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Subject: Around the Cape of Good Hope (17/?) - Wife, D/s
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(AUTHORS NOTE: The following is a chapter of what I hope will
eventually be a novel outlining the exploration of the world of BDSM
by a married couple. Many things will occur to, with and for them
throughout the story as they plumb their hidden, dark, secret
passions. I am submitting each chapter for copyright as it is
completed so please do NOT REPOST or REISSUE it in any form
whatsoever. I did, however, wish to share a bit of it here and get
your reactions. Whether or not I continue with it will depend heavily
on your reactions to it so please feel free to email me about it.

More of my stories can be found at:
http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/jon_thompson_3/adult01.htm

 Thank you.)



Around the Cape of Good Hope
chapter seventeen
by MarArch

It was a strange, atypical Monday.

Stephan sat in his office, fretting over the approaching presentation
of the new marketing program which had finally been set for Wednesday,
and in quieter moments, considering the changes in his life the past
few weeks had wrought. A number of times he found himself reaching for
the phone, intent on calling Barbara, just to hear her voice, reassure
himself of...  something. But he always drew his hand back, never
certain of what he might say that would not sound foolish or alert her
to his deepened sense of worry. Then he would shake off the gloominess
and plunge back into the task at hand, filling in the spreadsheet or
adding another bullet point to the overheads he planned to use.

Once, when Lee came by to waste his time and attempt to appear as if
he served some sort of useful function, Stephan found himself
considering the heirarchy of the company... indeed, the heirarchies of
life itself, how everyone fit into their own little niche, always
above certain individuals in power and authority, always below others.
How unbearable it was to be answerable to one who was totally and
completely unworthy of any sort of loyalty or fealty. And those
thoughts brought him around once more to Barbara. Was he worthy of
her? Would he be worthy of her? He knew he was merely a rank amature
in this new world they had both sought out, and that his
responsibilities would be massive, calling for the whole of his heart,
mind and spirit. And there was so much to learn, so much to
contemplate. In a way, he mused, it was almost like attempting to
consciously become part of another faith, one that promised
revelations and enlightenments for all true believers, yet striving to
find that belief with slow, clumsy, pedantic steps.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. Where to turn, he
wondered. He knew it was  useless to ask Cheryl to take him on...
train him. And he understood why. She already had that responsibility
with Johnny and her attachment was firmly fixed on him. And besides,
he had  already asked her to consider taking on Barbara. She was
simply the only one he would ever trust to handle that without any
hidden, personal agenda. To now toss himself at her feet would be to
impose far too much on her time, her spirit and her energy. No, he
decided, he couldn't ask  Cheryl. Yet he desparately needed to be
trained, if he had any hope of maintaining pace with his  beloved
wife.

Then the glimmer of a thought raced through his mind and his hand
unconciously jerked toward his shirt pocket, stopped just before
patting it. The phone number, he realized. Opal. She was  skilled, he
knew, having experienced her power himself over that long, world
shattering night  the week before. She had fire and passion and
knowledge that he hadn't been fully exposed to  over that single brief
encounter. Might she know of someone who would agree to tutor him? Or,
 his mind inevitably conjoured, might she be willing to do it herself?
She did frighten him? That  much he knew. But then again, did she
really? She'd swept over him when he was off-balance,  ignorant and
blind to what he was letting himself into. Now at least he could
distinguish that 
he was in a new forest, even if he couldn't yet make out any of the
individual trees. And really, what harm would there be in simply
calling her, feeling her out, seeing how she felt about his dilemma?
She was, after all, possessor of that dark knowledge. Would she be
willing to share a touch of it with him?

He made a mental note to himself to find that slip of paper on which
she'd scribbled her phone  number when he got home, sighed, leaned
forward and turned his attention once more to the damn presentation.



