face, he started singing Carly Simon's "Anticipation."

	He grabbed the bottle of hand cream, turned and handed it to
Peter, then unzipped his pants and pulled his erection out.

	"I think your wife would appreciate it if you did a good job
getting me ready, Peter," he said, waiting. Peter squirted some in
his palm and coated Charles' cock. "That's good. We wouldn't want
to have that pink little hole of hers permanently damaged, would
we?"

	I felt Charles' hands on my ass, spreading them wide. He
kicked my feet wider apart, and then I felt the insistent pressure
of his cock at my anus. I began to push against it, slowly at
first, then with more determination. I knew if I could just get
past the initial penetration of his huge glans, it probably
wouldn't be too bad. The pain was beginning to come like a dull
ache from my bottom. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and
pushed back even harder. There was a sudden "popping" sensation,
and he entered in a rush. The groan from deep in my belly was loud
and long. The shaft kept sliding up into me, up and up and up..
My god, I couldn't believe I was taking so much; there had to be an
end to it. Finally, his hips touched my buttocks and he stopped
for a bit. I didn't move and held my breath, the pain at my rear
now fiery and burning.

	"Got a good view, Peter? I'd say I'm about as far up your
wife's ass as anybody's ever been."

	He suddenly leaned forward on my back, cupped my breasts
through my dress, and whispered in my ear.

	"Don't fight it, Linda. Be a good little girl and submit to
it. And don't forget all the sensations of your little ass-fuck,
wifey, since I'm sure you'll want to remember them when you watch
your husband take it just like you're about to."

	He leaned up, put his hands on my shoulders and began to fuck
me. Slowly at first, he would pull out until I could feel the tug
of his crown against my sphincter, then push up into the depths of
my belly. I turned my head and glanced at Peter, watching us. Our
eyes locked for a moment, and I could visualize the sight he was
afforded. His wife bent over the dresser, dress hiked up, legs
spread, Charles bent over me, slamming up faster now into my ass,
his balls slapping against my groin and cunt. I reached down and
began to masturbate. The pain, never exactly going away, had begun
its slow transformation into pleasure, a mixture of feelings it is
almost impossible to describe to anyone who has not been fucked in
the ass.

	Charles was slamming me up against the dresser now, pumping
hard and fast into my rear. I had a brief and ludicrous vision of
a baseball bat being pistoned into my bottom. As my orgasm went
through my body and veins, I screamed into the bend in my arm, then
bit the skin until I could taste blood. With a last hard thrust
that sent me up and onto my tiptoes, Charles stopped.

	My body was shuddering and twitching uncontrollably. I
reached behind us and grabbed his hips, holding him in me tightly.
My cunt throbbed and pounded.

	He suddenly pulled back, in one quick motion, and the head
popped free. I squeezed my eyes tight and fought back the familiar
feeling, after anal sex, that I had to use the bathroom.

	I lay like a wet towel over the dresser, not wanting to move
at all. Charles slapped my ass again, hard, bringing another
little squeal from me.

	"Good stuff, huh, Peter? That's how you do it. Now let's see
if you've learned anything from our little instructional display.
Come on Linda, get up here and help me hump your husband."

Article 49709 of alt.sex.stories:
From: alcibade@tpe.ncm.com (alcibade)
Subject: NEW STORY: HUSBAND Part 5
Date: 22 Jan 1995 16:58:36 -0500

			HUSBAND Part 5
			      by
			   ALCIBADE

			Day 2: Monday
		VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

	2:00 p.m. Luxuriating in lilac-scented bubble bath and hot
water, I closed my eyes. The house was quiet now. Peter was
sleeping in the guest-room and Charles was doing some kind of
strange exercises on the lawn behind our house. I had slept until
around 1:00 and, on waking, found Charles no longer beside me. He
and Peter had been in the kitchen when I came downstairs, eating a
breakfast of honeydew melon and croissants. I had joined them:
Peter, stark naked, and Charles, in one of Peter's robes, reading
the morning paper. I could tell that Peter had not slept well; his
eyes were red and baggy.

	Putting the paper down, and pushing his half-eaten melon away
from him, Charles spoke.

	"Good morning, Linda. Have a seat and join us. I was just
telling Peter about all the wonderful, naughty things you and I did
last night in his bed. Hope you get a chance to change the sheets
today. My god, what a mess!" he said, winking at Peter.

