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Archive name: madfuck.txt (MF, wife, FF, F/dog, bond)
Authors name: Walter Ego (Address inactive)
Story title : Mad About Fucking You 

------------------------------------------------------
-= This work is copyrighted to the author © 2000. =-
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
------------------------------------------------------

Mad About Fucking You (MF, wife, FF, F/dog, 
s&m, bond, group)
By Walter Ego


This story is based on characters from NBC's 
"Mad About You" universe, and is a legally 
protected parody. The author does not 
necessarily endorse putting Jamie Buchman in 
tight bondage and making her a come-swallowing 
little fuckslave (but boy, it is one hell of an 
idea!)

After all, who hasn't looked at that hot little 
woman, with her sexy hair-twist move over her 
ear, and tight little body and not thought, 
"Boy, I'd love to fuck her!" And that long-
suffering Paul, what better gift could we give 
to him than turning that prissy little bitch of 
a wife into his come-dripping submissive slut?
This is a NINE-parter. 


Mad About Fucking You
By Walter Ego

Act One
=======

"Jamie Awakens" Or "A Gift from A Broad"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN BEDROOM , NOONISH


Jamie Buchman stretched her long legs and 
opened her eyes to the bright morning light. 
Her husband Paul was busy at his studio, 
struggling to bring some documentary in on time 
and under budget. Murry The Dog was on 
vacation with Nate, the dog groomer, at some 
farm upstate, and here she was, sleeping in and 
relaxing. This was going to be a great 
morning.

She wished Paul was here, she thought idly as 
she pulled on her jeans. He seemed to be 
spending more and more time at the studio. 
Lately the spark seemed to be gone from their 
marriage. The stress of trying to get pregnant 
was wearing them both down.

She frowned as she walked past the bathroom 
mirror. She wasn't getting any younger. The 
"pointer sisters" were still good, but it 
wouldn't be too long before they started to 
droop. "Nice ass, though," she thought to 
herself as she turned to head to the kitchen.

There was a loud knock at the door. "This had 
better be good," she complained aloud as she 
pulled a sweater over her head. A quick look 
at the peephole showed it was Maggie Conway, 
the English bitch from across the hall. Jamie 
put on her best phony smile and opened the 
door.

"Your husband's pornography has come to our 
mailbox again," Mrs. Conway said, dumping an 
armload of brown paper wrapped packages just 
inside the Buchman's door. "I want you to know 
that those three were broken open before we got 
them. The mail service in this country is not 
to be trusted."

Jamie blinked. "Excuse me?" She stared down 
at the small pile of magazines. "Facefull 
Monthly" stared back at her. A laughing 
eighteen-year-old girl in seamed nylons was 
down on her knees, and something white and 
milky was all over her face. Jamie shamefully 
felt her panties go moist.

"Porno? You know, beaver shots?" The woman 
whined. "I don't understand why he just 
doesn't get the stuff from the bloody Internet 
like everyone else." She paused and watched 
Jamie's astonished face. The slight blond 
neighbor seemed amazed, and after a moment took 
Jamie's elbow.

"Oh, dear, you don't know, do you? May I 
come in?"

The dazed Jamie was going to protest, but 
she simple stood there, opened mouthed. From
another broken package, out peeked a picture of
a blonde girl on all fours wearing a green plaid
skirt flipped up over her bottom. A man's thick,
bulging cock was pushing into her shaved pussy.
Damn, did women actually do that? Under the rough 
sweater, Jaime's nipples were complaining about 
the heat.

Sympathy seemed to line Maggie's face as she 
took Jamie's elbow and lead her into the 
Buchman's living room, where she steered her to 
a seat on the couch.

"You know I'm divorced. Did I ever tell you 
why my first husband left me, Jamie?"

"No, I don't think so." The girl's got a 
shaved pussy, Jamie thought. Like a fucking 
whore. Taking it right up there. And she was 
*smiling *.

"My first husband was a man of strong...
desires," said the woman, shifting uncomfor-
tably. "He needed things I wasn't ready to 
provide. We British are popularly associated
with caning. He wanted that...and more. 
Blowjobs, nipple clamps, that kind of thing."

Jamie's attention was drawn from the magazines 
by the door, back to the woman's face. She 
stared into her hazel eyes, struggling to 
follow the conversation. (Blowjobs? Did I 
hear her say that?) "And this affects me, 
how?"

She sighed. "If Paul is getting this and you 
don't know about it, then he's looking for 
something...something you aren't giving to him. 
True, we'd like to have your apartment, but I 
wouldn't wish to get it that way." She reached 
out and held Jamie's chin. "Don't make the 
same mistakes I did."

Jamie swallowed, took a deep breath, and 
lowered her head. A wet spot was beginning to 
form on the crotch of her jeans. "I think I'd 
like you to leave now," she said.

"Well, I hope things straighten out," said the 
slight British woman as she stepped over the 
pile of magazines and headed for the door. 

"And if you ever need something, call me." 
Jamie slammed the door, turned her back to it 
and slid to the floor amidst the packages.

"Like nipple clamps," Maggie said quietly to 
herself with a smile, as she entered her own 
apartment and closed the door.

One tired and worn magazine lay on top of the 
stack, it's paper mailer long gone, and two 
others had been apparently torn open in 
shipping. She tore open several of the brown-
paper wrapped magazines, and examined them with 
a disdainful eye.

Cum Gobblers Number Eight. (Did Paul have the 
other seven?) Hard-Banging Lesbians. Oriental 
Schoolgirls. She ripped the packages open one 
by one...they were all addressed to Paul. This 
stuff was going out with the other trash!

Her bare feet thudded loudly down the carpeted 
hallway. Halfway to the incinerator, a 
magazine dropped from the pile, and fell open. 
Jamie stopped in her tracks. She spoke out 
loud, almost surprised that she would say the 
words that lay on the page: "My Little Anal 
Princess".

The girl was blond, and very attractive, but 
with a slightly crooked nose. She wore black 
nylons and pumps, long white gloves, and a 
tiara. It looked like she was in some kind of 
"Tower of London" dungeon. The smiling 
"princess" had her hands were cuffed in front 
of her, and her legs were separated by a long 
wooden stick, buckled to her ankles. (She's 
not going anywhere, something said in Jamie's 
brain. Not even if she wanted to, and I think 
she knows what's coming.) The stain on Jamie's 
jeans was quite visible now. She reached down, 
struggling to hold the rest of the stack, and 
turned the page.

A man's erect penis appeared in a close-up 
shot, an inch from the pink ring of the girl's 
anus. It had been rubbed with oil, it 
glistened. Jamie turned another page. And the 
tightly-bound blond princess smiled for the 
camera as the man plowed into her ass.

Jamie came, and dropped the magazines. She had 
never come before without being touched, but 
there it was. She stifled a scream.

Maggie Conway opened her apartment door and 
smiled. "I thought I heard you out here. Do 
you need help carrying all those magazines, 
Jamie?"

"No, no. Got 'em! Thanks!" Jamie scooped up 
the magazines in a bundle, struggling to cover 
her damp jeans with them. "Doing great. No 
problem." Jamie waited an endless moment for 
the smug woman to go away. Maggie closed her 
door with a snicker, and Jamie dashed for her 
apartment, clutching the slick magazines to her 
rock-hard nipples.




Act Two
========

"Big Dave" Or "It's My Dildo and I'll Moan if I 
Want To"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN BEDROOM, AFTERNOON


Jamie was steamy as a gardenia nursery. She 
slammed the door, ran for the bedroom and 
dumped the magazines on the bed. It would be 
wrong not to check these things out, wouldn't 
it, if the bitch was right. These could be 
threatening to her marriage...she needed to 
know what was inside them. Her nipples 
crinkled in pain as she pulled the tight, rough 
sweater off. The lubrication was running down 
her thighs as she pulled off the jeans.

A rather grown up looking Asian girl was being 
spanked by her teacher in one of those little 
Japanese paper-windowed buildings. Jamie's 
fingers were wet now, and busy. She turned the 
pages like a mad-woman, drinking in the 
pictures. Her clit felt huge. The girl was 
bound in ropes now. Pump, pump. She was 
sucking on a huge cock, her jaw stretched 
painfully wide, her lips red and tight.

Look at her, Jamie thought. She's absolutely 
overpowered, but she's smiling. She has no 
choice, and she's happy about it. Totally 
submissive. Jamie had always been the one to 
call the shots in bed. Once, to get Paul to 
shut up, she had licked his penis. Once. Just 
one lick. And her was a girl with no choice at 
all. That man is going to come all over her, 
or else make her finish by coming...in...her
...MOUTH!

The cute blond housewife screamed into her 
pillow, and felt her head explode. She had 
four fingers up her vagina. No, something 
primal in her dazed brain said, up her *cunt *. 

"My pussy," she said aloud, tasting the words 
on her tongue like forbidden candy. "My Slit. 

My fur-fringed FUCK HOLE!"

Her wet cunt was pouring like a river by now. 
I have to have *something *, she thought. Did 
they have any cucumbers in the house? Then her 
eyes went wide as she remembered Big Dave.

Dave had been a gag gift at her wedding shower. 
Lisa had gone down into the Village into some 
dimly lit sex shop, and come back with it. 

Jamie had blushed when she unwrapped it, and 
hid it under the bed that day. She rolled off 
the bed and rooted around under it, looking for 
what she wanted. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, where is 
it?" At last, behind a set of old high heels 
(that she hadn't worn in a year, she thought 
offhandedly) there it was.

She ripped the shrinkwrap off it and brought 
Big Dave out into the light. Damn, it was big. 
Half again as long as Paul, probably twice as 
big around. She had been repelled when she 
originally unwrapped it. Somehow now Big Dave 
seemed to be just what she needed. "Big BLACK 
Dave!" She said to herself. Jamie Buchman, 
who two hours ago would have sneered at what 
she was about to do, flicked the switch.
"DAMN!" Dead batteries.

She raced around the apartment, leaving a 
pussy juice trail like a snail all over the
carpet. Finally, in the back of the utility 
drawer in the kitchen she found a working 
flashlight. In a flash, the thing was screwed
open, and it's precious contents extracted.

A second later Big Dave was humming away like a
Mixmaster on Puree.