Bob heaved, lifting the center of the frame and reaching up, looking
left and right, keeping pace with the other two burley men as they
walked it upright where the carpenters waited on their ladders to nail
it into place. Every muscle in his body ached, and having to keep his
shirt on in this heat made the sweat on his shoulders and back pool
up, sticking the fabric to his spine uncomfortably. But there was no
way he was going to go shirtless today. Not with those welts on his
chest and back. Worst of all, his ass was burning and sore, shooting a
sharp twinge straight through him every time be squatted or bent over.
Why the hell had he let Doris do that to him, he thought darkly. Sure,
it was a genuine turn on to crane his head around from where he was
tied face down on the bed and see her standing there, strapping
that... thing around herself... that fake cock. And it even felt nice
when she smeared the slippery whatever-it-was on his backside and
worked a finger into him. That felt really good, he admitted to
himself. But then, when she'd climbed up on the bed, between his
helpless legs and lowered herself onto his back, spreading out on him,
like a heavy, soft, warm blanket, he'd felt the tip of it pressing
against him. He was just about to tell her that he didn't want to go
any further with this particular game when suddenly he'd felt her
clutch his shoulders and pull herself up his back, felt the thing open
him, stretch him, slide into him. If he hadn't had her panties jammed
into his mouth and tied in place with a scarf he would have been
cursing and screaming at her, threatening her with seven different
kinds of death. In the end, all he could really do was just make a
loud, muffled noise of pain as she sank that thing, slowly, all the
way inside him. He'd bucked, thrashed, tried to throw her off, but she
clung to his back like he was saddled, sushed him and told him to
relax, that she was going to do it no matter what and he'd be a lot
better off just trying to relax. And in the end, that's exactly what
he'd had to do.

He'd let his body flop face down, moaning, feeling her on him, in him,
as she continued to  murmur and stroke his hair. And in a few minutes
he could actually feel his stuffed opening  begin to ease, relax and
the pain subsided. And then, very slowly, she began to... well, to
fuck  him. Slow, almost gentle strokes that went all the way inside
him, pressing on something that  shot an incredible sensation through
him, as if his cock was being stroked from deep inside and  behind.
And he'd actually gotten hard, feeling himself swelling, trapped
between his stomach and the sheets. And after a while, there wasn't
any pain anymore. Only that incredible sensation  mixed with the
mind-blowing thought that this must be what a woman feels when a guy
drives deep into her. And those thoughts and feelings started him
whimpering, just like he'd heard girls do when they were being fucked.
And damned if he didn't actually cum, feeling the hot jet of his 
fluid trapped between himself and the bed. And somehow, she'd known.
She'd sensed it or felt it 
or something, and immediately slowed then stopped, simply lying on top
of him, the thing still  shoved deep inside him as he lay there
panting beneath her. And after that, he simply didn't have the will to
be mad at her, or want to yell at her, or even defy her.

When she'd finally pulled slowly out of him, untied him and told him
to roll over, he'd obeyed,  as meek and docile as a puppy. He'd let
her tie his hands together again, securing the other end  of the long
silk scarf to the headboard, and snuggled up next to him, telling him
to go to sleep. And he had, just like that.

This morning he wasn't sure he'd be able to even get out of bed, he
was aching so badly in so  many places. But she'd swatted him on the
backside and told him to get up, and he'd done it,  without a word of
protest. And in spite of the shock he'd been feeling, in spite of the
hurt and  anger and humiliation, he had to admit to himself that he
hadn't railed or screamed or threatened her... because it was the most
incredible fuck he'd ever had in his life. For the first time, he felt
like he'd cum from somewhere in the center of his gut and his thoughts
had been totally  scrambled. And when he'd gotten a long, hot,
soothing shower, and dressed, feeling much closer to human again, gone
downstairs to kiss her goodbye, she'd looked him right in the eye and
told him that was the last time he was going to get to cum until he
was fucking Barbara. And damned if his cock didn't start to get hard
again, right there.

But there was no way he was going to tell anyone about it. And no way
in hell he was going to  let anyone see him without his shirt until
those damned welts went away and he could go to the  bathroom without
wincing in pain.  He just hoped, suddenly feeling the ooze of sweat on
his  forehead that was not generated by the heat of the day, she
wouldn't want to repeat all that stuff from last night too often. If
she did, he'd be all used up very quickly. And as he released his hold
on the frame and moved around to the other one, preparing to raise it,
he realized that as much as he loved her, she was starting to scare
him.