	"Anyway, while you two slept the morning away, I called a dear
old friend to whom I owe a favor and, surprise!, we've all been
invited to a little private party. I'm sure you'll both find his
hospitality stimulating and very refined. Peter, I'm assuming you
own a tux?"

	"Yes. But I haven't worn it in a year or so," Peter had said.

	"Well, make sure the moths haven't had a feast, then go get
some rest. You look like you're half dead. It might be another
long night for the two of you. Linda, dear, you certainly will
need a bit more rest. I'd like you to wear something formal
tonight, but sexy, too. Wear some nice, skimpy panties, and thigh-
high nylons under a sexy dress for us. Don't worry about a bra."

	"Yes," he had continued, leaning back in his chair, "tonight
we're going to explore the world of the bourgeoisie. You know, I
just love that song Liza Minelli and Joel Grey sing in Cabaret:
'Money makes the world go around!' We'll save a taste of the
proletariat for a little later in the week. It'll be a nice
contrast of mores for all of us and excellent field research.
We're leaving around six, so make sure you're ready by then. You
two kids run along now and get some rest."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

	As I lay in the tub, gently rubbing my sore ass and cunt with
a soft sponge, I replayed Sunday night's events in my mind:

	Peter, on his hands and knees, being fucked in the ass as I
knelt in front of him and kissed him (at one point, Charles had had
Peter draw his legs up under him, then spread his knees, flattening
him against the bed like a frog, as he fucked him); Charles making
me squat with my back to the wall and Peter leaning over me, his
hands against the wall above me and his legs spread, Charles behind
him, fucking him again up the ass while I fellated my husband
(running my fingers up between the two men as I sucked Peter, to
feel Charles' cock pump into him, was so incredibly erotic I'll
never forget it).

	After our little bedroom tryst, we had all showered together.
Peter had soaped and cleaned Charles and me before he was allowed
to wash himself. Charles sent Peter off to bed in the guest room
just down the hall from the master bedroom with instructions to
leave both his door and ours open. We then spent the next few
hours in a marathon fucking session in Peter's and my bed. His
stamina was incredible. I'm sure my poor husband got an earful of
the moans, groans, squeals, wet slapping skin and squeaking
bedsprings into the wee hours of the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

	I got out of the tub, dried myself, then went into the
bedroom. After changing the sheets, I set the alarm for 5 p.m.,
and settled down to get some much needed rest. The new sheets were
cool and soft against my skin. As I drifted off, I remembered
something Charles had whispered in my ear as he was plowing into my
upturned bottom last night:

	"Soon, very soon, you will prostitute yourself to others of my
choosing; no matter how undesirable, how unattractive, or even how
revolting you may find them, or the things they require you to do,
do not forget that they will only be an extension of me and of my
power. You will yield, Linda, and yield with enthusiasm. In this
way you will become an instrument in your own debasement and
humiliation, thus also becoming that much more beautiful and erotic
to me and to your husband....."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

	5:45 p.m. Wearing a simple black dress with a pleated skirt,
semi-sheer black nylons and black pumps, I came down the steps and
walked into the living room. Charles was standing next to the
picture-window, wearing a white linen suit and holding a brown
paper bag. Peter sat at the couch in his black tux, sipping an
early brandy.

	"Wow! Bravo! You look ravishing, Linda! Turn around for
us!" Charles gushed. Blushing, I twirled once and struck a pose
with my hands on my hips. "Simply smashing! Now show us what's
hiding under that sexy dress, and don't be bashful; this is
practically a three-way marriage now, you know!"

	I lifted the hem of my skirt to my waist, revealing the white
silk panties I wore. Despite every attempt to avoid it, I felt my
cheeks redden even more.

	"Dear god, an angel on the face of the earth! Now come over
here to me, pretty thing."

	As I walked to Charles, Peter's eyes met mine. They were soft
and loving and a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips.

	Charles reached his left hand out and placed it on my cheek,
then pressed his thumb against my lips and entered my mouth with
it. He turned my face first to the left and then to the right,
looking me over. As he withdrew his hand, I noticed smudges of my
red lipstick on the base of his thumb.