Jamie was ass up on the bed with the vibrator 
humming along reassuringly next to her inside 
of a minute. The next magazine off the rapidly 
shirking pile plopped onto her pillow. She had 
lost count of the number of her orgasms. A 
spark inside her had been ignited, and her head 
was spinning. She needed another one, and she 
needed it NOW.

"Dommie Dearest", she read from the cover. 
This magazine actually looked a bit older than 
the rest, although it had no month on it. A 
prim looking brunette with her hair in a bun 
was spanking a young blond bent over a wooden 
teacher's desk. Jamie felt a chill run up her 
spine. This wasn't some fake; the girl's 
bottom was cherry red. The inside cover had an 
ad for "real school canes, so hard to come by 
these days" at an address in England. She 
ignored a letters column, and began flipping to 
the to the start of the articles, but before 
she got to them, she hit the ads.

"Oh my God."

Jamie had led a fairly quiet life. When 
her roommates in college were out partying, she
stayed in the dorm to bone up on her classes.
She could only guess at the use of some of the
things she saw for sale...but some of them were
instantly identifiable. Buttplugs, the ad shouted, 
unashamedly. A woman was bent over some kind 
of stocks, and a man in a black leather mask 
was pushing an impossibly big one into her 
anus. Jamie shifted on the bed, rocking 
gently. She could never buy that. Would Paul, 
if she asked him to, or could she even face him 
with such a request?

With each page, she breathed harder. Nipple 
clamps. Wrist Restraints. By now, Big Dave 
had begun his inevitable trip, and an inch of 
the black plastic invader was inside her 
dripping gash. "Damn, fuck me, Paul, FUCK ME!" 
she moaned. The thick monster was almost too 
big for her, but every page made her jam the 
thing deeper. Ankle Cuffs. She wouldn't be 
able to get away in those, would she? Ball 
Gags. A wild-eyed blond modeled the "Red 
Rubber Model with Black Leather Bindings." 
Paul could bang her all night in one of those, 
and even the Queen Bitch wouldn't hear her.

Finally, Big Dave was half-way home, and 
humming away. Jamie was panting like a race-
horse, grunting with every thrust, and stopping 
only to use one sticky hand to turn pages.
A black leather clad woman in a hairdresser's 
smock stared back at her. Her nipples were 
being clipped by what she now knew as nipple 
clamps, connected by a gold chain. She was mid 
height, about thirty five, and had a black 
leather mask over her upper face. The most 
amazing hazel eyes peered out. "Riveting," 
Jamie thought, "the kind that mean business. 
No nonsense." In the next picture, the tough 
woman was shown standing in a beauty parlor. 
"We'll Make a New Girl of You", a sign 
insisted.

A timid brunette rang the front bell; a mousy 
girl, nothing fancy. The masked woman began 
the makeover. But this was something more, 
Jamie noted, rubbing her wet snatch. Before 
long, the younger girl was naked, and over the 
woman's lap. Jamie could feel the sting of 
each spank on her own naughty ass. Out came 
handcuffs...

Jamie wished she had the ballgag from the ads 
now, as she tried to hush her own moans. The 
older woman relaxed back in a barber's chair, 
and guided the younger one down, down, down. 
She was shaved bald. Jamie looked for the 
first time at the pussy of another woman, at 
the masked bitch's dripping snatch; how the 
lips, probably pushed and pulled by a thousand 
miles of cock, hung wetly, and how the younger 
woman's tongue explored them.

She came, with a shudder, but she knew more 
was waiting for her.

Jamie savagely pushed at the vibrating dildo 
and gained another inch. Was it like that when 
Joan did it, she idly wondered? All wet, and 
hot and pink? By now, the young girl was 
finishing her makeover. Heavy eye makeup. 
"Slut!" Jamie said to herself. Wet red lips. 
"DOUBLE slut!" The dildo was flying now, in 
out, in out. This was going to be a good one.

The pretty faced girl was pushed down over a 
set of stocks, her head in a black leather 
hood, all her senses blocked off. Nipple 
clamps now bit tightly at the young girl's 
tits, and long silver chains ran down to 
eyebolts set in the wooden floor. Jamie 
shivered. No getting away for her, she 
thought. The formerly prissy Jamie Buchman 
turned the page.

Her eyes opened wide. She suddenly knew what a 
"strap on dildo" was for. The Domme stepped up 
behind the bound girl, wearing an enormous, 
lifelike phallus in a tightly-cinched leather 
harness. The head of the massive dildo went in 
the girl's asshole. The bitch bore down hard, 
sinking it deep into the struggling girl's 
firmament, and Jamie came so hard she worried 
her heart would stop, screaming all the way.

On the other side of the wall, the Maggie 
Conway stretched and smiled, and went back to 
fingering her own shaved pussy. "The whore 
might learn something after all," she mused 
aloud.




Act Three
==========

"Dream a Little Dream of Me" Or "Eat your Heart 
Out, Patty Duke!"
---------------Interlewd-----------------------


Her head felt full of cotton candy. She was 
standing in the kitchen, madly scrubbing the 
floor, the walls, the sink, trying somehow to 
make them clean again. Dirty. Dirty little 
slu---...sink. That was it.

Jamie looked down, and realized she was naked, 
wearing nothing more than her black stiletto 
heels. In a passing moment, she wondered "How 
the Hell did I get here?" But then the dirty 
floor took her attention. She scrubbed the 
tiles on the floor roughly, her ass in the air, 
waving slightly from side to side.

She heard the humming at first. It started 
softly, then got louder until she couldn't 
ignore it. She glanced at the drawer by the 
stove, where the noise was coming from. It 
scared her, somehow. Finally, the drawer began 
to shake, and she had to open it.

A big, black plastic flashlight in the drawer 
had gotten turned on, somehow, and was shaking 
gently. She took it in her hand, and felt 
somehow thrilled, as if she shouldn't be 
touching it. Jamie felt herself get wet, wet 
as the bucket of warm, thick white suds she was 
using on the floor.

"Ughhh, ughhh, UGHH!" The noise came from far 
away. Jamie's ears perked up. That sounded 
like Paul! Taking the vibrating flashlight in 
her hand, she walked out of the kitchen, and 
headed for the bedroom.

The TV was blaring some old Disney flick, 
something about Snow White, but it couldn't be 
Disney, could it? Because when she looked 
going by the set, Snow White was down on her 
knees being fucked in the ass by the Handsome 
Prince. Damn cable. That kind of stuff should 
be on late where little girls couldn't see it. 

Jamie rubbed her friendly flashlight against 
her pussy lips, and it hummed back at her.
Had she been drinking? The room seemed to be 
gently rocking, like a handheld camera in one 
of those damn documentaries Paul was always 
making. She reached the bedroom door, and 
looked inside.

The girl was Asian, about sixteen, wearing a 
plaid school skirt, and was sucking Paul's 
cock.

Jamie entered the room, feeling like an 
outsider.

"Oh, hi." Paul said, placing his hands 
behind the girl's head, and pushing gently.
Jamie waited for the young schoolgirl to gag,
but it didn't happen. Her bright red lips just
pursed up a bit, and down went Paul's penis,
down the hatch. She noticed that the tiny 
woman was wearing makeup Paul had gotten for
her on their anniversary, the stuff she had
never gotten around to wearing. Slut.

"She can't be enjoying that," Jamie said, 
trying to win back Paul's attention.

"Well, she's not complaining." Paul said. His 
balls were now banging on the girl's chin. 
Jamie could see her throat bulge with his 
thickness, and the schoolgirl began bobbing her 
head, in long deep strokes. Paul was making 
the little whiney noises that he did; it 
wouldn't be long now.

"Umm...I could do that for you." Jamie was 
desperate now. And she realized she somehow 
hadn't eaten in days.

"You?" Paul snorted, his eyes shut in pleasure. 
"I think not. You wouldn't suck cock if your 
life depended on it."

She shifted uneasily. The girl pulled back, 
and Jamie saw the amazing sight of Paul's 
thick, pink meat pulling endlessly out of the 
slut's red, tight lips.

"Fuck me, Paul," the tiny Oriental woman said, 
getting down on all fours on the bed. "Take 
that hard cock and dick me. Put it in my pussy 
until I scream. Make me feel it in my throat, 
then come all over my face and make me lick it 
up. It's sweet, Paul. I want to eat your 
come. Give me a facefull, Paul."

Jamie's pussy was dripping, and she struggled 
not to put the flashlight in it right there. 

Paul couldn't know what a slut she was. He was 
going to see. But Paul didn't really seem 
interested in her at the moment.

Her husband reached into her old briefcase and 
pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs. "Take 
these, and cuff her hands behind her back," he 
ordered his wife. Jamie did so. Every click 
of the cuffs as they came down around the 
girl's wrists made Jamie shiver. With one 
move, Paul was "balls deep" in the Asian's 
shaved pussy.

"Yeah, do me, do me!" she screamed. "Put it to 
me, fuck me, fuck my pussy, FUCK MY ASS Paul! 
Ream me OUT! Bury it in me, come in my 
asshole, FUCK ME!"

Jamie lay a hand on her husband's shoulder. 

"Paul, her talk is upsetting me. I don't like 
it."

Paul didn't stop his pumping. "You're the one 
with the ballgag, Jamie. Why don't you use 
it?"

Jamie looked down and noticed that she was 
holding a ballgag, some kind of red rubber 
model with black leather bindings.

"Yes, yes, YES, lover! Do me! Pour that jiz 
into me!" At first the girl fought her, but 
Jamie slapped her face, and when she opened her 
mouth to scream, in it went. She buckled it 
tightly behind the Asian's head, which was 
good, because the very next thing that the 
bound whore did was to scream.

Paul had done it; he had pulled out, and had 
begun the assault on the girl's asshole. And 
somehow, the slut had gotten her cuffed hands 
in front of her, and Jamie could see her long, 
red fingernails as she diddled her dripping 
snatch.

Jamie looked down, and noticed the bedspread 
was soaked, not from the other whore, but 
clearly from her own snatch. Paul looked right 
at her, and stared at her eyes until she turned 
away ashamed.

"Dirty little girl," he said, and that was it. 
She grabbed the flashlight, and slammed it home 
in her snatch. It felt great.