Barbara moved through the den, stopping to pick up a throw pillow from
the floor and toss it  casually onto the couch, bending to the coffee
table and moving things around, telling herself  she was actually
being productive. But in fact she was merely edgy, uncertain and
wanted to be  doing something, rather than sitting and allowing her
thoughts to rush away with her.

The loud knock on the back door came as a shock, startling her,
causing her to flinch sharply.  Then she heard it open.

"Hello!!?" Doris called out.

Barbara sighed, heaving an exhale of relief.

"In here" she called back.

Doris stepped into the doorway, crossed her arms, leaning on the
frame, a wicked smile on her 
face.

"Hi there" she cooed.

"Hi" Barbara said, turning back to straightening the small knick
knacks on the coffee table.  "What's going on?"

"Oh" Doris said, breezily "nothing much. Sorry I wasn't around last
week, but... well, I had a few things I had to do."

"Oh, no problem" Barbara answered, dismissively. "I was sort of busy
myself."

"Oh?" Doris said, her eyebrow arching. "So, did you and Stephan do
anything special this  weekend?"

Barbara felt herself blushing, in spite of herself, but didn't look
up.

"We stayed busy" she said quietly.

"Me too" Doris said, grinning.

Barbara looked at her friend, saw the grin and felt her own lips curl
in a mutual understanding.  In a moment they were laughing, the
tension ebbing visibly.

"We're evil" Barbara said through the deep chuckles.

"I know" Doris cooed. "And I like it."

"Me too" Barbara sighed. "So, you want some coffee?"

"Sure. You want me to make it?"

"No, I'll get it" Barbara said, starting for the doorway.

As she stepped up close to where Doris was lounging in the opening,
suddenly she felt her wrist  grasped, firmly. She gasped, stopping in
her tracks and was turning to her friend, a look of  surprise on her
face, even as Doris grabbed her other wrist and raised them, pressed
her back  against the open doorframe, pushing her arms over her head
and against the wall as if they were  tied there, pressing her body
firmly against Barbara, her face an inch from her.

Barbara whimpered, feeling the wave of startled panic flood over her
and fade, replaced by the  knee-weakening sensation of being
deliciously overwhelmed.

"You remember your promise?" Doris virtually growled at her.

Barbara gasped and nodded her head, the quick responses of tightening
nipples and clenching  pussy flowing through her.

"What was it? What did you promise me?" Doris intoned deeply.

"Oh God" Barbara sighed, her voice quavering.

"Tell me" Doris growled.

"To let Bob fuck me" Barbara gasped, her breath beginning to tighten,
coming in sharp pants.

"To let Bob fuck you while I watched" Doris corrected her.

"Yes" Barbara whined.

"And you'll do it, right?"

"Doris" Barbara moaned, tensely.

"You'll do it, won't you" Doris repeated, pressing Barbara's wrists
back hard against the  doorframe.

"Yes" Barbara whispered, feeling herself tumbling down into that swirl
of sensations.

"When?" Doris asked, quietly.

"Whenever you say."

"Wednesday night" Doris said firmly. "Tell Stephan you're planning to
spend the night at my  house. Make up some excuse. You agree?"

"Doris" Barbara replied, her voice a quiet sob.

"Do you agree?" Doris said, firmly.

Barbara hesitated for a moment, then surrendered to the driving heat
inside herself, nodding  firmly. Slowly Doris loosened her grip on
Barbaras wrists, slowly lowered them, letting her  fingers slip down
until she was holding her friends hands, gently, lovingly. She peered
at  Barbara's anguished face, the eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

"Are you excited?" she said.

Barbara nodded, feeling the heat rolling over her, the need erupting
slowly through her like a  lava flow from the deep pit of her sex.

"So am I" Doris whispered.

"I've never -" Barbara blurted quietly, "Not since -"

"You've never fucked anyone but Stephan since you got married" Doris
elongated the thought for  her. Barbara nodded sharply, sighing once
more. "Well, you will on Wednesday" she said quietly. "I want you to
think about that. Getting fucked by another man."

Barbara whimpered, feeling the moisture flow through her pussy, the
tingling in her erect, tight  nipples.

"Does that make you hot" Doris said, breathlessly.

Barbara nodded, now turning her head aside, even though her eyes
remained tightly shut.