	"It's time we were on our way. I absolutely hate being late:
it's boorish and discourteous. Peter, I'd like you to drive.
Before we go, however, Linda needs help with a final little detail
to her wardrobe. Come over here, Peter." Charles took hold of my
shoulders and spun me around toward Peter, who had risen from the
couch, then bent me slightly forward from the waist. "Hold your
wife's shoulders for me please." Peter held my shoulders, and I
felt Charles lift my dress up from the back and lower my panties
just to the bottom of my ass. I heard a rustling noise as he
opened the brown bag he carried.

	"This will hurt a little bit, Linda. Don't worry, you'll get
used to it and, when all is said and done, considering what is
likely to happen this evening, you'll be grateful for this
preparation." As he spoke, I felt something cool and wet being
applied to my anus. "Relax now, dear. Don't fight it." Something
new -dull, large and rounded- pushed against my bottom. I shook
my head: it was impossibly large! I started to move my hips away
in protest, instinctively.

	"Hold her, Peter. Linda, I expect you to behave, darling."

	"No," I started to babble, "I really don't think... please,
it's too large, Charles... I can't, honestly, I'm too sore
there..."

	Up it came into my poor, swollen, red, over-used, little ass-
hole. Okay, okay, okay... I can take it... I squeezed my eyes
tight and gripped Peter's arms.

	I opened my eyes, finally, and looked down between my legs.
I saw Charles pulling two small chains from the base of the huge
dildo up through my crotch, on either side of my vulva, to the
front. He pulled a third chain up the crack of my ass from behind
and attached the two front links over my hips to the third one
behind. The giant phallus thus secured, he pulled my panties back
up and lowered my skirt.

	"See, not so bad after all. You may thank me now, Linda."

	"Thank-you, Charles." I said. I had no idea how I was going
to even attempt walking with this thing in me, let alone wearing my
high-heels...

	"You're welcome. That reminds me. Peter, you've never
expressed your gratitude by properly thanking me for fucking your
wife and you in the ass. I'm sure it was an oversight on your
part; you're such a courteous person."

	Peter looked down at his feet.

	"Thank you for fucking my wife and me in the ass, Charles."

	"You're welcome, Peter. It was nothing. Gee, now you've
embarrassed me!" Charles said.

	"Anyway, Linda, as I was saying, human beings are resilient
enough to adjust to just about anything; you'll hardly know it's
there in an hour or so. Now stand up straight, my dear, and quit
slouching. It's time to go to the party!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

	Peter drove and Charles and I sat in the back seat. We headed
west, out of town. I kept trying to adjust myself so I sat on
either my right or left buttock, thus avoiding sitting directly on
the shaft impaling my bottom, but without appearing too obvious
about it. Somehow, I wanted to completely conceal the discomfort
from Charles. The impulse, created by the inserted dildo, was to
spread my legs and slide down on the seat, unlady-like. So I fought
it and deliberately did the opposite, crossing my legs demurely.

	Charles rode quietly, apparently absorbed in thought. His
hands were folded in his lap as if in prayer. I observed him
closely for a bit and noticed that it was impossible to discern if
he was even breathing. His chest did not observably rise or
expand. His eyes were open, staring out the window at the passing
landscape, but never focusing on anything. Very strange; a form of
meditation, perhaps? Occasionally, I would catch Peter glancing
back at us through the rear-view mirror. After about 20 minutes,
we came to a stop-sign at a crossroad.

	"Keep going. There will be a small paved road on your right
about a half a mile from here. Turn onto it," Charles said slowly
to Peter.

	We came to the road and Peter turned. A sign indicated it was
a private drive. It wound through a stand of old oak trees
intermingled, to weird effect, with hemlocks.

	Rounding a bend in the road, a huge house appeared. At least
three stories high, there were towering spires on both ends. While
the style reminded me of a Victorian mansion, there was an oriental
flavor that I could not quite place. I am not very knowledgeable
about real estate, but I would place this property easily in the
seven figure range.

	There were four or five other cars parked near the entrance; a
BMW, two Mercedes and a Porsche. Peter parked and we all got out
(that damn dildo still wreaking havoc with my ass).