"You could do that to me," Jamie pleaded. 

"I would let you."

Paul hunched over the screaming girl, using 
the angle to get deeper into her butt. "When 
I fuck your ass, Jamie, it won't matter if you
'let me'."

Jamie was close now, and she noticed for the 
first time that the Asian girl had blonde hair, 
cut much like her own. The slight woman stared 
into Jamie's eyes, and seemed to be saying 
something, screaming through the mask. She 
reached down and unbuckled the ballgag.

"Let me suck you!" moaned the blue-eyed girl. 
Jamie pulled the flashlight clear with a wet 
sucking sound, and planted her gash in front of 
the schoolgirl. She leaned back, and felt her 
tongue go deep in her pussy, sucking up the 
juice, tickling her clit. Her whore's clit.

Paul was spanking the girl now. With Paul's 
every thrust, she ground that incredible tongue 
into Jamie's pussy. She came. And came again. 
And suddenly, he pulled out, grabbed the girl 
upright by her long blonde hair, and began 
coming, grunting with passion.

It was incredible; Jamie had never seen Paul 
come so much as when he blew off all over the 
tiny Asian girl. The first jet landed across 
one eye, plastering it shut. The second and 
third nailed the center of her tongue, which 
she stuck out like a hungry calf; it pooled 
there like thick oatmeal. A blast landed 
across the girl's breasts. A dozen more 
splattered across her face, her thighs, until 
she was a huge come sundae, painted prettily. 
She was also fingering her slit like a nympho, 
and seemed to be having an orgasm on each and 
every wet salvo of jiz.

And then the girl turned to face Jamie, and she 
saw that she had been wrong; she wasn't Asian. 
She was about Jamie's height, and about Jamie's 
weight. And she had Jamie's eyes, though right 
now one of them was plastered shut with come.

The girl soaked in Paul's come, scooping it up 
like caviar, and spooning it into her mouth, 
which was now one big pool of sperm. Jamie 
fingered her now abandoned clit, as she watched 
the girl shovel the come into her mouth. And 
the then the teen leaned down, far over Jamie, 
breast to breast, and began grinding her wet, 
shaven slut pussy up and down on the woman's 
dripping hairy one. Jamie wrapped her legs 
around the girls slim hips, grunting like an 
animal, her warm juice squishing against the 
teen's bald pussy. The girl opened her mouth, 
and the wet ball of jiz poured out of it like 
some obscene fountain, and a thick wad of her 
husband's come filled Jamie's mouth. She 
swallowed, and came, and swallowed, and came. 
And then Paul roughly shoved the humming 
flashlight up her ass, and she came again.

**

When Jamie woke up from her dream an hour 
later, she felt like Sleeping Beauty. Her 
life was now divided into two parts, and a new 
day was beginning.

It took her most of the afternoon to find it 
all. The sales slip was still with Big Dave, 
so she had some idea where to go. Two bus 
rides later, she stood in The Big Wet Boutique, 
a "Adult Gifts Emporium." "Damn," she thought, 
"I wish I could stop lubing." It took $300 of 
her savings to buy everything she needed, but 
by the time she was done shopping, she was 
squishing as she walked. She had to stop in 
to a restaurant ladies room just to masturbate 
so she could make it back home.




Act Four
========

"What's for Dessert?" Or "Someone's in the 
Kitchen With Jamie"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN LIVING ROOM, NIGHT


"Honey, I'm Home!" Paul Buchman called, with a 
wry smile. The bus had broken down halfway 
uptown, and what with grabbing a burger, it was 
nine PM before he got home. These days had 
been rough ones, but now that the model train 
documentary was edited and submitted, he had 
some time left for the rest of his life. "Have 
to get the super to fix that damn buzzer 
again," he thought to himself as he keyed in 
the front door. Paul walked into the living 
room, and began looking though the day's mail. 
Bill, bill. He sat down on the cough.

"Ouch!" He had sat on some vidtapes. The 
labels made him shudder. At first, he was 
worried he had left some of his porn tapes out, 
until he checked the titles, and realized he 
didn't know them.

"Amateur Carpet Munchers. Big Bad Bulldyke. 
Up the Old Dirt Road Number Four." Paul 
grimaced and hopped up. "Damn. Has Ira been 
here?". Jamie would pitch a hissy fit if Ira 
had been doing the One Handed Fandango in their 
living room! At least she wasn't home yet. 
He'd have to box these things up and get them 
the hell out of here.

When he got to the bedroom to look for a box, 
he was knocked back by the smell. Jeeze, 
their honeymoon hadn't been this overwhelming. 
Had Ira brought a girl here?

Then he saw them, his magazines. These titles, 
he recognized. "Oh, man. It's the fifteenth. 
How did they get over here?" Then he looked 
around the room and noticed the box on the 
dresser. Leather, and lots of it. What the 
hell was Ira thinking?

When he got in the bathroom, he noticed the 
enema bag. And the bottle of Canola Oil.

"This is way beyond even Ira. What the 
hell happened here?"

"Paul?" Jamie's voice called out.

"Shit!" Paul turned and headed for the 
kitchen, trying to think of an explanation.

"Honey, come on in here for a minute, will 
you?"

He stammered as he opened the door. 

"Jamie, all this stuff isn't...:" And then 
there wasn't really anything he could think of
saying. He hadn't seen those high heels in a
year. The seamed nylons were new. The white
gloves drove him mad. He had absolutely no
clue as to why she was wearing a tiera. But
his demure, straightlaced wife was bending 
over the kitchen counter dressed like a whore.

"Hello, Paul." Jamie smiled over her shoulder. 
The smell was pretty bad in here too, and her 
apparently freshly shaved pussy was wetter than 
he had ever seen it.

"Uh, I.., where...Uh..."

Jamie took the kitchen timer and twisted 
it. "You've got two

minutes to get it hard and assfuck me." She 
lay her head down on her folded arms, and 
wiggled her butt in a way she hoped was 
seductive.

"Uh, I haven't got any lube, we used up the KY 
last week," he stammered.

"Right-hand kitchen drawer. One minute, fifty 
seconds. Make me your hot little anal 
princess, Paul." She closed her eyes and 
waited.

The drawer flew open. Paul was greeted by a 
small can of Crisco, some handcuffs, a ball gag 
and a rather large buttplug. The circuits in 
his brain were dangerously overloaded. This 
couldn't be happening.

There are times in your life, Paul thought, 
when you don't ask why. You just write the 
letter to Penthouse after everything is cleaned 
up.

His pants had hit the floor before Jamie had 
finished her last sentence. He grabbed the 
Crisco and slathered up, kicking his Chinos 
across the room. He nestled his rock hard cock 
against Jamie's beautiful pucker. He had never 
gotten this far before. He paused to admire 
the view. That was a mistake.

A raging fire burned within Jaime, the endless 
battle between the Good Girl and the Bad Girl. 
Paul had talked about it before. But however 
wet and ready she was, this was something that 
was a really big step. At that moment, Jamie 
wavered.

"Paul, this isn't right. Let me up."
He saw red. Paul Buchman grabbed the 
handcuffs, and before a heartbeat had passed,
his pretty wife's wrists were clacked together,
with the cuffs' chain wrapped behind some 
exposed pipes in the kitchen.

"Paul, no. Let me up!"

He reached down and twisted Jamie's left 
nipple harder than he imagined he could. When
she opened her mouth to scream, the ballgag
popped in place, and he buckled it down 
firmly behind. If it was possible, in that
moment, she was more beautiful than he had 
ever seen her.

"No, I'm afraid that's not a choice, Jamie." He 
leaned close, partly for the effect, and partly 
to secure her struggling body to the counter 
while he worked.

"Let me tell you about nice girls, Jamie. One, 
nice girls don't go prying into their husband's 
things without asking." A rough, stinging 
slap impacted the bound girl's ass.

"And B," nice girls don't wile away the 
afternoon watching bull-dyke porno videos, 
creaming their slits until the whole apartment 
smells like a Turkish brothel." A two-handed 
double spank.

"And three, nice girls don't give themselves 
fucking corn-oil enemas so their greedy little 
assholes are primped and ready." Another 
blistering slap. Her ass was really getting 
attractive now.

"And D, nice girls don't leave bondage 
equipment laying around the house so they can 
be easily 'captured' and boned up the ass. You 
don't weasel out of it this time, slut." She 
was ready, whether this was some little game or 
not. After seven years of marriage, she was 
going to take it, big time. He lined his rock-
had dick up with her glistening asshole, and 
slammed it home. She was screaming into the 
gag, he noted with a smile, but it was a *good 
* kind of screaming.

"They didn't answer the buzzer," Ira said to 
Fran. "Let's just leave them a note and go to 
the movies."

He put his key away and stepped into the 
apartment.

"Hey, porno!" Ira began looking at the 
video boxes. Fran looked away. Men! It
was then that she heard the moans from the
kitchen.

"Hey, you don't suppose they are at it again, 
do you?" she whispered. Ira smirked and crept 
to the closed kitchen door, creeping it open an 
inch.

He took a deep breath, and smiled wickedly. 
"You tell me."

Fran stepped up and did the same. "What 
the hell is that?" she whispered.

Ira pulled her back to the front door so 
they could talk.

"That, my dear, is the centerspread of this 
month's Wank, "My Little Anal Princess". Of
course in Wank, the girl looks more like Lady
Di."

"That's just sick," Fran said, turning away. 
She was squeezing her thighs together, Ira 
noted with a smile. "How could he make her do 
that?"

"Look," Ira said, pulling her close, "you know 
James enough to know that she doesn't do 
anything she doesn't really want to. If she's 
dressed like that, and taking it in the ass, it 
sure as hell was her idea."

"One more look," Fran said, and quickly crept 
across the carpet and cracked the door a bit. 
Paul was pounding Jamie, over and over. She 
couldn't see for sure at this angle, but from 
what Ira had said, Jamie was really getting 
reamed. Would he come in her, or spray it on 
her? Fran's hand drifted down to her own 
crotch, rubbing through her clothes.
In or on?

"You know," Ira whispered tenderly in her ear, 
"we're only about a ten minute walk from my 
apartment if we hurry."

