My Wife. His Whore.

My Wife. His Whore. Part II.

By Victor Mann

Lon stood at the long table for the food for a long time, frozen. He knew that Leena, Trina and Alton Drave were gone, when he finally came to himself and eventually drifted, in a trance to the door. He felt ill and he also felt a level of sexual excitement he had never experienced. He was desperate not to lose his wife Leena to this perverse "woman-trainer" Alton Drave; that was paramount. But he knew now too that he was caught up in this in a way that he himself didn't understand. A strong, passionate part of him REVELED in this humiliation of his forthright wife. And he knew there was more to it. In deep pain and with his cock more rigid than it had ever been, Lon drove back to his home. His thoughts were in disarray, but somewhere subliminally he realized that he was caught in a libidinal tide whose winds were driven by secret, unspoken desires of his own.

Lon got home and tried to watch TV. His mind was racing. He knew almost nothing about this kinky-type of relationship. How far would Alton Drave go? Would this man make his wife into a prostitute and rent her out? Was Leena going to be whipped? Would this bastard actually beat her? The time went by excruciatingly slowly.

Leena had never, ever come home after midnight and it was one o'clock. Frantic, Lon

looked through the phone book for Alton Drave's name. He was surprised to find it listed. His hand shaking, Lon called the number.

"Alton Drave," the man, answered coolly.

"Is Leena still over at your house?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Yes, she is," Mr. Drave answered.

"Could I speak with her," he asked.

"She's tied up now," Alton Drave answered.

"Tied up….?" Lon realized that Mr. Drave must mean this literally, but he followed his cowardly reflex to pretend that he didn't really understand.

"Well, will you have her call me soon?" Lon said in what could only be described as a pleading tone.

"Mr. Durtz, Leena will not be speaking with you, tonight. You will see her tomorrow morning," he said, very matter-of-factly.

Lon held the phone silently for a long time. There were a million things he might have said. He might have become furious and demanded to speak with Leena directly. He might have threatened to come over and get his wife back. Mr. Drave was basically saying he was going to fuck Lon's wife tonight and/or do what he pleased with her and he fully expected not to hear any objections. There was no challenge or harshness in Mr. Drave's voice, just a matter-of-fact self-assurance. Lon's stomach sank and his mind went blank. He didn't even stammer out the few nonsensical thoughts that jumped into his head. He just meekly said, "OK," and hung up the phone dumbly. If it had been a confrontation between dogs, Lon had put his tail between his legs and ran—without even hearing the other dog bark. And somehow Lon knew that this bastard could bark.

Lon knew he wouldn't be sleeping much tonight. He went to Leena's computer—at least here he could find out something of what had descended upon him like a hell.

He decided to Google, to do a computer internet search of, the name Alton Drave. Mr. Drave's impressive website came up. He was a prize-winning photographer and sold his work as art. Clearly he had become wealthy with his photography. But his work had a very controversial edge, and particularly in the last ten years dwelt on strong, sado-masochistic themes.

Mr. Drave, or whoever wrote for his website wrote for the most part very elegantly and artistically, explaining the artfulness of making pictures of women in bondage and submission. But at the same time some of the notes and titling seemed designed to provoke and to create controversy. Lon accessed one of the galleries of Mr. Drave's work over the last ten years. It was entitled, "My Whores." In it were separate pictures of seven women dressed all in a very similar way, kneeling, hands tied at the wrists tightly behind them with satin rope, sucking on the penis of what surely was the same standing man who stood before them, whose face was out of the picture (Lon knew it had to be Alton Drave). In each picture, the man held the woman's well-coifed hair in his right fist. The man was dressed in black, a black leather vest and a black shirt, black leather pants and black boots shined to a perfect shine. Five of the women were white, one was Asian and one was African-American. One was rather overweight, one was very thin, one had a perfect hourglass figure and the others varied in their body type. They all wore hose and very high heeled pumps. They all wore considerable jewelry, including rather heavy, dangly earrings. They were all well-made up, only one of them really excessively. The clothing on each varied. Some wore only obscene undergarments; others were fully clothed. All the garments, however, were in the colors red, black or white only. All garments were solid color and there were no patterned blouses, skirts or dresses. No doubt the pictures together made an artistic montage of sorts, though quite provocative and obscene, each picture being exactly from the same side angle, place and distance. They undoubtedly were taken from a camera on a tripod.