	Charles pressed the doorbell and we waited, Peter and I quite
nervously. After a moment, the door opened and a small Japanese
woman, maybe 45 or 50, peered through the crack. She looked at
Peter and me, then noticed Charles. A big smile appeared, and she
opened the door wide. She wore a simple red dress, conservatively
cut. Bowing deeply to Charles, she said something in Japanese.
Charles also bowed, not quite so deeply, and returned a comment,
also in Japanese.

	"Please come in," she said, with only a slight accent.

	The interior was gorgeous. High ceilings, obviously expensive
artwork that was extremely heterogeneous in taste, ranging from
classical to romantic to modern, plush and deeply colored oriental
rugs over absolutely immaculate hardwood floors, and tastefully
placed indirect lighting.

	She led us into a large room lined with books and furnished
with large, leather upholstered furniture. Besides Peter, Charles,
myself and our lady-host, there were four men, a boy, and another
female in the room. The men quickly stood, all in formal attire,
including the boy. All were Japanese except the other woman, a
tall, leggy, very pretty blonde.

	What appeared to be the oldest man walked toward us with a big
grin. He was not too tall, but was thick in girth (not fat;
massive I would say); his hair was silver and the crowsfeet at the
edges of his eyes gave his face a careworn appearance. For all his
mass, he seemed to float, not walk, across the room.

	Peter bowed as he approached, and said something deep and
explosive, that sounded like "Osu!" The man returned the bow and,
this time, I noticed it was not quite as deep as Peter's bow. They
shook hands briefly and he turned to us.

	"This is Peter, and this is Linda, his wife," Charles said to
the man. Then to us: "Peter, Linda, please meet Akira Koshiwara
Sensei, my teacher and friend."

	"Sensei" took my hand and bowed deeply, his eyes sparkling and
clear.

	"It is a very great honor to meet you both, Linda and Peter.
I hope that my humble home and hospitality will not displease you,"
Sensei said. His English had a tinge of Oxford, rather than
standard "American."

	Charles leaned close to Sensei and whispered something in his
ear. There was an uncomfortable silence as Peter and I waited, the
others in the room also silent and unmoving.

	A little smile came to Sensei's lips, and his eyes locked onto
mine as Charles pulled away, also with a grin. I could feel my
cheeks begin to redden again and, for the first time in several
minutes, began to notice the dildo....

	"Please forgive Charles' poor manners. It is unconscionably
impolite to whisper about someone in their presence, as he has. A
teacher is only as good as the desire of his pupils to learn, and
Charles has always been a problem student," he said, grinning even
wider and putting his arm around Charles' shoulder.

	"My wife, whom you have met, would be honored to bring you a
drink if you like," Sensei continued. "Dinner will be served in a
little while. I hope you have an appetite. Please, come in, and
let me introduce you to my other dear friends."

Article 53772 of alt.sex.stories:
From: alcibade@tpe.ncm.com (alcibade)
Subject: HUSBAND Part 6
Date: 15 Feb 1995 16:21:02 -0500

			HUSBAND Part 6
			      by
			  Alcibade

	The introductions went smoothly, although I forgot the names
of the men in the room as soon as Sensei spoke them (my Japanese is
non-existent).

	The Caucasian woman's name was Clare. She was married to one
of the male guests: a Japanese "businessman" type that I've seen a
hundred times, but can never distinguish between. The boy's name was
Akira. Fifteen or sixteen years old, he was introduced as the son of
the one male Japanese who stood out more than any of the others: a
large, somewhat overweight, pug-nosed man (I immediately named him
Bulldog) who seemed polite enough, but his conversation was tinged
with just enough irony to make you wonder whether you've been insulted
or not. There was a disdain in his mannerism toward Peter and me that
I began to bristle at. And it seemed his son had inherited his
disposition, as well as his physique.

	We were offered a very soft Chablis and, after a bit of small-
talk, were invited to the dining room.

	Charles sat across from me, with Peter on my left, and the
young boy, Akira, on my right. Sitting for the first time since our
ride here, I noticed the dildo again; the discomfort was dissipating,
though, and it was beginning to feel almost like it "belonged" in my
ass.

	I had expected sushi or sashimi or something, but the dinner
was continental haute cuisine, and was simply marvelous. Sensei's
wife and, I assumed, his daughter, served the meal. The conversation
centered on a political discussion of Japanese/American trade
relations that was as esoteric as it was boring. Everyone spoke
English, with an occasional and brief lapse into Japanese. We
finished with warm saki in cute little cups that went down very
smoothly (much TOO smoothly, I think).