Fran grabbed her purse, and they were out the 
door, closing it quietly. You didn't want to 
disturb a personal moment like that. And if 
she didn't get Ira up her ass, and soon, she 
was going to be bitching louder than Jamie.





Act Five
=========

"Bark Like a Dog" Or "I'm Not Cleaning THAT 
up!"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN KITCHEN, NIGHT


Jamie Buchman was really sweating now. Paul 
had been reaming her greasy ass for fifteen 
minutes, and it was more than she could stand. 

He had to be near coming, he had to. Try as 
she might, something was still missing for her, 
she couldn't quite make it over the top. Paul 
had pulled out for a moment, leaving her empty 
and begging, but had just gone to get one of 
the gifts from their wedding, a Champaign glass 
with "bride" on it. It was now between her 
legs, catching every drop of the wet pussy 
juice that was pouring out of her cunt. By the 
way she felt, it would be full soon. Then what 
would he expect her to do with it?

That did it. Her first assfucking orgasm 
arrived, and she flopped beneath him like an 
epileptic. Paul noted in the reflection from 
the shiny toaster that Jaime's eyes had rolled 
up in her head.

"OK, Jamie. You wanted to be my anal princess? 
You're going to be a lot more." He grunted as 
he plowed deep into her ass. She was feeling 
his balls slap her empty fuckhole. He was 
feeling her wet, slick, hot asshole grabbing at 
him, milking him. Did it get better than this?
"You know what happens to bad girls, Jamie?" 
Thrust, thrust. "Bad girls get paddled. Bad 
girls get chained up. Bad girls get fingered, 
and left high and dry all night." Time for the 
heavy artillery. "Really bad girls get left 
naked and wet in the hallway, for everyone to 
see."

Jamie saw herself, wet and dripping, chained 
ass up in the hall; dildo, hood and buttplug in 
place. She was a Whore. She would let anyone 
finger her, or drill her in the ass like Paul 
was doing right now. In an instant, she 
realized why the woman in the magazine had 
hazel eyes, and who really owned Dommie 
Dearest, and for a second, it wasn't Paul who 
was assfucking her greedy little hole. She 
came.

When Paul felt his beautiful wife juice, it 
drove him over the edge. He came with a 
scream, unloading several days of jiz into the 
oiled, sucking ass of his bound wife. Jamie 
felt molten hot jets of Paul's come scorch into 
her guts...it felt like she would be tasting 
it, it went so deep. A third really big come 
hit her. And at that moment, prim prissy 
Little Manners did something that Paul would 
hold over her head until the day she died. She 
came so hard her bladder cut loose.

He heard the first splash, and rescued the 
champagne glass before a drop hit it, but there 
was no stopping the rest. It gushed out over 
the kitchen tiles. Jamie hung limp, supported 
only by the handcuffs around the pipes, and 
knew in her heart that she had actually come so 
hard that she had fouled herself.

"Bad dog!" Paul said, and slapped her red ass 
off to one side. She hung there, as her 
breathing came back to normal, feeling her 
husband's hot, wet spunk drip out of her still 
enlarged asshole, dribble over her shaven pussy 
lips, and splash wetly onto the floor. After a 
moment, she felt the thick black silicone 
buttplug she had bought roughly wedged into her 
asshole, sealing Paul's love juice inside her. 

He stepped away, and returned with Murry's old 
collar, buckling the worn, soft thing around 
her slim neck. When the shiny silver buckle 
was dogged down, Jamie knew that she no longer 
was in charge, and somewhere inside she was 
glad of it.

In that moment, she knew that she was now more 
than her husband's little anal princess. In 
that moment, Jamie Buchman knew she now was his 
little anal whore.

If she expected tender afterglow, she was not 
going to get it. Paul undid the handcuffs and 
lowered Jamie to the floor on all fours, and 
roughly grabbed the dog collar, forcing her 
face within inches of the urine-slick floor. 

"Bad dog!" he barked. Her breath caught in 
her throat. Surly he wouldn't...

"See was a mess you made! Your housekeeping 
has been bad enough up to now, but I honestly 
didn't think I'd ever have to clean up this!"

"I'm sorry," she said in a quiet, little-girl 
voice.

"Sorry WHO?" he said, edging her elegant face 
closer to the filth.

"Sorry MASTER!" she shouted, hoping it was the 
right response. He pulled her away from the 
puddle and opened the door into the living 
room. Putting his thumb in her pussy and 
pulling carefully on the collar, he pulled her 
to the threshold of the living room carpet, and 
told her to stay. It never entered Jamie's 
mind to move.

He was gone only a few minutes, but they seemed 
like an eternity to the stretched, submissive, 
dripping girl crouching on the tile. "I've 
really done it this time," thought Jamie. Her 
nipples throbbed, and her anus had adjusted to 
lovingly grasp the buttplug. As the moments 
past, the noises from the bedroom indicated 
Paul was sorting through the box of stuff she 
had bought at the Boutique. When he returned 
to her, she didn't even dare raise her head.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he 
questioned somewhere out of her eyesight, far 
above her. "You've been a Bad Girl, and a Bad 
Dog. This is going to have to be punished, 
Jamie." Her heart began beating faster again, 
and she tried to clench her legs together, 
earning her another slap on the ass.

"From now on, you are to check with me every 
time I leave the house, to see how you are to 
behave when I return. My beautiful loving wife 
is Jamie. That's fine. But who are you, girl? 
What do I call the kind of slut who gives 
herself corn oil enemas and gets assfucked on 
the kitchen counter?

"Your secret slave name is going to be 
'slutpuppy'. No one is going to know it but 
me. If I call you that, I expect you to get on 
all fours, head down, ass up like this." He 
once again locked her wrists in front of her 
with the handcuffs, securing her on all fours. 

"This is the "Submit" position. Get to know 
it."

"Yes, Master." She squeeked.

"Sadly, I'm going to have to clean up your 
mess, so you are going to be in the Doghouse,
slutpuppy." Paul pulled her upright on her 
knees, and firmly took her left breast in his
hand. Her nipple was like a steel rivet. He
reached into the box and brought out a nipple
clamp.

Jamie swallowed hard. She had bought the 
clamps mere hours before. They were silver 
with tiny thumbscrews to tighten them. The 
clerk had called them "starter clips" as they 
had no teeth, but Jamie had insisted on small 
weights; each clip had a three ounce lead 
weight attached, to pull and tug as she walked. 
Paul attached the first one, and tightened it 
down.

No protest? Paul smiled. He couldn't believe 
that this sex-starved animal was his prissy, 
haughty wife. Good deal. We'll see what you 
can take, Jamie Buchman.

He attached the other clip to the right nipple, 
then connected them with the silver chain. 
Beautiful. And then, just for fun, he gave 
each one a quarter turn twist and reveled in 
Jamie's tiny moan. No time to test her like 
the present...

"Submit!" Paul watched in approval as Jamie 
dropped to all fours, head down. She grunted 
slightly as her quick movement slapped the 
nipple-weights against the floor and as they 
swung back and forth, tugging and pulling her 
little turrets. He turned away, and when he 
returned, he placed the "Bride" Champaign glass 
on the floor beneath her mouth.

The smell was the perfume of concentrated lust, 
ode de cumslut. She almost passed out. In 
that glass was the distillation of her 
submission, the wet liquids that poured out of 
her as she gave up her anal cherry to her 
master. She was repelled and attracted to it. 

And just as she knew hours ago that Paul was 
going to fuck her ass full of his wet come, she 
knew what she was supposed to do. She lowered 
her lips and prepared to drink.

Paul grabbed her collar from behind, pulling 
her back and choking the air out of her for a 
moment.

"Stop it, doggy!" He spanked her ass once. 

"That glass belongs to my wife Jamie. If she 
had ever thought to use it to sip up my love 
for her, I would have let her. I would have 
watched my white tribute slide down her throat 
like the finest wine. Or if she had ever 
thought to use it like this, just to be sexy 
and hot, I would have let her use that glass to 
lap up her own sweet wetness." She hung her 
head as he walked around her, his footsteps 
circling her, trapping her. Paul clicked 
Murry's leash on the collar.

"You aren't my wife Jamie. You are the 
Slutpuppy." He poured the fragrant juices into 
Murry's dogbowl, and slipped it under her face. 
He walked into the living room, leaving Jamie 
alone in the kitchen. As he sat down and 
scanned through the new videos, the only sound 
in the apartment was the gentle lapping of her 
tongue as she gratefully ate the meal her 
master had prepared for her, and licked the 
bowl clean.

She waited there, on the tiles, for ten minutes 
after she finished, vaguely sickened by the 
smell of her "accident", and feeling the sheer 
emptiness of her gaping and unfed pussy. She 
heard Paul approach again, and an instant 
later, the world went dark for Jamie Buchman as 
a full leather hood descended over her head and 
was buckled up the back.

"What the hell?" she yelled to the inside of 
the mask. She hadn't bought this! She shook 
and tried to get away, but between Paul's grip 
on the collar and the handcuffs, she wasn't 
going anywhere. Paul chuckled to himself. He 
had bought the mask seven years ago, but had 
given up on introducing it into their vanilla, 
missionary-style sexlife. He folded the ear 
flaps up so she could hear him, and whispered 
tenderly into her pretty, pink ear.

"Now, I want you to do something for me, 
slutpuppy. I want you to concentrate on your 
body. Feel how hard your nipples are, how wet 
your pussy is right now." He jiggled the 
buttplug. "How your ass feels filled like 
this. You are going to do as you are told, 
aren't you slutpuppy?"

Jamie nodded like a nice doggy. Paul began 
fingering her wet pussy. She moaned into the 
open mouthpiece of the hood.

"Whoops, almost forgot," Paul whispered. A 
moment later a large penis-shaped rubber insert 
was buckled into Jamie's mouth, filling it and 
pushing her tongue back slightly. She 
whimpered. "You're next big adventure is going 
to be cocksucking. I want you to think about 
that, and be grateful for it when I allow you 
to. I know you are going to *love * breakfast, 
aren't you, slutpuppy?" And with that, her 
master buckled down the earflaps, leaving her 
and her dripping snatch in darkness.