"Me too" Doris said. She stepped into the den, drawing Barbara along
helplessly behind her.

"Come on" she said, moving steadily toward the couch. "My pussy needs
your tongue. Right now."



A half an hour later, Doris lay sprawled on the couch, naked from the
waist down, her jeans and  panties in a discarded heap on the floor,
her legs splayed obscenely, one foot on the carpet, the other hooked
over the back of the couch. Beneath her the cushion was stained dark
with her  eruptions. Barbara sat on the floor, still fully clothed,
her head resting on Doris' thigh, feeling the softness of it, the
coolness of the skin.

"I'd make you cum, too" Doris said quietly "but I want you super horny
for my husband. Hope you don't mind."

"No, Miss" Barbara whispered, nuzzling her leg for a moment.

Doris lay back, relaxing, letting her mind float over the ebbing
pleasure that was slowly fading  from her body.

"Oh" she sighed "I think I'll have you do that every day. It really is
relaxing." She giggled  deeply.

"Yes, Miss" Barbara sighed.

There was a deep silence before Doris spoke again, her voice
cautiously quizicle.

"Barb..."

"Yes, Miss?"

"I think I'd like to fuck Stephan sometime. You wouldn't mind, would
you?"

A sharp, undefined something stabbed through Barbara's mind and body
at these words and she  moaned quietly.

"No, Miss" she croaked, her voice hoarse.

"Good" Doris cooed. "I need a different cock. And I've thought about
fucking your husband for a  long time now. Not constantly, just now
and then. When I do... would you like to watch?"

Barbara could only nod her head against Doris' thigh, unable now to
force sound from her tight  throat.

"Would you like to be tied up while I do?"

Barbara moaned and turned her face against her friend'ss soft skin as
if hiding it.

"Yes" she hissed.

"Okay" Doris said, quietly. "We can do that maybe next week."

Doris felt a fresh, distant tingle ripple through her. She sighed,
reaching down, slipping her hand along the back of Barbara's neck,
pressing it gently.

"Right now, though, I need some more attention."

Barbara drew herself to her knees, raising and sliding close to Doris'
pussy, feeling the urgent  need to please, to obey, to satisfy. She
was home.



Stephan stood up behind his desk, lowering the lid of his briefcase
and snapping the catches. It  had been a long day and he was ready to
leave, to return home and feel the soft, gentle, loving  press of his
wife's body against his own in a deep, adoring hug. For a moment he
felt a pang of... what... regret? Would they be able to do those old,
simple, affectionate things any more, he wondered. Would they be able
to snuggle down on the couch, leaning heavily against one  another and
simply feeling the comfort and contentment of each other without some
lingering  overtone of this new aspect seeping into those moments?
Would they ever just be dull, satisfying  husband and wife again?

He sighed, scooped up his briefcase and jacket and headed for the
door.



"Honey?"

He closed the front door behind himself, leaned to set the briefcase
down and stepped over,  draping the jacket across the foot of the
bannister railing. It was odd that she had not replied and when he
stepped into the kitchen he found Barbara sitting in her usual chair
at the table, her elbows planted firmly on its surface, her fingertips
pressing against her inclined forehead.

Stephan stopped, his face furrowing in concern.

"Honey? What's wrong?"

She shook her head but otherwise did not move. Stepping over to her,
genuine concern now rising in him, he reached out to lay a gentle hand
on her shoulder.

"Are you all right? Do you have a headache?"

Again she shook her head sharply, once, and then he heard the sniffle,
that sharp, wet intake of  breath that told him she'd been crying.
Instantly a hot prickling flooded over him and he tensed.

"Honey, what's wrong? Tell me, please."

Her voice was low, croaking.

"I can't" she said.

He knelt beside her chair, now looking up, seeing her face half masked
by the hand, but clearly  noticing the tracks of the tears on her
cheeks.

"Yes" he said softly, soothingly "you can. Please."

"Oh Stephan" she moaned "I - I don't know what's happening to me."

"Why" he said quickly. "What's happened? Tell me."

He could see her body tense, straining with the burden of the thoughts
that swirled through her  mind, and finally she burst.

"Doris" she said, and the sobs began.