	My initial nervousness was gradually being replaced with a
warm glow and, I noticed, Peter seemed equally relaxed and at ease.
Charles spoke only rarely during dinner, and would smile enigmatically
at me as our eyes locked.

	After dinner, we retired to the "study." I noticed that Clare
had disappeared. The french doors were closed by Sensei's wife,
bowing as she left, and the men, including the young boy and myself,
were all that remained. Peter and I sat on a small leather couch,
part of a larger circle of chairs and couches occupied by the others.
I hadn't noticed at first, but there were candles in very ornate
candelabras burning at the outskirts of the room, and the lights had
dimmed. The effect was to relax me even more than the saki had
already, and I felt strangely giddy.

	Several of the men lit up large, black (and very stinky!)
cigars. There was quiet for a few moments. Sensei suddenly turned to
look at Peter and me and, with a twinkle in his eye, began to speak.

	"It is such an honor to have the two of you in my home.
Charles has told me a little bit about you, but I would dearly love to
hear more. Have you been married long?"

	"We've been married about eight years," Peter said. "Quite
happily, too."

	"Very commendable! And you are so lucky to have each other. A
handsome young man and a beautiful woman in love, very powerful karma.
Many wonderful songs and poems have been written about people like
yourselves," Sensei said, as he leaned forward. "I have been a
student, for many years, of the idea of 'innocence.' It fascinates me
and obsesses me. I yearn for it, long for it, but find that it
vanishes like smoke when I reach out to grasp it. Much that I know
about it I have learned from the literature of my country, and of the
West. But the most profound lessons have come from real human beings,
people such as you, Peter and Linda."

	`Bulldog' cleared his throat. "Well, Takashi, that is all
very well. For my part, the fascination comes as a consequence of the
death of innocence. 'The worm in the heart of the rose,' so to speak,
or from the deflowering and rape of Beauty. To use and then crush the
sublime and fragile is a desecration of a fundamental taboo. And
there is no greater pleasure or thrill than breaking such a taboo."

	"Of course there are greater pleasures, my friend," Sensei
replied. "For instance, think of the pleasure of protecting the weak,
of sacrificing ones' fortune or body to preserve, all unknowing to
that which is protected, innocence incarnate."

	Bulldog grunted. "What pleasure is there in that? There is
no pleasure in sacrifice except as investment in future pleasure. And
I do not believe in the purity of 'sacrifice.' All sacrifice is
selfish; you may sacrifice for the innocent, but only in the hope that
the innocent will love you for it and that you may therefore possess
the innocent. And if the innocent goes unaware of your sacrifice,
there is still the selfish hope that the gods will have recognized it
and put a gold star in your "good deeds" column. No, Takashi-san,
believe me, your 'search' for innocence is no better than a dog
chasing its own tail. And what will you do when you find it? Look at
it and sigh, like a doddering old man sneaking a peek at a
schoolgirl's panties? I know you better than that. That is not the
way of the samurai. You will do what all men do, or at least what all
men desire to do in their heart of hearts: you will take hold of it,
mount it, and use it until the `innocence' is squeezed like the sweet
pulp from the core of a fig. Am I not correct, Charles?"

	Charles glanced briefly at Sensei, who's eyebrows were
slightly raised, then back at bulldog. A smile came to his lips.

	"I choose the way of harmony," Charles said. "Just as there
can be no hot without cold, there can be no innocence without
corruption or, should I rather say, without wisdom. Therefore, we
should rejoice in the balance thus maintained, and enjoy both as they
are brought to us by fate."

	Bulldog rolled his eyes. "Nicely done, but it begs the
question."

	"Of course it does. Why meet a steamroller head on when you
can step to the side and let it pass? But I have a question for you.
You should know, first of all, that this beautiful young couple, Peter
and Linda, have been brought here to be used for your pleasure, or for
the pleasure of anyone in this room. They are both young and, at
least by the standards you are accustomed to in your country, quite
innocent and 'fresh.'"

	I felt myself blushing and noticed Peter shifting
uncomfortably next to me. His hand reached out and took mine.