The trip to the bedroom was a long one. She 
couldn't see where she was going, so she had to 
rely on Paul's tugging on her leash and slaps 
on her red ass to direct her. The weights from 
her nipple clamps dragged along the carpet, 
occasionally catching on the shag and painfully 
yanking on her breasts. He pussy was dripping 
on the carpet, she was sure of it, making her 
trail like some twisted Hazel and Gretle story. 

And the buttplug, well, Paul took great 
pleasure in twisting it and sliding it in and 
out. When she made it, finally, to the 
bedroom, she thought it would be all over, that 
Paul would unbuckle her, release her, and that 
her life would go back to being normal.
The Slutpuppy spent the night on all fours, 
bound and hooded, at the foot of the bed, 
waiting to be fucked. It was part of her 
now; she needed to come, like she needed to 
eat. Paul's only kindness to her was to remove 
the gag so she could breathe safely while she 
slept in waiting. He did fold back her 
earflaps so she could hear him as he beat off, 
and as he described in great detail the picture 
spreads in the magazines; how happy the girls 
looked to be fucked, where they were taking it, 
or the smiles of the jiz-drenched women.
When he described "who was doing what to who", 
she didn't even think to correct his grammar. 

She just whimpered, thinking about how empty 
her pussy was, and how bad she needed to come. 
When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt she 
was being spanked by a hazel-eyed Domme, and 
thanking her for every slap.





Act Six
=========

"Open Wide" Or "Breakfast is Served"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN BEDROOM, MORNING


She awoke to the smell of bacon, and realized 
Paul had removed the hood while she slept. 

Jamie was stiff from being crouched at the end 
of the bed. Her loving husband had picked her 
up and unlocked her fetters, and left her 
sleepy form on their soft bed some time during 
the night.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he called quietly 
into her ear.

"Muummm, five more minutes," she replied as 
she rolled over.

"Nope, got to eat to keep up your strength. 
Going to be a busy Saturday today." He walked
out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.

Jamie shifted uneasily in bed, and finally got 
up. No sign of the magazines or the whatnot. 
She wandered to the kitchen. The floor was 
scrubbed clean, and all signs of last night's 
ravishment were gone. She smiled. Maybe 
things could get back to normal now, and they'd 
never talk about it again.

"Good morning, beautiful." Paul said, looking 
up from his Saturday morning paper.

"Mummm?" she said, tousling her hair behind her 
ear. She sat gingerly in the chair opposite 
him, her sore and tender ass reminding her of 
what happened only last night. Damn, she was 
hungry. Jamie looked around the kitchen. Only 
one place setting. "Where's my breakfast?"

"Oh, you'll get it in a bit. We have some 
things to discuss first."

She swallowed. "What kind of things, 
Paul?"

He reached into the cupboard and pulled out 
a giftwrapped box, with shiny metallic paper
and a black ribbon. "I 
picked up a few things for you on our first 
anniversary that I've kept until now."

"Well," she said, smiling uncomfortably. 

"What kind of things?"

"Open it." His face was blank, a page she 
couldn't read.

Cuffs. Leather ones, with inset metal 
studs, D-rings for tying
down, and sturdy buckles. Two slightly larger 
ones that would probably fit her ankles were 
included, and at the bottom of the brightly-
wrapped box was a collar. Not a slim one like 
the one she had worn last night, but a fancy 
one, with matching silver buckle. She noticed 
a small oval nameplate on the front, with 
beautiful flowing script engraved on it.

"Slutpuppy," she read aloud. With that, her 
pussy turned on again. She could say anything 
now, but inside she knew. "You've been 
thinking about this for a long time, then."

"I think you have been too." The words hung in 
the air. She looked away. Her cunt was really 
bubbling now. Paul pushed the box across the 
table at her. " I want you to go take those 
clothes off and put these on." Not a question; 
a command really.

Jamie stared at the contents of the shiny box 
for a moment, and stood to walk away. She had 
to get out, to think. Too much had happened in 
the past 24 hours. She turned and headed out 
of the kitchen.

"SubMIT!" Paul called out, and without 
thinking, she was down on all fours, head down, 
with her ass in the air. The adrenaline rush 
made her head swim; she looked down at the 
kitchen tile almost in surprise at what her 
body had done while she wasn't looking.

"Come on, slave. Let's go," Paul said in a 
disappointed town, and taking the wooden pizza 
paddle from the kitchen counter, gave his 
wife's ass a sound thwak to push her in the 
right direction. This jumpstarted the 
crouching blonde's brain; an in an instant, his 
beautiful, submissive wife was scrambling 
towards the bedroom, leaking wetly. Another 
such love tap along the way helped keep her on 
target.

She had her clothes off, her cuffs buckled down 
and her ass in the air inside of three minutes. 

"I could really get to like this," Paul said 
aloud.

He took the chair from Jamie's makeup table and 
turned it around, so the back faced it, and 
then flicked on the lights around the mirror. 

A thousand times he had seen his pretty wife 
here, primping, combing, getting her perfect 
body ready for a night on the town, or just to 
look her best on the way to the office. Well, 
this time, she was his creation. He pulled her 
gently to her feet, and with a slight shove of 
her ankles to spread her legs, sat her down in 
the chair. He clicked two metal cinch rings 
onto her cuffs, and locked her arms down low on 
the back of the chair so she was imprisoned 
facing the mirror.

"Make-over time," he whispered in her pink 
ear.

It took over an hour. He pulled out cosmetics
she had forgotten she owned. Skin scrub, 
moisturizers, facial masks...he took her face 
and did incredible things with it. Paul massaged 
emollients into her temples, cleansers and oils 
into her neck. She felt the tension in her body 
disappear, and she slumped slightly in the chair, 
receiving a light spank.

"Posture, dear," her Master reprimanded. Paul 
then took out a full assortment of Jamie's 
makeup. Taking his time, he did her lashes until
they fluttered, added rouge to bring out her 
cheeks, brushed a striking blue tone onto her 
eyelids. It seemed familiar, somehow. Something
twinged in Jamie's memory, something she couldn't
quite place. Paul then pulled out the Wet Lip Gloss 
#3. Jamie knew that color. Paul bought it for 
her on her birthday, and one look had convinced 
her that she was never going to wear it; it was 
a really bright red; a deep red that said 
things about someone so bold as to wear it. 
("Fuck me red," Fran had called it when Jamie 
had complained to her about it days later.) 

"You'd have to be a whore to wear that color!" 
she had told Paul at the time, "some kind of 
slut!"

"I have to get this right," Paul said, pausing 
to tape a magazine page on the mirror above 
Jamie's reflection. She looked up, and 
recognized where she had seen this makeup 
before. There on the page was the girl from 
the "Dommie Dearest" photoshoot, her 
beautifully painted face close to the camera as 
her anus was pounded by the hazel-eyed 
Mistress.

Jamie's eyes were riveted to the picture of the 
girl's face. A thick slug of pussy juice oozed 
out of Jamie's open snatch as Paul carefully 
applied the lip gloss, layer after layer, 
making her lips as red and shiny as a patent 
leather boot.

"Stay very still," Paul ordered. "I want to 
get this perfect." Jamie's breathing became 
ragged as the last layers of the gloss went on, 
her lips pursed out large.

"You know," he whispered in her ear when he was 
done, "you'd have to be a whore to wear that 
color." She shivered, and wished she could 
hide under the covers and finger herself.

He had her stand and put her hands on the 
vanity's table, with her legs spread wide and 
her head down. She at first imagined she would 
be spanked for some forgotten infraction, and 
she stood there, uncertainly, as she waited for 
the kiss of the first blow, staring at her 
slut-face in the mirror, and imagining what the 
girl in the picture must be feeling. Her 
asshole flexed. Dirty girl. Double slut.

Paul left for a moment, and she heard him 
putting a video in the player. The sounds of 
moaning women called seductively to her from 
the living room. When Paul returned, he had 
her leash. It clicked on her collar, and on 
order, she dropped to the floor. With a tug, 
her husband/master trotted her out of the 
bedroom. What awaited her?

He positioned her facing the TV, and told her 
to watch while he got ready. This time it 
wasn't one of the tapes she had bought from 
that horrible man at Lisa's store. It was one 
she had never seen before. There was no plot, 
no story. Just woman after woman...sucking. 
Oh Damn, he wouldn't make her do that would he?
They were pretty, ugly, gorgeous. It seemed to 
be made up of clips from other tapes. 

Cheerleaders, nurses, Asian schoolgirls...and 
everyone of them going at it, taking big, thick 
cocks into their mouths. Over and over. DEEP. 
And when the men came...she couldn't believe 
it. Thick spews of white come blasted across 
their faces, sticking to eyelashes, splashing 
noses. She couldn't do that.

"Master, I am sorry. I can't do that." 

She hung her head.

"Oh, don't worry. You won't be." He smiled 
That Smile, the one she fell in love with. 
She relaxed.

Paul ordered her to kneel, laying facedown over 
the coffeetable. "At last!" Jamie thought, her 
greedy little pussy flexing. Damn, he's going 
to fuck me! She was close, very close. She 
had wanted him in her pussy since last night, 
lying at the foot of the bed. She couldn't see 
the TV, but she could hear him change the tape 
to something else. This sounded like more 
conventional coupling. A woman was moaning, a 
man ordering her about. Paul brought out some 
rope, and tied her knees to the back legs of 
the table. He repeated the procedure with her 
wrists, this time to the front legs of the low 
table.

Jamie began to twitch. Her belly on the smooth 
wood, her arms and legs immobilized. She was 
building to it already. Helpless. He's going 
to fuck me and I am helpless. An old joke 
about "Relax and enjoy it" fluttered through 
her brain, and she finally understood it. She 
shifted her hips side to side, as much as the 
ropes would allow, and cooed. "Come and get 
it."

Two things happened next. She heard what 
sounded like the crack of a whip on the TV, and 
Big Dave wedged it's way up into her open 
snatch.

"Uggh!" she cried at the sudden invasion, and 
again when Paul cranked the vibrator up to 
"10". The TV woman was begging, pleading, 
promising to do anything, even "that", whatever 
that was. There was a long ripping noise 
behind her, and then something stuck to her 
thighs, trapping Big Dave inside her. So 
close. And she knew that Dave, like her, 
wasn't going anywhere.