Stephan rose and pulled her against himself, feeling her arms circle
his waist, her face press  against him and the sobbing well up. He
gently stroked her hair, letting her vent the pain, not  attempting to
quiet her or stop its escape. In a few minutes the sobbing subsided
and eventually  she sighed, the tears now spent.

"You'd better tell me about it" he said quietly, soothingly, gently
disengaging himself from her 
arms and sliding into the seat next to her, leaning towards her to
maintain his hands upon her  arms, assuring her of his presense and
his care. She leaned forward and turned her face away,  and began to
speak.

She told him. About the visit Doris had paid that day, about her fear
of this compulsion that  seemed to be slowly taking complete
possession of her... this burning need that showed no signs  of
abating. She told him of her changing responses, how it was becoming
easier for her to be  swept up, suddenly and with startling power,
almost against her will. And then, closing her eyes  and laying a hand
across them, she told him of the promise she had made to Doris.

Throughout it all Stephan sat, his body frozen with tension, feeling
first a deep concern, then  confusion, shock, caution and finally a
growing outrage directed at their neighbor. But through  it all he
flowed with an overriding adoration for this wonderful, tormented
woman, and a distinct  sense of the pain she must be suffering, the
confusion of not knowing what was slowly taking her over, drowning her
in a sea of frightening, uncontrolled pleasure and changing her.

Cheryl's words came rushing back to him... it was a kind of addiction,
this powerful pleasure,  and the need in her was too strong to fight.
The compelling darkness in her mind and body were  bursting forth and
sweeping her away with each sudden arousal. And then the anger flashed
 through him once more. How dare this selfish neighbor, this supposed
friend, presume to utilize  his wife in this way, taking no care of
concern for her feelings, for her value, for her  vulnerability. This
would, he vowed silently to himself, not be allowed to continue. But
then the fear rushed up, driven by the realization that he could not
constantly watch Barbara, direct her, control her. He simply did not
yet have the strength to do that. Not yet. Perhaps he never would. And
to his confused shame, he felt a distant twinge of excitement at the
thought of her fulfilling the promise.

He sprang up, tense, driven by the mix of emotions coursing through
him, his impluses  conflicting within him... the protective heart, the
angry mind, the curious excitment. She  gasped, startled by his swift
move, her head jerking to stare at him, mouth open in alarm.

"Stephan" she gasped.

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly, as if drawing
strength from her, his body  rigid and trembling.

"Would you do it?" he hissed.

"Do what?" she whispered.

"What Doris said."

There was a tense pause, her words stuck in her throat.

"Probably" she said, her voice quavering. 

Stephan felt the stinging hot flash shoot up his chest and spine, a
blazing mixture of jealousy  and numbing sexual excitement.
 
"Do you want to?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"I don't know what I want any more" she whispered.

Stephan stood rigid for a long moment, paralyzed, his mind overloaded,
sliding along the razor- thin edge between utter horror and abject
sexual fascination. The only thought that formed itself in his
thoughts was a welling compulsion to form two words, a simple thought,
a second's working of the muscles of tongue and jaw and breath... do
it. Do it. Tell her to do it. But he  could feel the end of the blade
rushing forward, the deeper darkness of abandoning himself and  her to
this irreversable step lying at the end, and instinctively his mind
rebelled. He was not  ready to be absorbed by that unknown land. Not
yet. Maybe never, but absolutely not yet.

He squeezed her hand once more, tight enough that she winced, then
released it. Stiffly he moved to the doorway and back into the hall,
his steps mechanical, like those of a man trapped in swirling
dizziness. He bent slowly to pick up his briefcase, turned and mounted
the stairs,  stepping into their bedroom, laying the breifcase on the
bed and opening it. He withdrew his  daytimer and opened it to the
contact pages, his motions slow and weak, as if his body was  wracked
with a debilitating fever. He found Cheryl's number and reached for
the phone.

She listened in silence as he spoke, the disjointed thoughts tumbling
out of him in fits and starts, disgorging everything, the fear, the
excitement, the confusion. And then he fell silent.

"Stephan?" Cheryl said quietly, her voice firm yet placid.

"Yes" he whispered.

"Calm down. We'll handle it. Now, hang up. Call the airline. I want
Barbara here tomorrow."



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