	"May I ask your son, Akira, a personal question?" Charles
asked.

	"Of course," Bulldog said, shrugging.

	"Akira-san, have you been intimate with a woman or a man
before?" Peter asked the boy.

	Akira looked down at his hands in his lap and briefly shook
his head.

	Peter looked back at Bulldog.

	"My question to you is whether you would grant us all the
opportunity to witness your son's emancipation from innocence or, to
use your own words, to watch it 'squeezed like the pulp from the core
of a fig?'"

	Bulldog smiled sweetly (but with only barely concealed
malice).

	"I would be honored, Charles. And as I grant you this, I
would ask a favor of you."

	Charles looked quickly at Peter and I, as if debating
something furiously in his mind. There was a brief moment of concern
in his eyes, but he seemed to resolve the problem and looked back at
Bulldog with a smile.

	"Of course," Charles said, his voice sweet and smooth as silk,
but with an undercurrent of warning. "Anything within my power."

	"I would like to borrow this fine couple, exclusively, for a
few hours after my son has finished with them. I find them quite
refreshing and would be pleased to put them through a few paces."

	"Yes. Yes, certainly," Charles said. "That would be
acceptable. And it is so fortunate that it is you who have asked this
of me," he continued, his eyes flashing like blue steel. "If it were
anyone else, I would be concerned for their physical safety, that they
might be permanently damaged in some way. There are those who do not
value the possessions of others and dishonor themselves by returning
them, tarnished, to their rightful owners. But I would be happy to
have a man of your character, and trustworthiness, use Peter and
Linda," he finished, with a slight bow of the head.

	I could tell Bulldog was fully aware of the rebuke and implied
warning, and he stared, eye to eye, at Charles for an uncomfortable
few seconds. Both men's smiles were frozen like armor on their faces.

	Suddenly, Sensei cleared his throat and I jumped, the tension
in the room now palpable.

	"That is very gracious of you both. I know that I would
dearly love to witness your son's first time. It's kind of you to
allow us to be present," Sensei said to Bulldog.

	"And it is a sign of good breeding for a gentleman to be
magnanimous with his possessions," he said to Charles. "Stinginess
reflects a pinched and puny soul."

	The tension ratcheted down a few notches. Bulldog looked at
Peter and then at me with a smirk at the corner of his lips. I felt
myself blushing and looked away. What I saw in his eyes scared me and
made me shiver: his eyes were like mirrors. There was no depth to
them, only a cold and unyielding surface. I also noticed his son,
Akira, glancing furtively up at Peter and me, his eyes narrowed, then
back down to his hands. There was something unnatural about the way
they both looked at us... It went beyond "lascivious," into some
spectrum or color of desire that I could only guess at. Once again, a
shiver ran the length of my body, and I squeezed Peter's hand tightly.

	And I was not at all convinced that Charles' little
confrontation with Bulldog had made things any easier for Peter and
me. Indeed, I sensed a determination in that ugly man to explore the
limits of the ruthlessness I could sense seeping from every pore of
his body. God help us both.

	I turned to Peter and looked in his blue eyes. He smiled and
gently brushed a curl of hair from my forehead. I calmed myself and
mentally made the adjustment I knew I would have to make: I accepted
my necessary compliance and obedience with something akin to a soft
sigh deep in my soul; the body, I knew, would follow.

	Had followed? As Charles motioned for Peter and me to stand,
I noticed how terribly wet I already was....

Article 56686 of alt.sex.stories:
From: alcibade@tpe.ncm.com
Subject: Husband Part 7
Date: 4 Mar 1995 09:47:14 -0500

			    HUSBAND
			      by
			    Alcibade
			     Part 7

	Peter and I, still holding hands, stopped in front of Charles.
The room was quiet. I felt slightly dizzy from the saki and the smell
of cigar smoke. My stomach was turning somersaults now; fear and
anticipation combining to undermine my self-control and my composure.
Peter's hand was sweaty in mine.

	"You are both so nervous, and you needn't be. I understand
you are fearful for what will come," Charles said slowly and softly to
us. "Since submission is a state of mind as well as action, it is
important to prepare one's psyche so that the body responds in kind."