"Damn, they're right!" said Paul with a 
chuckle. "Duct tape is good for *everything 
*!" There was a creak on the couch in front of 
her, and she looked up. Paul was naked, and an 
inch in front of her face was his penis. His 
erect penis. His cock.

"Yep, you won't be doing that." He said 
grabbing her by her hair and pulling upwards, 
aligning her slutty red lips with his foaming 
dick. "*You'll * be swallowing!"

The thick head of his cock arrived on her 
tongue at the same time her first orgasm 
arrived in her snatch. Jamie screamed and 
shook; it only stood to call her Master onward. 
Staring down into her face, her perfectly made-
up face, he began to rock his hips back and 
forth.

"Come on, slut. Suck! Don't tell me you lay 
on this couch, fingering yourself off, coming 
over and over, and you can't do this for your 
husband. I've had enough of that crap. You 
are going to take me right down your throat, 
and then you are going to have a belly-full of 
my come." Ugh, ugh. She struggled in vain. 

"Come on, slutpuppy, deeper. Relax your 
throat." Each pump seemed to gain him some 
ground.

Yesterday morning, a day ago, she had seen one 
magazine cover with a smiling girl, her face 
covered with semen, and wondered, "How can she 
do that?" Paul's dick slid over her tongue, 
his hand tight around the back of her neck. 

She struggled not to gag. Paul didn't know it, 
but at the "boutique" where she had bought the 
toys, she had stood in a tiny room, feeding 
quarters into a machine, and watched a woman do 
just this, in a kind of abstract, twisted 
fascination. Here, now, in person, Jamie 
Buchman was sucking cock. Paul had a thick, 
salty tang to him. He was moaning, talking 
dirty, calling her a whore. Which she was, as 
far as she was concerned. That's what her 
roommate in college was, when Jamie came back 
late, and Shawanda came to the door, with come 
on her face. Dripping down it. In wet clumps. 
Shawanda didn't care. The whore.

"Like me," Jamie thought.

Paul was pumping his dick fiercely, staring 
down at his perfect wife, his perfectly madeup 
wife, as she sucked him. She had passed out of 
being forced. She was moaning louder than the 
TV now. He glanced up and saw the perky blond 
on the tube being locked into heavy stocks, 
waist high, and his head spun as she was made 
to suck cock, just as Jamie was doing.

"Pucker your lips, dammit! If you do so much 
as scratch me, I'll beat your ass red!"

Big Dave was pounding her pussy; another orgasm 
was on the way. And her master was going to 
empty himself in her mouth. She was about to 
know what a man's come actually tasted like. 
And she remembered now, standing at the doorway 
to her dorm room, staring at Shawanda's face, 
and wondering what it would be like to lean 
over and kiss her, and feel that come on her 
tongue.

Bang, over the edge. And this time, Paul 
went with her.

He came screaming. But as her Master, he 
had only told her part of the truth. The first
wet jet went right down her tight throat, and 
she didn't even taste that one. ("Direct deposit",
Paul would later call it.) The second emptied
right into her sucking mouth, and she would 
taste that one every day for the rest of her 
life.

His body shook as the orgasm burned into his 
brain. And with an incredible effort, he pulled 
out of his wife's slut-red lips, and emptied 
himself all over her perfect makeup. A thick 
wet gob sloshed onto her left eyebrow, 
plastered her eye with come, and trailed off 
over her nose. Another splashed over her 
gaping red mouth, making her glistening lips 
appear even wetter as her pink tongue snaked 
out and licked up all it could find.

"Uh, uh, UH!" Jamie's tongue stuck out as far 
as she could make it go, her mouth gaping. 

"Gimme! I want it!" she begged, and her body 
shook violently as she juiced again. He had to 
grab her head with one hand, and like that, her 
shivering form held in place, he blew his last 
wet wad right in the center of her pink tongue. 

Her wet, smeared and destroyed makeup branded 
her as a whore. Semen dripped from her cheeks 
as she begged incoherently for more, with that 
last wet wad perched proudly on the throne of 
her outstretched tongue.

"Hold it! Keep it right there!" Paul barked. 
His heart was going to explode. That was 
incredible. He ripped off the duct tape, and 
his Slutpuppy almost bitched like his wife, but 
when he pulled Big Dave out and let it flop, 
humming on the ground, he thought she was going 
to go insane. To her credit as a slave, 
though, she held his gift on her tongue, and 
didn't spill a drop.

He knelt down in front of her, his stern face 
to her wet, dripping one. She couldn't escape 
his eyes. She imagined what he saw...his 
prissy, complaining wife covered with his come. 

Her eye stung when she tried to open it. As 
she lay there, tied before him, in the terrible 
silence, she could actually *hear * the jiz 
sliding down her face. He looked into her eyes 
lovingly, but as her master. She knew what he 
was going to say even before she heard it.

"Swallow it," he ordered. And she did. And 
it burned all the way down to her stomach, warm 
and wet, and when the flavor of his come had 
etched itself into her tastebuds, she knew she 
was lost, and she would do anything he asked 
her to. She was his slutpuppy, now and 
forever.



Act Seven
=========

"Baby's Gone Shopping" Or "A Pornshop Owner 
Puts a Really Big Buttfplug Up the Slutpuppy's
Cute Ass"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN LIVING ROOM, MORNING


He left her there, tied down tightly, with his 
come drying on her face, while he went out to 
the corner store to pick up a carton of milk. 
She was uncomfortable, and yet exhilarated. 

Paul had dragged the TV around in front of her 
and popped in a tape. Some woman in black 
leather was spanking a short blonde, and making 
her suck a big black strap-on dildo. Paul had 
tied her with her legs so far apart that she 
couldn't bring herself off, but if she kept 
rocking her ass, she might be able to bump her 
clit against the table. She grunted with 
exertion, trying to come.

The phone rang loudly three times, and the 
machine got it.

"Hey Paulie," Ira called. "Got some 
interesting stories to tell you. Oh, and your
buzzer is broken, ya' yutz. I'll just come 
right up and key in. Save me some breakfast."

Jamie panicked. "He's coming over right now. 
Ten minutes. tops. And I'm laying tied down 
over my own coffeetable watching bull dyke 
bondage with my husband's dried come on my 
face."

Her earlier rocking was nothing compared to 
what she was doing now. Minutes past as she 
tried to escape, but she was tied by an expert. 
When she heard the key in the lock, her heart 
skipped a beat.

Paul had the milk, and walked into the 
kitchen.

"Paul! Help! Ira's coming over!" The girl on
the TV was now munching carpet, sticking her 
tongue deep into the steamy unshaved snatch of 
her lover, while her ass was spanked. Jamie 
tried to free herself, and managed only to 
bump her clit against the table. She screamed 
in pleasure and frustration.

"I know. I invited him," Paul called from the 
kitchen. "You know, we just don't see enough 
of him."

Jamie flopped on the table, struggling, her 
eyes wide. No, no...he wouldn't.

"I thought I could serve breakfast out here on 
the coffeetable," Paul snickered, walking up to 
her. There was a knock at the door.

"Hold on," Paul called out, cutting his wife's 
bonds with a sharp pair of scissors. He pulled 
her up, her stiff limbs complaining, and 
escorted her into the hallway closet, shoving 
the ropes and stuff in with her.

"Stay here, and don't wipe off!" he ordered, 
firmly. She crouched hidden in her own 
closet, smelling Paul's wet juice powerfully in 
the small space, with cuffs on her hands and 
feet, and her collar around her neck. She 
prayed Ira, hadn't worn a coat.

"Hey, Splinky, let me take your coat."

"Pauly, you goofball, I don't have a coat. 

Do I smell bacon? Hey, let me tell you about 
what happened to Fran and ME last night!"

They moved into the kitchen and out of ear 
range. She caught snippets of conversation. 
Ira must be going to Pennsylvania for his 
vacation...something about the "Hershey 
Highway." Thank goodness, he didn't seem to 
know anything about what had happened here. 
Paul would keep this quiet, she knew he would. 

She couldn't let anyone find out she had been 
slutting around like this. She actually sucked 
cock, and swallowed. And took it up the ass, 
she still couldn't really believe that. Jeeze, 
she was *stiff *. She stretched, and her hand 
bumped into Big Dave.

Her eyes went wide. No, she wouldn't do it. 
Here it was, in her hands. She could...but she 
wouldn't. What kind of animal would she be if 
she couldn't hold off five minutes until Ira 
left. He might know she was in here if she 
did. She couldn't risk getting caught. In 
here, covered with come, fucking herself on a 
big, black, ribbed, vibrating dildo. A slut, a 
whore, a cock-sucking, ass fucking little anal 
princess, who...

She slammed it in deep in one stroke, clicked 
it on and was off.

In, out. In, out. In, TWIST, out. Gonna come, 
gonna...

The door came open and daylight flooded in. A 
figure stood tall against the sunshine, and 
Jamie couldn't make out who it was. But before 
her eyes adjusted, she came, screaming.

"You little whore," Paul said, in an approving 
tone. "I could hear that thing go on from the 
kitchen. You're lucky I was able to hustle Ira 
out of here."

He spanked her, of course, for being such a 
greedy little slut, and coming without 
permission. She lay, bareass naked (what 
else?) over his lap, in her cuffs, and accepted 
her punishment gracefully, counting her spanks 
like a good little slave. Some part of her 
noted that this was getting easier all the 
time, that to give him complete control of her 
body was now the easiest thing in the world. 
By the time he got to ten, she was purring deep 
in her throat, and pushing her red ass up to 
meet his strokes.

He did make her breakfast, finally. Pancakes 
and bacon, with scrambled eggs on the side. 
But to her, every mouthful tasted of him. The 
syrup pooled obscenely on her tongue, reminding 
her of being tied and lapping up Paul's come 
like candy. She smiled to herself, and sucked 
up every drop.

He had her get dressed, and as soon as the 
cuffs were off, began calling her Jamie again. 
They spent the day together. Lunch at a little 
deli near the building, the afternoon at the 
Zoo. Around five o'clock the fall air got a 
bit chilly, and Jamie cinched her trench coat 
around her to keep out the chill. They stopped 
for a bite at some Mexican place, and Paul 
pulled her close.