The pictures were rather small, but Lon found he was able to expand them to the full screen with one click. He went through the seven pictures again. He could see that each was carefully staged. In each case, the woman's lipslicker was smeared, obscenely, leaving clear, red residue on the rather thick and large cock that was pushed into the mouth to its limit. On each woman's chin or lips, too, was a largish splash, or drip of new semen. They were meant to show a man who had just a moment before ejaculated. It took Lon only a moment to see that the 6 ^th picture was of Alton Drave's Barbie Doll friend, Trina. And the 7 ^th picture, as it expanded to screen size, became a clear picture of his wife Leena—no doubt the distance and contortion of her mouth might easily make her completely unrecognizable to anyone but him.

Lon's heart was seized by a witch's brew of emotion. It shook him bodily. He felt his body ripple with paroxysms that were a perfect admixture of fear and perverse sexual excitement. He was deathly frightened for his marriage and for the love of his wife, but this picture shook him at his sexual core. Where looking at the other women was something of a curiosity, once he'd gotten used to the very kinky and outrageous context-- seeing his own wife being fucked in the face by another man turned him on in the most primal way. Here was a kind of male audacity that he simply did not have. He was in awe of it. And as he tried to grope through the fog of his confused passion, he knew that emotionally this picture was really all about him. His own "manly" control of his wife was completely abrogated by this sexually prodigious stranger. This obscene picture was most certainly a record of his wife's humiliation before Alton Drave, but, closer to the quick, it was a humiliation of him also. He unzipped himself and, tears flowing from his eyes, masturbated to orgasm. "The fucking disgusting bastard! The fucking disgusting bastard!" he thought as his perverse heart reveled in the humiliation of his wife he saw before him—and the humiliation of himself which it implied. He did not try to suppress in his mind in this moment of passion, the vision of Alton Drave forcing him to watch Mr. Drave do as he would with his new "whore" Leena.

Heart aching and disgusted with himself, Lon finally went to bed. He fell into a fitful sleep and had just woken up at 8 A. M. when he heard the door slam and Leena come in. Leena was clearly headed for the bathroom when Lon intercepted her. She was in shocking condition. Her face was splotched with the illicit flush of a night of ferocious sexual engagement. Lon could only remember Leena looking like that way once or twice before, in their mid-twenties when they had just sexually clicked and she had had a long series of fierce orgasms. And her face was puffy as if she had at the same time been weeping all night. Her beautiful, stylish satin blouse was shredded in back and in the places where it was torn, Lon could see bloody marks, welted and reddish, that could only have come from some sort of whip. Her stockings were torn in many places.

Leena avoided Lon's gaze and grasped hold of him in a desperate hug. She began weeping uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck, Lonny! I didn't want it to be like this," she said crying with her face on his shoulder and incredibly emotional.

"I'm deep into a sick, sordid affair with Alton Drave," she said.

"He fucking caned my ass and whipped me last night! Oh, fuck, Lonny, I don't expect you to understand," she said and took a shaky step backward.

Strangely, while Leena was in emotional turmoil, Lon felt relatively calm.

"Well, your little act last night was more than I even could manage to ignore. I guess a man knows his wife is getting fucked by someone else, when she doesn't bother to come home all night," Lon said with bitterness.

"And---," Lon continued, "I've invaded your privacy. I read some of your correspondence with this prick Alton Drave."

"You have?" Leena said, collecting herself.

"You're his, 'whore,' now?"

Leena suddenly seemed to snap out of her very uncharacteristic emotional funk.

"I love you Lonny and I have always loved you. I had two beautiful kids with you. But this relationship with Alton is not going to stop," she said, abruptly, not responding directly to his question.

Leena now sounded like the forthright feminist she was.

"So where does that leave me with this sick bullshit!" Lon shouted, forgetting for a moment his reaction to all of it.

"I'll take a divorce if you want one, Lonny, but that would still hurt the kids,"

she said plaintively.

"Well, you weren't thinking much of the kids when you started fucking this Alton Drave!" Lon said, surprising himself a little.

"Lon, I know this is all tremendously unfair to you. You've been a good husband.

I don't blame you for your anger and I don't expect you to understand. But I've done my share, you cannot deny, for 'kids,' and 'hubby. Now it's time for me to concentrate on Leena, wherever it takes me."

"I know where it's going to take you. You're going to end up as one of Alton Drave's live-in 'cunts.' Fuck twenty years plus of feminist rhetoric!" Lon said.

"Well then it's just too fucking bad, isn't it?" Leena said in the cruelest tone he'd ever heard from her.

She brushed past him and walked into her room, not closing the door as she usually did. She disrobed, completely ignoring him and he had a full view of the whipmarks on her back and the cane welts on her ass. It looked, too, like she had

quite a few bruises on her tits. After disrobing, she went into the shower for a long bath.

Lon was much less angry, really, than he had let on. This fact annoyed him, but it was an aspect of his nature. While Leena washed away what she could of the assault of Alton Drave, Lon quietly prepared breakfast and looked forward to talking more rationally.