	Louder now, and to the whole group: "Peter and Linda, this
beautiful married couple you see standing in front of you, are my
little fuck toys. Linda, with her long black hair, her petite and
almost child-like body, and her emerald eyes, never previously
unfaithful to her loving Peter, has of late been a little slut for
me." Looking at me now. "How many times, Linda? How many times have
I fucked that honeyed little slit between your legs?"

	My god! I couldn't believe it. I could feel my cheeks burn
crimson. I'd never felt so embarrassed, so humiliated before in my
life. I stared at the floor, unable to move or speak...

	"HOW MANY TIMES?" Charles' voice exploded in my head.

	"I... I don't know. 10, maybe 12 times I guess... " I
stammered, my tongue thick and dry.

	"Yes. That's better. And that's about right. On several of
those occasions, I fucked her in front of her husband. Were you all
aware how sweet it is to fuck another man's wife in front of him?
There is a purity in so debasing the husband, which cannot be matched
in any other way; the sweet, tight little cunt clinging to your cock
for all its worth, creamy and warm, "his" cunt, "his" hole and refuge.
And as you fuck her, as you pump your iron-hard cock up into her
belly, you know he knows... He knows every lovely sensation because
he's been there, and because (and here is the deep secret of his
pleasure and, therefore, your own) he has debased the alter of her
cunt HIMSELF, and knows firsthand the lascivious thoughts within your
soul as you use his woman... "

	Charles suddenly sat up, and slid his hand up the side of my
thigh under my skirt. He leaned forward with a conspiratorial look in
his eyes and spoke to the other men in the room.

	"And you know what? I fucked Linda's little husband. Yes,
indeed. I fucked his tight ass raw, right in front of her. She even
helped me," he said, winking. I sensed Peter stiffen beside me.

	Charles continued his monologue, groping my ass, the movements
of his hand obviously visible under my skirt to those sitting behind
me. "She took great pleasure in it, too. Just loved the idea of her
masculine husband being butt-fucked and used like a little girl. Were
you aware, Peter, that Linda really got off watching me fuck you?"

	"Yes," Peter said, softly.

	"Yes, you WERE aware of it! And what was it you said after we
finished, Linda? 'Every woman's husband should have his rectum filled
with cum at least once?' or something like that? I'm not sure I agree
with you, but I'm sure Peter's little asshole appreciated it as much
as yours did. That's right, my friends, I've used every available
hole of Peter's beautiful wife several times, haven't I, my little
semen receptacle?" Charles asked me, suddenly pressing the flared end
of the dildo further into my distended ass. I went up on my tiptoes,
involuntarily, then slowly settled down. I nodded, avoiding his gaze.

	"So demure, yet so much the slut, yes? Wouldn't you agree
that your wife is quite the fuck-toy, Peter?"

	Peter nodded.

	"Say it!" Charles said firmly.

	Hesitatingly, "My wife enjoys being used as a fuck-toy."

	"Yes, I know. It's the damndest thing, isn't it Peter? You
pledge your life and sacred fortune to a beautiful girl who requites
that love, who is filled with life and love for only you, whose
shyness and innocence disarms every suspicious bone in your body, only
to watch that sweet little mouth you've kissed with tender love all
these years, wrapped around another man's hard dick, sucking for all
its worth... Don't you just hate it? Don't you just love it? Isn't
it just the most goddamned, inexplicably erotic thing you've ever
experienced?"

	"And as she sucks that pole, don't you just want to get up
ever so close, to see every little nuance as the ruby lips dilate
themselves and ride up and down its slick length? You can almost
taste it yourself, can't you, Peter? And god knows, you sure as hell
know how it feels to have those lips hard at work, am I right? You
know just EXACTLY what he's feeling as your wife sucks him, don't you?
Because in your mind, you're the one sucking him. You imagine
yourself the woman, your wife, submitting to this big old masculine
man, sucking cock, fellating him like only a GIRL would be caught
doing... "

	"And the shame, the humiliation, rises up your spine like fire
because you can also, in your minds eye, imagine yourself in the man's
position, watching another man's wife suck your cock as the husband
gazes on, knowing the power you wield as you fuck her mouth in front
of him, humiliating him and dominating him through his woman. And as
you masturbate like a madman and watch your wife swallow this
stranger's sperm, your orgasm explodes at the very moment you realize
that YOU are the one dominated and humiliated... "

	As he spoke, Charles had been manipulating the end of the
dildo in my ass with his fingers, the chains giving him some leeway.
I had closed my eyes and fought the sensations in my groin, as well as
the melody of his beautiful voice as he spoke, but I lost the battle.
I could feel my cunt lubricating, and I nearly forgot the small fact
that we stood before an attentive audience of strangers.

	Charles suddenly withdrew his hand and stood up. He nodded
his head toward the boy, Akira, then spoke to bulldog.

	"With your permission?"

	"Of course," bulldog replied with a smile. "Akira, you will
do as you are told," he said to his boy.

	Charles nodded, then said to Akira, "Come here, son. Don't be
afraid."

	The boy looked at his father for a moment, then sheepishly
stood and walked toward us. He was a large boy, heavy-set and thick in
the shoulders and neck. He was not a handsome child, but then neither
was his father... As he stopped before Charles, he glanced furtively
at Peter and me from the corner of his eye.

	"So, Akira. It seems to me from the bulge in your trousers
that you find this Caucasian couple attractive," Charles said with a
grin. "Do you like them both, or do you fancy one over the other?"
Akira looked at me briefly, then back at Charles.

	"She's beautiful," Akira said.

	"Yes, isn't she, though? With her long black hair and petite
frame, there is even a hint of the oriental about her, yes? Tell me,
do you often fantasize about American women when you masturbate?"

	Akira shrugged nervously. Charles laughed, then suddenly
grabbed the back of my head with his right hand, turning it slightly
toward the boy.

	"Do you like her pouty, rouged lips, Akira? You may touch
them... "

	Slowly, hesitatingly, the boy's left hand rose to my lips.
His finger pressed to the center, traced a circle, found the center
again, then penetrated. I opened my mouth to the salty digit, but he
quickly withdrew it and put his hand to his side.

	"Shyness simply won't do, my boy. Tell me, does it make your
virgin cock hard to know that this American woman, this adult, is your
plaything? That she will do exactly as she is told?" Charles asked
Akira.

	The boy smiled, then nodded, his eyes following the curve of
my neck and resting on my breasts.

	"Ah, yes. Feel free, Akira. Do as you wish... "

	The young boy looked at Charles, then at Peter, then suddenly
placed his palm on my left breast. He squeezed it roughly, then
twisted the nipple. It hurt and I grimaced, but kept myself from
instinctively pulling away. Akira quickly removed his hand, a little
flash of fear on his face. I heard Charles laugh again.

	"She may be here to be used, but never forget that she is a
living, breathing human being, Akira, with feelings and emotions, and
with blood pumping through her veins... " Charles cautioned him. "If
you hurt her, she will feel the pain and will react. Always keep that
in mind when you use another person's body, whether your lover or a
stranger... You must come to be judicious and compassionate as you
dole out pain and humiliation. And although they love the punishment,
they will also come to love your power because it is bequeathed with
an austere sincerity that knows and respects the fact that there are
limits."

	I heard bulldog cough. All eyes turned toward him.

	"Yes, my son, Charles is right. Remember that there are
limits. But they are limits that we impose on ourselves. We do so
for reasons that are intrinsic to our personal agenda, not because of
any externally "valid" morality. If they know that there are no
limits, they will love you even more for choosing to impose and abide
by your own. But never let them know what those limits are, for if
they know your limits, they will lose their sense of fear and
therefore their respect... "

	"Just so," Charles said. "Peter, let's you and I have a seat
and observe Akira's little tryst with your wife. Akira, she's all
yours." As Peter and Charles sat down, Akira looked about the room as
if to seek sanctuary from the many eyes upon us. A light came on
which seemed to center on the two of us and made the rest of the room
recede into darkness.

	The boy turned to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and
forced me to my knees in front of him. He undid the buckle on his
pants and unzipped his zipper. He took hold of my hair from the back
of my head and pulled me toward his groin, rubbing my nose in his
crotch, his hard-on pressing into my face through his underwear and
the opening of his pants. He released his painful grip and placed his
hands on his hips, thrusting them forward.

	Okay, I thought. My husband, Charles, the men looking on, and
this boy wanted a blow job. By god, I'll give them one that no-one
here will soon forget...