"Give me your panties," he said with a grin.

Jamie blushed and looked away. "Come on, 
Paul. Not here!" she laughed.

He stared into her eyes with That Look. No 
longer husband Paul...Master Paul. She 
shivered, and not entirely from the cold. 
Jamie looked around the deserted restaurant, 
and once she knew she was clear, obediently 
removed her panties and placed them in her 
Master's hands. Her cunt began warming up 
instantly, the cold matched by it's own lustful 
heat.

As they meandered around the city into little 
shops, Paul's beautiful wife began to realize 
that he had lead them somewhere she 
knew...somewhere she knew all too well. The 
neon sign for "The Big Wet Boutique" flashed at 
here across the street. Paul had one arm 
around her and a hand clutching her elbow as he 
walked her to the front door. Before going in 
the shop, he pulled her cuffs out of his 
pocket, and buckled them on her wrists.

The same seedy guy was behind the counter, 
unpacking boxes. He looked up and down Jamie's 
slim frame, and smiled. "Howdy, mam! Forget 
something?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Paul said, 
confidently, in the voice that had pitched a 
thousand documentaries and sold most of them, 
"yes, she did. My slave here came down to 
purchase a few things yesterday, and I've got a 
small problem. Isn't that right, slave?"

"Mummbmbmb", Jamie replied.

"Repeat that," Master Paul warned.

"Yes, Master." Her eyes took in the floor.

He turned to the owner. "She was supposed 
to come home with a buttplug that would really 
open her up, that she could use to loosen her
ass up more, and she brought me this tiny thing."
The plug that Jamie had bought flopped on the 
counter.

"Hey, no returns," the owner said. "Even we 
have standards!"

"Oh no," her Master replied. "I just wondered 
if you could recommend another, bigger one we 
could buy." He turned to Jamie.

"Slave, put your hands on the counter."

Jamie Buchman of a week ago would have been 
shocked. But of course, Jamie Buchman of a 
week ago wouldn't be standing in a porno shop 
on the wrong side of town without panties. She 
placed her hands and spread her legs. Somehow, 
she knew what was coming. Paul lifted the tail 
of her coat, and clipped it up with a set of 
nipple clamps provided by the owner. She 
stood, exposed and embarrassed in the truest 
sense of the word.

"I suspect I am going to need a paddle if she 
keeps getting out of line. Show me something."

The seedy man offered Paul a selection of 
paddles, and finally Slutpuppy's Master chose 
one. Five good slaps hurt like blazes, and 
felt worse than the twenty she had gotten this 
morning. Finally, he was done. Tears streamed 
down her cheeks, but she realized later that 
not once had she thought to ask Paul to stop.
"Now, about that plug," he said.

"We have several nice ones, larger than that 
economy model you came in with." At last, Paul 
chose a large, tapered one with a round rubber 
ring at the end. "That one is especially nice. 
With the taper and the ring, you can tie it in 
easily for all day wear. Really open her up."

"Could you put it in for me so I see how it 
works? Her master asked.

The grimy little man greased the plug with 
Astroglide, and placed it at the pucker of 
Slutpuppy's ass. Jamie felt all her breath 
rush out, as if her whole universe contracted 
and spun on that little dark hole. He pushed, 
and pushed some more. Her ass opened like a 
reluctant flower, and she felt the plug sink 
deep inside her. The last inch hurt horribly; 
she bit her knuckle and moaned out loud, not 
caring who heard her. Finally the worst was 
passed, and it sank into her ass. Paul put his 
finger in the ring on the plug, and jiggled it. 

Her juice was trickling onto the floor. He 
unclipped her coat, and it fell back, covering 
her ass like the curtain coming down on an off-
Broadway play.

The applause snapped her back to reality. She 
looked up and three men who had come out from 
the quarter booths smiled at her performance. 

She wanted to sink through the floor. Could 
she go any lower without being no more than a 
gaping asshole and a constantly juicing pussy?

"She'll wear it home," he said. Paul dropped 
the old buttplug into the garbage can. "This one
isn't going to fit her before long. Slave, thank
the man. *Nicely.*"

"Thank...thank you for the lovely buttplug." 

Paul stared at her. "And for putting it up my 
naughty slut-ass. And thank you for the 
spanking, Master."

"There's something you forgot, slutpuppy." 

Jamie stared questioningly. Paul grabbed her 
neck firmly and pointed her eyes downward. 

"You've made a mess on this nice man's floor."

Without even thinking Jamie Buchman, Phi Beta 
Kappa and PhD, got down on her hands and knees 
in a pornshop and licked her wet juice off the 
floor. She had to, didn't she? Her Master 
told her to.

Satisfied, Paul paid the man and they left. On 
the way home, they took a ride in a covered 
horse-drawn carriage around the park, and Jamie 
blew him in the darkness, while he pushed and 
pulled on her buttplug until she came wetly.




Act Eight
==========

"Ready to Roll" Or "Going Down"
INTERIOR, BUCHMAN LIVING ROOM, MORNING

They slept in on Sunday, and awoke to the 
Sunday Times. By now, Jamie was wearing her 
buttplug to bed, and keeping her opinions about 
it to herself, lest she get in even more 
trouble. It was strange. Today was just like 
Before; read the paper, have some breakfast, 
except that her Master had put this large plug 
in her bottom, and she had to ask permission to 
remove it when she needed to.

By the bed, Paul had rescued her old briefcase, 
and had commandeered it for a higher task...to 
hold all her toys. It now contained her dildo, 
the buttplug (if she wasn't wearing it), KY, 
assorted ropes, her hood, and her collar and 
cuffs (her "slut suit", as Paul called it.) It 
made her feel oddly comfortable, knowing that a 
few feet away, available on call, was a whole 
different Jamie.

They had a great day. Paul talked excitedly of 
his next hot film prospects, of the glories of 
the city, of the pictures in his head. She 
called a few friends and shot the breeze. The 
very act of doing the commonplace while this 
thing filled her up was tremendously exciting. 
That night, they ordered Chinese and watched 
the umpteenth rerun of "Citizen Kane", with 
Paul recounting from memory all the missing 
footage they pulled to sell more commercial 
time.

Around nine, they went to bed early, side by 
side. Two minutes of cuddling, and she was 
asleep.

The alarm rang, and she slapped it off. Paul 
got up and she heard him rummaging around. The 
light snapped on.

"Up and at 'em, Slutpuppy!"

Jamie squinted at the clock. "It's midnight, 
for gosh sakes!" She rolled over and pulled 
the covers after her. 

("Stealing them like always," thought Paul.) 
"HEY!" she shrieked, when he pulled them off 
her and whacked her ass.

"The Briefcase open, and your snatch better be 
too, if you know what is good for you. 
Bathroom, now."

The look in his eye was fiery, so she hurried 
on all fours as she had been taught. He gave 
her plug a "push and twist" as she went by him.
"You've got seven minutes to shower, dry your 
hair and present yourself to me. Better 
hurry!"

In six, she was fluffed dry, and very wet. He 
sat her at the makeup table and proceeded to 
shave her legs, armpits and pussy, ensuring 
that the job she had done Friday was perfect. 
When it was done, he produced a set of the 
sheerest nylons for her, with a garter belt to 
support them. Paul assisted her in dressing. 

More face makeup was applied, until she looked 
like a fashion model trying to look like a 
whore (or was that a whore trying to look like 
a fashion model?) The black heels filled out 
the outfit, along with her silver nipple 
clamps. The last addition was a 1940's-style 
pillbox hat with a veil, left over from a 
Halloween party two years ago.

Paul had forgotten how truly beautiful his wife 
was until she stood before him, dressed to the 
nines. Jamie felt drop-dead sexy, looking at 
herself in the mirror. "Kitchen or living 
room, Master?" She said with a smile.

He clicked on her collar and leash, then 
turned and stared at her.

"Just your collar tonight, because I know 
you are going to do what you are told, and 
I won't need to force you. I'm counting on you,
Jamie. You know what it is like to have your 
ass paddled in front of strangers, and you know
what it is like to feel my come down your throat.
You also know what it is like to take your 
husband's rock-hard dick in your ass, and come 
from that alone. So I know you are going to do 
what you are told. Isn't that right?"

She breathed hard, and swallowed. My Damn, 
what could he be leading up to?

"Tell me what you are, Jamie."

"I am a cock-sucking whore, Paul. I like big 
hard vibrators in my pussy, if they make me 
come. I like to take your cock in my ass, 
because it makes me feel dirty and it makes me 
juice. I like the feel of nipple clamps on my 
breasts, because they make them feel big and 
naughty. I like being helpless while you force 
me to come. I like having you force me to 
masturbate; it excites me to get you horny. I
want to be your juicy little fuck toy. I want
to do as you tell me, Paul. I want you to be 
my Master."

He led her by her leash to the front door. 
While she trembled, he put a blindfold on her. 
She froze.

"Tell me we aren't going outside like this," 
she pleaded.

"Hey, do you trust me?" he whispered in her 
ear. She heard the door open. He tugged on 
her leash, and lead her out into the hallway.

She gasped in relief as he turned her left, 
away from the elevator, and began walking, 
pulling her along, wobbly on the heels. Her 
mind raced...the only things this way were 
three apartments and the building stairs. What 
was he doing? Anybody could be out here, even 
though it was late at night, New York ran all 
the time. Somebody coming back from a late 
movie might see her, or their friends, always 
dropping by, might be treated to Jamie Buchman, 
her nipples clamped and her pussy dripping 
being led down the hall on a fucking LEASH. The 
thought terrified her, and almost made her 
come.

Twenty uncertain steps later, she heard the 
door to the stairway open, and her Master drew 
her into the stairwell. Paul pulled off her 
blindfold and straitened her hat.

"Down we go," he said.

She was going to stain the nylons before long,
she knew it. Her greedy little snatch was 
getting ready for the Cock Express. The sexy
*shwimmm* of her stocking-clad legs served 
only to drive her senses higher. Damn, the 
feeling of walking hidden down these stairs, 
practically naked, nice and juicy, with her 
buttplug wiggling in her ass. How the hell 
had she become this sensual little cum 
dumpster? Two days ago she was bitching at 
Paul about the color of the wallpaper, and 
here she was, ready to burst. 

Where the hell were they going now?

They reached the bottom level, the parking 
garage. They had only been down here a few 
times before, back when they briefly owned a 
car. Who needs one in the big city? "Those 
arrogant bastards who are too "important" and 
rich to take the bus", Paul always said.

The door swung open, and there it was: a candy-
apple red Jag. She felt a shiver go down her 
back...this was class.

"Get in the back seat, and spread your legs 
wide. I expect you to make yourself come for 
me, and you'd better hurry, before anyone 
happens to want to park in that empty space 
next to us."

Jamie didn't need to be told twice. She lay 
back in the richness of the unlocked car, 
propped her feet over the two front headrests 
and began fingering her bald snatch like the 
next orgasm would be her last. Paul wanted 
sexy? OK, then! She roughly squeezed her 
breasts until the clamps threatened to pop off. 

She moaned like a bitch in heat. Her fingers 
plunged into her dripping fun-tunnel and she 
brought them up to her mouth, sucking them dry 
like a two-dollar-a-go Yokohama street whore.

She felt the first flash behind closed eyelids, 
and then she saw her husband with his most 
expensive 35mm camera, snapping away. 

"Something for when you are out of town," he 
joked. Well, she smugly thought, why not?
She came screaming so hard he had to crank up 
the car windows to keep it inside. This was a 
roll he would have to develop himself. Jamie 
lay back, mellowly stretching in the back seat 
of the car. There was a large pussy-stain on 
the leather of the back seat. He smiled, 
mainly because from where he sat in the front 
seat, he could see who owned the parking space.

"Alright. Outside!" he ordered, and Jamie 
roused herself.

He stood her by the front bumper, and 
whispered into her ear, "Show me what kind of
blow job you give when you're *not* being
forced."

She dropped franticly to her knees, running one 
nylon in the process, as she ripped down his 
zipper and fished his dick out of his pants. 

She had never noticed how beautiful it was 
before. She grabbed her hands around it and 
began pumping it into her mouth, her wet tongue 
out and cushioning it as she struggled to shake 
hands with the monster. As she sucked and 
pumped, she rocked back and forth on her 
crossed ankles, the backs of the leather-
strapped pumps massaging her swollen, wet 
pussy. If he wanted a blowjob, by God, he was 
going to get one. I'll make him remember this 
one the rest of his life!

The thick, hard dick disappeared down the 
bitch's slim gullet. He imagined he could 
actually see her throat bulge as she struggled 
to grapple with it. Before long, she had both 
hands on his naked ass, pushing him forward, as 
if this alone would fully sink his throbbing 
wife-tamer all the way down. She had seen 
videos of quite a few blowjobs in the past few 
days, and this was the end result of her wet, 
steamy education.

It couldn't last too long. At the last, she 
lubed her index finger in her pussy drippings, 
and pushed it up her husband's asshole, 
massaging all the way. He shuddered, lost 
position, bounced and came. Eight, count 'em, 
eight thick pulses painted Jamie's breasts and 
smiling face. Thick rivers of it gunked her 
down, spraying her hat, her hair, her chin, the 
car. The red car's hood was now spotted with 
white come. He grabbed for the Pentax. The 
pictures of her gorgeous face, dripping with 
his jiz, were incredible enough, but the five 
he snapped of his slut-wife scraping it off her 
face and lovingly ladling it into her mouth 
were enough to make him want to do it again. 
She sucked her fingers, getting almost all of 
it, but leaving one thick strand of it, right 
down her nose, just so he could enjoy the 
image. She was right; the very sight made him 
hard again.

When his breathing had returned to normal, he 
ordered her to submit over the hood of the car. 
"Better hurry, you little whore. Anybody could 
catch us at it, and I'm willing to say you made 
me do it!" She went ass up in a flash, and in 
passing, licked three spots of Paul's come up 
off the still warm Jag's hood.

He stuck his finger in the rubber ring of the 
buttplug and pulled it out with a pneumatic 
*whoosh *. Jamie grunted like an animal at 
the sudden loss, but thanks to a tube of KY 
jelly, she didn't have to mourn long. Paul 
stuffed the nozzle in her gaping hole, squeezed 
hard, and tossed the tube into the Jag next to 
the buttplug. The next thing she felt was her 
husband's hard cock rushing in like a freight 
train, and the next thing after that was her 
orgasm.

Paul felt the most amazing sensation as Jamie's 
distended anus, now empty of the large plug, 
closed down over his cock. For a few thrusts, 
it was like fucking cotton candy (you really 
don't want to know how he knew) and then, 
suddenly, he gained traction. By the time he 
was on the tenth pump, her ass was grasping at 
it's new friend, he was coming so hard his 
balls ached, and she was flopping around like a 
careless ConEd electrician on a 440 wire. Paul 
rode his wife's shaking body, dumping sperm in 
her shivering backdoor until it was leaking out 
around his cock. (He suddenly remembered the 
joke about "Rodeo Sex"; that's where you fuck 
your wife in the ass, and tell her that her 
sister is better. Don't ask...that's another 
story as well.)

She was crying, the sex was so good. She never 
imagined that she could actually fuck, much 
less come, under conditions like this, and here 
she was, ass boned on the hood of an expensive 
automobile, dripping like a whore.

The screech of tires caught them both by 
surprise. They grabbed what they could, she 
got her hat and he got the camera. They were 
through the door and into the stairwell before 
the car pulled into the vacant parking space.
Paul kissed his slut wife passionately on the 
darkened stair, feeling her come covered body 
squish slightly in his grip.

"Very good," he admonished her. "But you left 
your buttplug behind, and are going to have to 
pay for it. You're going to get paddled on 
every landing from here to the eighteenth 
floor!"

At every landing, the dutiful slave assumed the 
position, and her loving Master gave her a 
stout whack on the ass. He had to be careful 
not to dirty himself with the load of fresh 
come that was dripping out of her ass all the 
way up to their floor.

Waiting where he left it on the eighteenth 
floor landing was her hood. She shivered as he 
ordered her down to her knees, and zipped up 
the hood tight. "Nod if you can hear me." 
Nothing. How about a test? "Jamie, I'm going 
to fuck you in Macy's window tomorrow. And 
Ira is fucking your friend Fran in the ass." 

She remained in position, waiting a tug on her 
leash. Satisfied she couldn't hear a thing, 
he opened the door and gently tugged on her 
leash, moving her into the hallway.





Act Nine
=========

"Full Circle" Or "Can I Walk Your Dog?"
INTERIOR, HALLWAY OUTSIDE BUCHMAN APARTMENT, 
NIGHT


"Well, this is new," said Maggie Conway as Paul 
walked his new doggie past her door. The 
British matron was dressed in black leather, 
with hip-high boots and a phallic-looking whip. 
She took a long drag on her cigarette.

"I figured out what happened when I saw your 
bondage magazine in with my stuff." Paul 
commented. "Here's the $20 for this month. 
I won't be needing you to hold them for me 
now."

"I see my plan worked out. Fuck her ass yet?" 
the British woman smiled, as if she were 
discussing the weather.

"Yep."

"Nice and hard, I hope." She stared at the 
naked and hooded housewife with a smile.

"Reamed her out bent over the kitchen cabinets, 
and again downstairs."

"Good. I've always thought the prissy bitch 
should be taken down a peg or two. This 
doesn't mean I like you all that much, you 
know. This is just a little treat for me. May 
I?" she said, motioning toward the bound woman.

"I did. Why not?"

Maggie Conway crouched, and began fingering 
the prone blonde, pushing one, then two, and 
then three fingers in Jamie's drooling fuckhole,
all the while tugging on the tight nipple 
clamps. Paul's little slut wife was well 
trained by this point; she lifted her ass to 
give her unknown benefactor better access, and 
whimpered behind her mask. Paul watched with a 
grin as his helpless wife began rocking gently 
back and forth in time to the thrusting fingers.
After a moment, her Domme pulled her fingers free, 
and jammed the handle of the whip deep in 
Jamie's cunt. She screamed at the British 
invasion.

"Mummm...likes it rough, does she?" The Brit 
bitch smiled, and began thrusting the braided 
leather whip back and forth in the prone 
housewife's dripping love chute.

"Ugh, ugh, UGH!" Jamie grunted behind her 
mask.

"Like it, do you, you little whore?"  Maggie
hissed, and began spanking the girl's pale ass
in time to the thrusts.

Watching with the practiced eye of a 
trained Domme, she waited until the right 
moment, and roughly yanked the whip from the 
sobbing girl's cunny, only to thrust it deep in 
her ass, which was still wet and lubed from 
Paul's earlier cum dump. Mask or no mask, 
Jamie's scream echoed down the hall as she 
came, and came, and came.

"I certainly don't want that whip back now. 
You may keep it." She gave a wicked pull on 
Jamie's nipple clamps, watching the moaning 
housewife shake. "Let her wonder who gave it 
to her."

"You know, I don't think she's going to wonder 
all that much." Paul unlocked his door and 
tugged on Jamie's leash, watching the whip 
waggle obscenely half in her asshole as she 
trundled, sobbing into her mask, into their 
apartment.

Paul turned and caught the door just as Maggie 
Conway was closing it.

"By the way," he called over his shoulder as he 
followed his little Slutpuppy inside, "You are 
going to want to have your car washed, REAL 
soon."

"What an odd fellow!" Maggie said, fingering 
her wet snatch. "Humm, I still have his spare 
key. I wonder if he needs someone to walk his 
dog?"

-------------------Ends--------------------

Tag:

Jamie is down in the parking garage in heels, 
cuffs and collar, scrubbing the leather 
upholstery in the back seat of the Conway Jag, 
while Maggie, in Domme outfit, whips her red 
ass and curses.

Music up and under closing credits:

"Don't know why, I fuck you like I do.
Don't know who can tie me down as tight as 
you.

Show me all your dildos.

I'll show you most of mine.

I know you thought you chose this,
But you're really screwed this time.

Come, on take my hand,
And hold on while I ream out your rear.

Mad About Fucking You, Baby, Uh Huh"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories
out of the hands of children. They should be
outside playing in the sun, not thinking about
adult situations.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection