Priceless

by Velvetglove

“Put my dick into your wife’s mouth.”

He leaned nearer and his trembling fingers guided my throbbing shaft into the perfect ‘o’ formed by her lipstick covered lips. Ever so slowly I eased my hips forwards, sliding my full length over her tongue and into the back of her throat. I watched her eyebrows scrunch together as she gagged.

I glanced at the twin screen monitors. There were two cameras: a fixed one on a tripod that recorded a mid-shot including her face and torso with my dick and stomach; plus a roving one that was hand held by her husband. On the monitors I could check each feed and later I’d cut and edit them to my satisfaction.

Her lips made a glugging sound, one of those accidental ‘mmhhs’ as she suckled too hard. I laced my fingers in her peroxide blonde locks, yo-yoing her head to my satisfaction. I twisted her face so she was full on to the fixed camera, removing any last chance of anonymity.

Her husband had zoomed in so her mouth filled the monitor, with my voracious weapon pumping in and out, in-out, like a greasy piston. His own expression was hard to read. How did he feel spending Christmas Day watching his wife blowing another man ? Above the camera, his forehead glistened with sweat and his hand shook occasionally, making the filming more real. He was naked except for the brand new steel chastity tube round his dick. My Christmas present to him ! I looked back down at his missus.

She was not really my taste but I couldn’t deny she was pretty, in a bottled blonde, overly made-up kind of way. I’ve found out that there’s a certain type of woman who needs mastering by a man other than their husband. Attractive but insecure, the sort who was a bit promiscuous when young, who then marries an accountant because he can make her respectable. After a while she allows her looks to slip, maybe puts on a few pounds, and then makes it worse by dressing provocatively, striving for her past youth.

She was 33. Long platinum hair, hazel eyes, with a hint of crow’s feet from too much sunbathing, good teeth, big breasts, a bum and thighs that could do with a strict exercise regime. Sexually, she was a well used canvas but with plenty of blank areas. You know the kind. For example, she thought herself above blowjobs; maybe a moment of sucking as foreplay but she’d imagined her cunt was so damn tight her boyfriends couldn’t wait to get in there. And she reminded me of that joke about why a woman smiles so much as she walks up the aisle after her wedding. She’s grinning because she’s nailed her man and now thinks she’ll never have to give another BJ in her life.

Well, suck on that lady. In, out. In, out. I could feel myself reaching the point of no return. Time for first course of your Christmas feast. For the benefit of our future viewers, I did the usual and pulled out, leaving her mouth gaping like a decked fish.

“Keep your tongue stuck out and finish me off with your hands.”

I checked the monitors. Perfect. I’d saved up 48 hours and eaten right for this moment. Her face was tilted at forty five degrees, her wedding ring was in the shot, my dick was only an inch from her pink tongue.

Kaboom ! The first rope splattered her eye socket and the ridge of her nose. After that, they came thick and fast; mouth, nostril, forehead, hair, mouth again, lips, chin, the other nostril, painting her face with my chunky, pearly white goo. It was immense, if I say so myself.

There was a silence for about twenty seconds as we each digested the moment; I came down slowly from my orgasm, while she blinked and cringed and held her head immobile, wondering what to do. Her husband kept filming, panning the lens across her features, I suspect mainly to occupy his mind, anything rather than dwell upon what had just happened.

“Let’s see you kiss your wife clean now.”

I took the camera from him and smiled to myself as I watched him tentatively slurping up my jizz from her skin. Already her mascara and blush was running and there was even a smudge in her waterproof lipstick. I focused on his face too, making sure the viewers got a decent close up, sufficient for anybody who knew him to identify who he was.

I ate my Christmas meal sat on my own at the head of their dining table. He was locked in a hogtie inside the cupboard under their staircase. Nothing to eat or drink for him until much later. That was the deal. His wife cooked, served and washed the pans while I ate. I had a full second helping but could only finish the turkey and potatoes. I left a decent amount of vegetables, gravy and bits of turkey leg.

“Here.”

I watched her eat my leftovers with a spoon while I sipped the nice wine they’d bought me. She was dressed in a black PVC maid’s outfit that was my Christmas present to her. It was the sort you see advertised in cheap magazines; a shiny bra, a mini-skirt, fishnets and one of those silly white caps that Victorian servants wore on their heads. I’d used their joint Mastercard to pay for his chastity kit and her dressing up gear.

And the Big John Dong Vibe.

After she’d washed up, I had her mount her own sturdy dining table and prepare to give a show for the audience. The vibrating black dildo was a nice 8 ½ inches in length and she sucked it into her mouth to moisten it. She’d reapplied the bright red lipstick and the colour contrast between the white of her teeth, the black rubber and her scarlet lips looked great on the monitor.

“Okay, doll. Let’s see you slide that baby into your pussy.”

She was naked under the mini. And hairless.  I don’t like a chick whose collar and cuffs don’t match and she had platinum tresses with a dark brazilian below. A bit of foam, a couple of swipes, and now she was bald. She grimaced as Big John’s fat crown pushed open her pouting labia.

“Hurry up. Don’t tease us.”

I smiled encouragingly. While the fixed camera on the tripod recorded her slowly penetrating herself, I used the handheld to wander round the room, filming incriminating evidence; photographs in silver frames, their cars parked outside through the window, a zoom to both number plates, and on the hall table outside the dining room, a couple of unopened envelopes with their names and address on.

When I returned, she had got all of Big John inside her. Her mouth was hanging half open, her eyes half shut, and she was squinting at me, awaiting instructions.

“Turn it on.”

There was a buzzing sound and she gasped. Her breath exploding in a surprised ‘ssss’. Believe it or not, this was her first experience with a vibrator. Fingers, yes, a candle once in her teens she said, but never the joy of a toy until now.

“Full speed. And move it fast, in and out.”

The most popular clips on YouPorn are usually under 3 minutes. Voyeurs don’t want long build ups. They want to cut to the chase. The money shot, the orgasm, the squirt, whatever. I could always edit it but it’s nice to be able to post a single stream video scene from start to finish.

“Hurry.”

She was whimpering now, hazel eyes bugging, lips tight in a snarl of sexual need. She was squatting on her nice mahogany table, thighs open and knees akimbo, fisting the plastic vibe in and out of her hairless snatch. I watched her labia gripping and releasing the black dong and idly imagined what she’d be like in the weeks to come when a real black dick or two was filling her. I like to be generous with my good fortune.

She squealed and looked at me. Right into the lens. Oh boy. That would make a great still. You could see right inside her soul. Who she really was. A horny housewife who’d kind of lost her way; wanting, needing.

“Okay. Cum.”

Her head went back, eyes closed, lips opening wide. She buried the dong as far inside her as it would go, then scythed it outwards slowly, as if she was exorcising her clitoris. Then she wailed like a banshee.

I got it all on film; the fixed mid-shot and the roving close up. She’d be shocked when she saw the clip. I find people are genuinely surprised by what they look like when having an orgasm. Embarrassed. The facial expressions alone only tell part of the story. It’s the whole thing; face, body, secretions, above all the abject loss of self control.

She looked at me sheepishly and started to climb down from the table.

“No. Stay there. Let’s carry straight on with the ass shot.”

For the first time since I’d arrived, she clearly wanted to say no. Until then, it had all been her fantasy too, as much as his, or mine. I watched her lip tremble, her jaw set tight, throat tense. Her doe eyes sought mine in a silent plea.

But that was the reason for the blackmail. The film was worth more than money to them. Way more. I could put any price on it I liked. Even a sore anus.

“Pl …”

She started to speak but that was forbidden. I snapped a finger to my lips.

“It’s that one.” I said, arms folded. “Or a bigger one.”

I watched her turn onto all fours. She drooled spittle onto the already shining dong and twisted her body so she could place the crown at the entrance to her anus. She glanced pleadingly at me one last time.

“Wait.” I knelt down close so that I could get a great shot. “Okay, go.”

She was an anal virgin. I knew her claim was genuine because she’d asked for anal to be ‘off limits’. I mean, come on. Anal ? I don’t do off limits but if I did, they’d be far north of a bit of butt fucking. And you know what ? She wanted it. She could have found some other guy who would have respected her wish and just done the silken ropes and candlelit cunnilingus, or whatever she thought she fancied initially. But she chose me, regardless.

“You’ve got thirty seconds.”

She grunted, pushed, moaned and shoved. I love virgin asses. They’re so … puckered. There are actually two anal sphincter muscles that control the exit and entrance of items from/to the anus; the inner sphincter is entirely controlled by our bodies, but the outer is basically controlled by our minds. When we sit on the toilet, we relax it to take a dump. But if, say, we need to go but can’t find a toilet, we contract it tighter so as not to have an accident. This is what we call ‘bowel control’ that we learn as babies.

It’s similar with anal sex. You have to learn to control the natural reflex not to allow something up there. I watched closely as her outer sphincter unwillingly accepted her mind’s instructions and loosened sufficiently for the big black vibe to form a bridgehead. The fixed camera was filming her butt so I went round and focused on her facial expressions.

She was making extraordinary faces. Different from when she was climaxing. Similar contortions but of pain, not pleasure. I looked into her eyes but she kept screwing them shut, snorting through her nose. A drool of spittle hung from her chin. Fortunately for her, the initial penetration is the worst bit. Once the sphincter has given up the fight, any reasonably sized and lubricated object slides in without causing too much physical stress. It’s the mental image that distresses people. The picture they have of four, five, six, seven inches plunged through their back door.

“Here, let me help you.”

I walked round the table and switched the vibe on for her, listening to its hum. I was careful to keep my own face out of the shot.

“Okay, doll. Let’s give your fans a real show this time.”

It took over 7 minutes but I could edit it down. She finally came again, on her knees with her face smeared against the table, one hand behind her stabbing the vibe to and fro in her loosened ass, and the other fingering her swollen clit from underneath. Her climax was, quite simply, overwhelming.

If the first couple of scenes were useful material, the last was dynamite. I could hear the ker-ching of tills ringing. Metaphorically of course. Partly because tills don’t sound like that today but mainly because I wasn’t after their money. Sure I’d help myself to a treat or two, because they had enough. However, it was another form of payment I was interested in.

I smiled kindly at her and chucked her chin with my finger. Her hazel eyes had glazed over, unfocused, as she knelt back up on her hands and knees.

“Just one more thing for this afternoon.” I whispered encouragingly.

I unzipped myself and she let out a small sigh. Her lips parted and it was evident she thought I fancied another blowjob. Er, not yet. I’d had plenty of wine but I’d also eaten cabbage at lunch and I just love what it does to your urine. Yes, asparagus is best, but cabbage is a close runner up. I set up the cameras to film the event from two different angles.

She shook her head when she realised what I wanted.

“Don’t be silly. This is nothing. Now, open wide. Unless you’d like to see yourself starring on the internet as a Christmas treat for everybody ?”

I studied her. There’s a fine line to draw with sexual blackmail. I think that was the first moment that she truly realised what they’d done. Fantasy had become reality. Her fate was in my hands. Could she trust me ?

“Come on.” I said. “It could be worse. Believe me. Lie face down.”

She slowly bowed her head in defeat. She was on the dining table and she simply slumped down, sliding her arms and legs to her sides. Her mouth was now the perfect height. I grinned and fished my dick out my pants.

“Mmm ….”

I just rested the tip on her lower lip and sighed as my jet started flowing. A piss when you really need one is still one of the best feelings in the world. I caught the vegetable tang of the cabbage and smiled inwardly. My hot, bitter fluid was going down her throat. Her eyes bugged in alarm and she gulped, causing an overflow of piss to bubble up over her lips and down her chin. I gripped my dick and managed to stop myself mid-flow.

“Don’t waste any, doll. Swallow. Don’t worry. We’ll have loads of practice at this.”

She glanced up, a queasy expression on her face, but she held her lips open again. I smiled into her eyes. And I got a spark back. Defiance ? Acceptance ? Lust ? Hatred ? Maybe a bit of all those things. I relaxed my control again, and settled into a nice steady pissing rhythm, imagining how her tongue, taste buds and throat were enjoying their new role as my toilet. Towards the end I pulled back a touch and hosed her open mouth and face with what remained in my bladder.

The cameras caught it all again, of course. Her profile and my dick. From reluctant start to messy finish. Drops of piss fell from her chin and strands of her hair hung straggly and soaked. There was a small puddle on her precious dining table. Priceless.

Later, after I’d enjoyed a leisurely fuck with her in their marital bed, and then released her husband to eat his cold Christmas meal, I packed my bags; two cameras, one tripod and over 90 minutes of digital action. My relatives were expecting me for an evening of Christmas games and ham sandwiches in less than an hour’s time.

“I’m free on December 29th.” I said. “You can expect me about seven.”

They exchanged glances. No negotiation, no checking diaries, no questions. This was how it was to be from now on. He dry swallowed. She looked at me, then down at the floor. Although she didn’t say the word aloud, it was a ‘yes’. And I knew that when you have the woman, you have the couple.

He nodded. I smiled. She exhaled and then her lips curled in a small crooked grin. The tension eased. One heck of a Christmas Day.

I kissed her full on her warm mouth and shook his hand. He turned his head to look meaningfully down at his waist, at the still locked chastity device.

I glanced at her and then tilted my head from side to side, like I was weighing up the arguments. The key was in a zip pocket of my bag.

“The twenty ninth is only four days away. You can wait that long.”

He gasped in disappointment. But I could see something else too. Something outside of his control. He wanted this. Just like she had. The full treatment. Beyond comfort zones. Something money couldn’t buy.

“Goodbye.” I called out, as I placed my bag on the rear seats of my car.

They stood there in the doorway like a happy couple in a TV commercial; their breath clouding in the dark chill air, yellow lights bright in the windows, standing side-by-side, giving me tentative waves.

As I climbed into my car, I was minded of a tagline from a credit card ad. I chuckled.

There are some things in life money can buy.

For everything else, there’s your Master.

The End

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Synopsis

Originally conceived as a short story (one part) for Christmas, the characters have all realised that there is no need for the blackmail to stop. The action can continue into the New Year - and beyond.

Part Two

“Click it !”

I shouted at him again, impatiently this time. His finger hovered, trembling, and then he did it. He clicked the mouse and uploaded the video of his wife. From that moment on, they had lost control of it to cyberspace. They could never get it back. As I said:

There are some things in life money can buy.

For everything else, there’s your Master.

They both looked at me, amazed at the enormity of what they’d done. But the clip was relatively harmless. I still had worse, much worse, to blackmail them with. This was just a taster of what they’d feel if they didn’t do exactly as I told them from now on. Besides, maybe nobody they knew would spot her in that little four-minutes clip ? So I now also had 14 email addresses as well - parents, family, friends and colleagues – who could be sent the link if Gordon or Sally stepped out of line.

It was December 29th. Just a couple of days until the start of 2008 and a very different year for them. A year of living dangerously. And to think, they volunteered for this. Makes you wonder what goes on in their minds.

*** *** ***

My name is Gordon. I am writing this diary on my new Master’s instruction. I understand it may be used to accompany video clips of me or my wife that are posted and I hereby authorise my words to be copied or reproduced in any way. I have been told I am to describe my actions and thoughts and to hold nothing back … or our situation will become worse.

It’s true. Sally and I brought all this upon ourselves. I could attach the usual ‘be careful what you wish for’ warning but – so far – what’s happened is sadly exactly what we wanted. Not every detail or nuance. But generally. Ownership. Helplessness. Exploitation. Blackmail. Threats. A Master. My motives and Sally’s are different. But we come from the same place. A need to give ourselves up in the worst way to the whims of another person.

I met Sally through work ten years ago. She was a temporary secretary at the local accountancy firm where I work. She was sexy with, I discovered, a bit of a reputation. I was amazed when she accepted my clumsy chat up lines and invitation for a drink after work. We married ten months later. I was so proud of her. She is much prettier than I deserve. Yes, I always felt that. I’m not especially successful or wealthy, good looking, talented or funny. I’m just good old Gordon; hard working, dependable, nice. I always got a thrill from other guys enviously looking at Sally and me together.

Sexually, things seemed fine. I knew Sally had had more previous partners than me and a wilder past. But she never complained. Nor did I. She was happy to let me take the initiative and set the pace. In the first year or so, we had sex often; three or four times a week. Mainly just good old fashioned fucking but it felt great. Then we settled down to a comfortable once or twice a week. I was busy with work and Sally didn’t seem to mind. We were in no rush for kids either. To be honest, neither of us was sure whether we wanted to have a family. I started masturbating a lot again, rather than impose my libido on her when she wasn’t in the mood or was tired. I’d always jacked myself off, even when we were having more sex.

And then, slowly, the fantasies started. Thoughts that had been dormant since I met Sally started to invade my mind. To cut a long story short, we got drunk one night and I asked her to tie me up and dominate me. It wasn’t a disaster but her heart wasn’t in it. We felt embarrassed. A month later we tried again. A week or so after that, we experimented with me switching and putting Sally in bondage with some scarves. That worked better but we hated the aftermath. I felt guilty about what I’d done and kept apologising while she got angry with me for talking about it and saying sorry.

Of course, it was many months before we reached the point where we knew the only way we could continue was with a Master. We tried, really tried, to make it happen on our own. We knew the risk we would be taking was lunacy but, like moths to a flame, we were unable to resist the terrible need. I was, literally, petrified as we exchanged those first emails. How on earth do you find the right man, the right combination of evil and sanity ?

*** *** ***

As a treat, I let Gordon enjoy sloppy seconds. His last fuck of 2007. All on film, of course. I filled Sally’s cunt and then recorded him lapping her out before he clambered on top and thrust into her until he came. Then I had her climb astride her husband’s head and ride him to her own climax with our combined juices running out all over his sopping, glistening face. Another clip for our You Porn collection.

December 29th was a Saturday and I decided to stay the night. I was meeting my girlfriend at the station the next day, but not until the afternoon. She’d been up spending Christmas with her parents. I phoned her while I watched a soccer highlights program on TV. Sally was kneeling between my thighs. Gordon had already been locked in the downstairs cupboard for the night.

“Hi, love.”

“Hiya !”

We’d spoken earlier in the day and I’d told her I was having a quiet evening in. True, just not the whole truth.

“Watcha doing ?” she asked.

I looked down at Sally’s lips sliding along my fire hose.

“Just watching Match of the Day.”

“Ah.” She commiserated. “Feeling horny ?”

Sure am, darling.

“Can’t wait to see you.”

We talked some more and then blew lovey-dovey kisses goodbye.

I stared down at Sally, doing her best to bring me off, no-hands.

“That was my girlfriend.”

Her hazel eyes flicked up from my pubic hair to look at me. I’d told them I was single. True, in that I’m not married.

“She’s a nice girl who likes nice healthy sex. But I like the other, dirty unhealthy kind too. So she’ll get the former and you will provide me with the latter. Understood ?”

She did her best to nod, eyes smoky with shame and jaw ache.

“Get your mouth off my dick then.”

I watched her pull her head away. A strand of saliva hung from her lip.

“You say that you never rimmed your husband’s asshole, right ?”

She shook her head. During our emails, I’d had to explain what rim means.

“And you never will. Ever. Promise me.”

She nodded her pretty head ever so slowly, mouth opening.

“I … promise.” She whispered.

“Because being rimmed is too good for him.”

I slid down in the armchair, so my butt hung off the cushion. The soccer players were celebrating a goal on TV.

“Do me.”

I enjoyed her expression of distaste almost as much as the first wet buzz of her tongue in my crack. I could still see her upper face between my thighs.

“Look at me.” I ordered, coldly.

There was a delicious slurry of who-knows-what emotions in her eyes, her pupils dilated with shock. But she peered straight back at me.

Oh boy. I adore analingus. Receiving, not giving. I mean, I don’t mind kissing a freshly bathed girlfriend back there as a bit of foreplay, but mouth-to-ass is one Christmas gift that it’s better to receive than to give.

“Mmm …” I groaned. I find it’s best to encourage with some appreciation. “That tickles. Now, I’m going to fart, doll. Don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Her eyes squinted semi-shut in a grimace.

It was a goody. A long hiss. Almost silent, but loud enough that we both heard it. And she evidently felt, tasted and smelt it too. Her face recoiled a fraction but, credit to her, her tongue never lost contact with my butt.

I laughed.

The aroma was pungent, a heady mix of sulphur and spices.

“Pfhaw. Lick that up. Chase your tongue up and down the length of my crack, doll. Hurry.”

She’d crossed into sub-space now. Her eyes were glazed and her senses scrambled. I think she’d have done just about anything I said at that moment. Her soft pink tongue slavered along my hairy anus.

I could feel a second bubble of gas. I pushed it out. This time it was a short gunshot that exploded against her face without warning.

“Ohhhh …” she recoiled.

“Get your fucking tongue back in there now !”

Our eyes locked in a brief test of wills that I won hands down. She steeled her jaw and then leaned back down, opening her mouth. It was even better this time. Her eyes had watered and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

I watched the action on TV for a minute or so. I knew it would heighten her feelings of being used if I studiously ignored her. Sadly I had no more flatulence to test her with. It was time to shoot my load instead.

“Jack me off but stay licking my butt as well.”

She seemed pretty skilled at handling a dick. Maybe she’d given more teenage hand jobs than she’d let on. I shut my eyes and enjoyed the build up as her right hand reached up and pumped me rhythmically.

And then I came, shooting jet after jet over my stomach, chest and groin. I opened my eyes and admired the puddle and patterns I’d made.

“Okay, doll. Enough ass for now. Come here and clean up.”

I studied her as she pecked at my curdling jizz like a cat. Damn it was gonna be fun introducing this woman to bukkake parties.

“Slurp it up. You’ve got thirty seconds to clean me good.”

*** *** ***

I lay in the locked, under-stairs cupboard all that first night, uncomfortable, cold and, yes, afraid. The silence in the house was deafening. I heard the TV being turned off and you both going up to bed. Our bed. My home had been invaded. And it was all my own fault. Police. Ambulance … Fire Brigade. Nobody was coming to our rescue.

My heart was beating in a way I’d never known before. The only other sound was the distant chiming of the church clock; midnight, one, two. I could picture you in my bed, with Sally beside you. Or maybe you would make her sleep in the second bedroom ? Or on the floor ? In the bath ? What bedtime tricks did you have planned ? She told me everything you did to her on Christmas Day; making her fuck her own virgin ass and pissing in her mouth. I knew it would hardly stop there, would it ?

And yet … I wished you had put me back in the CB. I felt afraid. But excited too. I fingered my dick, needing to cum again. How sick is that ? I pumped myself to a hurried orgasm in the dark, yet from now on I want you to deprive me of even the consolation of masturbating myself in a cold dark cupboard at three o’clock on a sleepless morning. Next time I need to be tied, chaste and frustrated, while you rape my entire life.

*** *** ***

New Year’s Eve. I managed to gather up a trio of internet contacts for my party. There would have been more but several had unmovable commitments. Unsurprisingly, Don and Joan had been invited to another party but they decided at the last minute to give it a miss and join me instead, provided I could help them with travel. Leon was free to join us anyway.

That morning, my girlfriend and I had a big row about me having to work on New Year’s Eve. But, hey, sometimes firemen have to do unsociable hours !

Gordon and Sally were busy with preparations when I arrived at their place mid-afternoon. I checked the till receipts from their shopping. I’d told them to spend at least £400 on the best champagne, wine, food and a few household items I’d specifically ordered. The total bill came to nearer £420. A decent start to their new extravagant lifestyle.

“Have you been good ?”

I stared at them both, checking for any signs of guilt. They nodded.

“No sex at all ?” I raised an eyebrow at Gordon. “Not even jacking off ?”

“No … Sir.”

“I read what you posted about masturbating in the cupboard.”

He looked down at his feet. He was wearing a plastic apron.

“From now on I’m going to keep you in the CB full time. It can be your New Year’s resolution. No more jerking off.”

He glanced up and then lowered his gaze again. “Yes, Sir.”

“Your car got plenty of fuel ?”

He frowned, looking up. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. In half an hour you need to leave to go pick up a couple of guests.” I told him where Don and Joan lived. It was about 100 miles away. A four hours round trip. Later, at around 2 a.m., he could drive them home again. That would keep him occupied all night. Gordon the cab driver.

“Unless you want to see another clip of Sally sent into cyberspace ?”

He blinked, simply dipping his head in meek acceptance.

“Okay. Carry on with the preparations.”

I watched them working in the kitchen together. She worked at the countertop preparing, washing and cooking. He was laying the dining table, polishing cutlery, shining glasses. I sat down with a glass of wine and took out my cameras, fixing one to a tripod.

“You.” I said to Sally. “Take your top off.”

I filmed her topless chopping vegetables and preparing the beef.

“Now put one of those up your cunt.”

It was a plump courgette, what the Americans call a zucchini. A shiny dark green. She gawped at me incredulously.

“Now !”

Gordon looked from me to his wife, clearing his throat as if to speak.

“Shut up. You fucked up big time when you chose me, mate. Now go get in your car. Stop off first and withdraw £250 in cash from the cash point machine. When you get to the address I gave you, bring the man and woman back here. Drive safely, but be here by eight. Got that ?”

He simply dry-swallowed, absorbing my words. Then with a final desperate glance at his missus, he fetched his jacket and felt for the keys.

“See you later.” I called out merrily as the front door closed.

I turned back to Sally. Her plump, white tits were just past their best. She took a 36D bra and filled it. Her nipples were dark red, like ripe raspberries. Without a bra she jiggled in a droopy, but still sexy manner. She reminded me of a topless waitress in some spit and sawdust joint.

“Take the skirt off.”

She obeyed, unclasping it and draping over a kitchen stool.

“Now the thong.”

I admired the elegant way she managed to remove the little black strip.

“Now put the courgette inside you.”

“Pl …”

“I don’t negotiate. Do it now, or pay the price.”

She leaned against the counter top, spread her thighs and placed the raw fruit against her labia. It was about 8 inches in length and slightly thicker at one end than the other.

“Other end !” I barked.

She’d chosen the thinner end. She looked at me and rotated the courgette in her hand. Then she put it in place and gave a gentle push.

Her mouth opened in a wide ‘o’. She couldn’t look at me.

She was undoubtedly moist and hot. The veggie slid in easily.

“You like being treated like this, don’t you ?”

She mouthed the word ‘no’ and shook her head but she still avoided my gaze. I flicked the cameras onto ‘pause’ and walked over, cupping her tits in my hands, squeezing softly.

“Don’t worry.” I whispered. “You’re meant to enjoy it too.” I smirked. “Well, most of the time.”

I slid one arm down her thigh and took hold of the courgette dildo.

“Let me help.”

She gasped as it penetrated her properly. I studied her eyes as they wallowed in embarrassment. She let out a long whimper. There were over six inches inside her. Smooth as pushing a sharp knife through hot butter.

“This cunt was made for doing the rounds, doll. Maybe it was tight when you were a teenager but you must have put out too easily and often back then. So I won’t be bothering with this hole too often myself. I’ve got my own girlfriend for that.”

I paused, speaking clearly, letting her absorb every word I said.

“But I don’t want you going without. So I’ll find you some other dicks.”

She was looking up at me as I stood against her. Her nipples were hard and her skin hot to the touch. She seemed to be struggling to breathe.

“Please … you won’t pr … prostitute me ?”

I smiled kindly, cupping her cheek in my palm.

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t plan to do that.”

She shut her eyes. With relief ? Or mixed with something else ?

“Men won’t pay you, doll.” I kissed her nose. “You’re going to pay them.”

Her eyes flew open. The whites flashed in shock.

I chuckled. “Yep. You have a fuck, it’s going to cost you.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s just too much.”

I shrugged. “I doubt that.”

Now she was pleading, eyes locked on mine, holding my wrists.

“Please … don’t take it too far. Look, it’s exciting. Even the blackmail. But that’s taking things … beyond. I would hate it. Please.”

I took a step back, letting my gaze roam up from her feet to her face.

“Look at you, Sally. You’re naked in your own kitchen with a courgette up your cunt. Cooking dinner for a man who’s already farted in your face and pissed in your mouth. A man you first met a week ago.”

She blushed, open mouthed, listening.

“I think,” I continued, “that I’m best qualified to decide what is, or isn’t, going too far. Aren’t I ?”

I could see it in her eyes. My words hitting home.

“Pl …”

“Oh, don’t give me any more crap ! …pleeeeeaaase.” I mocked her begging tone. Then I switched to a caring, softer manner, taking her hand in mine.

“Look, Sally. Trust me. I know what’s best. I won’t go too far, I promise. But you will fuck other men and pay me for the privilege.”

She was crying. Well, not really crying, just a few silent tears.

“H … how much ?”

I grinned. “That’s my girl. Always trying to negotiate. Well, it depends on various things. On the guy, or guys. There’ll be a discount for gang bangs. And the uglier guys will be cheaper. And it’ll vary according to the situation. A nice comfortable fuck in your bed will be more expensive than an upright shag down an alleyway. But the biggest variable will be whether you have an orgasm or not.”

She stared at me in utter disbelief.

“Yes.” I said. “So long as you’re just a cum dump it’ll be reasonably cheap. But the moment you get to enjoy it too much, the price shoots right up.”

“ … you’re …” She screwed her eyes shut. “I can’t think of the words”.

“Then don’t bother.”

I picked up a large carrot admiringly, twiddling it in my fingers.

“Now, you put this up your asshole and then get back to work.”

*** *** ***

That drive felt the longest I have ever done. The roads were quiet, dark and wet. Occasional headlights coming in the opposite direction dragged my concentration back to the wheel. Who knew what was going on at home ? And yet, here I was, with £250 drawn from the bank, on top of the four hundred and twenty quid we’d spent at the shops, driving to collect two complete strangers.

Eventually, just before six, I arrived at an ordinary little clutch of houses in a modern development. I found number 6. The names on the piece of paper were Don and Joan, but I knew nothing more about them. I rang the bell.

After a wait, a man opened the door. He stared at me.

“Gordon ?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah ?” he repeated, mimicking my accent. “Yeah what ?”

“Yes … Sir.”

“Better.”

He was older, probably fifty-plus, with a close-cropped balding head, an uncouth face and a fat belly stretching the buttons of his shirt.

He called back into the house. “Car’s here !”

I heard a woman’s voice saying she’d be one minute.

“Go hold the car doors open.” He said to me, shutting the door in my face.

It was way more than a minute before the front door opened again. I stood in the cold, evening air and asked myself for the umpteenth time what the fuck I was doing. Sure, the film of us would be excruciatingly embarrassing if it were posted on the net. I’d never get over my parents and close friends seeing it. But was the threat really bad enough to hold us ? To blackmail us into all this ? I had an image of Sally being molested by the man who’d opened the door to me. His double-chinned, leering face.

All I knew was the hole we were digging was getting deeper by the day.

“So, you’re Gordon ?” she said, perusing me.

She looked like a prostitute. She was wearing a black coat, with her hair overly done up and loads of makeup on her face. I’d guess she was mid-forties but she could have been sixty. It was hard to gauge her figure under the coat but my impression was that she wasn’t in as bad shape as her husband. She smiled blandly. There was a smudge of bright lipstick on her teeth.

“Yes … Ma’am.”

She climbed into the back of my BMW. I closed her door and then rushed around and helped Don get in next to her.

“Drive us in silence.” She said. “Speak only when you’re spoken to.”

I listened to them for the first half hour of the journey, talking as if I wasn’t there; about everything from some relative of theirs, to a TV soap they watched, to an email they’d just received. I soon gathered they were active advertisers on a bdsm community website.

Finally, she raised her tone and spoke to me.

“So, Gordon, what are your main likes … and dislikes ?”

*** *** ***

By seven fifteen, everything was set; dining table, drinks, food prepared, cameras on standby.

I’d cum twice with my girlfriend that morning before we got up and had our row. But the combination of surfing porn sites on my laptop and watching Sally work naked with both her holes stuffed had replenished my balls.

“Come here.”

I crooked my finger. She stood by me chair and I spread her thighs, teasing the courgette out of her cunt. Her labia clung to it stickily. Then I turned her round and tugged the carrot from her anus.

“Try.”

I held it to her lips. It looked clean enough to me.

She gave me that look I’d already come to recognise. It said, damn you’re disgusting. But she opened her mouth and sniffed the tip.

“Smell good ?”

She rolled her eyes at me. Then she moved her head and bit off about an inch from the carrot I was holding. I watched her crunch it in her mouth.

I smiled and guided her eyes to my laptop screen.

There she was, on the net, free to view. The 4 minutes clip of her masturbating had a 4.00 rating. Not bad for something pretty tame. Her face, tits and pussy were all clearly visible throughout.

“You’re a star.”

She gave me another look. “You realise if my parents see that …”

“They shouldn’t be looking at porn sites. And you shouldn’t have been so dim and kinky that you went in search of somebody like me.”

I didn’t mean it. But it felt so good rubbing her face in it.

“Don’t worry, doll. You know I need to hold back the really good stuff, otherwise I’ll lose my blackmail material. You do as you’re told and you won’t become too infamous !”

She bit her lip, staring at herself rubbing her clit.

“Wh … what about when you’ve … finished with us. How do we know you won’t p … post it then ?”

“Finished, Sal ?” I shook my head chuckling. “Don’t kid yourself my sweet. This doesn’t finish ! This is it. This … is your life.”

End of Part Two

The End ?

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Part Three

In my humble opinion, there is almost nothing that takes a woman down a notch or three faster than making her perform her toilet for an audience. Believe me, the humiliated expression on their perspiring faces is priceless. It works with men too, especially in front of a female audience. But somehow it’s even worse for a woman to have to squat and let go while a selected mixed gender crowd stares at her, giggles and catcalls.

So, our version of New Year’s Eve fireworks was to have Sally entertain us at midnight on her very own dining table. She and Gordon cleared away the remains of the delicious banquet they’d served us and laid out sheets of newspaper on the table. She’d eaten earlier and had already asked me at around ten thirty if she could use the toilet. Request denied, naturally.

She was wearing the fishnet stockings, high heels, thong and ¼ cup bra she’d served our meal in as a slutty waitress. Leon, Don and Joan had copped numerous feels of her body but, as yet, they hadn’t seen Sally’s private bits. The four of us all know that these things are best drawn out, nice n slow, to heighten the tension.

“Get up on the table, Sally.” I finally ordered at exactly 11.55. The radio was playing so that we could listen to Big Ben’s chimes. One camera was mounted on the tripod and Leon was holding the other in his black hands.

“Gordon,” I said, “stand behind your wife and undo her bra clasp for us.”

He looked at me and then slowly obeyed. Like Sally, he was dressed in fishnets and a thong, but whereas hers were black, his were bright pink.

“That’s it. Now take the bra away and show us her tits. Stick’em out Sally. What do you reckon, guys ? Not bad ?”

“A bit droopy.” Leon said, eye to the viewer, filming.

“I’d like to try tit fucking them some time.” was Don’s comment.

“I’m sure that could be arranged.” I chuckled. “Gordon, would you like to invite Don here to fuck your wife’s hooters one day ?”

Oh Gordy boy, such a sweet flash of petulance in your eyes.

“Er … oh fuck … yes, I invite you to f… fuck her breasts.”

“No Gordon ! That’ll cost you another hundred quid. And ten strokes of the cane from Don later. Now, ask him nicely !”

“Please, Don Sir. I’d love it if you would fuck my wife’s hooters, at your c … convenience, Sir.”

“Better.”

Both of them looked very cute. Sally kneeling topless on the table, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment and uncertainty, Gordon standing behind her in his ridiculous outfit holding her bra, grimacing with helpless humiliation.

“Now, Sally, kneel up and remove that thong of yours for us.”

We watched her peel it down, lifting one knee then the other, finally managing to get the Y of black lacy fabric over her ankles.

“Hand it to Gordon and then kneel with your knees wide apart.”

I could sense an intake of breath and both Leon and Don leaned in closer. Joan sat back in her chair, smoking, playing it cool.

Sally’s hairless mound and coral-pink pussy looked delightful.

“Get up on the balls of your feet now. And squat.”

She manoeuvred herself into the frog-like position, wobbling slightly.

“Lean back against your husband. Gordon, you support under her armpits.”

Now she was ready to perform. Almost.

“Knees wider. Rest your buttocks on your ankles.”

Her hazel eyes screwed shut, as if she could block out the moment. She was the perfect height. She could see that our eyes were just below her waist, so we could look up into every single detail of her anatomy.

“Eyes open, doll. Look at us. That’s it. Everything nice and wide.”

I turned to the audience, smiling at Joan, Don and Leon, in turn.

Leon had the camera pointing at Sally, not me. My words were all being recorded and I could decide to use or delete them later. Everybody looked excited. Joan was inhaling deeply on her cigarette.

“Sally has already asked me if she can use the toilet. Tell us, Sally, how badly do you need to go ?”

Her red mouth hung open, slack-lipped. The radio commentary in the background mentioned that it was 11.58. Sweat glistened on her forehead under the lights.

“Pretty badly … Sir.”

“And is that, er, a pee ? Or a poop ? Or even both ?”

“… b … both, Sir.”

Don and Joan both clapped. I grinned at them, getting up from my chair to fetch a used salad bowl from the sideboard. I placed it under her.

“Piss into this.”

“Omigod.” Gordon muttered quietly under his breath.

I shrugged at him.

“Sssh. Don’t worry, my friend. Your time will come too.”

Sally had to have been pretty desperate. No sooner had I sat back down than there was a hiss and then she was spraying her bladder into the bowl. Remarkably, she was accurate and controlled enough that only a few droplets missed and spotted the newspaper. After a few seconds the sound changed as the bowl started to fill. A gurgle mingled with the hissing.

“Look straight at the camera lens, Sal.”

I checked the monitor.

“What are you doing ? Tell us.”

“… I’m p … peeing.”

“We can see that. What’s your name ?”

She looked up at me, over the top of the camera. I pointed down.

“To the camera, dear. Name ?”

“S … Sally.”

“And who’s that standing holding you ?”

I panned upwards to Gordon’s face.

“It’s G … Gordon.”

Her flow was diminishing now. She’d been at it over thirty seconds. It was almost midnight. I pulled the bowl away as soon as she’d finished.

“Okay, Sal. As soon as Big Ben starts to chime, you can start dumping. And you’d better have finished by the twelfth strike. Or else !”

Sometimes it’s amusing to watch uncontrolled diarrhoea but I think that most of the time a constipated shit is more humiliating. People hate being watched doing all that grimacing, groaning and pushing to get it out.

Sally wasted valuable seconds just gawping at us, unable to bring herself to do as I’d ordered. But then she saw my camera and must have been reminded how much material I already had on her. She frowned and began bearing down.

It’s at a time like this that an audience earns its invites. Leon took the roving camera behind the table, and managed to get an angle right up between Sally’s thighs, zooming close up so her anus literally filled his screen. Don and Joan leaned in, staring right into Sally’s eyes, shaking their heads in mock disapproval at how shameless her behaviour was. Only four hours ago she had never even met these people in her life !

Her looks had disappeared. One moment she was pretty, in her mascara-and-lipsticked nakedness, cunt framed by fishnet stocking tops, long platinum hair and pendulous boobs. Next moment she was a scowling, sweating woman, looking more than her age, thighs quivering, with a brown turd emerging slowly from between her legs.

“Push harder !” we all jeered.

Big Ben completed its fifth strike as the long piece tumbled onto the newspaper. I clocked the alarm in her eyes. There was more to come.

“Hurry Sally !”

“Don’t let it hang about.” Don joked.

We pinched our noses. The coiled stool underneath her was steaming slightly, releasing its odour. For a second she stared back at us, then down between her legs in shame.

Joan’s cell phone whirred as she caught the moment on camera.

Sally shut her eyes, face red, almost bursting a blood vessel.

Gong. Big Ben tolled.

Gong.

A second, only slightly smaller turd hit the paper on the twelfth chime.

We clapped and cheered her.

As they say in the film industry; that’s a wrap.

*** *** ***

Where do I begin ? New Year’s Eve was the most extraordinary day, and night, of my entire life. The highlights ? Or perhaps that should be low points ? I’m not sure. That’s the stage you have us at. I always thought that things were either consensual or non-consensual. ‘Reluctant’ ? A cop out, really. I think the ‘no-no-yes-yes-yess’ situation is 99% a figment of the male imagination. And yet … that is where I find myself at. And I speak for Sally too. It’s like consensual n/c. We have consented to give away our right not to consent. Does that make sense ? I am certainly reluctant about just about everything you’ve made us do this past week or so. So is Sally. Most of it’s humiliating, some of it revolting and the rest downright awful.

And yet ? I am living the dream I’ve secretly wanted for so long. Nothing that has happened yet has – deep, deep down – changed that. Yes, we’ve lost control. Yes, we’re in your hands. So, yes, we’ve been stupid. You’ve done much, much more to us in a much, much shorter time than we’d ever have agreed to up front. You lied. You’re taking money. It’s real, not pretend blackmail. But until you go too far (and I genuinely hope you don’t), I cannot say that I regret allowing you to take over our lives.

When I drove Don and Joan home during the small hours, listening to them, remembering Sally on her knees between Don’s disgusting hairy paunch, feeling the tenderness of my bottom against the car seat where he had caned me, the sour taste of both Joan’s middle aged orifices in my mouth, my cash lining his wallet, I felt as small and insignificant as … I don’t know. A nothing. And your smirking words as you stood on my doorstep with Sally, waving me goodbye; “this, my friend, is only the start of the year.”

*** *** ***

I am a fireman. During my working life, I’m totally serious. My job and my bdsm play are like two different planets, populated by life forms unaware of each other’s existence. It’s a stressful job, of course, and I find sex of one form or another is the best way to relax when I’m off duty. My girlfriend is a nurse and there are often times when she has to work while I’m off.

Fortunately, Sally is now able to take up the slack. She and Gordon live about 40 minutes from me. She has a part time job three days a week and her office is about 15 minutes nearer to my place. I’m not sure I’m going to let her keep the job but we’ll see. I’d like to see her doing something much more menial. In the meantime, she’s purchased a dedicated cell phone to which only I have the number. I call, day or night, Sally comes running.

Thursdays and Fridays are her days off. She worked January 2nd so I phoned her at 7.30 a.m. on Thursday 3rd. Gordon had already left for his office.

“Get round here by eight thirty.” were my opening words.

There was a pause. “Hi … Master. Okay I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“No. I said eight thirty latest.”

“… um …right.”

“And stop off and buy me some stuff. Got a pen ?”

I gave her a list of domestic essentials; milk, butter, eggs, bacon, bread, fruit, water, juice, coffee, the Times.

“Got that all down ?”

“Yes.”

“See you eight thirty.”

I pressed the red button on my phone and smiled, scratching my balls.

She made it with two minutes to spare. I opened the door. She was dressed casually in jeans, top, sweater and winter coat, without makeup.

“Come in.”

She was carrying a supermarket plastic bag.

“Get everything ?”

She nodded.

“Make me a coffee.” I said. “Milk, no sugar.” I lifted the newspaper out of the bag. “Put the rest of the stuff away in the kitchen.”

I sat reading the sports pages while she made my coffee. I was still in my dressing gown. It hung open at the waist.

“Suck me.”

She put the steaming mug down and knelt between my thighs. I carried on reading the paper, enjoying her warm mouth on my dick. It was frosty outside and her cheeks were still cold against my skin.

“Undo your jeans.”

I put the paper down to watch her.

“Now get on all fours. Head to the floor.”

I spanked her butt once for fun and thumbed down her panties.

“You only wear thongs from now on, right ? Get rid of all of these.”

She nodded into the carpet. I cut the panties off so she could spread her knees. My fingers opened her labia. The bitch was already wet.

“How’s Gordon getting on in his chastity belt ?”

I slid myself inside her in one smooth motion, gripping her thighs.

“I … he … okay, I guess.”

“You do anything husband and wife-ish yesterday ?”

“No, S … Sir.”

“Good. You feel horny, you text me. Right ? And I’ll decide what happens. Maybe I’ll let him lick you. You’d like that, right ?”

“Mmm … sss.” She moaned.

“But no sex. You catch him even trying to get that thing off, you report him to me. Yeah ?”

“Yes.”

I was slamming hard, my thighs slapping her butt.

“You like that, huh ? Rough ?”

“Y … yes.”

I threw my head back and came, spewing my load inside her. She wriggled her ass in frustration. I guess she’d been near to a climax herself.

I slapped her butt again.

“Stay still.”

I eased my glistening dick out. There was a long pearly teardrop hanging from the tip.

“Turn around and lick me clean.”

She crawled 180 degrees, made a face, but gently wrapped it in her lips.

I patted her on the head.

“Enough.”

I sat back down, pulling my robe around me, picking up the paper.

“Okay. Get dressed. You can go home now.”

I gave her an hour to get home. Then I called her.

“Leon’s off today too. Go round to his place. Got that pen ?”

“Look …”

“Shut it. I don’t have time.”

I gave her an address. It would take her at least an hour from her place.

“Spend all afternoon with him if that’s what he wants. And pay him twenty quid for each fuck. But don’t you climax once. He’ll tell me if you do.”

“Please …”

“And make him wear condoms.” I said. “Take a handful.”

That evening, Leon bought me several pints at a pub midway between us. I don’t know him that well. We met at a bdsm club in London.

“How many ?”

He gave me a toothy grin and held up three fingers. Leon’s a fairly good looking black guy who plays bass guitar in a band. He’s used to treating women of all colours like groupies.

“She cum ?”

“Not so I could tell. She wanted to though.”

He opened his wallet and took out six £10 notes. I took three of them.

“Fifty fifty, my friend. What did you think of her ?”

He tipped his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture.

“Not bad. You know me, man. I prefer them enthusiastic and tight. But if they’re getting on a bit, they need to be experienced and muscled. You want to get her doing some of them pelvic work out things.”

I grinned at the idea. I’d get her to buy herself one of those kegel exercisers. We chatted more about a bunch of stuff for an hour or so; music, football, women. He’s good company.

“You know that friend of yours who makes porn movies ?” I asked.

He nodded. “Jurgen. Yeah.”

“You think he could use Sally ?”

Leon smiled, shrugging. “Sure. Why not ?”

“He pay well ?”

“Depends. Vanilla’s cheap. But I’ve heard he pays good for the kinky stuff. The kind that the usual porn actresses don’t want to do.”

I finished my beer.

“Fancy one more ?”

*** *** ***

Of all the fantasies, chastity is possibly the strangest. I remember before Sally and I decided to look for a Master, surfing sites about enforced abstinence and chastity belts. Irony, huh ? Masturbating over photos and words about not being allowed to masturbate. Yet here I am, living the reality. And I’m climbing the walls. My dick’s a decent size, not huge, but not wimpish, just a standard issue length and thickness. Locked away as it has been in the small, discreet steel tube for six days now, it looks so … harmless. My balls are filling and my wife is getting filled, but I cannot even relieve my frustration with a quick, functional jerk off. And yet my famine has only just begun. I feel like Oliver Twist trembling before approaching the Beadle. ‘Please Sir, may I have some more ?’

*** *** ***

After my evening with Leon, I worked through the long weekend from Friday 4th to Monday 7th January, collapsing for short naps at home and catching occasional brief sessions with my girlfriend, Jan. She’s been doing long stints at the hospital but the little minx is usually hot for a little fucking. I tested Jan out during a spot of post-coital chat about trying woman-on-woman fun and she didn’t rule it out. Maybe I can get her and Sally together and then come clean about my new … arrangement ?

“Get the fuck over here right now.”

It was 05.45 a.m. on Tuesday 8th. I woke them up and told Gordon to pass Sally the phone.

“… yes Sir. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Quicker. Now get going and pass the phone back to Gordon.”

“Hello ?”

“Hi, blue balls. I read your latest blog about chastity. You still being a good boy ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What time do you finish work today ?”

“Er, the usual. Sevenish. Maybe six thirty.”

“Okay. Be outside my front door at eight tonight. Bring your cell. I’ll call you when I’m ready to see you. Wait until then.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, and Gordon ?”

“Yes ?”

“I need one of those new i-phones.”

“… yes, Sir. Er … understood.”

“Good lad. And don’t forget that file of information we discussed. How’s Sally by the way. Horny ?”

“I … well I guess so.”

“She had you licking her cunt out ?”

“Er … once. On Saturday.”

I laughed. Sally had texted me while I was at the Fire Station on Saturday afternoon. I’d replied a few hours later. “Good man, Gordon. Looking after your wife’s needs like that. She dressed yet ?”

“She’s just putting on her bra, Sir.”

“Call her over.”

I heard him say Sally’s name and the sound of her next to him.

“Has she got her thong on yet ?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then kiss her cunt. And her asshole. Send her to me with your blessing.”

I heard him obeying my instruction, the hushed words he spoke to her.

“Bye Gordon.” I said. “Have a good day at your office.”

It was still dark, quiet when Sally arrived at my place at six twenty.

I had made myself a coffee and was sat drinking it. My kitchen was a tip. Neither Jan nor I had done any washing up for four days.

Sally was dressed suitably; trackpants, top, a Gap hoodie and Nike trainers that she’d pulled on in a rush. Perfect domestic chore garments.

I pecked her on the cheek. She was carrying a small leather bag.

“Hi, doll. What’s in there ?”

She shrugged, embarrassed. “Stuff. Lingerie, makeup, a change of clothes for work. I didn’t know what you might want or for how long.”

I nodded approvingly. “Put it there. You can call your workplace at eight and tell them you’re sick today. For now, there’s a load of work here you need to do to get my place sorted.”

I drove her hard. They had employed a cleaner for several years and Sally was used to doing very little housework. Sadly, her cleaner had just been given her notice as part of the cutbacks I’d imposed. From now on Sally would be doing both her own menial chores and mine.

First up, the kitchen. Mounds of washing up, greasy pans, stained mugs, a sink full of used plates and dirty cutlery.

I have a dishwasher but I prefer things done the old fashioned way.

Then she mopped, cleaned, wiped and polished the kitchen floor until it shone and put everything away in its correct cupboard.

Next, my bedroom. Stained sheets, pillow cases, dirty clothes on the floor. There was stuff of Jan’s too.

Sally tidied it all up and put the bed linen in the washing machine, before making my bed up with clean laundry.

I have two bathrooms. An ensuite which I use and a second bathroom that is for any visitors. It’s got Jan’s toothbrush and essentials round the basin.

My own bathroom was in a heck of a state. Wet towels, toothpaste without the top on, basin full of bits of bristle from my last shave, you know the sort of scene. At the end of the room, the toilet pan had cupboards and shelves either side of it littered with books, old newspapers and boxes of well thumbed mens magazines. The tiled floor had several damp puddles.

“Get those tiles clean and shining.”

It was still only ten o’clock. I was in my robe with another cup of coffee. I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees.

Suddenly, I felt the morning urge in my guts.

“Out the way.” I said, walking past her, lifting the cover and sitting down on the pan.

Funnily enough, whilst it’s humiliating for a slave to perform for an audience, it’s not the same for a Master in front of a sub. It’s all in the attitude. I have no qualms about using the toilet while somebody slaves for me.

I was ready. I discreetly pressed the remote control in my robe pocket. Within moments, my guts flipped again and I noisily began. I stared at Sally and caught her glancing up at me for a second. I winked and she lowered her eyes back to the tiles.

I’d had a takeaway curry the previous night and you could tell. The remnants exploded out of me in a staccato series of pungent, loud blasts.

“Look.” I pointed my toe at a dime-sized patch of water between my feet. “Here. Clean this up.”

She shuffled right beneath me. Right next to the action. I watched the back of her head as she sponged up the tiny puddle.

“Look at me.”

Her hazel eyes slowly peered, blinking, into mine.

I flipped my robe aside and showed her my erection. I grinned lasciviously.

“You … pervert.” She whispered, wrinkling her nostrils at the stench.

“No, my dear.” I brushed a strand of her blonde hair aside. “You are the pervert. You and your husband. That’s what the world will think. It’s you two they’ll see. I’ll be just one more anonymous dick.”

Her eyes watered and her cute lips trembled.

“We didn’t … sign up for … this.”

“Oh but you did. I have all the emails. And I recorded our calls.” I rubbed my erection against her cheek. “Admit it, Sally. Deep down, you want this. And more.”

“No.” She turned her face to dodge my dick. Without knowing it, she’d looked straight into the clandestine camera. It was recording her through a hole I’d cut in one of my magazine filing boxes. “Not this.”

I chuckled. “Exactly this.” I twisted her hair so she looked back at me. The time for talking was over. “You think you’re fucking shit doesn’t stink, huh ? Well I know it does, don’t I ? Just like mine. Now, you’re going to be punished for calling me a pervert, Sal. How badly depends on you. I’m going to give your butt one stroke of the cane for every minute it takes you to make me cum in that insolent mouth of yours.”

She shut her eyes. I knew it was a gesture of acceptance, of defeat.

I watched her lift her right hand up and lean her pouting lips forward.

“No, Sal. No hands. You’ve got to do it with just your mouth and tongue.” I glanced at the new watch I’d bought myself with the first donation made by Gordon and Sally to fund my 2008 lifestyle. “Clock’s ticking.”

As she took me into her warm, wet mouth, I made myself comfortable on the toilet seat, letting rip one final blast of flatulence.

She raised her eyes in disgust but didn’t stop slurping her tongue up the underside of my veined shaft. I smirked back. She parted her knees and straightened her thighs to raise herself, so she could get a better angle on me.

I idly looked at the logo on her upturned Nikes and shut my eyes.

Yeah, Sal – just do it !

End of Part Three

Author’s Note

If you would like more of this story, please let me know. I welcome ideas and opinions about Sally and Gordon’s treatment. They can be sent via the Send Author email link on my author’s page or directly to velvetfeedback@gmail.com

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Part Four

I am a stickler for great blowjobs.

I was 15, the first time a chick took me in her mouth. She was 17, hot and wild. More to the point, she knew how to give head. Fortunately for me - but perhaps unfortunately for those who’ve followed her - she set the bar at a very high standard, right from the start.

“Trill it round your tongue.”

I studied Sally’s face as she gawped up at me with my jizz coating her tongue, gums and palate. It was a decent load, thick with the tang of spice and onion, and a whiff of bleach.

Naturally, most girlfriends aren’t receptive to the idea of gargling, even if they’re swallowers. I mean, Jan’s typical. She claims to enjoy oral. But the reality is that she’s only prepared to do it on her terms.

But Sally is going to learn to do it exactly on my terms. And I like to watch a woman gargling my semen as if it were the best tasting mint mouthwash.

It had taken her thirteen minutes of hard oral labour to get me off. No hands, just jaw-aching work, slurping her lips and wrapping her tongue round my cock. I just sat on the pan and enjoyed the view, the stink of my excrement gradually fading as it wafted out through the bathroom door.

I now watched her with her head tilted back, warbling my gunk round the roof of her mouth, making a gurgling hum. I could imagine the lumpy texture slowly blending with her saliva into a soupy mouthful.

“Okay. Down the hatch.”

She gulped and made a face. Then she looked at me for approval.

“Tonight, I want you to write me a list of twenty things my jizz reminds you of; flavours, textures, tastes, scents, images. Pretend you’re a wine expert and it’s a top vintage.”

She gave an almost imperceptible, disapproving shake of her head.

But then she nodded. “Okay.”

“Then copy the list out fifty times.”

She ground her teeth, eyes flashing in annoyance directly at mine.

“Make that a hundred times.”

It was a battle of wills she couldn’t win. Her shoulders slumped.

“Yes, Sir.”

“A hundred and fifty.”

She looked indignant again but bit her tongue.

“Yes, Sir.”

I smirked. “Don’t think you can control me simply by being meek and contrite after you’ve shown impertinence. You will write that list out two hundred times tonight and then hand deliver it through my letter box before you go into your job tomorrow. Is that totally clear ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I looked over at the toilet roll. I figured she’d learned enough for now.

“Get out of here while I wipe my ass.”

She spent the next three hours finishing tidying the other rooms, vacuuming, scrubbing, polishing. Then she made my lunch. I let her eat an undressed and unseasoned salad while I tucked into a nice BLT.

“Sally.” I said. “Some good is going to come out of all this I assure you. And not just the illicit excitement of masochistic sex. I’m going to make you a better woman.”

She chewed on her bland lettuce leaf, listening to me.

“For one, you’re going to lose weight and take more exercise. I’m going to set you targets. And you, I promise you, are going to meet them. Men are going to fancy you, Sal. Loads of men. And you are going to enjoy many male loads.”

“Pl … please.” She stammered. “I’ve said this before. I’ll do what you want. But not a lot of strangers. At least spare me that. You can’t …”

“Don’t ever use that word, Sally. Never … ‘can’t’. You see, I can.”

“Not if it’s something even worse than that film being sent to my family, you can’t.”

She was right. But I ignored her comment for now.

“Oh I see. You’d rather mummy and daddy see you drink piss, huh ? Rather than get fucked by six nice, discreet men one afternoon, using condoms ?”

She ate a slice of cucumber, thinking about what I’d said.

“Six ?”

I smiled. “Not necessarily. But now we’re just haggling. The point is, Sally, just tell me whenever you’ve had enough, and I’ll send all the emails. You must realise, I don’t care either way. I’d get just as much amusement from fucking your life as I do from fucking you.”

“What about the blackmail ? That watch you’ve bought with our money ? We can go to the police.”

I sighed, glancing at the time. Just to let her know I found negotiation dull.

“Take a look at the emails, Sal. Read the small print. You consented to all this, including what you now might want to call blackmail. Besides, it’s all cash. You can’t prove any money actually changed hands.”

She gave up, sensing my annoyance.

“Get on and clear the plates.”

I watched her washing the dishes and mulled things over.

She was right. I needed some stronger material.

Fortunately, I already had a plan.

But first I owed her thirteen strokes of the cane.

I tied her over my square kitchen table. I had her bent over one of the four corners so the table was shaped like a diamond beneath her. Her arms were stretched and tied to the furthest table leg, while her ankles were roped apart to the legs on each side. The other table leg was directly beneath her with the pointed edge of the table wedged between her thighs.

“Look straight at the camera and smile.”

I adjusted the focus on the lens so it was sharp on her face. A second camera filmed her butt and my brand new, third camera took in the ‘overall scene’.

“Say, please gag me, to the camera.”

She dry-swallowed nervously. “Please gag me.”

I obliged, with the dirty, damp dishcloth she’d used for washing up, sealed by a strip of electrical tape. Then I took up my position, checking I wasn’t in the way of the lens. I wanted the edited film from here on to concentrate mainly on her sweet ass cheeks.

Without warning, I blazed the cane across her white globes.

The gag was a good idea. Her howl would have brought the neighbours running. It was the first time in her 33 years she’d ever been hit. I admired her buttocks clenching and unclenching as she wriggled in her bonds, mewling into the soggy dishcloth. The way she was tied astride the corner of the table stretched her bottom wide apart so that I could see her anus winking.

I walked all the way around the table, watching her, taking my time.

Again, without a pause, I slashed the second cut into her quivering flesh.

She let out a strangled ‘mmmmmffff’, turning her head towards me, eyes wide and already watering with tears. A delicious second tramline was seared across her rump. Her ankles strained futilely against her tight bonds.

I laid my fingers over the crimson and white stripes. She winced at my touch. Her flesh was hot. I slid my index finger down between her legs and probed her labia. She wriggled as I pushed it inside her.

“Your cunt gives you away Sally. You’re dripping.”

She mewled into the gag indignantly.

She wasn’t dripping, but she was moist enough for me to pretend otherwise. I let my thumb tease her anal rosebud.

“I want you to remember this caning, Sal. So you learn that punishments are best avoided. Do exactly as I say and you won’t suffer too much.”

She twisted her neck round, eyes pleading with me for mercy.

“Only eleven more, my dear.”

I could read the conflict in her eyes. At one level she obviously did want me to stop. Yet there was a new respect for me too. All her life she’d been in control, ultimately, due to her gender, her looks, her sex. Even now, she had forfeited equality but still expected mercy.

I stood well back and swung again, even harder than the first two.

After I’d given her seven strokes, I broke for a beer. I told her my arm needed a rest and cracked open a can from the fridge.

Of course, the real reason for a break was to allow her adrenaline and natural pain suppressors to disperse. Part Two would be a lot worse if it followed a half time interval.

I sat in a chair facing Sally’s red-eyed and bloated face, swigging on my can, and phoned Jan.

“Hi, love. Can you talk ?”

She replied only for thirty seconds. She was on the ward. She asked me what I was doing.

“Oh, this and that. I’ve given the place a good tidy up.”

Jan congratulated me. She doesn’t usually stay over during the week, just weekends.

“I miss you.” I said, blowing a kiss down the line, staring straight into Sally’s hazel coloured eyes.

“Bye.”

I smiled, putting the phone down. “Jan is your Mistress.” I said to Sally. “Although she doesn’t know it yet.”

I idly picked up Sally’s expensive looking trackpants from the floor; DKNY.

“You can check Jan’s sizes from the clothes and shoes she’s left here. I know she takes a 34B bra. You’re going to buy my girlfriend a few things. Tops, short skirts, sexy lingerie, heels. I want to be able to give them to her as presents this weekend.”

Sally was bug-eyed.

“Go to all your own favourite stores. I want Jan to enjoy the same labels as you from now on, despite her meagre nurse’s salary. And don’t worry about the expense. Because, you see, from today you’re only going to shop for yourself at thrift and charity shops, and you’ll get your cheap bedroom underwear at sex shops.”

I could see Sally squirming with shameful acceptance.

“Got that ? Good girl.”

I belched as the beer repeated on me.

“I guess it’s time for round two, huh ?”

I showed her the cane close up, dangling it in front of her eyes. It’s one of those crook handled, rattan ones, like an old school bamboo.

“Mmwwh …” she shook her head, trying to beg into the gag.

To no avail. Spare the rod and spoil the girl. I walked round behind her and took in the view. Her bottom was a glorious sight. The skin shone bright crimson all across both globes and on the tops of her legs. There were raised welts that were a darker, mottled hue. There was no blood except for a small x where the skin had broken at a point that two strokes had crossed over. A couple of tiny drops of dried blood speckled the scene.

In the centre, her cleft was still white and unmarked. Her anal opening cried out for some attention.

I went to the fridge and took out the little surprise I’d prepared for her several days earlier; a nicely matured ginger root, cut in the shape of a butt plug. I had steeped it in a blend of Tabasco and lemon juice inside a plastic bag. I undid it and pushed it into Sally’s rectum without warning.

Oh boy. It took a few seconds. She didn’t have a clue what it was. But pretty soon it started to burn inside her. Her thighs, ankles, wrists and head wriggled and shook as she strained for escape from the torment.

“It’s called figging.” I told her. “You can clench your ass cheeks but it will burn more. Or you can relax them, but then the cane will hurt more instead. Your choice, doll.”

I steadied myself, raised the cane, and gave her the eighth stroke.

Her quandary seemed to cause her a great deal of distress.

She was now crying tears of pain, frustration and shame. I could see her anal orifice rippling as it tried to eject the burning plug to no avail. Her buttocks were unclenched and spread as best she could manage.

I gave her number nine on the upstroke, smacking into the meat of her lower butt. The cane made a shrill cracking sound like felling a tree.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

I took another walk round her, reluctant to finish. I checked the cameras. I wasn’t going to post much, if anything, of this scene, but it would be fun to watch on my own. Maybe show it to some friends.

I knew she was equally desperate for the end. She managed to blink back the tears enough to look at me, imploring me for the final stroke.

Be careful what you wish for, Sally.

I made sure her number thirteen was particularly unlucky.

At eight thirty that evening, I showed Sally out via by my backdoor. She had recovered from her ordeal pretty well. After spending an hour tied to the table with the ginger slowly losing its potency, I allowed her to take a long shower, and then put several creams on her butt; anti-inflammatory, anti-bruising, emollient. Best of all I gave her two climaxes with the big vibrator she’d brought.

It was the second time I saw that potent cocktail of worship and fear in her eyes. Slaves respond strongly to a cycle of mistreatment and kindness and Sally was no different from any other member of the small group of women who’d been my bdsm partners.

“Don’t forget your task tonight.” I said, kissing her softly.

She shook her head. “I won’t.”

“You can go to work as usual tomorrow. Do you enjoy your job ?”

She frowned. “Sure.”

“Okay. And remember to buy Jan some stuff. I’ll be in touch soon.”

She brightened. “Bye … Master.”

I waved as she walked to her car. “Bye slave.”

The moment she’d gone, I called Gordon’s cell.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Sir. I’m outside.”

I knew he’d been waiting out front at least half an hour.

I walked through the house to my front door and opened it.

“Evening Gordon. Come on in.”

He was carrying a briefcase and a shopping bag. He stood in the hall.

“Take all your clothes off there. Then come in the living room.”

I didn’t wait to watch him strip off. I walked through to the next room, sat down and sipped my wine. He appeared a minute or so later.

He was buck naked except for the chastity tube round his dick.

“What you got for me, Gordy boy ?”

He held out the bag and a manila envelope.

“Good lad.” I peered in the bag at my new i-phone. That could wait.

The manila envelope contained all Gordon’s financial data. I’d convinced him it was just so that I could be certain what they could afford. He was actually reassured that I only wanted to take a modest share.

They had a house with a market value of £750,000 and a mortgage of £250,000, so half a million of free equity. But evidently Gordon didn’t consider that value as ‘part of the game’.

They had around £100,000 of hard-to-touch pension plans but another £60,000 of easy-access equity and bond investments. Then there were the two cars and all their possessions. On the debit side were just a couple of credit cards with small balances.

I whistled. Salary-wise, Gordon made a basic of £75,000 but he’d earned the same again in annual bonuses in each of the past three years.

There was clearly no financial need for Sally to work part-time.

“This everything ?” I asked, staring at him. He looked silly in the nude.

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“You’re a rich guy, Gordon.”

He held up his palms. “No way. But we’re comfortable.”

I smiled. “What’s it worth, Gordon ?”

He grinned back, gaining confidence. “Look, I’ve thought about this. For as long as our … arrangement goes on, I think it’s fair to pay you four hundred pounds a month. That’s a hundred quid a week.”

I nodded appreciatively. “Very generous.”

“We’ll call it blackmail of course. In the game. But I see it as a fee. I mean, I know you’re going a bit quick and that, but it’s … exciting.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

He looked concerned. “What is it ? The amount ?”

“No. The amount’s fine. But it’s not like it’s real blackmail, is it ? I mean, we all know that I wouldn’t actually post that stuff. And besides, it’s not really much of a hold over you. Not like something serious.”

“I don’t know. Some of those clips would be highly embarrassing.”

I shrugged again. “No. It doesn’t feel right to me.” I let my body language speak loudly. He thought I was going to pull the plug on our fun.

“What do you … have in mind ?”

“Oh I don’t know. I haven’t thought. Something financial, I guess.”

“Financial ?”

“Yeah, you know. Fraud. Or theft. You work in accounting don’t you ?”

“Yes, but …”

“Fancy a beer ? Or glass of wine ?” I patted the seat opposite me as a gesture for him to sit down. I switched out of Master-mode completely. He looked perplexed, perching naked on the edge of his chair.

“Er … no thanks. Look. I could maybe think of something.”

I refilled my own glass, letting his words hang in the tense silence.

“Well, perhaps. It would have to be a hold over Sally too.”

He paused. “… I see.”

“It won’t work if it’s just blackmailing you.”

“No. But she mightn’t go for it.” He said.

“Maybe she needn’t know. You could implicate her without telling her. Then she’d only have to be told if it was necessary. I’d know and that would be enough to make it feel real to me.”

There was a long silence.

“Er, could I have that glass of wine, after all ?”

“Sure.” I grinned, getting up to pour him one.

“I could probably think of something.”

I handed him his drink and sat back down opposite him.

“Nothing huge, mind you. But a crime. Worthy of a prison sentence. That’s something that I would feel merited real blackmail, huh ?”

I raised my glass. He slowly lifted his own.

“Wow.” He said sheepishly. “This could really be quite something.”

I pulled the key to his CB device out of my pocket.

“I think your idea deserves a kind of … celebration, don’t you ?”

His eyes seemed hypnotised by the swaying key.

“I would really appreciate that.”

I gave him the illusion of control. “Tell me, Gordon. I don’t want to go too far. Do you just want to have the key and masturbate yourself ? Or do you want me to make you earn it ?”

He blushed. “I … would like to be made to … earn it.”

Oh Gordon. You really are fucked.

*** *** ***

I was back at work the next morning at 10.00.

Sally had posted her homework through my letterbox. I flicked through it and smiled. There was a yellow post it attached with an ‘x’. A kiss !

Come to think of it, they were both really fucked.

I had given Gordon the same thrashing as Sally got. Thirteen strokes over the table and used the same fig up his ass. Both of them would have to be careful sitting down for several days. I finally let him lie on his back with his hips in the air so that he pumped his load all over his face. On camera. Then I locked him back up in his CB and sent him home to secretly plan his own downfall.

I had four long days of work to get through with only Jan’s vanilla loving to relax me. But I hated the idea of my poor new couple left to their own devices.

I scrolled through my cell numbers until I got to Leon’s.

Reach out and touch someone.

End of Part Four

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Part Five

It was 05.15 on Tuesday 15th January when I rang their doorbell.

I’d come unannounced and on a whim, straight from work.

“Who is it ?” Gordon’s voice asked eventually from behind their front door.

“Open up. It’s me.”

There was a sound of a bolt sliding and a key turning.

“Hi.” He said, rubbing his eyes. He was in just a dressing gown. It was parted and I could see the CB tube round his dick.

“Hi.” I smiled, walking in. It was the first time I’d been in their place since Christmas Day. I heard Sally’s voice ask from upstairs.

“Who is it ?”

“It’s … our Master.” Gordon called back.

We both ascended the stairs. Sally was in their bed in the dark. I switched on the bedside lamps. Her hair was tousled and she was wearing a white nightdress. Her blue eyes looked up at me nervously.

“This bed hasn’t seen much action for a while, has it ?”

It was more a statement of fact than a question, really. I looked from her to him and back again. They both shook their heads and mumbled as I started to undress.

“Well let’s have a bit of a threesome then.”

I watched, giving instructions, as Gordon slipped off his gown and then eased his wife’s cotton shift over her head so she was naked. I sat on the edge of the bed as he went down on her, hunched with his head between her thighs, lapping at her cunt. Her knees were raised and spread wide.

“Look at me.” I said to her, running my fingertips over her nipples. Her large tits were doing their best to stay firm but they were like fruit just past its sell-by date; a little over-ripe and spreading out over her chest.

She opened her eyes and stared, her mouth open in a slight ‘o’. I realised that she’d become genuinely hot and horny, enjoying her husband’s mouth in spite of the early hour, or situation, maybe because of it. She’d had no fun since her visit to Leon three days earlier. Her nipples hardened at my touch.

“You.” I nudged Gordon. “Lick her asshole now.”

I helped Sally shift her hips by supporting her ankles. She carried on gawping at me through glazed eyes as her husband began tonguing the crack between her buttocks. She uttered a slight moan.

I finished undressing and placed my semi-erection across her upturned face. A sliver of pre-cum glistened on her cheek like a slug trail. I noticed she hadn’t done a very good job removing her mascara the night before.

“Now you can lick my asshole too.”

I shifted so I was astride her face. I smiled as I settled and she peered up at my descending crack. Then her features disappeared and I felt her tongue slip right into me. I caught Gordon stealing a glimpse at us.

“You concentrate on your own job.”

After a couple of minutes rimming, I stood up and grinned at Sally’s red face. I wasn’t sure if it was shame or lack of air. My butt is in good shape, muscled and trim, but for some reason it’s incredibly hairy, especially into my crack.

“Gordon,” I announced, “lie face up on the bed. Sally, squat over his head, facing his feet.”

They assumed the position. I studied Gordon’s dick in its steel tube. The skin was tight against the edges and I could tell he was trying to get an erection but was restricted by the tightness and 2 ¾ inches-length.

Sally’s cute backside was presented to me and her rosebud anus was wet with his saliva. I seized her hips and whacked my rock hard 8-inches into her welcoming cunt. She exhaled in a long hiss.

I gave her ten seconds of thrusts and then slid out.

“Now lower your cunt onto his chops.” I whispered harshly into her ear.

I saw her shift angle slightly and heard another ‘sss’.

Her spine froze as my thumbs pulled open her ass cheeks and I placed the swollen, bulbous crown of my shiny wet dick at her puckered entrance.

“Don’t ignore him.” I said. “Lick the poor guy’s dicklet.”

Over her shoulders, I could see her slowly put her tongue to hubby’s steel-encased penis. Meanwhile, I gently pushed my shaft and held open her anus until I managed to breach her defences.

“Owgh …aah …” she complained, shifting about.

“Stay still.”

Another thirty seconds and I was wedged in up to my balls. Sally was moaning rhythmically – a mix of discomfort and excitement, I suspect – and rocking to and fro on her husband’s upturned face.

“What am I doing Sal ? Go on, tell Gordon.”

She kept groaning, as my body started slapping into hers.

“Go on.” I shouted. “Tell him.”

“You’re … you’re fucking my … ass.” She mumbled into his groin.

“Yep, I’m buggering you, aren’t I ? Sodomizing you. Anal sex, heh ?”

“Yesssss. You’re b … buggering me.”

“You like it, Sal ? Tell Gordy you like it.”

“I … like it.”

I gave her a momentous thrust. “Don’t cum, Sal. Not yet.”

She whimpered as I hammered another nail into her ass.

“The customer cums first.” I said. And I blew my load, pumping my hips into her in a series of angry lunges.

After a nice rest across Sally’s back, listening to Gordon gasping under our combined weight, I carefully extricated my slick dick from her poop shute.

“That was not bad.” I slapped her playfully across the rump. There were still faded yellow bruises from the caning I’d given her at my place.

I picked up Gordon’s dressing gown and put it on, tying it round my waist. They were like a frozen tableau on the bed; him lying flat and her squatting astride his head, tits pressed against him as she kissed his steel tube.

“Okay, Sal. Time for Gordon’s breakfast. Sit your ass down on his mouth.”

She glanced at me. I could tell she had mixed feelings; she was worried her husband might be grossed out but, equally, she wanted more.

“Gordon ! Ask her to do it.”

His reply was muffled but immediate. “Please, darling. Do it.”

I smiled as she hesitantly shifted until she was sat upright on his face.

“You have to clean up after anal sex.” I said.

She nodded, building a rhythm. Her nipples stuck out like coat hooks.

I opened my robe and smirked down at my dwindling erection. There were no visible signs but we both knew where it had just been.

“Make yourself cum while you suckle me clean.”

She took me between her lips as her hand snaked down between her legs. In seconds she was strumming her clitoris while grinding her bottom and humming on my penis. I watched as her eyelids began to flutter.

And then she wailed.

A long, uncontrolled gasp as she climaxed, like she had never done before.

I snoozed in bed with Sally while Gordon showered, shaved, dressed and made us all coffee. He stood at the bedside as I blew on it and sipped.

“You’re a good lad, Gordon. You played your part in that threesome. I hope you enjoyed it. Did you ?”

He blushed and nodded. “Er …yes, kind of.”

“Did you want to cum ?”

He dry-swallowed. “Yes.” He said with a shrug.

“But you understand that you can’t ?”

He watched me with my arm draped round Sally. I squeezed her plump boob casually but possessively. She was watching us in silence.

“Yes … I understand.”

I beamed at him. “It’s for your own good.”

He nodded again.

“Okay. Have a good day at the office. Say goodbye to Sally.”

“Er … bye Sally.”

She smiled at him sheepishly. “Bye … darling.”

And with that, he was gone.

Later that day, Gordon fucked himself.

He carried out the plan that we had agreed. He committed theft, and accounting fraud, for quite a large sum, cleverly covering his tracks but leaving a sufficient trail that his crimes could be proved. Along with Sally’s guilt too.

He quietly handed the package of evidence over to me that evening.

“Please don’t misuse this.” He whispered, staring into my eyes.

I held his gaze. “Would I ? It’s just to make it feel right.”

He sighed with relief. “I’m pretty certain I’ll get away with it. The company won’t notice so long as nobody tips them off.”

“Sure. Where’s the money ?”

“In a secret account I set up. Joint. I got Sally to sign the papers at the weekend. She didn’t suspect anything. I told her it was a pension plan.”

I could barely hide my smirk. It was a pension plan. Mine.

“Well done. You deserve a reward.”

He looked at me again, shaking his head. “No. Please don’t,” he whispered, looking out for Sally who was working in the kitchen. “I … don’t deserve any … reward. Yet. I … think you should … you know … treat me bad.”

I chuckled, then started full-on laughing. “It’ll be a pleasure, Gordon.”

Sally gasped. They both did.

I’d uploaded another 40-seconds clip onto You Porn. It showed Sally doing herself with a big condom-covered cucumber. Harmless fun.

“Phew.” They both sighed when they realised I hadn’t shown her face.

It was good to know my primary blackmail material was so valuable. Maybe I wouldn’t need the back-up theft and fraud anyway ?

“Sally, I want you to resign your job.” I said matter-of-factly.

“But …”

“Don’t fucking argue all the time !” I shouted at her.

She looked at me and burst into tears. Gordon frowned in shock.

“Stop crying. Control yourself.” I said calmly.

She wiped her eyes. “You can’t take over our lives.”

I cupped her chin. “You just want the fun, don’t you Sally ? Well it doesn’t work like that. Part-time fun.” I kissed a tear from her cheek. “It’s full time, my dear. Besides, you don’t need the money, do you ?”

“No.” Gordon volunteered.

“It’s m … my independence.” Sally sniffled. “It’s not the money, it’s the principle.”

“But you can still work, Sally. Just not at your old job.”

She puckered her brow. “Work ?”

“Sure. I’ll choose your jobs for you.”

“Oh yeah. I’m not being a prostitute for you. I’d rather you posted every damned clip you’ve got on the net than be your whore.”

I raised an eyebrow. It would be fun to find out. One day.

“Not a prostitute Sally. But some work more in keeping with your new … station.”

Gordon joined in, both of them frowning at me.

I laughed. “Come on.” I clicked the mouse on the favourites folder. “Gordon, you write up your blog while Sally and I watch a bit of TV.”

He slept that night handcuffed to the toilet cistern while we slept in the marital bed. I’d discovered Sally is a night time pooper. I tend to go mostly in the mornings. She used the pan in front of me, still cringing with embarrassment, as I finished my wine perched on the edge of the bathtub.

Funny how a cute woman can produce such a loud and large offering.

I studied her pretty features as she grunted and grimaced, the slight crow’s feet round her hazel brown eyes puckering. She still had her makeup on but I made a mental note to get her to do a through job removing it. Her teeth are excellent; even, pearly white. As I said, she’s not really my taste but she’s undoubtedly attractive in an unsophisticated, buxom way. I love women with super-slim waists but big tits. Maybe we should see about getting her a boob job ?

“Don’t flush.” I lifted the seat and pissed into her mushy remains.

Then we fetched Gordon and tied him up to the cistern for the night.

Jan called my cell phone while Sally was massaging my back in bed.

“Hi.” I saw my girlfriend’s name on the mini-screen.

“Hi. Whatchya doing  ?” she asked.

“Just hitting the hay.”

“Mm, I envy you.” She replied. She was doing night duty again.

I shifted on the bed, enjoying Sally’s kneading of my shoulders.

“I miss you.” I said.

She giggled girlishly. “Thank you. Again.” Jan had been delighted with the large package of new clothes I had given her. She was so chuffed she never thought to ask where the money came from. Sally had selected two full lingerie outfits, two tops, a skirt, a woollen dress, a pair of black high heels, a triple-set of lace stockings and a cashmere scarf for Jan, all paid for on Sally’s credit card.

“It was nothing.” I murmured. “You deserve it.”

She lowered her voice. “Don’t play with yourself tonight. I want you good and horny at the weekend.”

“Would I ? I promise you my fingers won’t go near my dick tonight.”

She giggled again. “Good boy. Gotta dash. Sleep tight.”

I put the phone on the bedside table and rolled over onto my back, facing Sally. I glanced down at my groin.

“You heard. I’m not allowed to touch it.”

She paused. “What do you want ?”

“I want a nice lazy hand-job.” I said, stretching, glancing at my watch. “Exactly thirty minutes worth. And while you do it, I want you to tell me a bedtime story about a worthless couple who find themselves under the control of a Master. Make it good. Loads of ideas. And then, when I cum, I want to feel it splash all over my chest, because afterwards you’re going to lick it up, bit by bit. Got all that ?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

I shut my eyes and sank down into the mattress. “Then you can begin.”

*** *** ***

I am updating this blog at my Master’s instruction. It is ten o’clock on the evening of January 15th 2008. I have to write exactly 500 words about how I feel. The TV is blaring from the other room where my Master and my wife are watching some show. I have kept a daily diary but I’ve only been told to post a couple of extracts so far.

In short, how do I feel ? Well, I’m in the shit so deep my eyes are brown. But it’s what I wanted in that sick, desperate way my mind works. There are probably some people reading this blog who are thinking, wow, what a hot fantasy. They jack off reading it. But do they ever intend going through with something like this ? Do they heck. You’ve got to be a dork like me to actually go ahead. I mean, it began as a one-off thing. A Christmas present to myself. And Sally, of course. Something to try once and remember to spice up our sex life in the years to come. I was surprised she went for it, but then again, she’s always surprised me. Just saying yes when I proposed to her for starters.

And then it kind of got out of hand. Our Master wouldn’t take no for an answer. The blackmail was part of it, sure, but I like to think we could have stopped him. The truth is we wanted more too. It was so hot, in an emotional, sexual, masochistic sense, to give into him again and then to suffer that New Year’s Eve party.

And now ? Well, as you can probably imagine reading this, I am climbing the walls with sexual frustration and yet it is the most sexually exciting thing I’ve ever done. I can’t even masturbate. This tube works, believe me. I always thought that CB devices were ultimately like toys. They worked as long as you let them. But this is solid, tight, tamperproof and 100% effective. No erection. No orgasm. But it doesn’t prevent you wanting both those things more and more.

But another guy holds the key. The same guy who’s fucking my wife and gradually taking her over. He doesn’t love her (thank heavens), at least I don’t think he does. He just uses her, in increasingly obscene and demeaning ways. And not only did I just let him, I couldn’t stop him now if I wanted to.

I’ve stolen six figures. Committed fraud. Oh sure, maybe I could try and explain it was just part of a sex game. Er, I don’t think so. Even this blog will fuck me as I’ve admitted it. And Sally too. She’s as guilty as me. We’re in this together. We get caught and we’ve no job, no friends, no life. We don’t have any choice but to play this game out now until the end, wherever that is. We’re at somebody else’s mercy. A virtual stranger. A predator. Master.

*** *** ***

I slept well that night but woke early, in time to fuck Sally before I left.

“You want to cum ?” I asked as my own orgasm approached.

“Mmm … yes.” She hissed,  grinding against me.

I chuckled. “No. You came yesterday morning. That’s enough for a while.”

I spewed my overnight load into her.

The stink in the bathroom had disappeared but Gordon had spent the night staring into the dirty pan. Sally sat astride the toilet seat and wiped her oozing cunt with tissue inches from his face. Then we released him from the cistern.

“Go make me a coffee.” I told him. I stressed the word ‘me’.

I took a nice, long, hot shower, dried and started to dress.

Sally went to follow me into the shower. I shook my head at her.

“No, Sally. I want you going round with my mark on you. Get dressed.”

I followed her to her wardrobe and selected a mid-thigh skirt, tight T, some fishnet stockings still in their packaging, garter belt, and heels. No bra or thong. She stared at me.

“But …”

“Hurry up.”

“I’m leaking. What about underwear ?”

“Don’t worry. The outfit’s fine.”

“It’s freezing outside.” She said, hands on hips.

“You can wear a long coat.” I said. “If you hurry up. Come on.”

With a shake of her head, she quickly pulled the white T over her head. Her full tits strained against the cotton. She sat down and rolled the new black fishnet stockings up her legs, clipped on the garter belt and fastened the stockings to the straps. Finally, she put the black skirt on round her waist and stepped into the 4-inch heels.

I grinned in approval.

“You look great. A touch overweight, but hot.”

Gordon’s eyes bulged as we entered the kitchen. He held out a mug.

“Okay, mate.” I said. “You can use your bathroom now and then get off to work. I’ll call if I need you.”

He looked at Sally.

“She’s coming with me. I’m not sure if she’ll be home tonight.”

I shrugged at their shocked expressions and blew on my coffee.

“Bye Gordon.”

He took one more look at his wife and walked out of the kitchen.

Sally tut-tutted and shook her head. Then she walked over to the fridge.

“What are you doing ?”

“Getting some breakfast.”

“No. You can have a glass of tap water. Got to keep fluids up. But no food, milk or even juice. You’re going on a diet.”

“You have to be kidding !”

I made a slurping noise with my coffee. “Not at all.”

“But I need to eat !” she replied in exasperation.

“And so you shall. But you’re going to lose ten pounds minimum. Maybe more. I’ll see what I think once you’ve begun taking regular exercise.”

She realised I was serious. “Please …”

“Hurry up and drink some water. Then get your coat. We’re leaving.”

I was struggling for ideas for  Sally’s employment. I figured maybe readers of Gordon’s blog might email me some ideas !

In the meantime, I knew a guy who owned a greasy, fast-food joint about ten minutes from where I work. It’s one of those places that can only survive against the big chains by exploiting the staff and using crummy meat in the burgers. Nevertheless, we sometimes go there for fry-up breakfasts after we’ve finished on the night shift.

The ever present ‘staff required’ sign was in the steamed up window.

The Anglo-Italian owner wiped his lips on a dirty towel. He stared at Sally in amazement, then back at me.

“You come about a job ?” he asked, as if he’d misheard.

“Yes.” I replied. “She needs the work. I said I’d help her find some.”

His greedy eyes narrowed and he stroked his stubbly double-chin.

“I don’t really need anybody now.”

“Oh come on, Vittorio.” I said, chuckling. “You always need people. You can never keep staff more than a few days.”

He shrugged. “Take off your coat darling.”

I nodded. Reluctantly, blushing scarlet, Sally slipped off the coat.

Vittorio couldn’t help whistling. “Nice lady.” He looked at me inquisitively. “Okay. What’s the deal here ? What’s she to you ?”

The Café was empty but for a couple of diners at a counter facing the street. They had their backs to us and were reading tabloid newspapers. I placed my hand on Sally’s tit.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

Vittorio didn’t know me well and had no knowledge of Jan.

He frowned, then broke into a grin. “Girlfriend ? Not like any dame I know. She a special kind of … girlfriend ?”

Sally’s lip was trembling, listening to herself being discussed.

I nodded. “Yeah. Special. You can’t touch her, Vittorio. Nor can anybody else. But you can work her into the ground. Tell me if she misbehaves.”

“Mamma mia ! It’s my lucky day. How long ?”

“I’m not sure. A while. On the same days as I work. Twelve hour shifts, okay ?”

He held his hand poised to shake mine. “Only minimum wage.”

I shook his hand. “There’s no need to do any bookwork. You can pay me the equivalent in cash when I collect her each day.”

He released my hand. “Done. She always going to dress like that ?”

I surveyed Sally. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He looked her up and down again, staring at her legs and tits.

“Okay. Lady. Time to show you the ropes.”

I smiled at his turn of phrase. Maybe some ropes would be an idea ?

“By the way, don’t let her eat much. Just water and some fruit at midday.” I picked up one of those shiny, tasteless apples and a squidgy orange.

“Those will do. And no coffee or lunch breaks. Now, I’ve just got time for one of your so-called cappuccinos, Vittorio.”

It was after 8 p.m. when I stopped by to pick Sally up.

She was leaning over wiping tables. Her skirt barely covered her thighs.

I waved at Vittorio who was counting money at the till.

“How’d she do ?”

He made a face. “Sulky bitch. She worked but never smiled once. Mind you, the customers seemed to like her.” He winked. “Know what I mean.”

I winked back.

“Get your coat Sally. Hurry.”

I let her see Vittorio carefully counting out a few notes and coins into my hand. I picked out the small change; two 10ps, a 5p and a 2p.

“Here, Sal. Your share.”

She took the 27 pence from me like an automaton, mouth agape.

“Lets go.”

She didn’t speak in the taxi the whole way home. I ignored her, watching the streetlights and traffic. I usually travel on the bus and it was nice to splash out on my own cab.

When we were nearly home I lifted the hem of her coat in silence. She stonily let me finger her cunt under her skirt. I sniffed.

“You stink.”

“And who’s fault is that ?” she glared at me.

I nodded at the old cabdriver up front. “You want to fuck him ?”

She shut her eyes apologetically. “… no.”

I put two fingers to her lips and she slowly licked them clean.

I paid the cabbie and made sure to give him a generous tip. It put her 27 pence for 12 hours work in context.

Once inside my place, I told her to crack me open a beer.

“Please.” She said, returning with it. “At least tell me what’s going on. Have you spoken to Gordon ?”

“No. Why ? Should I have ?”

“But he’s my husband. He’ll be worried.”

“Why ? I told him you might not be going home tonight.”

“But … oh shit, I can’t go on like this.”

I smiled pleasantly. “Yes, you can. But actually, if you must know, I did call Gordon. He’s busy, doing some chores for me. So don’t worry. He’s not expecting you.”

There was a shrill ring on my doorbell. Sally jumped.

“Go open the door, Sal.” I said. “It’s poker night.”

I lied.

It was a small lie. Just a spelling mistake actually.

She opened the door to five guys; our mutual friend Leon and another black guy named Anthony, plus a carrot-top called Tom, an Asian known as ‘Phuket’ and my sad, divorced schoolmate, a barrister named Charles.

I am an equal opportunities party giver.

You see, it wasn’t really poker night.

It was poke-her night.

Sally brought in a tray of beers, vodka and wine, with peanuts. The guys were all sat in chairs round the room, enjoying the view. Her legs must have been tired from a long day in the heels. Phuket shook his beer and spume sprayed onto Sally’s tight top as she bent over.

“Got an ashtray ?” Tom said, producing his inevitable pack of Marlboros. We call him ‘tomato’ and people think it’s a play on his name and due to his hair. But it’s actually because he’s always carrying a red pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

Leon opened a tin and removed several fat marijuana joints.

I gave them both ashtrays. It was going to be a heck of a party.

Tom lit his first cig and opened his thighs suggestively, leering at Sally. He was wearing baggy jeans and a moth-eaten sweater.

“Hey.” He called over to me, raising his vodka shot. “Cheers.”

We all lifted our cans and glasses. Sally watched us, her wet top clinging to her boobs.

“Take that off Sal.” I said. “It’s soaking.”

She looked like she was going to argue but she saw my expression. With a sigh, she lifted her arms and peeled it over her head.

The guys whistled, enjoying the topless display of her 34Cs.

“Hey babe.” Tom called out to her. He took a long drag on his Marlboro.

“Come to where the flavour is !”

End of Part Five

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Part Six

Sally reluctantly dragged herself over to where Tom was sitting in a grey wreath of tobacco smoke. Her bare tits hung down as she crawled while Leon, Anthony, Phuket, Charles and I encouraged her with wolf whistles, laughter and ribald comments.

Tom sat in his jeans and sweater grinning at us, Marlboro wedged in the side of his mouth while he refilled his shot glass with vodka.

I watched her unzip him, tug down his baggy jeans and grubby, grey underpants. There is a certain pride that any Master reading this will recognise, watching your slave servicing your mates. I know quite a few dom guys even enjoy sharing their own sub wives. Personally, that’s not for me, but I sure as hell get a kick chipping in somebody else’s wife !

Tom glanced up at me appreciatively.

I mean, he’s not the kind of guy who often gets blowjobs, with his thinning ginger curls, freckles, almost white skin and unkempt clothes.

As I’ve already said, I’m a stickler for great oral. Some vanilla gals can do it right but, let’s be honest here, the best head usually comes from slaves.

Sally wasn’t any great shakes yet but it’s a question of attitude as much as skill. Before I took over she had the wrong mind-set and Gordon wasn’t the guy to put her right. Now, for a start, she was on her knees and Tom was in a chair. She was doing him and he was just sat there puffing away. There was no sense of equality, or foreplay or reciprocation. She just concentrated on treating his dick like it was meant to be treated and ignored us all sat around watching, commenting, the smell of tobacco and weed in the air.

I had my camera out, of course, snapping some nice digital images for posterity. Close-ups of her face and lips slurping on another anonymous erection for my ‘Sally Album’.

After Tom blew his load onto her tongue, Phuket took his place. He’s one of those ‘hard as nails’ Asians with a washboard stomach and wiry muscles. His dick isn’t that big but he keeps himself waxed hairless so it looks kind of impressive jutting out of his smooth groin.

Sally groaned out a ‘mmff’ sound as Anthony knelt behind her, flipped up her skirt and plunged his black meat into her from behind. She was still unbathed from our session in the morning and he began spit roasting her easily.

By now, Leon and Charles had unzipped themselves and each placed their dicks in Sally’s hands so she could prepare them while she used her mouth on Phuket and accommodated Anthony in her cunt. I managed to take a great shot that showed her in all her glory without revealing a single one of the guys’ faces. She looked like a pro hooker in a Swedish orgy mag from the 1980s.

The action continued apace; Anthony blew his wad and was replaced by Leon, Charles tipped the contents of Anthony’s condom into Sally’s platinum blonde hair, Phuket jacked his load over her face, then Leon shot his bolt, Charles turned Sally over onto the carpet and mounted her, Tom sat his butt down on her face for rimming, while I kept filming.

After each guy had cum twice, we ordered pizza. While waiting for the delivery guy, Leon and I escorted Sally through to the bathroom.

“Fuck you.” She muttered to me insolently. Her first words other than grunts and moans for ages.

“Who’s talking ?” I answered. Sometimes you just have to humour them. You can’t get pissed off every time they show a bit of spirit.

She stared at me, unable to think of a retort.

“Get in the shower.”

While she washed, Leon fetched a piece of equipment he’d borrowed. I was surprised it had fitted in his car. It was made of light but strong aluminium, wood and leather. We set it up in the bathroom.

Sally emerged shivering from the cold shower and I handed her a towel.

“What’s that ?” she whispered.

We didn’t respond. We showed her instead.

We fixed her into the box frame with her arm and wrists in the four leather straps. Then Leon strapped the punishment collar round her neck, forcing her head up, and I wedged the dental brace into her mouth. Finally, we closed the wooden semi-circles round her collar.

The result was she was squatting in an open sided box with her head poking out of the wooden top. Her neck was nicely rigid and her mouth was stretched wide open due to the steel ring-gag. Her hair hung damp from the shower and she couldn’t move or speak.

“Sal,” I said, unzipping my fly. “You’ve already drunk my piss on day one, so you really can’t object.”

Her blue eyes blazed and she emitted a gutteral objection.

I held the tip of my dick an inch from her mouth and aimed.

“Ummmm.”

I needed to lose a few hours worth of tea, water and beer. I’d eaten salad for lunch with a load of raw beetroot and my piss flowed pale red.

“Every good party needs a urinal.”

She’d screwed her eyes shut and her face was contorted.

I peed for 54 seconds. Leon was timing me. A lot ended up on the tiled floor but plenty went down her throat.

Then Leon unzipped himself and stepped forward.

We partied for ages, eating pizza and ice cream, drinking, watching a soccer match, then ogling some of the footage I had of Sally and Gordon.

All the while, the guys were nipping into the bathroom to leak. The beer flowed and so did the piss. There barely seemed to be a minute without somebody getting up to go. I made a pot of coffee and we sat smoking, telling jokes.

Suddenly I was aware that Tom had been gone a while. Five, maybe ten minutes. Charlie needed a piss and he looked around.

“Where’s Tomato ?”

Leon and Anthony giggled like schoolboys.

I got up, went to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“Tom ?”

“Just coming.” He answered, in a voice trying not to laugh.

Everybody was gathered round. Finally the bolt slid over on the door.

The stench hit me immediately.

Tom shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. Got caught short.”

I couldn’t help chuckling. There was a steaming mound of excrement on the wooden top obscuring the lower half of Sally’s face. Her eyes peered over it at me. Tom must have done his business squatting over her and let it pile up under her chin.

Everybody squeezed into the bathroom.

“Well, she is a toilet, after all.” Charles opined, in his barrister-tone. “May I ?” he asked, unzipping himself to use the normal pan.

“Hey man, use the urinal.” Leon said.

Everybody looked at me for a decision. I shrugged.

“Sure. Why not ?”

“Phfew.” Anthony said. “Hurry man, I want to get outta here.”

Charles shifted position and started pissing. His urine splashed into the brown pile, spattering coffee-coloured droplets all over Sally’s face.

Her eyes were shut and she couldn’t speak, but I could hear the indignation and rage in her helpless gurgle.

I was glad I’d taken out the extra insurance, given the state she was in.

I was in good hands in all states.

My extra ‘insurance’ was a DVD of Gordon. While we’d been partying with Sally, he’d paid £1,000 to a black hooker and her boyfriend to film him licking out her oozing pussy and ass. I watched it later and it wasn’t the sort of footage a respectable, middle class white guy would want his wife, colleagues, friends and the whole world to see.

He arrived at midnight in his car to hand over the DVD and collect Sally. She didn’t know about his evening and I’d told Gordon his ‘infidelity’ would remain our little secret so long as he behaved.

She’d showered for the second time, eaten some cold pizza and recovered her composure but was still mighty pissed.

“You can have tomorrow off.” I told them. “I’m seeing Jan. But I’ve got to work Friday and you can do another stretch at Vittorio’s.”

She shrugged her shoulders, suggesting no commitment.

“Gordon, I was going to let you have an orgasm. Now I won’t. Sally’s insolence just cost you another few days.”

“Sally !” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

She shook her head. “This is bullshit. The game’s over.”

“Tell her Gordon. Is the game over ?”

He put his arm around her. “Darling, it’s not over. It can’t be.”

She looked at him, eyes shining with tears. “We can leave the country.”

He made a face. “We can’t. He even has our passports now.”

“But …”

“Trust me, darling. It’s not that simple. We have to do everything he says. That’s what we wanted. Remember.”

She was crying softly. “Not … everything.”

“Yes. Everything.” He replied.

I leaned forward and kissed her wet cheeks.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

I rang them at five to seven the next morning.

“Jan had to cancel. She’s working today. Both of you get here within an hour.”

“But …” Gordon replied. “I’ve got a meeting at nine.”

“Cancel it.” I snapped. “And the rest of the day.”

I was cheesed off. I’d wanted to see Jan, not my ‘owned couple’.

“Yes … er, okay.”

50 minutes later my doorbell rang.

I gave Gordon a note in an envelope.

“Read this. I’ll see you later.”

He took it and watched me pull Sally into my house and shut the door.

I beamed. “Morning, Sal.”

“Hello.” She replied in a surly tone.

I slapped her across the face. Not hard, but enough.

She clasped her cheek in shock.

“Take everything off. Now !”

She paused just a second, then hurried to obey. She quickly removed her sweater, boots, socks, denim jeans, top, bra and thong.

I walked around her, studying her nakedness.

“I don’t see anything wrong. No harm done. No marks. You are making a lot of fuss about last night for no reason.”

“It’s not here …”. She pointed to her head. “It’s in here.”

“That’s where it’s meant to hurt, Sally. Your pride. Your ego. Your over inflated sense of your own fucking worth. You are a pussy, an ass, and pair of tits, a fucktoy, a cumbucket. That’s all. Get that into your bimbo brain.”

“You’re a … monster !”

“No. I’m just a guy. A penis. A pair of balls. But I own your ass.”

“Please.”

“This is getting boring. Bend over and touch your toes.”

She stared at me, trying to read my eyes, I guess looking for mercy.

“Now !” I barked.

I gave her a thrashing with a cane. It was light and thin, the kind that stings dreadfully without doing any serious damage. She howled and hopped from one leg to the other, doing all that apologising and begging crap. By the time I’d finished, her ass was super-red and nicely tram-lined.

And I was stiff as an iron bar.

I fucked her from behind, enjoying the feel of her scorching butt cheeks against my own skin, and wondered how Gordon was getting on.

*** *** ***

Out of hand.

Today’s blog entry could only be titled ‘out of hand’. I have spent this morning in a state of shock. Our Master has us eating out of his hand. We are like birds pecking at the few seeds he chooses to bestow upon us. More to the point, this situation has now got completely out of hand.

I suggested a payment of one hundred pounds a week. That’s a couple of hundred bucks, give or take, or a hundred thirty five Euros. Each and every week. Plenty, you would have thought as a decent ‘fee’ for his silence and our arrangement.

My heart was pumping for hours in a way that didn’t feel good for my health. There was that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach and I was short of breath.

He wasn’t satisfied with my proposal. Not by a long way. It wasn’t as if he wanted just to up the amount either. No, he wanted total control of my income.

I went to my bank and arranged to transfer out my entire net salary by standing order into his account each month from now on. He said he would consider applications by us for some cash back but they would be subject to our behaviour. Otherwise, we had to live frugally and off our savings.

The idea that I would be working effectively for nothing makes me nauseous. Having to hand over some money seemed erotic. But like a beating that’s too severe, excessive blackmail is pain, not pleasure.

On top of the monthly transfer, he wanted £10,000 by next Tuesday.

I called my broker and told him to sell two shareholdings we had.

After the financial arrangements, I went to the company address that was on the note. It was called SSMS Ltd; Safety, Security and Monitoring Systems. They did burglar and fire alarms and, in particular, CCTV systems around offices and homes.

There was a sketch on the back of the note, showing a rough lay-out of our house, with places marked in red pen for hidden cameras. Each room had at least two and some even more. For example, there were four in our main bedroom and five in our ensuite bathroom.

Even the SSMS Salesman said it was overkill and way too expensive. But I had to say we were very security conscious and I wanted to be able to monitor every inch of the house when we were out.

He smirked. I’m guessing the guy thought I wanted to spy on my wife, either for thrills or to check if she was being unfaithful.

Ironic, huh.

I handed over a £250 cheque as a ‘rush’ quotation fee so that they’d send a quote within 48 hours and do the work in 7 days if I accepted the quote.

Finally, I took out the blank American Express card application form and found a coffee bar where I could fill it in. I treated myself to a latte and a chocolate bar and sat outside in the chilly, winter sun, wondering how it had all gone so wrong, so quickly.

I sipped my coffee sadly and then had to give a weak smile.

I tore open the chocolate wrapper.

Apparently, there’s a smile in every bar.

*** *** ***

Gordon called after lunch to say he’d completed the list.

I was reading the newspaper while Sally was washing my underpants and socks by hand. She was wearing a small, tight top that reached her waist but I could watch her ass glowing as she did my domestic chores. She was humming happily as she worked.

“Hi Gord.” I said. “All go well ?”

“Yes … Sir. Everything is done as you instructed.”

“Good man. When do I get the ten grand ?”

“Monday … Tuesday latest.”

“Excellent. Easy come, easy go, hah ?”

“… yes.” His voice was surly. These two were starting to piss me off.

“In that case, add another ten grand to the deal.”

There was a long pause. “You’re kidding, right ?”

“No. I want twenty grand. And it’ll double again to forty if I hear another negative word or the wrong tone in your fucking voice. It’s the same with your slut wife. I had to thrash some sense into her. I want you both happy and obedient, at least on the surface. Not rude and insubordinate. Is that clear ?”

“Yes, Sir. Twenty thousand, ASAP, Sir.”

I grinned into the phone. “Better.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Okay. I’ll let you go and update your blog. Remember I want the whole truth; what happened and how you are feeling. And then I want you to type me out on paper a full confession of your crimes. Your theft, fraud and submissive, gay desires. Something juicy for the jury.”

“Ple … Yes Sir. Of course, Sir.”

“You want to cum, faggot ?”

“Er … no, Sir. This has all kind of destroyed my desire. You know, I guess only temporarily, but I don’t feel … horny.”

“That’s lucky for you. Because we’re going to make your chastity a lot stricter and a great deal less comfortable. There are a couple of new devices you’re going to invest in for us to try.”

“Yes Sir.”

“You can come by here at six o’clock to collect your missus.”

I glanced over at her. I fancied a little entertainment, featuring her and various kitchen implements and vegetables, followed by an extended rimming and a gargle blowjob. Wipe that fucking grin off her face.

“Yes Sir. Six o’clock.”

“Oh, and did you fill in that Amex Card form ?”

“Yes Sir, I’ll bring it with me.”

“Too right you will.” I replied.

Don’t leave home without it !

End of Part Six

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Part Seven

I’m no techno-whizz.

But after half and hour’s trial and error, I had learned to work the controls. I was able to set the monitor to display any of 12, 4 or 2 cameras at once, using the split-screen facility. And I could zoom, withdraw, pan and focus on a single shot in glorious widescreen.

I could also change volume, listen, speak and record.

And I could store, file, delete, download or broadcast straight to the net.

The company had installed a total of 36 cameras, hidden in the plaster walls, ceilings or carpeted floors of Gordon and Sally’s home. There were 18 microphones in all and a set of tiny speakers in every room.

“Testing.”

Gordon looked at the screen and put his thumb up.

“I hear you, Sir.”

His merry voice came through loud and clear. He and Sally were learning to sound happy and contented, whatever I asked them to do. While Gordon tried out the CCTV system with me, Sally was lying on her living room floor, legs above her head, fucking herself with a butternut squash.

“Try one of the mobile cameras close up.”

There were two hand-helds. Gordon knelt and pointed the lens at Sally’s squishing cunt from a few inches away.

I clicked the mouse, changed camera, and zoomed. The hand-held had its own microphone and I switched from the overhead.

The slurp-squish came though in stereo on my PC speakers.

“Okay. That’s fine.” I said into my built-in mike. “Listen to the rules.”

I told them how I saw it. From now on, they would be under my control 24/7 whilst at their home. My cell phone was linked up to my new PC dedicated to monitoring them, so I could keep an eye on them while I was out and about too.

I could record every room in their house and watch later. Motion sensors created ‘tracks’ in the recording, so I could fast forward from track to track, to check up on any movement.

I told them that the bathroom and lavatory were out of bounds without permission and they couldn’t eat, drink, watch TV, make calls, dress or undress, go to bed, without asking me first.

“What … I mean, but hey, how do we contact you ?” Sally laughed.

“I’ll contact you. When I have time. You make a list of your requests and you can put them to me each time I get in touch.”

“But …”

“Great. Sure.” Gordon interrupted. “Good idea, Sir.”

I chuckled. “Bye.”

I watched them for ten minutes afterwards. They stood around, uncertainly, glancing at the screens, shrugging, making hand gestures.

“I guess we can talk.” Gordon whispered.

“He didn’t say we couldn’t, right.” Sally replied.

They stood in their living room, then walked slowly through to the kitchen.

I switched camera, although they had no way of knowing that I had.

“Fuck.” Gordon said, slumping down at the table.

“Sssh.” Sally hushed him.

I got up and fetched myself a beer.

That was a Saturday in early February.

Jan arrived at 8.00 p.m. and I took her down to a romantic, neighbourhood bistro for supper. It was a new place, pricey, not that I didn’t have plenty of Gordon’s cash to splash on nice restaurants. We chatted and canoodled.

I slipped into the mens room after my main course and opened my cell.

After dialling and waiting, a murky picture appeared on screen.

“Hi.”

They were both still sat at the kitchen table in silence.

“Er … hi.” Gordon replied.

“You hungry ?”

“Yes please, Sir.”

“Okay. You can both eat. But just a dry salad for Sally. Undressed. Hah !.”

They nodded at the screen.

“Er … can we use the toilet, Sir ?” she asked.

“Pee or poop ?”

“Just pee.”

“Him ?”

“Pee too, please Sir.”

“No. You can both stay in the kitchen. Piss in each other’s dinner bowls.”

I could just make out their shocked expressions.

“Yes, sure, thank you S … Sir. Great.” Gordon stammered.

“I’ll be watching.”

I flipped my cell closed and unzipped myself to use the urinal.

“Hey. New PC.” Jan said. “Nice.”

I smiled, putting my arms around her.

“Expensive ?” she asked.

I kissed her. “Nope. It kind of fell into my lap.”

Her nipples were hard and her lips soft. I scooped her up and carried her into my bedroom. Sometimes I enjoy a bit of romantic vanilla.

At half past midnight, I sneaked out of bed and logged on.

“Okay. You can get to bed.” I said.

They both jerked their heads up from snoozing at the kitchen table.

“Thanks.”

“You can do your teeth and wash. Toilet ?”

“I need another pee.” Gordon replied.

“And you, Sal ? You like to shit at night, yeah ?”

She swallowed. I zoomed so her face filled my screen. “Mm … please.”

“Okay. Put me on a show. Don’t let your ass touch the seat. Squat over it, right ? I’ll watch it in the morning.”

I quickly opened up my email and fired off a one-liner to Leon.

Jan and I had sloppy sex again the next morning, made coffee and then she took a bath. I took a second cup and sat down by the PC.

I selected the ‘master bedroom’ icon. The name amused me.

I nearly flipped as loud grunts exploded out of my PC speakers. I was confronted by a scene of Leon fucking Sally in her bed. I clicked the mute button as fast as I could.

“What’s that ?” Jan called out to me from the bathroom.

“Nothing. Just some feedback.”

I found Gordon. He was lying on his back on the bed, under Sally. She had her thighs astride his head while Leon pounded her with DP strokes. Leon’s big black hands were holding her ankles up wide in the air.

I switched from the overhead to the side camera to check out the view.

Leon’s face was almost childlike in blissful enjoyment, eyes half closed, his white teeth clenched gently over his lower lip. Sally’s tits were jiggling to and fro like marshmallows on a plate. I could just make out Gordon’s mewling ‘mmff’ sounds from underneath Sally’s ass.

A typical Sunday morning scene in Gordon and Sally’s new life.

I watched Leon’s piston sliding rhythmically, disappearing and reappearing, deep into Sally’s sweet cunt. It looked like a black ladle stirring a pot of soup. Her own expression was that familiar blend of shame and excitement, with occasional winces as Leon found an extra millimetre of depth.

“What are you up to ?” Jan called out. She was lying in the bath.

I sighed. Leon’s back curved like a bow as he blew his wad.

I guess it was time to come clean to Jan.

I did the night shift on Sunday night and finished work at 8 a.m.

Sally met me outside Vittorio’s.

“Good weekend ?” I asked.

“Yeah … er, great.”

Her acting was getting better. I patted her ass and pushed her into the Café.

“I’ll see you at seven this evening. Get the bus to my place.”

I waved at Vittorio who was frying up bacon and sausage.

“Morning. Work her hard.” I told him. “Bye.”

By eight thirty, I’d arrived at Gordon’s offices. He worked in a small accountancy firm, about a hundred people in all, from partners to secretaries. Gordon came down to meet me in the lobby.

“Hi.” He said nervously. “Er, what can I do for you ?”

I smiled. “You got an office ?”

“Yes … this way.”

He had a small private office on the first floor. It was off an open plan room with about ten workstations. Only about half the places were occupied. A couple of guys were stood at a coffee dispenser.

“Morning.” I said to them.

“Good morning.”

One of them gave me a lingering, inquisitive look. He was perfect; early twenties, still acne-ridden, skinny, kind of rat-faced.

“Who’s he ?” I asked Gordon, as he shut the door.

“Er, him ? That’s Kevin. A trainee.”

“Kevin, hmm. He work for you ?”

“Sort of. On some projects, yes.”

“Good. I want Sally to seduce him. To have an affair with him.”

“But …” he forced himself to smile. His face was puce-coloured.

“Behind your back. I want your office to think you don’t know, so that your colleagues smirk at your naivety.”

“Please … how … I mean what if he doesn’t want to … he might have a girlfriend.”

“It’s Sally’s job to make him want to. You invite him round and she does the rest. She can pounce on him while you’re out of the room. Make it obvious she’ll do anything for him. Then give him her phone number. To be honest, I don’t give a shit how you both do it, but get it done.”

“How … do my colleagues find out ?”

“He’ll talk. But Sally can meet him here for lunch. They can be obvious. You just have to pretend not to notice. You’ve got one week from today to get him in bed with Sally or I go public with the evidence.”

“Please …” His voice was a desperate, trembling whisper. “Can’t you think of anything else …”

“No ! I want to see Sally sucking and fucking Kevin on my CCTV entertainment system within seven days or it’s over !”

He squeezed his features into a contorted expression of obedience.

“Yes, Sir. Understood.”

“Good lad.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Show me your wallet.”

He removed a leather billfold from his jacket pocket.

There were seven crisp £20 notes and one £10; a hundred and fifty quid.

I left him the tenner and lifted all the twenties out for myself.

“What do you say ?”

“Er … thank you, Sir.” He enthused. “For my ten pounds.”

I nodded, walking to the door. “You’re getting the hang of this, Gordon.”

I was horny when I got home but I resisted jerking off. I had a shower and went to bed. I wanted to save a good load for Sally.

She arrived at bang on seven, as instructed.

“Vittorio pay you ?”

I held out my hand and she put her cash into it.

“Get down on your knees.”

She knelt down in the hall, staring up at me. I grinned and opened my towelling robe. My dick was swollen with the need to piss.

She didn’t need to be told any more. She opened wide, even forcing a slight smile.

“Don’t spill any.”

I was kind, controlling the flow of frothing urine into a steady jet, studying her eyes as she concentrated on gulping it all down without any waste. A little trickle bubbled onto her chin that she wiped off and licked.

“You make a good toilet.” I said, tying my robe closed. “Get up.”

She followed me through to my bedroom.

“Er, Sir.”

“Yes ?”

“I … my period has started.”

“You’re on the rag ? Show me.”

She lifted her skirt and pulled her thong off. There was a blue string nestled in the puffy skin of her labia. I slapped her thighs wider apart.

“Hold still.”

I tugged the string, slowly pulling the tampon half-way out. It glistened red.

“Okay. Push it back in.” I said.

She was flushed with humiliation as she pressed it back in.

There was a red smear on my fingers. I held them up.

“Lick them clean.”

Her pink tongue slowly, hesitantly, appeared and lapped at my hand.

I chuckled.

Finger lickin’ good !

*** *** ***

Three months came and went.

February was her last period.

Winter turned to Spring and eventually the weather turned hot.

In March, Sally’s time of the month came and went. In April, she took a test. By early May, we knew for sure she was ten weeks pregnant.

The only thing we didn’t know was ‘who’.

No fucking idea.

Any one of about twenty five partners could be the dad. The only guy we could say for certain wasn’t the biological father was Gordon. I guess we’ll have to wait until November and we can look for genetic similarities. The chances are the child will be white but there’s about a 20% likelihood of black or oriental.

I went with Sally to the various medical appointments and check ups.

“Everything okay, nurse ?”

She was a dragon-type, mid-forties, red hair in a bun. She gave Sally a professional smile and eased her legs apart. “Let’s see shall we ?”

I watched her expression harden as she raised Sally’s skirt.

“Mmm …” she frowned.

I could detect the fishy scent from several yards away. I hadn’t allowed Sally to bathe for 72 hours. She was carrying the ripe, encrusted remains of several sexual encounters with various men. I was determined that she’d continue her healthy sex life well into her final trimester.

The nurse looked at me then at Sally.

“I assume you realise the importance of hygiene at all times, and especially during pregnancy.”

“Of course.” I replied, putting on my shocked husband voice. “Darling ?”

Sally had turned puce red, her eyes filling with tears. “I … I’m sorry.”

*** *** ***

Of course, the best development of all, was Jan’s acceptance of the situation. No, not acceptance. Her enthusiastic adoption of it.

When I got home that afternoon, she was on our bed eating a box of chocs, watching some 1930s black and white movie. Her naked legs were in a v, knees up and wide apart, while Gordon ever so carefully and reverently lapped his tongue between her thighs.

“Hi.” She said, unabashed. “All go well ?”

I pushed Sally into the room. “Yeah. Okay. The nurse had to scrub her cunt clean though.”

Jan smiled, her eyes rolling as her head fell back on the pillow.

“I prefer having mine cleaned by her husband’s tongue.”

I took Sally’s hair and guided her head down alongside Gordon’s.

“Get down there and watch him serving a real woman.”

Jan giggled. “Ooh, darling. You are perverting me.”

I slid down onto the bed next to her. She turned and tongue-kissed me.

I kissed her back. It was a Friday and her day off. That morning we’d told Gordon to ring his office pleading sickness, volunteering to work all Sunday instead. His middle-aged and overweight boss, Oscar, had happily agreed, since he had become another of Sally’s coterie of lovers. He’d undoubtedly be round Sunday for a little action.

“Mmm.” Jan’s eyes sparked. “You ?”

I pecked her nose. “No. Later. I want to watch you instead.”

She exhaled, parting her thighs wider. We both looked down at Gordon. He was studiously focused on her juicy snatch. His skin was smooth where he’d shaved and his nose, lips and chin glistened with her secretions.

I reached down and pushed the top of his head. He understood. So did Jan. She shifted her hips and he lowered his head so that he was tonguing between her anal cleft. I caught Jan’s shy glance.

“Relax, hon’.”

I’m happy to give Jan a little cunnilingus as foreplay but, to be honest, when it comes to oral, I’m more of a receiver, than giver. And as for analingus, I’d rather watch. I’m thrilled that Jan has gotten into it and I don’t feel remotely jealous seeing her like that with another guy.

I looked at Sally who was watching her husband with a strange, faraway look on her face. Usually it was her ‘being unfaithful’ and I guess it did her good occasionally to get an idea what Gordon must feel seeing her with others. We both watched his long tongue seeking out Jan’s guts and maybe Sally was even wishing he’d tried doing that to her ?

“Good ?”

Jan nodded. “Uh-huh.”

I lifted Sally’s hand and put it on Jan’s mound. “Play with her clit.”

Sally obediently spread her fingers and placed two in Jan’s bush. She started moving them up, down and around. It didn’t take my girlfriend long to respond to the tandem massage. She started bucking her hips.

“Mmm … yesssssss …” she hissed.

“Let it go, baby. It’s what they’re for.”

And Jan wailed like a banshee. I knew she was hooked.

*** *** ***

Next morning, I had a coffee and juice. Sally had slept at the foot of my bed while Gordon was locked in the wardrobe. I was hungover. The previous evening Jan and I had drunk a lot with our TV supper, while Gordon and Sally did a bunch of chores. My head hurt bad.

“Go find me some Alka-Seltzer.” I said, nudging Sally with my foot.

I could hear her rooting around in the cabinets. My guts churned.

“Found some ?” I called out irritably.

“No, Sir.”

I unlocked Gordon and pulled him out the wardrobe. “Go help her.”

I waited another minute while they both looked. I drained my coffee. Jan was still snoozing, head under her pillow.

“You useless fuckers.” I said, slamming the bathroom door.

I pushed them both out of the way and looked on the shelves. I found everything but any sort of hangover remedy. Shit !

I sat down on the toilet in front of them, throwing open my dressing gown.

“Sally, come here. Kneel between my feet.”

She obeyed. I looked at Gordon.

“You, come here. Kneel behind your wife.”

He looked at me, eyes squinting, but did as he was told.

“Hold up her tits.”

He reached underneath and pushed up her cleavage, his fingers like bra cups. Both of them were looking up at me nervously.

“Point my dick at them.”

Sally swallowed and took my helmet between her fingertips. She aimed.

It took a moment. We all stared at each other. Then I let rip.

The stinking, early morning flow jetted all over her tits, splashing upwards, then falling in a mini-fountain onto the tiled floor, forming a golden puddle. I sighed, enjoying the hidden anger behind Gordon’s eyes.

I had an overnight bladder. It took almost a minute to empty. The floor was soaking, piss running in the tile grout like an irrigation system.

“Kiss it clean.” I said to her coldly.

She bent her head, lips and tongue lapping and sucking.

I smiled at Gordon. “Thank me.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He said, teeth semi-gritted.

“For ?”

He blinked. “For … using Sally as a urinal, Sir.”

I laughed. “She’s lucky she’s pregnant. We now have to watch what she drinks.” I paused, meaningfully. “And eats.”

With perfect timing my guts rumbled and a hiss of air was audible.

“Mmm.” I sniffed appreciatively. “Lick my balls, Sall.”

I could tell Gordon was having difficulty controlling himself. He was still clutching her soaked tits, or he might have swung a punch at me. Sally’s tongue snaked out, caressing my sweaty, hairy scrotum.

“Now, now, Gordon.” I said. “Remember what could happen.”

His shoulders slumped slightly.

This time it was louder. A big, gut-wrenching trumpet.

At that moment the bathroom door opened. Jan appeared. She took in the scene, froze, then grinned.

“Are these what all the noisy fuss was about ?” She held out a pack of Alka-Seltzer. “They were in the bedside drawer.”

I nodded. It was all happening at once.

I smiled at her, then beamed at Gordon, and Sally. My ass opened.

Plop plop, fizz fizz, oh what a relief it is !

End of Part Seven

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Author’s Note

With thanks to Richard for the email and inspiration.

Part Eight

Last weekend we went to Holland.

I’d negotiated for Sally to take the starring role in a couple of movies, so she, Gordon and I flew out on Thursday night, with Jan following on Friday evening.

I sat up front in Business with Sally three seats behind me in the front row of Economy and Gordon way behind in the back row of the plane. Towards the end of the short flight, I slipped into one of the economy lavatories, winking at Sally as I passed her. She squeezed into the cubicle after me and I lifted her skirt, fucking her in the stand up position leaning against the basin. While I was zipping myself up, there was a knock on the door.

I opened the door to see a travelling salesman-type, with his tie loose. His breath stank of beer.

“Hi.” I said, squeezing past him. He stared drunkenly at Sally. She was still adjusting her top, smoothing her skirt down.

“Hey ?” He mumbled at us.

I shrugged. “Sorry, mate.” I took Sally’s hand and pulled her out after me. “I’d love to let you have a go at her, but the pilot’s put the seat belt lights on.”

He stared at our backs as I escorted her to her seat. As she sat down I spotted a globule of my semen that had trickled below the hemline of her skirt.

The producer-director was a Dutch guy called Marcel. We struck a decent deal whereby he paid us higher than his usual rates, but he got more for his money. What’s more, Gordon was thrown in for free.

Marcel had a studio in the countryside, two miles from the nearest town, so it was very private. He picked us up in his car on Friday morning and we drove thirty minutes from our hotel. But there were already a half dozen cars and trucks parked round the back when we arrived. We walked into the reception area and it was full with about thirty guys, stood around drinking steaming mugs of coffee.

He smiled at me. “Coffee makes their sperm bitter.” He said under his breath. I looked at the guys; the vast majority were big, hairy, farmer types, in dungarees and denim, check shirts and beards.

Sally glanced at me apprehensively. I hadn’t involved her in the negotiations at all. She knew nothing of the deal I’d struck with Marcel or what was required of her.

We walked through to his small, cluttered office.

“Hey.” Marcel said to a hard-faced black dude with dreadlocks. He gestured at Gordon, speaking in Dutch. The black dude stood up and put his arm on Gordon’s shoulder, marching him out the room.

“Do whatever he says.” I called out after Gordon.

Marcel used his arm to push a load of papers off the desk onto the floor.

“Lie down there.” He said to Sally.

She looked at me again. I nodded. She climbed onto the desk.

Marcel stood between her knees and parted them. He lifted her skirt and thumbed the gusset of her thong out of the way.

“Nice, shaved fanny.” He commented, sliding a finger up her.

I sat down in the guest’s chair. “Yeah.”

He ran his hand over her tummy. “Four months ?”

“Give or take.” I replied. “We’re not sure exactly when it happened.”

“Let’s make a film when she’s eight months gone, yeah ?”

“If the price is right.”

He gave a gutteral chuckle. “You drive a hard bargain, my friend.”

I shrugged, watching him pat Sally’s hip.

“Turn over.” He said to her.

I moved my chair so I was sat at the end of the desk. I watched Sally’s face as she lay tummy-down on the desk. Marcel slid her thong down.

She whimpered as he spat on his fingers and lubricated her bottom.

“I’m sure you don’t mind a bit of butt fucking on the casting couch.” He said, leaning to whisper in her ear. “To get the main part.”

I bent forward and kissed Sally’s forehead. One thing I will say is that the past few months had been good for her 33 year old looks. She’d lost weight and toned up. Her long platinum hair was cut more provocatively, and she was wearing more mascara and lipstick. The crow’s feet round her eyes had been treated with botox and her teeth had been whitened.

Her face screwed up as Marcel’s dick began its assault.

He grunted hard with effort, thrusting his hips impatiently.

“Open up wide for him.” I twisted her hair. “Spread those fucking ass cheeks. And hold your fat tummy up off the table.”

He pushed hard and grinned at me appreciatively. “Oh, yah !”

I sat back and watched her hazel eyes as he rocked to and fro on her back. Marcel was no looker but he was sure as hell better than most of the guys lined up outside. In 48 hours Sally was going to be a true porno professional.

And I was her greedy, sleezy agent taking my hefty cut.

One hundred per cent !

*** *** ***

I love bukkake.

Always have. But the annoying thing is that politically correct porno values have turned what was originally a humiliation tool into a ridiculous cliché. The Japanese used bukkake as a way of punishing disobedient or unfaithful women where the entire male population of a village would ejaculate in her face, shaming her forever. No way did the chick enjoy it.

Nowadays you get all these videos and internet clips of ‘actresses’ moaning with delight as they get a facial, then rubbing the jizz into their skin like it was a moisturizer cream, mouthing ‘yum yum’ at the camera lens. As if the chick is enjoying it.

But Sally’s mouth was held wide open by a steel spider gag. There was a rubber ‘o’ ring to protect her teeth and then metal springs and bands that secured her jaws far apart. Inside, there was a steel tongue depressor that held her tongue down and ensured an open channel to her throat.

One camera was dedicated to Sally’s eyes. It was focussed right into them from above, giving the viewer a lovely insight into her mind.

No way was this chick enjoying it !

Her face swam with pools and streams of pearly fluid. Already about half the fifty or so guys who’d now arrived had deposited their first loads onto her face. Marcel told me ran a competition during scenes like this. The guys only earned a few Euros each for their roles but he offered cash prizes for the top three who produced the biggest loads. His regulars apparently loved the good-natured competition with each other and were skilled at eating right and abstaining for several days before a shoot.

As a result, some of the eruptions were massive. These big hairy guys, with big hairy guts, would jack off their big hairy dicks only inches above Sally’s head. Often they’d stand there two and three at a time, a couple beside her ears and one over her forehead, and squirt simultaneously.

Most aimed for the ‘o’ ring, leaning over to shoot thick white jets directly into her mouth. She couldn’t swallow or spit because of the gag and tongue depressor. The look in her wide eyes was a mix of alarm and distaste, as she snorted breaths in through her nose. Nice and slowly, gravity caused the cloying gunk to pool in the back of her mouth, before trickling down her throat. The slow journey allowed her buds to savour the taste and texture to the full. The guys knew their stuff; red meat, onions, garlic, alcohol, nicotine, coffee.

Others ignored the gag and uncoiled great ropes of jizz over her tummy, boobs, neck, face and hair. Sally’s pregnant state was showing via the slight bulge in her belly and an extra cup size in her bras. Her skin glistened and there was a gob of cum pooled in her belly button. She was tied on a long bench, with her arms stretched out above her head. Although she was topless, we’d left her dressed in her skirt and thong.

I glanced at my watch. So far, we’d been filming less than half an hour. There were five cameras rolling but Marcel reckoned to cut a lot of the footage, so we only had maybe five minutes of hardcore ‘money shots’ so far. Fortunately, there were plenty more guys and most of them would be up for two, sometimes, three orgasms.

I took a wander down the corridor. In the other studio, Gordon was having the finishing touches put to his makeup. Except that this was not some short term cosmetic fix. It was a long term makeover.

Four guys were mincing around him in the room; a hairdresser, a needle man, a tattooist and a makeup artist.

I couldn’t help laughing. Gordon’s head was now completely bald and it gleamed with a wax finish. He had big gold hoop earrings hanging down to his collar bones and a line of gold studs up one ear. There were smaller hoops in his nipples. His white body had been completely shaved and waxed. Most impressive of all was a full blown Prince Albert piercing of his penis, along with a one pound weight attached to it, hanging between his thighs.

The tattoo artist was just finishing a pink heart on Gordon’s right bicep with ‘buttfucking’ inscribed inside it in scarlet letters. There was now an enormous dragon on his bare back with its claws digging into Gordon’s buttocks and breathing a plume of fire between his cleft. Finally, in neat black capitals along the line of his front waistband was written; ‘if you want to fuck my wife sally, please ask my Master’.

Meanwhile, the make up guy had done a good job fixing a false moustache and goatee beard to Gordon’s face, making him resemble one of those characters in the Village People band.

“Good work, guys.” I congratulated them.

They smiled. Like all Dutch, they spoke pretty good English.

“How’s it going in there ?” one of them asked me.

I shrugged. “Fine. She’s getting a taste for it.”

He laughed. “He should too.”

“You want a go ?” I asked.

“Sure. No need to wait for filming to begin. Only a blowjob, right ?”

“For now, yeah.”

All four of them were obviously interested.

“Gordon.” I said, looking at him. “It’s time to earn your keep. I want you to suck these guys, right ? And do your best, or else. Clear ?”

His bleary eyes stared up at me, trying to focus. Marcel’s little tablet had done just enough to take away Gordon’s ability to concentrate and some of his inhibitions. His mind was in hallucinogenic, la-la land.

But his body was here, now.

The hairdresser was unzipping his tight black PVC jeans without any shame. His friends cooed and clucked as he extracted a thickening, circumsized penis and waved it in a circle in front of Gordon’s moustache.

“Mmm …” I whispered into Gordon’s ear. “Looks delish.”

His head rocked slightly and he slowly opened his mouth.

The hairdresser winked at me gratefully and put his hand round the back of Gordon’s shining head. He pulled Gordon’s lips onto his crown.

“Come on, Englander.” He said. “Make my day.”

I pointed to a small handheld camcorder on the table.

“Hey, film this for me guys, will you. Keep your faces out of it, if you like, but make sure his is in shot. I want to post a few to Gordon’s facebook.”

Back in the studio, there was a bit of a commotion. The place stank of sex and sweat. Marcel was shouting at one of the studs who’d shot his load all over Sally’s eyes. She had her eyes screwed shut and was twisting her head because of the stinging juice. Marcel wouldn’t have minded normally but for this flick we wanted the constant close up of her eyes, so that everybody could tell that her distress was real. Sure, you can tell that most crap porn actresses are only doing it for the money, but you don’t get to see inside their minds while they swoon about how lovely it all tastes.

Somebody mopped up Sally’s eyes sockets and the train continued to roll. She’d been well and truly messed up while I’d been down the corridor chatting to Gordon. I sat in the empty chair next to Marcel who was directing the scene. There were three fixed cameras and two roving ones operated by cameramen. He had six screens on his desk taking feeds from each camera. The sixth was linked to the internet.

I smiled. It was open at Google with two words in the search box; ‘semen taste’. Of course, there were endless sites offering advice about how to improve the taste of your semen, to make things nicer for your missus or girlfriends. You have to delve a little deeper to find help with making your manjuice less palatable.

On the closeup monitor, I could see Sally’s eyes staring straight up. What are you thinking my poppet ? Her facial expression was distorted by the tough gag that she’d now been wearing for quite a while. There was a pool of creamy jizz bubbling in the back of her mouth, slowly seeping away like the waters of a semi-blocked drain, only to be filled again by another spurting faucet. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in and out, inflating a bubble of semen in the trail running along her nose and upper lip.

Marcel turned and smiled at me, using his thumb and index finger to make a circle, signifying things were going just fine.

“This is valuable stuff.” He said. “The punters will gobble it up.”

I smiled, rubbing my own thumb and index finger together in the universal sign for cash. This porno business was easy. I looked at Sally taking another couple of loads all over her face and lips.

“Just like Sally !” I replied to Marcel.

We lunched in his office; a snack of beers, cold cuts, bread, cheese and fruit. I enjoyed watching a few minutes of the ‘rushes’ from each camera. Meanwhile, Sally had been taken to the ladies room to shower, clean up and get ready for the afternoon.

We could also watch a direct feed from the smaller studio. Over lunch, Gordon was starring in a gay short. He was bent over the back of a chair, head down, ass in the air, held in position with plastic cable ties. He had an over-sized red ball gag wedged in his mouth to prevent anything but drooling.

His first partner was a slim, obviously homosexual young man. Not an actor, just a guy who’d responded to our personal ad. He was running his delicate hands up and down Gordon’s hips, thighs and butt. A film assistant handed him a tub of lube and he gratefully dropped his pants, oiling up his erection and then the crinkled rose of Gordon’s asshole.

The kid had produced an AIDS-test certificate as he was obviously used to transacting in the gay community. I was happy to waive the use of a condom. With his new Village People look, I’m sure he thought Gordon was a very experienced bum-boy.

He skilfully prised open Gordon’s butt with his thumbs, adjusted his angle, and eased the head of his modest-sized dick into place. Marcel had installed one of those hidden, security mini-cameras under the chair, aimed directly at Gordon’s face. It was beautiful as he winced when the guy’s dick pushed through his sphincter muscle and into his butt. A few watery tears escaped out the corners of his eyes and splashed to the floor.

I chuckled and made a mental note to stand new framed photos of Gordon’s and Sally’s faces side by side at their bedside. I would have loads of shots to choose from.

His next partner was a big Turkish labourer, now living in Holland. He was wearing a stained, weightlifter’s shirt, knee-length shorts and trainers. He was bald but with a straggly beard, pierced eyebrows and a ring in one nostril. But the best bit was when he shucked off his shorts.

I’ve seen a few dicks in my time, including some whoppers, but this one took the Cuban cigar. Even limp it hung down the side of his balls like a salami sausage. Once it was jutting out from his hairy groin at full erection, it must have grown to getting on for 12 inches long.

The guy bit a plastic wrapper viciously and rolled a purple condom onto his length, though it only covered about two thirds. The first guy’s deposit was the only lubricant offered.

Marcel and I watched the screen transfixed. The roving cameraman had managed to lean in and film from only inches away, as the great purple dick forced its way through Gordon’s defiant but defenceless resistance. Load mewls of gagged displeasure filled the speakers.

Sally was made up and ready to go. She’d been given some bread, cheese and milk to recharge her batteries, then dressed in a bride’s white wedding dress, veil and all.

The movie was called ‘Fuck my pregnant bride’.

The opening scene of Gordon and Sally at the church would be filmed later and edited in.

For now, the main studio had been set up like hotel bedroom, with a double bed, bedside tables, TV, mini-bar, etc. Sally walked into the room in her wedding gear with three guys; a white, a black and an Asian.

This time we were testing her acting skills a little. Her role was to play the willing hot wife, celebrating her marriage to her cuckold boyfriend, by banging his mates while the reception continues downstairs.

They all sipped a champagne toast and then the guys undressed her, while she cooperated, teased and kissed them. Soon enough they had her veil, dress and shoes off, so she was on the bed in just her cream silk bra, thong and white stockings.

The action was predictable enough. She unzipped the black guy and sucked him while the other two undressed. The Asian undid her bra and fondled her jugs while the third man slowly peeled off her thong. Soon she was astride the Asian on the bed, slowly taking him into her ass, while he lay flat on his back and grinned happily through his spectacles. Once she’d got him wedged, she lay back and beckoned the black guy to mount her carefully. A camera zoomed on her mildly pregnant belly. Once the men had her in a sandwich, the white guy hunkered down by her head and fed her mouth his shaft.

It continued that way for a couple of minutes, with Sally moaning in pretend excitement, then they all switched positions. This time they spit-roasted her, with one guy in the doggie position, and the other fucking her face, while the third tugged roughly on her pendulous nipples.

Again, all change. Then the doorbell rang. An actor dressed as a waiter arrived with a room-service order. The white guy smiled and invited the waiter in to join the party. They left the door open, and shortly afterwards a fifth man arrived. He was older. The father of one of the bride’s friends. In seconds, he was stripping off his wedding tux, climbing onto the bed.

I couldn’t resist taking a look into the other studio. By now, there were a dozen guys standing around, some who’d already enjoyed Gordon’s hospitality, others waiting their turn. Gordon was untied now. He was bent over the arm of a sofa, with somebody in his butt and another feeding his face. Perfect symmetry ! A double spit-roast. Husband and wife in different rooms enjoying the same experiences.

After the five men had all cum, Marcel called a ‘wrap’ on Fuck my pregnant bride. Sally was sticky with sweat and semen and dressed in only her laddered stockings and pearl necklace.

“Well done. Sal. Nice work.”

She looked at me from the bed, too exhausted to express any emotion.

I took a one pound coin from my pocket and pressed it into her palm.

“Here’s a tip. Buy yourself something nice. Some soft tissues, maybe.”

She curled up into a foetal position.

“Go grab a shower.” I said. “You’re finished for today.”

*** *** ***

Late that night, Jan arrived. Her plane had been delayed. She was pooped so we ate room service on the balcony, watching the Dutch sunset.

Gordon and Sally ate what we’d ordered them from bowls on the floor in the bedroom, observing strict silence.

“What are you going to do about Gordon’s job ?” Jan asked.

I shrugged. “Why ?”

“He can’t work looking like that !” she giggled.

“He can. I’ve cleared it with Oscar.”

Oscar was Gordon’s boss. He was married but enjoyed occasional uncomplicated trysts with Sally. We’d agreed that ‘gay Gordon’ would have to give up a couple of key accounts and take a pay cut, but he’d still earn plenty for my requirements.

“Besides,” I added, “we’ve found a new way of earning good money.”

We finished our drinks and went in to the bedroom.

Jan beckoned Gordon over to her bedside. She’d become addicted to his fingers and tongue. She reached out and fingered his Prince Albert. It was the classic piercing from the outside of the frenulum into his urethra. The heavy weight had been detached and was in my suitcase.

She smiled and ran her fingertip along the tattoo on his waistline.

‘If you want to fuck my wife sally, please ask my Master’.

“Oh dear, Gordon.” She said. “What a pickle you’ve got yourself into.”

He bowed his head, looking at the floor. “Yes.” He mumbled.

She glanced at me, then spoke to him.

“Undress me.”

I left them and went through to our hotel bathroom. It was quite plush, with a marble bath, separate shower, twin basins and a toilet. I sat on the john and took a piss, before getting rid of the lunch we’d eaten. I wiped my ass and washed my hands, humming a little tune.

When I got back to the bedroom, Jan had sat astride Gordon’s upturned face, tilting her body to and fro sensuously. I gestured for Sally to join me on the bed, lying face up like her husband. She hesitated.

“Hurry !” I snapped.

Once she was in position, I knelt over her head, facing Jan. We kissed each other, smiling encouragement. I settled my weight down, feeling Sally’s nose slip right between my cheeks.

“Damn … this is hot …” Jan gasped, tongue-kissing me.

“Mmm …”

“You really are … corrupting me.”

“Nonsense.” I smiled. “You’re a nurse.”

She laughed. Her nipples were rock hard as he leaned into me.

I shifted position, taking my weight a little. I looked between my legs.

“Tongue.”

Jan grinned and imitated me, rocking back slightly on her heels.

“Tongue.”

Sally and Gordon did as they were told. I could tell his tongue had only been licking beforehand. Now it was burrowing deep inside Jan. She shuddered against me as we entwined tongues. I felt her fingers reaching down, circling my hardening erection.

“Is this for me ?” Jan gasped. “Or her ?”

I replied by kissing her harder, my hands stroking her boobs. I wanted Jan more than ever before. Her enjoyment of our slave couple had reassured me that we had a long term future. If she’d been too small-minded, sexually conservative, or jealous, she’d probably have lost me. But now I could imagine her being my soulmate forever.

“It’s yours. Whenever you want it.”

She inhaled. Her fingers stroked my scrotum lightly. I could feel her brushing Sally’s forehead and my balls simultaneously. I smiled and leaned back, taking my weight on my outstretched hands.

Jan looked down at Sally, pushing my balls out of the way.

“Hear that, slut ? This dick’s … mine.”

Her index finger slid up my shaft, making me shudder. There was a gleam in her eyes. She rose up, on her haunches, and shuffled off Gordon’s face, before rooting her hot, wet cunt on my dick.

Our combined weights squished Sally’s head and she groaned.

Jan leant down to one side. “Shut up and tongue-fuck his ass !”

I kissed her again. It was sensational. Sensual overload. A tongue up my shithole and my dick in a greedy lovebox.

Jan twisted her head away. “Get up and stand by the bed.” She ordered Gordon. We watched him stagger to his feet. Her juices glistened on his face and bald head.

“I’m sorry, d … darling.” I gasped. “I’m going to …”

I was losing it. I’m proud of my self control but just occasionally the moment takes over, especially if I haven’t cum for twelve hours or more.

Jan hissed. “Yesss ! Cum. Don’t worry. Just fill me up.”

So I did. I let go, feeling her muscles contracting as I blew my load.

Jan lay back on the pillows. She’d never tried a woman’s tongue before.

Sally grovelled between her thighs, lapping up every drop of my mess.

Meanwhile, Gordon was lying on the hotel bedroom floor, face up, with his ass in the air and his ankles above his ears.

“Faster.” I said.

He was jacking off his pierced dick, pumping frantically.

“Slower.”

I watched him grimace and control his arm, decelerating his hand movements. I smiled and took another photo. His ass was in the shot, the rim still loose and red.

“Stop !” I instructed Gordon.

I waited, while Jan gasped, building up to her second, noisy climax. Her hands were twisted in Sally’s straggly hair, pulling her head against Jan’s bucking thighs. Meanwhile, Gordon remained motionless in his uncomfortable, inverted pose.

“Wait, while your betters enjoy their orgasms.” I told him.

I gave it a good minute, until Jan had come down and composed herself.

“Start again.”

Gordon began pumping, gradually picking up speed.

“Don’t cum without permission.” I reminded him.

“Pl … please …” he wailed.

“No !” I shouted. “Control your fucking self. Don’t cum.”

His eyes roved around, looking up, trying to focus on me. They pleaded.

“I … please … I … c … can’t …”

“In your face, then.” I said. “Mouth open and dump it all on your face.”

His hand moved in a blur. Then he opened his jaws and curled his lips wide apart. Suddenly an arc of semen splattered down onto his forehead.

I was ready. I leaned over and yanked his arm, pulling his hand away from his dick.

“Nnnooommgh …” he moaned.

His penis kept shooting, like an uncontrolled gun. I pressed down on his buttocks, pushing his dick nearer his red face. Spurts continued to scatter all over his bald head, snorting nose, flushed cheeks and open mouth.

His hand hovered over his twitching dick, wanting to finish his orgasm properly. He peered desperately at me through his own mess.

“Don’t you dare. You’re lucky I let you cum at all. Wait there.”

I watched him lying, ass in the air, as his penis dribbled the remainder of his load onto his face. I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-bar and walked over to Jan who was smiling at me in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Sleepy ?” I asked.

She nodded.

I slid my hand up between her thighs and pushed my finger inside her, then pulled it out. It was still soaking wet but there was no sign of creamy jizz. Sally had done a good clean-up job. I pushed her aside. “Go sleep on the bathroom floor hon’. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Then I grinned at Jan and sniffed my own finger.

“Mmm, finger-lickin’ good !”

The next morning, Marcel had uploaded a few clips and shots of the new movies onto the promotional, free area of his website.

Sally and Gordon stared at us, dumbfounded. Their names, ages and potted biographies were all up there in glorious technicolor. There was also an email address for ‘fan mail’.

I scratched my finger under Sally’s chin as I would a dog.

“Only I have the password to that email account. But from now on, dear, you’re going to answer all your fan letters. I’ll read them and decide which ones you maybe invite to meet you. After all, a star should mingle with her fans.”

She screwed up her face. “Please …”

Gordon threw his arms out in frustration. “Look … Sir. This has all gone too far … please, we can’t take any m …more …”

His voice cracked and petered out. He fell onto his knees.

Jan glanced at me apprehensively. Marcel simply shrugged.

I stared at Gordon, letting him read the meaning in my eyes. He blinked. It was for a moment like this that I’d taken out the extra insurance. Gordon had stolen six figures. Committed fraud. Implicated Sally. As he’d written on his blog; they didn’t have any choice but to play this game out now until the end.

I slapped him across the face. A crisp smack, then a backhander with my knuckles. He gasped and his fingers flew up to his cheeks.

“Tell Sally that you both have no choice.” I ordered, coolly.

He was crying, silent tears. “W … we have no ch … choice, love.”

She sobbed, also falling to her knees, clutching my ankles. “Pleeeease.” She begged. “I know we don’t have a choice. But have some mercy !”

I turned to Marcel. “We’re losing time. We’d better get a move on, hadn’t we ?”

Ten minutes later, Sally was stretched out facedown on a special fucking bench. Her ankles and wrists were tied outstretched, and her mouth was gagged. Gordon was gagged as well, hogtied on the floor, staring up at us helplessly.

I stood at the end of the bench, wiping Sally’s cheeks, soothing her. I flicked away a tear and pushed flyaway hairs out of her eyes.

“It’s about new experiences.” I said.

There was a loud bark. At that moment, Marcel walked in, holding a leash with a large dog attached. It didn’t seem to be a pedigree breed. It resembled a cross between a Black Labrador and a German Shepherd.

“Meet Bud !” Marcel announced, fighting to control the skittish hound.

I peeked down at Gordon and winked. He was trying to speak, his cheeks puffed and red with rage.

Sally was looking up at me, eyes wide. I nodded at Jan who leaned over and began applying the ointment to Sally’s cunt. It was a mix of lube and canine bitch pheromones.

I sighed, shaking my head mock-sadly at Sally.

“For all that you do, this Bud’s for you !”

End of Chapter Eight

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Part Nine

In the nine months I’d known Gordon and Sally, my standard of living had improved immeasurably. I had raped their savings and investments, flogged their possessions and mortgaged their assets, helped myself to most of Gordon’s income, and put Sally out to work.

Unfortunately though, in the end even the most productive oil well starts to run dry.

“Fortunately,” as my new Arab friend observed, “you just have to keep drilling.”

I’ll call him Sheikh X. He made contact with me via Sally’s website. In late July he paid us his first visit. In early September, he returned, bearing a briefcase brimming with £20 notes !

It was ten thousand pounds; a ‘gesture of good faith’ he called it.

Six days later, Gordon, Sally and I flew out to one of the smaller emirates in the Middle East. The heat haze billowed above the runway tarmac in shimmering silver and yellow stripes. The temperature was over one hundred in the shade. But the paperwork eased us through immigration in double quick time. Sheikh X’s signature clearly carried weight in these parts. The stretch limo confirmed my early impressions.

“Welcome, my friend.” He said, greeting me in the lobby of an enormous palace. He smiled at, but didn’t speak to, Sally or Gordon. In London he’d been dressed in a linen suit but at home he was wearing traditional white robes. His face was heavily creased, with fleshy lips, a hooked nose and a goatee beard.

Sally was swollen with child. Her due date was 14th November 2008. She stood in front of us and undressed while the Sheikh and I sipped mint tea in an open courtyard. Around a dozen of his Arab wives and bodyguards sat or stood and watched Sally clumsily remove her English clothes.

At 34 now, with the bloom of impending motherhood, her platinum hair neatly coiffed, her bum and thighs toned by the relentless sexercise regime I’d kept her on, she actually looked better than she did when we first met.

The Sheikh loved the idea that the father of her first child was completely unknown.

“I shall continue the tradition.” He said to me when I told him. “She shall bear many children with many men. But we won’t know exactly who. Don’t worry, my friend, I will take care of them all. I love kids.”

Once Sally stood totally nude, he twiddled his finger to indicate she should turn around slowly. Sally blushed scarlet at the stares and intakes of breath from the audience. Her breasts seemed to have grown even more in the couple of days since I’d seen them. Her nipples resembled thick cranberries.

Sheikh X motioned for one of his wives to approach. The woman was heavily robed but I could tell by the part of her face that showed she was middle aged, probably in her early fifties. He spoke a stream of Arabic to her. The woman replied, not sounding too happy. He spoke again, louder, firmly.

“She is not amused.” He said out of the side of his mouth to me. “I told her she must accept Sally as another of my concubines. I suspect that poor Sally will not be treated very well inside the harem !”

The next morning, Gordon was brought to where the Sheikh and I were having a leisurely breakfast in a sun-dappled garden, under an arbour of orange blossom and bougainvillea. Two robed guards escorted him. I was shocked. Gordon was virtually unrecognisable. Like his waxed head, his entire body was hairless, down to his bald groin and shaved legs. His skin glistened with oil, sweat and a rash. He was naked apart from a steel chastity belt and body jewellery; gold hoop earings, a line of ear studs, nipple hoops. And the words “if you want to fuck my wife sally, please ask my Master” were still tattooed neatly across his waist.

“Come near.” The Sheikh summoned.

Up close, I could see that he had been eaten alive by mosquitoes and insects. There were scarlet bites all over his face and body, particularly round his flaccid, Prince Albert pierced dick. And this was no chastity belt of the type you could buy commercially on the net or even from a specialist store. It was the most severe and brutal thing even I could imagine. A thimble-sized tube of nine rings of steel teeth, each like the cocked jaws of a small animal trap, encircled the harmless shaft of Gordon’s penis, from root to tip. Although he was shrunken and limp, the teeth still grazed his skin all the way down. It was obvious that even the slightest thickening would be incredibly painful.

“Nice, yes ? Hand forged.” The Sheikh said.

I looked up at Gordon’s perspiring and dejected face. “It’s perfect.”

The Sheikh smiled. “A modern day eunuch. In the past, slaves used to have their parts removed. I think this new way is less barbaric, but more amusing, yes ?”

I nodded in agreement, sipping my dark coffee.

“I do hope you intend to keep him in permanent chastity now. In effect, castrated. It wasn’t so easy to achieve that back in London.”

“But of course.” He paused while a female maid refilled my coffee cup. “My medical staff tell me that a monthly milking can be given to drain the tubes for health reasons. Maybe bi-monthly. I am assured he will feel no orgasm, no release beyond a … how do you say … vaguely pleasant sensation from the draining of any build up of fluid.”

I stared into Gordon’s eyes. He was listening to us discuss him in silence.

“And how do you intend to make use of him otherwise ?”

He gestured all around. “You’ve seen my country. It is one big building site. We need manual labour. All labour is welcome but, of course, free labour is doubly so. He will live with a pick and shovel in his hands.”

“That should take his mind off his sexual frustration !”

The Sheikh shrugged. “I have a cousin.” His fleshy lips curled in a sneer. “He is into boys … what do you call it … gay ? I have already shown him photographs of our friend here and we have done a deal. He will provide soup and a mattress for Gordon in return for nightly use of him. He knows that Gordon’s chastity belt must stay on and he’s pleased about that. My cousin much prefers the male role to the female one.” He chuckled.

I joined him, sniggering as I imagined Gordon’s endless future.

The Sheikh raised an eyebrow at the guards who marched Gordon away.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

Sally knelt between my thighs, pumping my erection in her fingers.

I studied her expression. She was obedient but sulky, resentment visible in her eyes.

And yet ? I saw something else in them. Or I thought I did.

I was sat on the toilet. My car left in an hour to take me to the airport. She had been sent to my room to say goodbye. She was too pregnant to fuck properly and I thought it would be bad manners anyway.

She belonged to somebody else now.

I had been handsomely paid.

“Not so fast, Sal’. I’m in no rush. Just lick the head a while.”

Her lips moved obediently to my glistening helmet, sucking me into her mouth. I parted my thighs wider, leaning my head back against the lavatory cistern.

“I shall miss you.” I said, toying with her greasy hair. As predicted, the ladies of the harem weren’t being too kind to the white woman in their midst. “But this is for the best. Everybody’s so happy.”

Sally and Gordon had sent gushing letters, smiling photos, long emails to their friends, colleagues and relatives. They had ‘appointed somebody to sell up their remaining assets’ in England and they were ‘embarking on a wonderful adventure’ and ‘new life abroad’. They’d try to keep in touch but, ‘please don’t worry’, just feel happy for them.

“I could never give you the kind of slavery you needed, deep down. You know that. It never went far enough. But this will be different. Total lifetime unlimited slavery, just like the real thing.”

Her eyes glanced up at me.

“Don’t cry, Sal’. That’s not the final image your admirers want to have. I shall close down your website. The story’s entered a new phase. One that’s best left to people’s imagination, isn’t it ?”

I pinched her earlobe.

“Come on. You can do better than that. Take me right into your throat.”

Mmm. I sighed, feeling my full length sliding across her tongue.

“A final blowjob. Make it the best yet. From now on there’ll be other men. Many others I’m told. And animals too. I’m told they’re big into bestiality here. Once you’ve given birth, the Sheikh’s going to give you a few months off before breeding you again. And during that break you’ll be introduced to all sorts of crazy new things.”

I was boiling up now, starting to hump her face.

“You remember Bud ? Well he was nothing. A cute mongrel. But the Sheikh has some splendid hunting dogs. And donkeys too. Goats I’ll bet.”

A low moan escaped her lips, humming against my dick.

“Maybe I will keep your website up long enough to post a few images. The Sheikh has promised to send me some. But they’re mainly for Gordon. So that he can have a photo or two to remember his darling wife by !”

I could feel my jizz bubbling up. Throat or facial ? Which would be a better way to say farewell.

In the end I wasn’t able to tear my pulsing dick from her warm wet mouth. I grunted, my legs twitching in delicious spasms, and blew my cookie-dough into her larynx. She gulped it down without demur.

The Sheikh couldn’t complain. She had been well trained.

I clicked my fingers and pointed to the door. I needed to pack my suitcase and say goodbye to my host. Sally couldn’t help glancing back at me as she walked through the doorway.

And that was the last time I ever saw her.

Not Long Afterwards

“Put my dick into your wife’s cunt.”

The guy was an American. His wife was Irish. And they lived in Scotland. That’s fucking miles away by the way, but you can’t be too fussy in this business. I’d been posting and replying to adverts for too long to let them pass.

He leaned nearer and his trembling fingers guided my throbbing shaft into the soft folds of her 30-year old pussy. She gasped, lips apart in an excited ‘o’. Ever so slowly I pushed my hips forwards, sliding my full length inside her moist warmth. I watched the lids fluttering over her emerald eyes.

How did he feel spending Thanksgiving sharing his wife with another man ?

I’d travelled up from London for two nights to celebrate their holiday with them. I paid my airfare, they picked me up and provided all the food and booze. And, of course, the entertainment !

“Watch carefully.” I told him.

Guys like him love being told to lean in close to watch, listen and smell the action. He reminded me a little of Gordon, although I suspected he would be altogether more of a challenge.

I put my lips to hers, sucking her lower lip into my mouth.

She moaned.

In her emails, she’d written she was maybe switch, unsure whether she was domme, or sub like her husband. Fucking somebody else after 4 years of marriage excited her.

I started easing my dick to and fro, making contact with her clit. The first time is the most important; so they have no regrets. It’s crucial to hook them on the thrill of extramarital sex. The regrets can all come much later.

My mind wandered back to last Christmas, to Sally, Gordon and our first meeting. Priceless ! I thought of the jpeg photos I’d recently been sent; a tired-looking Sally breastfeeding her baby boy, an emaciated, dejected Gordon toiling on a dusty road-track. Did they really, truly regret meeting me ? Or did I actually deliver their wildest fantasy ?

I’d never know for sure. Even Gordon’s Blog has been taken down.

But now I had two more candidates, ready to share themselves with me.

Share moments. Share life.

THE END

NEW STORIES COMING SOON FROM VELVETGLOVE:

“Credit Crunch”

“Loaning Lucy”

“Used Goods”

and

“A Tale of Two Cuckolds”

Velvetfeedback@googlemail.com

Priceless

by Velvetglove

Copyright & Disclaimer

‘Priceless’ is an original work of fiction and neither events nor characters portrayed are based in reality. It was originally conceived as a one-part story for Christmas 2007. However, following reader feedback and reviews, it developed into a nine-part (33,000 words) account of blackmail, non-consensual sex and slavery. This is a revised and corrected version of the whole story. Please don’t read it if such things either offend or provoke you. Copyright is asserted by the author and no reposting to other sites or commercial use whatsoever is authorised.

Priceless

Part One

“Put my dick into your wife’s mouth.”

He leaned nearer and his trembling fingers guided my throbbing shaft into the perfect ‘o’ formed by her lipstick-covered lips. Ever so slowly I eased my hips forwards, sliding my full length over her tongue and right into the back of her throat. I watched her eyebrows scrunch together as she gagged.

I glanced at the twin screen monitors. There were two cameras: a fixed one on a tripod that recorded a mid-shot including her face and torso with my dick and stomach; plus a roving one that was hand held by her husband. On the monitors I could check each feed and later I’d cut and edit them to my satisfaction.

Her lips made a glugging sound, one of those accidental ‘mmhhs’ as she suckled too hard. I laced my fingers in her peroxide blonde locks, yo-yoing her head to my satisfaction. I twisted her face so she was full on to the fixed camera, removing any last chance of anonymity.

Her husband had zoomed in so that her mouth filled the monitor, with my voracious weapon pumping in and out, in-out, like a greasy piston. His own expression was hard to read. How did he feel spending Christmas Day watching his wife blowing another man ? Above the camera, his forehead glistened with perspiration and his hand shook occasionally, making the filming more real, like Cloverfield or Blair Witch Project. He was naked except for the brand new steel chastity tube clamped round his dick. My Christmas present to him ! I looked back down at his missus.

She was not really my taste but I couldn’t deny she was pretty, in a bottled blonde, overly made-up kind of way. I’ve found out that there’s a certain type of woman who needs mastering by a man other than their husband. Attractive but insecure, the sort who was a bit promiscuous when young, but then marries an accountant because he can make her ‘respectable’. After a while she allows her looks to slip, maybe puts on a few pounds, and then makes it worse by dressing provocatively, striving for her past youth.

She was 33. Long platinum hair, hazel eyes, with a hint of crow’s feet from too much sunbathing, good teeth, big breasts, a bum and thighs that could certainly do with a strict exercise regime. Sexually, she was a well used canvas but with plenty of blank areas. You know the kind. For example, she thought herself above blowjobs; maybe a moment of sucking as foreplay but she’d imagined her cunt was so damn tight her boyfriends couldn’t wait to get in there. And she reminded me of that joke about why a woman smiles so much as she walks up the aisle after her wedding. She’s grinning because she’s nailed her man and now thinks she’ll never have to give another BJ in her life.

Well, suck on that lady. In, out. In, out. I could feel myself reaching the point of no return. Time for first course of your Christmas feast. For the benefit of our future viewers, I did the usual and pulled out, leaving her mouth gaping like a decked fish.

“Keep your tongue stuck out and finish me off with your hands.”

I checked the monitors. Perfect. I’d saved up 48 hours and eaten right for this moment. Her face was tilted at forty five degrees, her wedding ring was in the shot, my dick was only an inch from her waiting pink tongue.

Kaboom ! The first rope splattered her eye socket and the ridge of her nose. After that, they uncoiled thick and fast; mouth, nostril, forehead, hair, mouth again, lips, chin, the other nostril, painting her face with my chunky, pearly white goo. It was immense, if I say so myself.

There was a silence for about twenty seconds as we each digested the moment; I came down slowly from my orgasm, while she blinked and cringed and held her head immobile, wondering what to do. Her husband kept filming, panning the lens across her splattered features, I suspect mainly to occupy his mind, anything rather than dwell upon what had just happened.

“Let’s see you kiss your wife clean now.”

I took the camera from him and smiled to myself as I watched him tentatively slurping up my jizz from her skin. Already her mascara and blush was running and there was even a smudge in her waterproof lipstick. I focused on his face too, making sure the viewers got a decent close up, sufficient for anybody who knew him to identify who he was.

I ate my Christmas meal sat on my own at the head of their dining table. He was locked in a hogtie inside the cupboard under their staircase. Nothing to eat or drink for him until much later. That was the deal. His wife cooked, served and washed the pans while I ate. I had a full second helping but could only finish the turkey and potatoes. I left a decent amount of vegetables, gravy and bits of turkey leg.

“Here.”

I watched her eat my leftovers with a spoon while I sipped the nice wine they’d bought me. She was dressed in a black PVC maid’s outfit that was my Christmas present to her. It was the sort you see advertised in cheap magazines; a shiny bra, a mini-skirt, fishnets and one of those silly white caps that Victorian servants wore on their heads. I’d used their joint Mastercard to pay for his chastity kit and her dressing up gear.

And the Big John Dong Vibe.

After she’d washed up, I had her mount her own sturdy dining table and prepare to give a show for the audience. The vibrating black dildo was a nice 8 ½ inches in length and she sucked it into her mouth to moisten it. She’d reapplied the bright red lipstick and the colour contrast between the white of her teeth, the black silicone and her scarlet lips looked great on the monitor.

“Okay, doll. Let’s see you slide that baby into your pussy.”

She was naked under the mini. And hairless.  I don’t like a chick whose collar and cuffs don’t match and she had platinum tresses with a dark brazilian below. A bit of foam, a couple of swipes, and now she was bald. She grimaced as Big John’s fat crown pushed open her pouting labia.

“Hurry up. Don’t tease us.”

I smiled encouragingly. While the fixed camera on the tripod recorded her slowly penetrating herself, I used the handheld to wander round the room, filming incriminating evidence; photographs in silver frames, their cars parked outside through the window, a zoom to both number plates, and on the hall table outside the dining room, a couple of unopened envelopes with their names and address on.

When I returned, she had got all of Big John inside her. Her mouth was hanging half open, her eyes half shut, and she was squinting at me, awaiting instructions.

“Turn it on.”

There was a buzzing sound and she gasped. Her breath exploding in a surprised ‘ssss’. Believe it or not, this was her first experience with a vibrator. Fingers, yes, a candle once in her teens she’d said, but never the joy of a toy until now.

“Full speed. And move it fast, in and out.”

The most popular clips on YouPorn are usually under 3 minutes. Voyeurs don’t want long build ups. They want to cut to the chase. The money shot, the orgasm, the squirt, whatever. I could always edit it but it’s nice to be able to post a single stream video scene from start to finish.

“Hurry.”

She was whimpering now, hazel eyes bugging, lips tight in a snarl of sexual need. She was squatting on her nice mahogany table, thighs open and knees akimbo, fisting the plastic vibe in and out of her hairless snatch. I watched her labia gripping and releasing the black dong and idly imagined what she’d be like in the weeks to come when a real black dick or two was filling her. I like to be generous with my good fortune.

She squealed and looked at me. Right into the lens. Oh boy. That would make a great still. You could see right inside her soul. Who she really was. A horny housewife who’d kind of lost her way; wanting, needing.

“Okay. Cum.”

Her head went back, eyes closed, lips opening wide. She buried the dong as far inside her as it would go, then scythed it outwards slowly, as if she was exorcising her clitoris. Then she wailed like a banshee.

I got it all on film; the fixed mid-shot and the roving close up. She’d be shocked when she saw the clip. I find people are genuinely surprised by what they look like when having an orgasm. Embarrassed. The facial expressions alone only tell part of the story. It’s the whole thing; face, body, secretions, above all the abject loss of self control.

She looked at me sheepishly and started to climb down from the table.

“No. Stay there. Let’s carry straight on with the ass shot.”

For the first time since I’d arrived, she clearly wanted to say no. Until then, it had all been her fantasy too, as much as his, or mine. I watched her lip tremble, her jaw set tight, throat tense. Her doe eyes sought mine in a silent plea.

But that was the reason for the blackmail.

The film I was taking was worth more than money to them. Way more. I could put any price on it I liked. Even a sore anus.

“Pl …”

She started to speak but that was forbidden. I snapped a finger to my lips.

“It’s that one.” I said, arms folded. “Or a bigger one.”

I watched her turn onto all fours. She drooled spittle onto the already shining dong and twisted her body so she could place the crown at the entrance to her anus. She glanced pleadingly at me one last time.

“Wait.” I knelt down close so that I could get a great shot. “Okay, go.”

She was an anal virgin. I knew her claim was genuine because she’d asked for anal to be ‘off limits’. I mean, come on. Anal ? I don’t do off limits but if I did, they’d be far north of a bit of butt fucking. And you know what ? She wanted it. She could have found some other guy who would have respected her wish and just done the silken ropes and candlelit cunnilingus, or whatever she thought she fancied initially. But she chose me, regardless.

“You’ve got thirty seconds.”

She grunted, pushed, moaned and shoved. I love virgin asses. They’re so … puckered. There are actually two anal sphincter muscles that control the exit and entrance of items from/to the anus; the inner sphincter is entirely controlled by our bodies, but the outer is basically controlled by our minds. When we sit on the toilet, we relax it to take a dump. But if, say, we need to go but can’t find a toilet, we contract it tighter so as not to have an accident. This is what we call ‘bowel control’ that we learn as babies.

It’s similar with anal sex. You have to learn to control the natural reflex not to allow something up there. I watched closely as her outer sphincter unwillingly accepted her mind’s instructions and loosened sufficiently for the big black vibe to form a bridgehead. The fixed camera was filming her butt so I went round and focused on her facial expressions.

She was making extraordinary faces. Different from when she was climaxing. Similar contortions but of pain, not pleasure. I looked into her eyes but she kept screwing them shut, snorting through her nose. A drool of spittle hung from her chin. Fortunately for her, the initial penetration is the worst bit. Once the sphincter has given up the fight, any reasonably sized and lubricated object slides in without causing too much physical stress. It’s the mental image that distresses people. The picture they have of four, five, six, seven inches plunged through their back door.

“Here, let me help you.”

I walked round the table and switched the vibe on for her, listening to its hum. I was careful to keep my own face out of the shot.

“Okay, doll. Let’s give your fans a real show this time.”

It took over 7 minutes but I could edit it down. She finally came again, on her knees with her face smeared against the table, one hand behind her stabbing the vibe to and fro in her loosened ass, and the other fingering her swollen clit from underneath. Her climax was, quite simply, overwhelming.

If the first couple of scenes were useful material, the last was dynamite. I could hear the ker-ching of tills ringing. Metaphorically of course. Partly because tills don’t sound like that today but mainly because I wasn’t after their money. Not then. Sure I’d help myself to a treat or two, because they had enough. However, it was another form of payment I was interested in.

I smiled kindly at her and chucked her chin with my finger. Her hazel eyes had glazed over, unfocused, as she knelt back up on her hands and knees.

“Just one more thing for this afternoon.” I whispered encouragingly.

I unzipped myself and she let out a small sigh. Her lips parted and it was evident she thought I fancied another blowjob. Er, not yet. I’d had plenty of wine but I’d also eaten cabbage at lunch and I just love what it does to your urine. Yes, asparagus is best, but cabbage gets a close silver medal. I set up the cameras to film the event from two different angles.

She shook her head when she realised what I wanted.

“Don’t be silly. This is nothing. Now, open wide. Unless you’d like to see yourself starring on the internet as a Christmas treat for everybody ?”

I studied her. There’s a fine line to draw with sexual blackmail. I think that was the first moment that she truly realised what they’d done. Fantasy had become reality. Her fate was in my hands. Could she trust me ?

“Come on.” I said. “It could be worse. Believe me. Lie face down.”

She slowly bowed her head in defeat. She was on the dining table and she simply slumped down, sliding her arms and legs to her sides. Her mouth was now the perfect height. I grinned and fished my dick out my pants.

“Mmm ….”

I just rested the tip on her lower lip and sighed as my jet started flowing. A piss when you really need one is still one of the best feelings in the world. I caught the vegetable tang of the cabbage and smiled inwardly. My hot, bitter fluid was going down her throat. Her eyes bugged in alarm and she gulped, causing an overflow of piss to bubble up over her lips and down her chin. I gripped my dick and managed to stop myself mid-flow.

“Don’t waste any, doll. Swallow. Don’t worry. We’ll have loads of practice at this.”

She glanced up, a queasy expression on her face, but she held her lips open again. I smiled into her eyes. And I got a spark back. Defiance ? Acceptance ? Lust ? Hatred ? Maybe a bit of all those things. I relaxed my control again, and settled into a nice steady pissing rhythm, imagining how her tongue, taste buds and throat were enjoying their new role as my toilet. Towards the end I pulled back a touch and hosed her open mouth and face with what remained in my bladder.

The cameras caught it all again, of course. Her profile and my dick. From reluctant start to messy finish. Drops of piss fell from her chin and strands of her hair hung straggly and soaked. There was a small puddle on her precious dining table. Priceless.

Later, after I’d enjoyed a leisurely fuck with her in their marital bed, and then released her husband to eat his cold Christmas meal, I packed my bags; two cameras, one tripod and over 90 minutes of digital action. My relatives were expecting me for an evening of Christmas games and ham sandwiches in less than an hour’s time.

“I’m free on December 29th.” I said. “You can expect me about seven.”

They exchanged glances. No negotiation, no checking diaries, no questions. This was how it was to be from now on. He dry swallowed. She looked at me, then down at the floor. Although she didn’t say the word aloud, it was a ‘yes’. And I knew that when you have the woman, you have the couple.

He nodded. I smiled. She exhaled and then her lips curled in a small crooked grin. The tension eased. One heck of a Christmas Day.

I kissed her full on her warm mouth and shook his hand. He turned his head to look meaningfully down at his waist, at the still locked chastity device.

I glanced at her and then tilted my head from side to side, like I was weighing up the arguments. The key to it was in a zip pocket of my bag.

“The 29th is only four days away. You can wait that long.”

He gasped in disappointment. But I could see something else too. Something outside of his control. He wanted this. Just like she had. The full treatment. Beyond comfort zones. Something money couldn’t buy.

“Goodbye.” I called out, as I placed my bag on the rear seats of my car.

They stood there in the doorway like a happy couple in a TV commercial; their breath clouding in the dark chill air, yellow lights bright in the windows, standing side-by-side, giving me tentative waves.

As I climbed into my car, I was minded of a tagline from a credit card ad. I chuckled.

There are some things in life money can buy.

For everything else, there’s your Master.

Part Two

“Click it !”

I shouted at him again, impatiently this time. His finger hovered, trembling, and then he did it. He clicked the mouse and uploaded the video of his wife. From that moment on, they’d lost control of it to cyberspace. They could never get it back.

They both looked at me, amazed at the enormity of what they’d done. But the clip was relatively harmless. I still had worse, much worse, to blackmail them with. This was just a taster of what they’d feel if they didn’t do exactly as I told them from now on. Besides, maybe nobody they knew would spot her in that little four-minutes clip ? So I now also had 14 email addresses as well - parents, family, friends and colleagues – who could be sent the link if Gordon or Sally once stepped out of line.

It was December 29th. Just a couple of days until the start of 2008 and a very different year for them. A year of living dangerously. And to think, they volunteered for this. Makes you wonder what goes on in their minds.

*** *** ***

My name is Gordon. I am writing this diary on my new Master’s instruction. I understand it may be used to accompany video clips of me or my wife that are posted and I hereby authorise my words to be copied or reproduced in any way. I have been told I am to describe my actions and thoughts and to hold nothing back … or our situation will become worse.

It’s true. Sally and I brought all this upon ourselves. I could attach the usual ‘be careful what you wish for’ warning but – so far – what’s happened is sadly exactly what we wanted. Not every detail or nuance. But generally. Ownership. Helplessness. Exploitation. Blackmail. Threats. A Master. My motives and Sally’s are different. But we come from the same place. A need to give ourselves up in the worst way to the whims of another person.

I met Sally through work ten years ago. She was a temporary secretary at the local accountancy firm where I work. She was sexy with, I discovered, a bit of a reputation. I was amazed when she accepted my clumsy chat up lines and invitation for a drink after work. We married ten months later. I was so proud of her. She is much prettier than I deserve. Yes, I always felt that. I’m not especially successful or wealthy, good looking, talented or funny. I’m just good old Gordon; hard working, dependable, nice. I always got a thrill from other guys enviously looking at Sally and me together.

Sexually, things seemed fine. I knew Sally had more previous partners than me and a wilder past. But she never complained. Nor did I. She was happy to let me take the initiative and set the pace. In the first year or so, we had sex often; three or four times a week. Mainly just good old fashioned fucking but it felt great. Then we settled down to a comfortable once or twice a week. I was busy with work and Sally didn’t seem to mind. We were in no rush for kids either. To be honest, neither of us was sure whether we wanted to have a family. I started masturbating again, rather than impose my libido on her when she wasn’t in the mood or was tired. I’d always jacked myself off, even when we were having more sex.

And then, slowly, the fantasies started. Thoughts that had been dormant since I met Sally started to invade my mind. To cut a long story short, we got drunk one night and I asked her to tie me up and dominate me. It wasn’t a disaster but her heart wasn’t in it. We felt embarrassed. A month later we tried again. A week or so after that, we experimented with me switching and putting Sally in bondage with some scarves. That worked better but we hated the aftermath. I felt guilty about what I’d done and kept apologising while she got angry with me for talking about it and saying sorry.

Of course, it was many months before we reached the point where we knew the only way we could continue was with a Master. We tried, really tried, to make it happen on our own. We knew the risk we would be taking was lunacy but, like moths to a flame, we were unable to resist the terrible need. I was, literally, petrified as we exchanged those first emails. How on earth do you find the right man, the right combination of evil and sanity ?

*** *** ***

As a treat, I let Gordon enjoy sloppy seconds. His last fuck of 2007. All on film, of course. I filled Sally’s cunt and then recorded him lapping her out before he clambered on top and thrust into her hurriedly until he came. Then I had her climb astride her husband’s head and ride him to her own climax with our combined juices running out all over his sopping, glistening face. Another clip for our You Porn collection.

December 29th was a Saturday and I decided to stay the night. I was meeting my girlfriend at the station the next day, but not until the afternoon. She’d been up spending Christmas with her parents. I phoned her while I watched a soccer highlights program on TV. Sally was kneeling between my thighs. Gordon had already been locked in the downstairs cupboard for the night.

“Hi, love.”

“Hiya !”

We’d spoken earlier in the day and I’d told her I was having a quiet evening in. True. Just not the whole truth.

“Watcha doing ?” she asked.

I looked down at Sally’s lips sliding along my erection.

“Just watching Match of the Day.”

“Ah.” She commiserated. “Feeling horny ?”

Sure am, darling.

“Can’t wait to see you.”

We talked some more and then blew lovey-dovey kisses goodbye.

I stared down at Sally, doing her best to bring me off, no-hands.

“That was my girlfriend.”

Her hazel eyes flicked up from my pubic hair to look at me. I’d told them I was single. True, in that I’m not married.

“She’s a nice girl who likes nice healthy sex. But I like the other, dirty unhealthy kind too. So she’ll get the former and you’ll provide me with the latter. Understood ?”

She did her best to nod, eyes smoky with shame and jaw ache.

“Get your mouth off my dick then.”

I watched her pull her head away. A strand of saliva hung from her lip.

“You say that you never rimmed your husband’s asshole, right ?”

She shook her head. During our emails, I’d had to explain what rim means.

“And you never will. Ever. Promise me.”

She nodded her pretty head ever so slowly, mouth opening.

“I … promise.” She whispered.

“Because being rimmed is too good for him.”

I slid down in the armchair, so my butt hung off the cushion. The soccer players were celebrating a goal on TV.

“Do me.”

I enjoyed her expression of distaste almost as much as the first wet buzz of her tongue in my crack. I could still see her eyes and forehead between my thighs.

“Look at me.” I ordered, coldly.

There was a delicious slurry of who-knows-what emotions in her eyes, her pupils dilated with shock. But she peered straight back at me.

Oh boy. I adore analingus. Receiving, not giving. I mean, I don’t mind kissing a freshly bathed girlfriend back there as a bit of foreplay, but mouth-to-ass is one Christmas gift that it’s better to receive than to give.

“Mmm …” I groaned. I find it’s best to encourage with some appreciation. “That tickles. Now, I’m going to fart, doll. Don’t you dare stop what you’re doing, will you.”

It wasn’t a question. Her eyes squinted semi-shut in a grimace.

It was a goody. A long hiss. Almost silent, but loud enough that we both heard it. And she evidently felt and smelt it too. Her face recoiled a fraction but, credit to her, her tongue never lost contact with my butt.

I laughed.

The aroma was pungent, a heady mix of sulphur and spices.

“Pfhaw. Lick that up. Chase your tongue up and down the length of my crack, doll. Hurry.”

She’d crossed into sub-space now. Her eyes were glazed and her senses scrambled. I think she’d have done just about anything I said at that moment. Her soft pink tongue slavered along my hairy anus.

I could feel a second bubble of gas. I pushed it out. This time it was a short gunshot that exploded against her face without warning.

“Ohhhh …” she recoiled.

“Get your fucking tongue back in there now !”

Our eyes locked in a brief test of wills that I won hands down. She steeled her jaw and then leaned back down, opening her mouth. It was even better this time. Her eyes had watered and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

I watched the action on TV for a minute or so. I knew it would heighten her feelings of being used if I studiously ignored her. Sadly I had no more flatulence to test her with. It was time to shoot my load instead.

“Jack me off but stay licking my butt as well.”

She seemed pretty skilled at handling a dick. Maybe she’d given more teenage hand jobs than she’d let on. I shut my eyes and enjoyed the build up as her right hand reached up and pumped me rhythmically.

And then I came, shooting jet after jet over my stomach, chest and groin. I opened my eyes and admired the pearly puddle and patterns I’d made.

“Okay, doll. Enough ass for now. Come here and clean up.”

I studied her as she pecked at my curdling jizz like a cat. Damn it was gonna be fun introducing this woman to bukkake parties.

“Slurp it up. You’ve got thirty seconds to clean me up good.”

*** *** ***

I lay in the locked, under-stairs cupboard all that first overnight stay, uncomfortable, cold and, yes, afraid. The silence in the house was deafening. I heard the TV being turned off and you both going up to bed. Our bed ! My home had been invaded. And it was all my own fault. Police. Ambulance … Fire Brigade. Nobody was coming to our rescue.

My heart was beating in a way I’d never known before. The only other sound was the distant chiming of the church clock; midnight, one, two. I could picture you in my bed, with Sally beside you. Or maybe you would make her sleep in the second bedroom ? Or on the floor ? In the bath ? What bedtime tricks did you have planned ? She told me everything you did to her on Christmas Day; making her fuck her own virgin ass and pissing in her mouth. I knew it would hardly stop there, would it ?

And yet … I wished you had put me back in the CB. I felt afraid. But excited too. I fingered my dick, needing to cum again. How sick is that ? I pumped myself to a hurried orgasm in the dark, yet from now on I want you to deprive me of even the consolation of masturbating myself in a cold dark cupboard at three o’clock on a sleepless morning. Next time I need to be tied, chaste and frustrated, while you fuck my entire life.

*** *** ***

New Year’s Eve. I managed to gather up a trio of internet contacts for my party. There would have been more but several had unmovable commitments. Unsurprisingly, Don and Joan had been invited to another party but they decided at the last minute to give it a miss and join me instead, provided I could help them with travel. Leon was also free to join us.

That morning, my girlfriend and I had a big row about me having to work on New Year’s Eve. But, one of the advantages of my job as a fireman is that shift work is that I often have to work irregular and antisocial hours.

Gordon and Sally were busy with preparations when I arrived at their place mid-afternoon. I checked the till receipts from their shopping. I’d told them to spend at least £400 on the best champagne, wine, food and a few household items I’d specifically ordered. The total bill came to nearer £420. A decent start to ‘their’ new extravagant lifestyle.

“Have you been good ?”

I stared at them both, checking for any signs of guilt. They nodded.

“No sex at all ?” I raised an eyebrow at Gordon. “Not even jacking off ?”

“No … Sir.”

“I read what you posted about masturbating in the cupboard.”

He looked down at his feet. He was wearing a plastic apron.

“From now on I’m going to keep you in the CB full time. It can be your New Year’s resolution. You’re giving up jerking off for 2008.”

He glanced up and then lowered his gaze again. “Yes, Sir.”

“Your car got plenty of fuel ?”

He frowned, looking up. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. In half an hour you need to leave to go pick up a couple of guests.” I told him where Don and Joan lived. It was about 100 miles away. A four hours round trip. Later, at around 2 a.m., he could drive them home again. That would keep him occupied all night. Gordon the cab driver.

“Unless you want to see another clip of Sally sent into cyberspace ?”

He blinked, simply dipping his head in meek acceptance.

“Okay. Carry on with the preparations.”

I watched them working in the kitchen together. She worked at the countertop preparing, washing and cooking. He was laying the dining table, polishing cutlery, shining glasses. I sat down with a glass of wine and took out my cameras, fixing one to a tripod.

“You.” I said to Sally. “Take your top off.”

I filmed her topless chopping vegetables and preparing the beef.

“Now put one of those up your cunt.”

It was a plump courgette, what the Americans call a zucchini. A shiny dark green. She gawped at me incredulously.

“Now !”

Gordon looked from me to his wife, clearing his throat as if to speak.

“Shut up. You fucked up big time when you chose me, mate. Now go get in your car. Stop off first and withdraw £250 in cash from the ATM. When you get to the address I gave you, bring the man and woman back here. Drive safely, but be here by eight latest. Got that ?”

He simply dry-swallowed, absorbing my words. Then with a final desperate glance at his missus, he fetched his jacket and felt for the keys.

“See you later.” I called out merrily as the front door closed.

I turned back to Sally. Her plump, white tits were just past their best. She took a 36D bra and filled it. Her nipples were dark red, like ripe raspberries. Without a bra she jiggled in a droopy, but still sexy manner. She reminded me of a topless waitress in some spit and sawdust joint.

“Take the skirt off.”

She obeyed, unclasping it and draping over a kitchen stool.

“Now the thong.”

I admired the elegant way she managed to remove the little black strip.

“Now put the courgette inside you.”

“Pl …”

“I don’t negotiate. Do it now, or pay the price.”

She leaned against the counter top, spread her thighs and placed the raw fruit against her labia. It was about 8 inches in length and slightly thicker at one end than the other.

“Other end !” I barked.

She’d chosen the thinner end. She looked at me and rotated the courgette in her hand. Then she put it in place and gave a gentle push.

Her mouth opened in a wide ‘o’. She couldn’t look at me.

She was undoubtedly moist and hot. The veggie slid in easily.

“You like being treated like this, don’t you ?”

She mouthed the word ‘no’ and shook her head but she still avoided my gaze. I flicked the cameras onto ‘pause’ and walked over, cupping her tits in my hands, squeezing softly.

“Don’t worry.” I whispered. “You’re meant to enjoy it too.” I smirked. “Well, most of the time.”

I slid one arm down her thigh and took hold of the courgette dildo.

“Let me help.”

She gasped as it penetrated her properly. I studied her eyes as they wallowed in embarrassment. She let out a long whimper. There were over six inches inside her. Smooth as pushing a sharp knife through hot butter.

“This cunt was made for doing the rounds, doll. Maybe it was tight when you were a teenager but you must have put out too easily and too often back then. So I won’t be bothering with this hole too often myself. I’ve got my own girlfriend for that.”

I paused, speaking clearly, letting her absorb every word I said.

“But I don’t want you going without. So I’ll find you some other dicks.”

She was looking up at me as I stood against her. Her nipples were hard and her skin hot to the touch. She seemed to be struggling to breathe.

“Please … you won’t pr … prostitute me ?”

I smiled kindly, cupping her cheek in my palm.

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t plan to do that.”

She shut her eyes. With relief ? Or mixed with something else ?

“Men won’t pay you, doll.” I kissed her nose. “You’re going to pay them !”

Her eyes flew open. The whites flashed in shock.

I chuckled. “Yep. You have a fuck, it’s going to cost you.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s just too much.”

I shrugged. “I doubt that.”

Now she was pleading, eyes locked on mine, holding my wrists.

“Please … don’t take it too far. Look, it’s exciting. Even the blackmail. But that’s taking things … beyond. I would hate it. Please.”

I took a step back, letting my gaze roam up from her feet to her face.

“Look at you, Sally. You’re naked in your own kitchen with a courgette up your cunt. Cooking dinner for a man who’s already passed wind in your face and pissed in your mouth. A man you first met just a week ago.”

She blushed, open mouthed, listening.

“So I think,” I continued, “that I’m best qualified to decide what is, or isn’t, going too far. Aren’t I ?”

I could see it in her eyes. My words hitting home.

“Pl …”

“Oh, don’t give me any more crap ! …pleeeeeaaase.” I mocked her begging tone. Then I switched to a caring, softer manner, taking her hand in mine.

“Look, Sally. Trust me. I know what’s best. I won’t go too far, I promise. But you will fuck other men and pay me for the privilege.”

She was crying. Well, not really crying, just a few silent tears.

“H … how much ?”

I grinned. “That’s my girl. Always trying to negotiate. Well, it depends on various things. On the guy, or guys. There’ll be a discount for gang bangs. And the uglier guys will be cheaper. And it’ll vary according to the situation. A nice comfortable fuck in your bed will be more expensive than an upright shag down an alleyway. But the biggest variable will be whether you have an orgasm or not.”

She stared at me in utter disbelief.

“Yes.” I said. “So long as you’re just a cum dump it’ll be reasonably cheap. But the moment you get to enjoy yourself, the price shoots right up.”

“ … you’re …” She screwed her eyes shut. “I can’t think of the words”.

“Then don’t bother.”

I picked up a large carrot admiringly, twiddling it in my fingers.

“Now, you put this up your asshole and then get back to work.”

*** *** ***

That drive felt the longest I have ever done. The roads were wet, dark and quiet. Occasional headlights speeding towards me dragged my concentration back to the wheel. Who knew what was going on at home ? And yet, here I was, with £250 drawn from the bank, on top of the four hundred and twenty quid we’d already spent at the shops, driving to collect two complete strangers.

Eventually, just before six, I arrived at an ordinary little clutch of houses in a modern development. I found number 6. The names on the piece of paper were Don and Joan, but I knew nothing more about them. I rang the bell.

After a wait, a man opened the door. He stared at me.

“Gordon ?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah ?” he repeated, mimicking my accent. “Yeah what ?”

“Yes … Sir.”

“Better.”

He was older, probably fifty-plus, with a close-cropped balding head, an uncouth face and a fat belly stretching the buttons of his black shirt.

He called back into the house. “Car’s here !”

I heard a woman’s voice saying she’d be one minute.

“Go hold the car doors open.” He said to me, shutting the door in my face.

It was way more than a minute before the front door opened again. I stood in the cold, evening air and asked myself for the umpteenth time what the fuck I was doing. Sure, the film of us would be excruciatingly embarrassing if it were posted on the net. I’d never get over my parents and close friends seeing it. But was the threat really bad enough to hold us ? To blackmail us into all this ? I had an image of Sally being molested by the man who’d opened the door to me. His double-chinned, leering face.

All I knew was the hole we were digging was getting deeper by the day.

“So, you’re Gordon ?” she said, perusing me.

She looked like a prostitute. She was wearing a black coat, with her hair overly done up and loads of makeup on her face. I’d guess she was mid-forties but she could have been sixty. It was hard to gauge her figure under the coat but my impression was that she wasn’t in as bad shape as her husband. She smiled blandly. There was a smudge of bright lipstick on her teeth.

“Yes … Ma’am.”

She climbed into the back of my BMW. I closed her door and then rushed around and helped Don get in next to her.

“Drive us in silence.” She said. “Speak only when you’re spoken to.”

I listened to them for the first half hour of the journey, talking as if I wasn’t there; about everything from some relative of theirs, to a TV soap they watched, to an email they’d just received. I soon gathered they were active advertisers on a bdsm community website.

Finally, she raised her tone and spoke to me.

“So, Gordon, what are your main likes … and dislikes ?”

*** *** ***

By seven fifteen, everything was set; dining table, drinks, food prepared, cameras on standby.

I’d cum twice with my girlfriend that morning before we got out of bed and had our row. But the combination of surfing porn sites on my laptop and watching Sally work naked with both her holes stuffed had replenished my balls.

“Come here.”

I crooked my finger. She stood by my chair and I spread her thighs, teasing the courgette out of her cunt. Her labia clung to it stickily. Then I turned her round and tugged the carrot from her anus.

“Try.”

I held it to her lips. It looked clean enough to me.

She gave me that look I’d already come to recognise. It said, damn you’re disgusting. But she opened her mouth and sniffed the tip.

“Smell good ?”

She rolled her eyes at me. Then she moved her head and bit off about an inch from the carrot I was holding. I watched her crunch it in her mouth.

I smiled and guided her eyes to my laptop screen.

There she was, on the net, free to view. The 4 minutes clip of her masturbating had a 4.00 rating. Not bad for something pretty tame. Her face, tits and pussy were all clearly visible throughout.

“You’re a star.”

She gave me another look. “You realise if my parents see that …”

“Then they shouldn’t be looking at porn sites. And you shouldn’t have been so dim and kinky that you went in search of somebody like me.”

I didn’t mean it. But it felt so good rubbing her face in it.

“Don’t worry, doll. You know I need to hold back the really good stuff, otherwise I’ll lose my blackmail material. You do as you’re told and you won’t become too infamous !”

She bit her lip, staring at herself online rubbing her clit.

“Wh … what about when you’ve … finished with us. How do we know you won’t p … post it then ?”

“Finished, Sal ?” I shook my head chuckling. “Don’t kid yourself my sweet. This doesn’t finish ! This is it. This … is your life.”

And just when you find out life’s a bitch, it has puppies !

Part Three

In my humble opinion, there is almost nothing that takes a woman down a notch or three faster than making her perform her toilet for an audience. Believe me, the humiliated expression on their perspiring faces is priceless. It works with men too, especially in front of a female audience. But somehow it’s even worse for a woman to have to squat and let go, while a selected mixed gender crowd stares at her, giggles and catcalls.

So, our version of New Year’s Eve fireworks was to have Sally entertain us at midnight on her very own dining table. She and Gordon cleared away the remains of the delicious banquet they’d served us and laid out sheets of newspaper on the table. She’d eaten earlier and had already asked me at around ten thirty if she could use the toilet. Request denied, naturally.

She was wearing just the fishnet stockings, high heels, thong and ¼ cup bra in which she’d served our meal dressed as a slutty waitress. Leon, Don and Joan had copped numerous feels of her body but, as yet, they hadn’t seen Sally’s private bits. The four of us all know that these things are best drawn out, nice n slow, to heighten the tension.

“Get up on the table, Sally.” I finally ordered at exactly 11.55. The radio was playing so that we could listen to Big Ben’s chimes. The big camera was mounted on its tripod and Leon was holding the handheld camcorder in his black hands.

“Gordon,” I said, “stand behind your wife and undo her bra clasp for us.”

He looked at me and then slowly obeyed. Like Sally, he was dressed in fishnets and a thong, but whereas hers were black, his were bright pink.

“That’s it. Now take the bra away and show us her tits. Stick’em out Sally. What do you reckon, guys ? Not bad ?”

“A bit droopy.” Leon said, his eye to the viewer, filming.

“I’d like to try tit fucking them some time.” was Don’s comment.

“I’m sure that could be arranged.” I chuckled. “Gordon, would you like to invite Don here to fuck your wife’s hooters one day ?”

Oh Gordy boy, such a sweet flash of petulance in your eyes.

“Er … oh shit … yes, I invite you to f… fuck her breasts.”

“No Gordon ! That’ll cost you another hundred quid. And ten strokes of the cane from Don later. Now, ask him nicely !”

“Please, Don Sir. I’d love it if you would fuck my wife’s hooters, at your c … convenience, Sir.”

“Better.”

Both of them looked very cute. Sally kneeling topless on the table, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment and uncertainty, Gordon standing behind her in his ridiculous outfit holding her bra, grimacing with helpless humiliation.

“Now, Sally, kneel up and remove that thong of yours for us.”

We watched her peel it down, lifting one knee then the other, finally managing to get the Y of black lacy fabric over her ankles.

“Hand it to Gordon and then kneel with your knees wide apart.”

I could sense an intake of breath and both Leon and Don leaned in closer. Joan sat back in her chair, smoking a cigarette, playing it cool.

Sally’s hairless mound and coral-pink pussy looked delightful.

“Get up on the balls of your feet now. And squat.”

She manoeuvred herself up into the frog-like position, wobbling slightly.

“Lean back against your husband. Gordon, you support her under her armpits.”

Now she was ready to perform. Almost.

“Knees wider. Rest your buttocks down on your ankles.”

Her hazel eyes screwed shut, as if she could block out the moment. She was the perfect height. She could see that our eyes were just below her waist, so we could look up into every single detail of her anatomy.

“Eyes open, doll. Look at us. That’s it. Everything nice and wide.”

I turned to the audience, smiling at Joan, Don and Leon, in turn.

Leon had the camera pointing at Sally, not me. Only my words were being recorded and I could decide whether to use or delete them later. Everybody looked excited. Joan was inhaling deeply on her cigarette.

“Sally has already asked me if she can use the toilet. Tell us, Sally, how badly do you need to go ?”

Her red mouth hung open, slack-lipped. The radio commentary in the background mentioned that it was 11.58. Sweat glistened on her forehead under the lights.

“Pretty badly … Sir.”

“And is that, er, a pee ? Or a poop ? Or even both ?”

“… b … both, Sir.”

Don and Joan both clapped. I grinned at them, getting up from my chair to fetch a used salad bowl from the sideboard. I placed it under her.

“Piss into this.”

“Omigod.” Gordon muttered quietly under his breath.

I shrugged at him.

“Sssh. Don’t worry, my friend. Your time will come too.”

Sally had to have been pretty desperate. No sooner had I sat back down than there was a hiss and then she was spraying her bladder into the bowl. Remarkably, she was accurate and controlled enough that only a few droplets missed and spotted the newspaper. After a few seconds the sound changed as the bowl started to fill. A bass gurgle mingled with the soprano hissing.

“Look straight at the camera lens, Sal.”

I checked the monitor.

“What are you doing ? Tell us.”

“… I’m p … peeing.”

“We can see that. What’s your name ?”

She looked up at me, over the top of the camera. I pointed down.

“To the camera, dear. Name ?”

“S … Sally.”

“And who’s that standing holding you ?”

I panned upwards to Gordon’s face.

“It’s G … Gordon.”

Her flow was diminishing now. She’d been at it over thirty seconds. It was almost midnight. I pulled the bowl away as soon as she’d finished.

“Okay, Sal. As soon as Big Ben starts to chime, you can start dumping. And you’d better have finished by the twelfth strike. Or else !”

Sometimes it’s amusing to watch uncontrolled diarrhoea but I think that most of the time a constipated shit is more humiliating. People hate being watched doing all that grimacing, groaning and pushing to get it out.

Sally wasted valuable seconds just gawping at us, unable to bring herself to do as I’d ordered. But then she saw my camera and must have been reminded how much material I already had on her. She frowned and began bearing down.

It’s at a time like this that an audience earns its invites. Leon took the roving camera behind the table, and managed to get an angle directly up between Sally’s thighs, zooming close up so her anus literally filled his screen. Don and Joan leaned in, staring right into Sally’s eyes, shaking their heads in mock disapproval at how shameless her behaviour was. Only four hours ago she had never even met these people in her life !

Her looks had disappeared. One moment she was pretty, in her mascara-and-lipsticked nakedness, cunt framed by fishnet stocking tops, long platinum hair and pendulous boobs. Next moment she was a scowling, sweating woman, red-faced, looking more than her age, thighs quivering, with a brown turd emerging slowly from between her legs.

“Push harder !” we all jeered.

Big Ben completed its fifth strike as the long piece tumbled onto the newspaper. I clocked the alarm in her eyes. There was more to come.

“Hurry Sally !”

“Don’t let it hang about.” Don joked.

We pinched our noses. The coiled stool underneath her was steaming slightly, releasing its odour. For a second she stared back at us, then down between her legs in shame.

Joan’s cell phone whirred as she snapped the moment on camera.

Sally shut her eyes, face red, almost bursting a blood vessel.

Gong. Big Ben tolled.

Gong.

A second, only slightly smaller turd hit the paper on the twelfth chime.

We clapped and cheered her.

As they say in the film industry; that’s a wrap.

*** *** ***

Where do I begin ? New Year’s Eve was the most extraordinary day, and night, of my entire life. The highlights ? Or perhaps that should be low points ? I’m not sure. That’s the stage you have us at. I always thought that things were either consensual or non-consensual. ‘Reluctant’ ? A cop out, really. I think the ‘no-no-yes-yes-yess’ situation is 99% a figment of the male imagination. And yet … that is where I find myself at. And I speak for Sally too. It’s like ‘consensual n/c’. We have consented to give away our right not to consent. Does that make sense ? I am certainly reluctant about just about everything you’ve made us do this past week or so. So is Sally. Most of it’s humiliating, some of it revolting and the rest downright awful.

And yet ? I am living the dream I’ve secretly wanted for so long. Nothing that has happened yet has – deep, deep down – changed that. I can imagine that some people reading these words might actually understand what I’m saying. Yes, we’ve lost control. Yes, we’re in your hands. So, yes, we’ve been fucking stupid. You’ve done much, much more to us in a much, much shorter time than we’d ever have agreed to up front. You lied. You’re taking our money. It’s real, not pretend blackmail. But until you go too far (and I genuinely hope you don’t), I cannot say that I regret allowing you to take over our lives in this way.

When I drove Don and Joan home during the small hours, listening to them, remembering Sally on her knees between Don’s disgusting hairy paunch, feeling the tenderness of my bottom against the car seat where he had caned me, the sour taste of both Joan’s middle aged orifices in my mouth, my cash lining his wallet, I felt as small and insignificant as … I don’t know. A nothing. And your smirking words as you stood on my doorstep with Sally, waving me goodbye; “this, my friend, is only the start of the this year.”

*** *** ***

I am a fireman. A fire fighter. During my working life, I’m totally serious. My job and my bdsm play are like two different planets, populated by life forms unaware of each other’s existence. It’s a stressful job, of course, and I find sex of one form or another is the best way to relax when I’m off duty. My girlfriend is a nurse and there are often times when she has to work while I’m off.

Fortunately, Sally is now able to take up the slack. She and Gordon live about 40 minutes from me. She has a part time job three days a week and her office is about 15 minutes nearer to my place. I’m not sure I’m going to let her keep her job but we’ll see. I’d like to see her doing something much more menial. In the meantime, she’s purchased a dedicated cell phone to which only I have the number. I call, day or night, Sally comes running.

Thursdays and Fridays are her days off each week. She worked January 2nd so I phoned her at 7.30 a.m. on Thursday 3rd. Gordon had already left for his office.

“Get round here by eight thirty.” were my opening words.

There was a pause. “Hi … Master. Okay I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“No. I said eight thirty latest.”

“… um …right.”

“And stop off and buy me some stuff. Got a pen ?”

I gave her a list of domestic essentials; milk, butter, eggs, bacon, bread, fruit, water, juice, coffee, the Times.

“Got that all down ?”

“Yes.”

“See you eight thirty.”

I thumbed the red button on my phone and smiled, scratching my balls.

She made it with two minutes to spare. I opened the door. She was dressed casually in jeans, top, sweater and winter coat, without makeup.

“Come in.”

She was carrying a supermarket plastic bag.

“Get everything ?”

She nodded.

“Make me a coffee.” I said. “Milk, no sugar.” I lifted the newspaper out of the bag. “Put the rest of the stuff away in the kitchen.”

I sat reading the sports pages while she made my coffee. I was still in my dressing gown. It hung open at the waist.

“Suck me.”

She put the steaming mug down and knelt between my thighs. I carried on reading the paper, enjoying her warm mouth on my dick. It was frosty outside and her cheeks were still cold against my skin.

“Undo your jeans.”

I put the newspaper down to watch her.

“Now get on all fours. Head to the floor.”

I spanked her butt once for fun and thumbed down her panties.

“You only wear thongs from now on, right ? Get rid of all of these.”

She nodded into the carpet. I cut the panties off so she could spread her knees. My fingers opened her labia. The bitch was already wet.

“How’s Gordon getting on in his chastity belt ?”

I slid myself inside her in one smooth motion, gripping her thighs.

“I … he … okay, I guess.”

“You do anything husband and wife-ish yesterday ?”

“No, S … Sir.”

“Good. You feel horny, you text me. Right ? And I’ll decide what happens. Maybe I’ll let him lick you. You’d like that, right ?”

“Mmm … sss.” She moaned.

“But no sex. You catch him even trying to get that thing off, you report him to me. Yeah ?”

“Yes.”

I was slamming hard, my thighs slapping her butt.

“You like that, huh ? Rough ?”

“Y … yes.”

I threw my head back and came, spewing my load inside her. I’d been fucking her for one minute. She wriggled her ass in frustration. I guess she’d been building to a climax herself.

I slapped her butt again.

“Stay still.”

I eased my glistening dick out. There was a long pearly teardrop hanging from the tip.

“Turn around and lick me clean.”

She crawled 180 degrees, made a face, but gently wrapped it in her lips.

I patted her on the head.

“Enough.”

I sat back down, pulling my robe around me, picking up the paper again.

“Okay. Get dressed. You can go home now.”

I gave her an hour to get home. Then I called her.

“Leon’s off today too. Go round to his place. Got that pen ?”

“Look …”

“Shut it. I don’t have time.”

I gave her an address. It would take her at least an hour from her place.

“Spend all afternoon with him if that’s what he wants. And pay him twenty quid for each fuck. But don’t you climax once. He’ll tell me if you do.”

“Please …”

“And make him wear condoms.” I said. “Take a handful.”

That evening, Leon bought me several pints at a pub midway between us. I don’t know him that well. We met at a bdsm club in London.

“How many ?”

He gave me a toothy grin and held up three fingers. Leon’s a fairly good looking black guy who plays bass guitar in a band. He’s used to treating women of all colours like groupies.

“She cum ?”

“Not so I could tell. She wanted to though.”

He opened his wallet and took out six £10 notes. I took three of them.

“Fifty-fifty, my friend. What did you think of her ?”

He tipped his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture.

“Not bad. You know me, man. I prefer them enthusiastic and tight. But if they’re getting on a bit, they need to be experienced and toned. You want to get her doing some of them pelvic work out things.”

I grinned at the idea. I’d get her to buy herself one of those kegel exercisers. We chatted more about a bunch of stuff for an hour or so; music, football, women. He’s good company.

“You know that friend of yours who makes porn movies ?” I asked.

He nodded. “Marcel. Yeah.”

“You think he could use Sally ?”

Leon smiled, shrugging. “Sure. Why not ?”

“He pay well ?”

“Depends. Vanilla’s cheap. But I’ve heard he pays good for the kinky stuff. The kind that the usual porn actresses don’t want to do.”

I finished my beer.

“Fancy one more ?”

*** *** ***

Of all the fantasies, chastity is possibly the strangest. I remember before Sally and I decided to look for a Master, surfing sites about enforced abstinence and chastity belts. Irony, huh ? Masturbating over photos and words about not being allowed to masturbate. Yet here I am, living the reality. And I’m climbing the walls. My dick’s a decent size, not huge, but not wimpish, just standard issue length and thickness. Locked away as it has been in the small, discreet steel tube for six days now, it looks so … harmless. My balls are filling and my wife is getting filled, but I cannot even relieve my frustration with a quick, functional jerk off. And yet my famine has only just begun. I feel like Oliver Twist trembling before approaching the Beadle. ‘Please Sir, may I have some more ?’

*** *** ***

After my evening with Leon, I worked through the long weekend from Friday 4th to Monday 7th January, collapsing for short naps at home and catching occasional brief sessions with my girlfriend, Jan. She’s been doing long stints at the hospital but the little minx is usually hot for a little fucking. I tested Jan out during a spot of post-coital chat about trying woman-on-woman fun and she didn’t rule it out. Maybe I can get her and Sally together and then come clean about my new … ‘arrangement’ ?

“Get the fuck over here right now.”

It was 05.45 a.m. on Tuesday 8th. I woke them up and told Gordon to pass Sally the phone.

“… yes Sir. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Quicker. Now get going and pass the phone back to Gordon.”

“Hello ?”

“Hi, blue balls. I read your latest blog about chastity. You still being a good boy ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What time do you finish work today ?”

“Er, the usual. Sevenish. Maybe six thirty.”

“Okay. Be outside my front door at eight tonight. Bring your cell. I’ll call you when I’m ready to see you. Wait until then.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, and Gordon ?”

“Yes ?”

“I need one of those new i-phones.”

“… yes, Sir. Er … understood.”

“Good lad. And don’t forget that file of information we discussed. How’s Sally by the way. Horny ?”

“I … well I guess so.”

“She had you licking her cunt out ?”

“Er … once. On Saturday.”

I laughed. Sally had texted me while I was at the Fire Station on Saturday afternoon. I’d replied a few hours later.

“Good man, Gordon. Looking after your wife’s needs like that. She dressed yet ?”

“She’s just putting on her bra, Sir.”

“Call her over.”

I heard him say Sally’s name and the sound of her next to him.

“Has she got her thong on yet ?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then kiss her cunt. And her asshole. Send her to me with your blessing.”

I heard him obeying my instruction, the hushed words he spoke to her.

“Bye Gordon.” I said. “Have a good day at your office.”

It was still dark, quiet when Sally arrived at my place at 6.20 a.m.

I had made myself a coffee and was sat drinking it. My kitchen was a tip. Neither Jan nor I had done any washing up for four days.

Sally was dressed suitably; trackpants, top, a Gap hoodie and Nike trainers that she’d pulled on in a rush. Perfect domestic chore garments.

I pecked her on the cheek. She was carrying a small leather bag.

“Hi, doll. What’s in there ?”

She shrugged, embarrassed. “Stuff. Lingerie, makeup, a change of clothes for work. I didn’t know what you might want or for how long.”

I nodded approvingly. “Put it there. You can call your workplace at eight and tell them you’re sick today. For now, there’s a load of work here you need to do to get my place sorted.”

I drove her hard. She and Gordon had employed a cleaner for several years and she was used to doing very little housework herself. Sadly, her cleaner had just been given her notice as part of the cutbacks I’d imposed. From now on Sally would be doing both her own menial chores and mine.

First up, the kitchen. Mounds of washing up, greasy pans, stained mugs, a sink full of used plates and dirty cutlery.

I have a dishwasher but I prefer things done the old fashioned way.

Then she mopped, cleaned, wiped and polished the kitchen floor until it shone and put everything away in its correct cupboard.

Next, my bedroom. Stained sheets, pillow cases, dirty clothes on the floor. There was stuff of Jan’s too.

Sally tidied it all up and put the bed linen into the washing machine, before making my bed up with clean laundry.

I have two bathrooms. An ensuite which I use and a second bathroom that is for any visitors. It’s got Jan’s toothbrush and essentials round the basin.

My own bathroom was in a heck of a state. Wet towels, toothpaste without the top on, basin full of bits of bristle from my last shave, you know the sort of scene. At the end of the room, the toilet pan had cupboards and shelves either side of it littered with books, old newspapers and boxes of well thumbed mens magazines. The tiled floor had several damp puddles.

“Get those tiles clean and shining.”

It was still only ten o’clock. I was wearing my robe with another cup of coffee. I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees.

Suddenly, I felt the morning urge in my guts.

“Out the way.” I said, walking past her, lifting the cover and sitting down on the pan.

Funnily enough, whilst it’s humiliating for a slave to perform for an audience, it’s not the same for a Master in front of a sub. It’s all in the attitude. I have no qualms about using the toilet while somebody slaves for me.

I was ready. I discreetly pressed the remote control hidden in my robe pocket. Within moments, my guts flipped again and I noisily began. I stared at Sally and caught her glancing up at me for a second. I winked and she lowered her eyes back to the tiles.

I’d had a takeaway curry the previous night and you could tell. The remnants exploded out of me in a staccato series of pungent, loud blasts.

“Look.” I pointed my toe at a dime-sized patch of water between my feet. “Here. Clean this up.”

She shuffled right beneath me. Right next to the action. I watched the back of her head as she sponged up the tiny puddle.

“Look at me.”

Her hazel eyes slowly peered, blinking, into mine.

I flipped my robe aside and showed her my erection. I grinned lasciviously.

“You … pervert.” She whispered, wrinkling her nostrils at the stench.

“No, my dear.” I brushed a strand of her blonde hair aside. “You are the pervert. You and your husband. That’s what the world will think. It’s you two they’ll see. I’ll be just one more anonymous dick.”

Her eyes watered and her cute lips trembled.

“We didn’t … sign up for … this.”

“Oh but you did. I have all the emails. And I recorded our phone calls.” I rubbed my erection against her cheek. “Admit it, Sally. Deep down, you want this. And more.”

“No.” She turned her face to dodge my dick. Without knowing it, she’d looked straight into the clandestine camera. A push on the remote and it was recording her through a hole I’d cut in one of my magazine filing boxes. “Not this.”

I chuckled. “Exactly this.” I twisted her hair so she looked back at me. The time for talking was over. “You think you’re fucking shit doesn’t stink, huh ? Well I know it does, don’t I ? Just like mine. Now, you’re going to be punished for calling me a pervert, Sal. How badly depends on you. I’m going to give your butt one stroke of the cane for every minute it takes you to make me cum in that insolent mouth of yours.”

She shut her eyes. I knew it was a gesture of acceptance, of defeat.

I watched her lift her right hand up and lean her pouting lips forward.

“No, Sal. No hands. You’ve got to do it with just your mouth and tongue.” I glanced at the brand new watch I’d bought myself with the first donation made by Gordon and Sally to fund my 2008 lifestyle. “Clock’s ticking.”

As she took me into her warm, wet mouth, I made myself comfortable on the toilet seat, letting rip one final blast of flatulence.

She raised her eyes in disgust but didn’t stop slurping her tongue up the underside of my veined shaft. I smirked back. She parted her knees and straightened her thighs to raise herself, so she could get a better angle on me.

I idly looked at the logo on her upturned Nikes and shut my eyes.

Yeah, Sal – just do it !

Part Four

I am a stickler for great blowjobs.

I was 15, the first time a chick took me in her mouth. She was 17, hot and wild. More to the point, she knew how to give head. Fortunately for me - but perhaps unfortunately for those who’ve followed her - she set the bar at a very high standard, right from the start.

“Trill it round your tongue.”

I studied Sally’s face as she gawped up at me with my jizz coating her tongue, gums and palate. It was a decent chewy load, thick with the tang of spice and onion, and a whiff of bleach.

Naturally, most girlfriends aren’t receptive to the idea of gargling, even if they’re swallowers. I mean, Jan’s typical. She claims to enjoy oral. But the reality is that she’s only prepared to do it on her terms.

But Sally is going to learn to do it exactly on my terms. And I like to watch a woman gargling my semen as if it were the best tasting mint mouthwash.

It had taken her thirteen minutes of hard oral labour to get me off. No hands, just jaw-aching work, slurping her lips and wrapping her tongue round my cock. I just sat on the pan and enjoyed the view, the stink of my excrement gradually fading as it wafted out through the bathroom door.

I now watched her with her head tilted back, warbling my gunk round the roof of her mouth, making a gurgling hum. I could imagine the lumpy texture slowly blending with her saliva into a soupy mouthful.

“Okay. Down the hatch.”

She gulped and made a face. Then she looked at me for approval.

“Tonight, I want you to write me a list of twenty things my jizz reminds you of; flavours, textures, tastes, scents, images. Pretend you’re a wine expert and it’s a top vintage.”

She gave an almost imperceptible, disapproving shake of her head.

But then she nodded. “Okay.”

“Then copy the list out fifty times.”

She ground her teeth, eyes flashing in annoyance directly at mine.

“Make that a hundred times.”

It was a battle of wills she couldn’t win. Her shoulders slumped.

“Yes, Sir.”

“A hundred and fifty.”

She looked indignant again but bit her tongue.

“Yes, Sir.”

I smirked. “Don’t think you can control me simply by being meek and contrite after you’ve shown impertinence. You will write that list out two hundred times tonight and then hand deliver it through my letter box before you go into your job tomorrow. Is that totally clear ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I looked over at the toilet roll. I figured she’d learned enough for now.

“Get out of here while I wipe my ass.”

She spent the next three hours finishing tidying the other rooms, vacuuming, scrubbing, polishing. Then she made my lunch. I let her eat an undressed and unseasoned salad while I tucked into a nice BLT.

“Sally.” I said. “Some good is going to come out of all this I assure you. And not just the illicit excitement of masochistic sex. I’m actually going to make you a better woman.”

She chewed on her bland lettuce leaf, listening to me.

“For one, you’re going to lose weight and take more exercise. I’m going to set you targets. And you, I promise you, are going to meet them. Men are going to fancy you, Sal. Loads of men. And you are going to enjoy many male loads.”

“Pl … please.” She stammered. “I’ve said this before. I’ll do what you want. But not a lot of strangers. At least spare me that. You can’t …”

“Don’t ever use that word, Sally. Never … ‘can’t’. You see, I can.”

“Not if it’s something even worse than that film being sent to my family, you can’t.”

She was right. But I ignored her comment for now.

“Oh I see. You’d rather mummy and daddy see you drink piss, huh ? Rather than get fucked by six nice, discreet men one afternoon, using condoms ?”

She ate a slice of cucumber, thinking about what I’d said.

“Six ?”

I smiled. “Not necessarily. But now we’re just haggling. The point is, Sally, just tell me whenever you’ve had enough, and I’ll fire off all the emails. You must realise, I don’t care either way. I’d get just as much amusement from fucking your life as I do from fucking you.”

“What about the blackmail ? That expensive watch you’ve bought with our money ? We can go to the police.”

I sighed, glancing at the time. Just to let her know I found negotiation dull.

“Take a look at the emails, Sal. Read the small print. You consented to all this, including what you might now want to call blackmail. Besides, it’s all in cash. You can’t prove any money actually changed hands.”

She gave up, sensing my annoyance.

“Get on and clear the plates.”

I watched her washing the dishes and mulled things over.

She was right. I needed some stronger material.

Fortunately, I already had a plan.

But first I owed her thirteen strokes of the cane.

I tied her over my square kitchen table. I had her bent over one of the four corners, so that the table was shaped like a diamond beneath her. Her arms were stretched and tied to the furthest table leg, while her ankles were roped apart to the legs on each side. The other table leg was directly beneath her with the pointed edge of the table wedged between her thighs.

“Look straight at the camera and smile.”

I adjusted the focus on the lens so it was sharp on her face. A second camera filmed her butt and my brand new, third camera took in the ‘overall scene’.

“Say, please gag me, to the camera.”

She dry-swallowed nervously. “Please gag me.”

I obliged, with the dirty, damp dishcloth she’d used for washing up, sealed by a strip of electrical tape. Then I took up my position, checking I wasn’t in the way of the lens. I wanted the edited film from here on to concentrate mainly on her sweet ass cheeks.

Without warning, I blazed the cane across her white globes.

The gag was a good idea. Her howl would have brought the neighbours running. It was the first time in her 33 years she’d ever been hit. I admired her buttocks clenching and unclenching as she wriggled in her bonds, mewling into the soggy dishcloth. The way she was tied astride the corner of the table stretched her bottom wide apart so that I could see her anus winking.

I walked all the way around the table, watching her, taking my time.

Again, without a pause, I slashed the second cut into her quivering flesh.

She let out a strangled ‘mmmmmffff’, turning her head towards me, hazel eyes wide and already watering with tears. A delicious second tramline was seared across her rump. Her ankles strained futilely against her tight bonds.

I laid my fingers over the crimson and white stripes. She winced at my touch. Her flesh was hot. I slid my index finger down between her legs and probed her labia. She wriggled as I pushed it inside her.

“Your cunt gives you away Sally. You’re dripping.”

She mewled into the gag indignantly.

She wasn’t dripping, but she was moist enough for me to pretend otherwise. I let my thumb tease her anal rosebud.

“I want you to remember this caning, Sal. So you learn that punishments are best avoided. Do exactly what I say and you won’t suffer too much.”

She twisted her neck round, eyes pleading with me for mercy.

“Only eleven more, my dear.”

I could read the conflict in her eyes. At one level she obviously did want me to stop. Yet there was a new respect for me too. All her life she’d been in control, ultimately, due to her gender, her looks, her sex. Even now, she had forfeited equality, but still expected mercy.

I stood well back and swung again, even harder than the first two.

After I’d given her seven strokes, I broke for a beer. I told her my arm needed a rest and cracked open a can from the fridge.

Of course, the real reason for a break was to allow her adrenaline and natural pain suppressors to disperse. Part Two would be a lot worse if it was preceded by a half time interval.

I sat in a chair facing Sally’s red-eyed and bloated face, swigging on my can, and phoned Jan.

“Hi, love. Can you talk ?”

She replied only for thirty seconds. She was on the ward. She asked me what I was doing.

“Oh, this and that. I’ve given the place a good tidy up.”

Jan congratulated me. She doesn’t usually stay over with me during the week, just weekends.

“I miss you.” I said, blowing a kiss down the line, staring straight into Sally’s eyes.

“Bye.”

I smiled, putting the phone down. “Jan is your Mistress.” I said to Sally. “Although she doesn’t know it yet.”

I idly picked up Sally’s expensive looking trackpants from the floor; DKNY.

“You can check Jan’s sizes from the clothes and shoes she’s left here. I know she takes a 34B bra. You’re going to buy my girlfriend a few things. Tops, short skirts, sexy lingerie, heels. I want to be able to give them to her as presents this weekend.”

Sally was bug-eyed.

“Go to all your own favourite stores. I want Jan to enjoy the same fancy labels as you from now on, despite her meagre nurse’s salary. And don’t worry about the expense. Because, you see, from today you’re only going to shop for yourself at thrift and charity shops, and you’ll get your cheap bedroom underwear at sex shops.”

I could see Sally squirming with shameful acceptance.

“Got that ? Good girl.”

I belched as the beer repeated on me.

“I guess it’s time for round two, huh ?”

I showed her the cane close up, dangling it in front of her eyes. It’s one of those crook handled, rattan ones, like an old school bamboo.

“Mmwwh …” she shook her head, trying to beg into the gag.

To no avail. Spare the rod and spoil the girl.

I walked round behind her and took in the view. Her bottom was a glorious sight. The skin shone bright crimson all across both globes and on the tops of her legs. There were raised welts that were a darker, mottled hue. There was no blood except for a small x where the skin had broken at a point that two strokes had crossed over. A couple of tiny drops of dried blood speckled the scene.

In the centre, her cleft was still white and unmarked. Her anal opening cried out for some attention.

I went to the fridge and took out the little surprise I’d prepared for her several days earlier; a nicely matured ginger root, cut in the shape of a butt plug. I had steeped it in a blend of Tabasco and lemon juice inside a plastic bag. I undid it and pushed it into Sally’s rectum without warning.

Oh boy. It took a few seconds. She didn’t have a clue what it was. But pretty soon it started to burn inside her. Her thighs, ankles, wrists and head wriggled and shook as she strained for escape from the fiery torment.

“It’s called figging.” I told her. “You can clench your ass cheeks but it will burn more. Or you can relax them, but then the cane will hurt more instead. Your choice, doll.”

I steadied myself, raised the cane, and gave her the eighth stroke.

Her quandary seemed to cause her a great deal of distress.

She was now crying tears of pain, frustration and shame. I could see her anal orifice rippling as it tried to eject the burning plug to no avail. Her buttocks were unclenched and spread as best she could manage.

I gave her number nine on the upstroke, smacking into the meat of her lower butt. The cane made a shrill cracking sound like felling a tree.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

I took another walk round her, reluctant to finish. I checked the cameras. I wasn’t going to post much, if anything, of this scene, but it would be fun to watch on my own. Maybe show it to some friends.

I knew she was equally desperate for the end. She managed to blink back the tears enough to look at me, imploring me for the final stroke.

Be careful what you wish for, Sally.

I made sure her number thirteen was particularly unlucky.

At eight thirty that evening, I showed Sally out via by my backdoor. She had recovered from her ordeal pretty well. After spending an hour tied to the table with the ginger slowly losing its potency, I allowed her to take a long shower, and then put several creams on her butt; anti-inflammatory, anti-bruising, emollient. Best of all I gave her two climaxes with the big vibrator she’d brought.

It was the second time I saw that potent cocktail of worship and fear in her eyes. Slaves respond strongly to a steady cycle of mistreatment and then kindness and Sally was no different from any member of the small group of women who’d been my bdsm partners before her.

“Don’t forget your task tonight.” I said, kissing her softly.

She shook her head. “I won’t.”

“You can go to work as usual tomorrow. Do you enjoy your job ?”

She frowned. “… Sure.”

“Okay. And remember to buy Jan some stuff. I’ll be in touch soon.”

She brightened. “Bye … Master.”

I waved as she walked to her car. “Bye slave.”

The moment she’d gone, I called Gordon’s cell.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Sir. I’m outside.”

I knew he’d been waiting out front at least half an hour.

I walked through the house to my front door and opened it.

“Evening Gordon. Come on in.”

He was carrying a briefcase and a shopping bag. He stood in the hall.

“Take all your clothes off there. Then come in the living room.”

I didn’t wait to watch him strip off. I walked through to the next room, sat down and sipped my wine. He appeared a minute or so later.

He was buck naked except for the chastity tube round his dick.

“What you got for me, Gordy boy ?”

He held out the bag and a manila envelope.

“Good lad.” I peered in the bag at my new i-phone. That could wait.

The manila envelope contained all Gordon’s financial data. I’d convinced him that it was just so that I could be certain what they could afford. He was actually reassured that I only wanted to take a modest share.

They had a house with a market value of £750,000 and a mortgage of £250,000, so half a million of free equity. But evidently Gordon didn’t consider that tidy sum as ‘part of the game’.

They had around £100,000 of hard-to-touch pension plans but another £60,000 of easy-access equity and bond investments. Then there were the two cars and all their possessions. On the debit side were just a couple of credit cards with small balances.

I whistled. Salary-wise, Gordon made a basic of £75,000 but he’d earned the same again in annual bonuses in each of the past three years.

There was clearly no financial need for Sally to work part-time.

“This everything ?” I asked, staring at him. He looked silly in the nude.

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“You’re a rich guy, Gordon.”

He held up his palms. “No way. But we’re comfortable.”

I smiled. “What’s it worth, Gordon ?”

He grinned back, gaining confidence. “Look, I’ve thought about this. For as long as our … arrangement goes on, I think it’s fair to pay you four hundred pounds a month. That’s a hundred quid a week.”

I nodded appreciatively. “Very generous.”

“We’ll call it blackmail of course. In the game. But I see it as a fee. I mean, I know you’re going a bit quick and that, but it’s … exciting.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

He looked concerned. “What is it ? The amount ?”

“No. The amount’s fine. But it’s not like it’s real blackmail, is it ? I mean, we all know that I wouldn’t actually post that stuff. And besides, it’s not really much of a hold over you. Not like something serious.”

“I don’t know. Some of those clips would be highly embarrassing.”

I shrugged again. “No. It doesn’t feel right to me.” I let my body language speak loudly. He thought I was going to pull the plug on our fun.

“What do you … have in mind ?”

“Oh I don’t know. I haven’t thought. Something financial, I guess.”

“Financial ?”

“Yeah, you know. Fraud. Or theft. You work in accounting don’t you ?”

“Yes, but …”

“Fancy a beer ? Or glass of wine ?” I patted the seat opposite me as a gesture for him to sit down. I switched out of Master-mode completely. He looked perplexed, perching naked on the edge of his chair.

“Er … no thanks. Look. I could maybe think of something ...”

I refilled my own glass, letting his words hang in the tense silence.

“Well, perhaps. It would have to be a hold over Sally too.”

He paused. “… I see.”

“It won’t work if it’s just blackmailing you.”

“No. But she mightn’t go for it.” He said.

“Maybe she needn’t know. You could implicate her without telling her. Then she’d only have to be told if it was necessary. I’d know and that would be enough to make it feel real to me.”

There was a long silence.

“Er, could I have that glass of wine, after all ?”

“Sure.” I grinned, getting up to pour him one.

“I could probably think of something.”

I handed him his drink and sat back down opposite him.

“Nothing huge, mind you. But a crime. Worthy of a prison sentence. That’s something that I would feel merited real blackmail, huh ?”

I raised my glass. He slowly lifted his own.

“Wow.” He said sheepishly. “This could really be quite something.”

I pulled the key to his CB device out of my pocket.

“I think your idea deserves a kind of … celebration, don’t you ?”

His eyes seemed hypnotised by the swaying key.

“I would really appreciate that.”

I gave him the illusion of control. “Tell me, Gordon. I don’t want to go too far. Do you just want to have the key and masturbate yourself ? Or do you want me to make you earn it ?”

He blushed. “I … would like to be made to … earn it.”

Oh Gordon, I thought. You really are fucked.

*** *** ***

I was back at work the next morning at 10.00.

Sally had posted her homework through my letterbox. I flicked through it and smiled. There was a yellow post it attached with an ‘x’. A kiss !

Come to think of it, they were both really fucked.

I had given Gordon the same thrashing as Sally got. Thirteen strokes over the table and used the same fig up his ass. Both of them would have to be careful sitting down for several days. I finally let him lie on his back with his hips in the air so that he pumped his load all over his face. On camera. Then I locked him back up in his CB and sent him home to secretly plan his own downfall.

I had four long days of work to get through with only Jan’s vanilla loving to relax me. But I hated the idea of my poor new couple left to their own devices.

I scrolled through my cell numbers until I got to Leon’s.

Reach out and touch someone.

Part Five

It was 05.15 on Tuesday 15th January when I rang their doorbell.

I’d come unannounced and on a whim, straight from work.

“Who is it ?” Gordon’s voice asked eventually from behind their front door.

“Open up. It’s me.”

There was a sound of a bolt sliding and a key turning.

“Hi.” He said, rubbing his eyes. He was in just a dressing gown. It was parted and I could see the CB tube round his dick.

“Hi.” I smiled, walking in. It was the first time I’d been in their place since Christmas Day. I heard Sally’s voice ask from upstairs.

“Who is it ?”

“It’s … our Master.” Gordon called back.

We both ascended the stairs. Sally was in their bed in the dark. I switched on the bedside lamps. Her hair was tousled and she was wearing a white nightdress. Her blue eyes looked up at me nervously.

“This bed hasn’t seen much action for a while, has it ?”

It was more a statement of fact than a question, really. I looked from her to him and back again. They both shook their heads and mumbled as I started to undress.

“Well let’s have a bit of a threesome then.”

I watched, giving instructions, as Gordon slipped off his gown and then eased his wife’s cotton shift over her head so she was naked. I sat on the edge of the bed as he went down on her, hunched with his head between her thighs, lapping at her cunt. Her knees were raised and spread wide.

“Look at me.” I said to her, running my fingertips over her nipples. Her large tits were doing their best to stay firm but they were like fruit just past its sell-by date; a little over-ripe and spreading out over her chest.

She opened her eyes and stared, her mouth open in a slight ‘o’. I realised that she’d become genuinely hot and horny, enjoying her husband’s mouth in spite of the early hour, or situation, maybe because of it. She’d had no fun since her visit to Leon three days earlier. Her nipples hardened at my touch.

“You.” I nudged Gordon. “Lick her asshole now.”

I helped Sally shift her hips by supporting her ankles. She carried on gawping at me through glazed eyes as her husband began tonguing the crack between her buttocks. She uttered a slight moan.

I finished undressing and placed my semi-erection across her upturned face. A sliver of pre-cum glistened on her cheek like a slug trail. I noticed she hadn’t done a very good job removing her mascara the night before.

“Now you can lick my asshole too.”

I shifted so I was astride her face. I smiled as I settled and she peered up at my descending crack. Then her features disappeared and I felt her tongue slip right into me. I caught Gordon stealing a glimpse at us.

“You concentrate on your own job.”

After a couple of minutes rimming, I stood up and grinned at Sally’s red face. I wasn’t sure if it was shame or lack of air. My butt is in good shape, muscled and trim, but for some reason it’s incredibly hairy, especially up into my crack.

“Gordon,” I announced, “lie face up on the bed. Sally, squat over his head, facing his feet.”

They assumed the position. I studied Gordon’s dick in its steel tube. The skin was tight against the edges and I could tell he was unable to prevent his body trying to get an erection but was restricted by the tightness and only 2.75 inches-length.

Sally’s cute backside was presented to me and her rosebud anus was wet with his saliva. I seized her hips and whacked my rock hard 8-inches into her welcoming cunt. She exhaled in a long hiss.

I gave her ten seconds of thrusts and then slid out.

“Now lower your cunt onto his chops.” I whispered harshly into her ear.

I saw her shift angle slightly and heard another ‘sss’.

Her spine froze as my thumbs pulled open her ass cheeks and I placed the swollen, bulbous crown of my shiny wet dick at her puckered entrance.

“Don’t ignore him.” I said. “Lick the poor guy’s dicklet.”

Over her shoulders, I could see her slowly put her tongue to hubby’s steel-encased penis. Meanwhile, I gently pushed my shaft and prised open her anus until I managed to breach her defences.

“Owgh …aah …” she complained, shifting about.

“Stay still.”

Another thirty seconds and I was wedged in up to my balls. Sally was moaning rhythmically – a mix of discomfort and excitement, I suspect – and rocking to and fro on her husband’s upturned face.

“What am I doing Sal ? Go on, tell Gordon.”

She kept groaning, as my body started slapping into hers.

“Go on.” I shouted. “Tell him.”

“You’re … you’re fucking my … ass.” She mumbled into his groin.

“Yep, I’m buggering you, aren’t I ? Sodomizing you. Anal sex, heh ?”

“Yesssss. You’re b … buggering me.”

“You like it, Sal ? Tell Gordy you like it.”

“I … like it.”

I gave her a momentous thrust. “Don’t cum, Sal. Not yet.”

She whimpered as I hammered another nail into her ass.

“The customer cums first.” I said. And I blew my load, pumping my hips into her in a series of angry lunges.

After a nice rest across Sally’s back, listening to Gordon gasping under our combined weight, I carefully extricated my slick dick from her poop deck. “That was not bad.” I slapped her playfully across the rump. There were still faded yellow bruises from the caning I’d given her at my place.

I picked up Gordon’s dressing gown and put it on, tying it round my waist. They were like a frozen tableau on the bed; him lying flat and her squatting astride his head, tits pressed against him as she kissed his steel tube.

“Okay, Sal. Time for Gordon’s breakfast. Sit your ass down on his mouth.”

She glanced at me. I could tell she had mixed feelings; she was worried her husband might be grossed out but, equally, she wanted more.

“Gordon ! Ask her to do it.”

His reply was muffled but immediate. “Please, darling. Do it.”

I smiled as she hesitantly shifted until she was sat upright on his face.

“You have to clean up after anal sex.” I said.

She nodded, building a rhythm. Her nipples stuck out like coat hooks.

I opened my robe and smirked down at my dwindling erection. There were no visible signs but we both knew where it had just been.

“Make yourself cum while you suckle me clean.”

She took me between her lips as her hand snaked down between her legs. In seconds she was strumming her clitoris while grinding her bottom and humming on my penis. I watched as her eyelids began to flutter.

And then she wailed.

A long, uncontrolled gasp as she climaxed, like she had never done before.

I snoozed in bed with Sally, while Gordon showered, shaved, dressed and made us all coffee. He stood at the bedside as I blew on it and sipped.

“You’re a good lad, Gordon. You played your part in that threesome. I hope you enjoyed it. Did you ?”

He blushed and nodded. “Er …yes, kind of.”

“Did you want to cum ?”

He dry-swallowed. “Yes.” He said with a shrug.

“But you understand that you can’t ?”

He watched me with my arm draped round Sally. I squeezed her plump boob casually but possessively. She was watching us in silence.

“Yes … I understand.”

I beamed at him. “It’s for your own good.”

He nodded again.

“Okay. Have a good day at the office. Say goodbye to Sally.”

“Er … bye Sally.”

She smiled at him sheepishly. “Bye … darling.”

And with that, he was gone.

Later that day, Gordon fucked himself.

He carried out the plan that we had agreed. He committed theft, and accounting fraud, for quite a large sum, cleverly covering his tracks but leaving a sufficient trail that his crimes would be provable, if necessary in the future. Along with Sally’s guilt too.

He quietly handed the package of evidence over to me that evening.

“Please don’t misuse this.” He whispered, staring into my eyes.

I held his gaze. “Would I ? It’s just to make it feel right.”

He sighed with relief. “I’m pretty certain I’ll get away with it. The company won’t notice so long as nobody tips them off.”

“Sure. Where’s the money ?”

“In a secret account I set up. Joint. I got Sally to sign the papers at the weekend. She didn’t suspect anything. I told her it was a pension plan.”

I could barely hide my smirk. It was a pension plan. Mine.

“Well done. You deserve a reward.”

He looked at me again, shaking his head. “No. Please don’t,” he whispered, looking out for Sally who was working in the kitchen. “I … don’t deserve any … reward. Yet. I … think you should … you know … treat me bad.”

I chuckled, then started full-on laughing. “It’ll be a pleasure, Gordon.”

Sally gasped. They both did.

I’d uploaded another 40-seconds clip onto You Porn. It showed Sally doing herself with a big condom-covered cucumber. Harmless fun.

“Phew.” They both sighed when they realised I hadn’t shown her face.

It was good to know my primary blackmail material was so valuable. Maybe I wouldn’t need the back-up theft and fraud anyway ?

“Sally, I want you to resign your job.” I said matter-of-factly.

“But …”

“Don’t fucking argue all the time !” I shouted at her.

She looked at me and burst into tears. Gordon frowned in shock.

“Stop crying. Control yourself.” I said calmly.

She wiped her eyes. “You can’t just take over our lives.”

I cupped her chin. “You just want the fun, don’t you Sally ? Well it doesn’t work like that. Part-time fun.” I kissed a tear from her cheek. “It’s full time, my dear. Besides, you don’t need the money, do you ?”

“No.” Gordon volunteered.

“It’s m … my independence.” Sally sniffled. “And career. It’s not the money, it’s the principle.”

“But you can still work, Sally. Just not at your old job.”

She puckered her brow. “Work ?”

“Sure. I’ll choose your jobs for you.”

“Oh yeah. I’m not being a prostitute for you. I’d rather you posted every damned clip you’ve got on the net than be your whore.”

I raised an eyebrow. It would be fun to find out. One day.

“Not a prostitute Sally. But some work more in keeping with your new … status.”

Gordon joined her, both of them frowning angrily at me.

I laughed. “Come on.” I clicked the mouse on the favourites folder. “Gordon, you write up your blog while Sally and I watch a bit of TV.”

He slept that night handcuffed to the toilet cistern while we slept in the marital bed. I’d discovered Sally is a night time pooper. I tend to go mostly in the mornings. She used the pan in front of me, still cringing with embarrassment, as I finished my wine perched on the edge of the bathtub.

Funny how a cute woman can produce such a loud and large offering.

I studied her pretty features as she grunted and grimaced, the slight crow’s feet round her hazel brown eyes puckering. She still had her makeup on but I made a mental note to get her to do a through job removing it. Her teeth are excellent; even, pearly white. As I said, she’s not really my taste but she’s undoubtedly attractive in an unsophisticated, buxom way. I love women with super-slim waists but big tits. Maybe we should see about getting her a boob job ?

“Don’t flush.” I lifted the seat and pissed into her mushy remains.

Then we fetched Gordon and tied him up to the cistern for the night.

Jan called my cell phone while Sally was massaging my back in bed.

“Hi.” I saw my girlfriend’s name on the mini-screen.

“Hi. Whatchya doing  ?” she asked.

“Just hitting the hay.”

“Mm, I envy you.” She replied. She was doing night duty again.

I shifted on the bed, enjoying Sally’s kneading of my shoulders.

“I miss you.” I said.

She giggled girlishly. “Thank you. Again.” Jan had been delighted with the large package of new clothes I had given her. She was so chuffed she never thought to ask where the money came from. Sally had selected two full lingerie outfits, two evening tops, a formal skirt, a woollen dress, a pair of black high heels, a triple-set of lace stockings and a cashmere scarf for Jan, all paid for on Sally’s credit card.

“It was nothing.” I murmured. “You deserve it.”

She lowered her voice. “Don’t play with yourself tonight. I want you good and horny at the weekend.”

“Would I ? I promise you my fingers won’t go near my dick tonight.”

She giggled again. “Good boy. Gotta dash. Sleep tight.”

I put the phone on the bedside table and rolled over onto my back, facing Sally. I glanced down at my groin.

“You heard. I’m not allowed to touch it.”

She paused. “What do you want ?”

“I want a nice lazy hand-job.” I said, stretching, glancing at my watch. “Exactly thirty minutes worth. And while you do it, I want you to tell me a bedtime story about a worthless couple who find themselves under the control of a Master. Make it good. Loads of ideas. And then, when I cum, I want to feel it splash all over my chest, because afterwards you’re going to lick it up, bit by bit. Got all that ?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

I shut my eyes and sank down into the mattress. “Then you can begin.”

*** *** ***

I am updating this blog at my Master’s instruction. It is ten o’clock on the evening of January 15th 2008. I have to write exactly 500 words about how I feel. The TV is blaring from the other room where my Master and my wife are watching some show. I have kept a daily diary but I’ve only been told to post a couple of extracts so far.

In short, how do I feel ? Well, I’m in the shit so deep my eyes are brown. But it’s what I wanted in that sick, desperate way my mind works. There are probably some people reading this blog who are thinking, wow, what a hot fantasy. They may even jack off reading it. But do they ever intend going through with something like this ? Do they heck. You’ve got to be a dork like me to actually go ahead. I mean, it began as a one-off thing. A Christmas present to myself. And Sally, of course. Something to try once and remember, to spice up our sex life in the years to come. I was surprised she went for it, but then again, she’s always surprised me. Just saying yes when I proposed to her for starters.

And then it kind of got out of hand. Our Master wouldn’t take no for an answer. The blackmail was part of it, sure, but I like to think we could have stopped him. The truth is we wanted more too. It was so hot, in an emotional, sexual, masochistic sense, to give into him again and then to suffer that New Year’s Eve party.

And now ? Well, as you can probably imagine reading this, I am climbing the walls with sexual frustration and yet it is the most sexually exciting thing I’ve ever done. I can’t even masturbate. This tube works, believe me. I always thought that CB devices were ultimately like toys. They worked as long as you let them. But no, this is solid, tight, tamperproof and 100% effective. No erection. No orgasm. But it doesn’t prevent you wanting both those things more and more.

Meanwhile, another guy holds the key to it. The same guy who’s fucking my wife and gradually taking her over. He doesn’t love her (thank heavens), at least I don’t think he does. He just uses her, in increasingly obscene and demeaning ways. And not only do I just let him, I couldn’t stop him now if I wanted to.

I’ve stolen six figures. Committed fraud. Oh sure, maybe I could try and explain it was just part of a sex game. Er, I don’t think so. Even this blog will fuck me as I’ve admitted it. And Sally too. She’s as guilty as me. We’re in this together. We get caught and we’ve no job, no friends, no life. We don’t have any choice but to play this game out now until the end, wherever that is. We’re at somebody else’s mercy. A virtual stranger. A predator. Master.

*** *** ***

I slept well that night but woke early, in time to fuck Sally before I left.

“You want to cum ?” I asked as my own orgasm approached.

“Mmm … yes.” She hissed,  grinding against me.

I chuckled. “No. You came yesterday morning. That’s enough for a while.”

I spewed my overnight load into her.

The stink in the bathroom had disappeared but Gordon had spent the night staring into the dirty pan. Sally sat astride the toilet seat and wiped her oozing cunt with tissue inches from his face. Then we released him from the cistern.

“Go make me a coffee.” I told him. I stressed the word ‘me’.

I took a nice, long, hot shower, dried and started to dress.

Sally went to follow me into the shower. I shook my head.

“No, Sally. I want you going round with my mark on you. Get dressed.”

I followed her to her wardrobe and selected a mid-thigh skirt, tight T, some black fishnet stockings still in their packaging, garter belt, and heels. No bra or thong. She stared at me.

“But …”

“Hurry up.”

“I’m leaking. What about underwear ?”

“Don’t worry. The outfit’s fine.”

“It’s freezing outside.” She said, hands on hips.

“You can wear a long coat.” I said. “If you hurry up. Come on.”

With a shake of her head, she quickly pulled the white T over her head. Her full tits strained against the cotton. She sat down and rolled the fishnet stockings up her legs, clipped on the garter belt and fastened the stockings to the straps. Finally, she put the black skirt on round her waist and stepped into the 4-inch heels.

I grinned in approval.

“You look great. A touch overweight, but hot.”

Gordon’s eyes bulged as we entered the kitchen. He held out a mug.

“Okay, mate.” I said. “You can use your bathroom now and then get off to work. I’ll call if I need you.”

He looked at Sally.

“She’s coming with me. I’m not sure if she’ll be coming home tonight.”

I shrugged at their shocked expressions and blew on my coffee.

“Bye Gordon.”

He took one more look at his wife and walked out of the kitchen.

Sally tut-tutted and shook her head. Then she walked over to the fridge.

“What are you doing ?”

“Getting some breakfast.”

“No. You can have a glass of tap water. Got to keep fluids up. But no food, milk or even juice. You’re going on a diet.”

“You have to be kidding !”

I made a slurping noise with my coffee. “Not at all.”

“But I need to eat !” she replied in exasperation.

“And so you shall. But you’re going to lose ten pounds minimum. Maybe more. I’ll see what I think once you’ve begun taking regular exercise.”

She realised I was serious. “Please …”

“Hurry up and drink some water. Then get your coat. We’re leaving.”

I was struggling for ideas for  Sally’s employment. I figured maybe readers of Gordon’s blog might email me some ideas !

In the meantime, I knew a guy who owned a greasy, fast-food joint about ten minutes from the Fire Station where I work. It’s one of those places that can only survive against the big chains by exploiting the staff and using crummy meat in the burgers. Nevertheless, we sometimes go there for fry-up breakfasts after we’ve finished the night shift.

The ever present “Staff Required” sign was in the steamed up window.

The Anglo-Italian owner wiped his lips on a dirty towel. He stared at Sally in amazement, then back at me.

“You come about a job ?” he asked, as if he’d misheard.

“Yes.” I replied. “She needs the work. I said I’d help her find some.”

His greedy eyes narrowed and he stroked his stubbly double-chin.

“I don’t really need anyone now.”

“Oh come on, Vittorio.” I said, chuckling. “You always need people. You can never keep staff more than a few days.”

He shrugged. “Take off your coat darling.”

I nodded. Reluctantly, blushing scarlet, Sally slipped off the coat.

Vittorio couldn’t help whistling. “Nice lady.” He looked at me inquisitively. “Okay. What’s the deal here ? What’s she to you ?”

The Café was empty but for a couple of diners at a counter facing the street. They had their backs to us and were reading tabloid newspapers. I placed my hand on Sally’s tit.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

Vittorio didn’t know me well and had no knowledge of Jan.

He frowned, then broke into a grin. “Girlfriend ? Not like any dame I know. She a special kind of … girlfriend ?”

Sally’s lip was trembling, listening to herself being discussed.

I nodded. “Yeah. Special. You can’t touch her, Vittorio. Nor can anybody else. But you can work her into the ground. Tell me if she misbehaves.”

“Mamma mia ! It’s my lucky day. How long ?”

“I’m not sure. A while. On the same days as I work. Twelve hour shifts, okay ?”

He held his hand poised to shake mine. “Only minimum wage.”

I shook his hand. “There’s no need to do any bookwork. You can pay me the equivalent in cash when I collect her each day.”

He released my hand. “Done. She always going to dress like that ?”

I surveyed Sally. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He looked her up and down again, staring at her legs and tits.

“Okay. Lady. Time to show you the ropes.”

I smiled at his turn of phrase. Maybe some ropes would be an idea ?

“By the way, don’t let her eat much. Just water and some fruit at midday.” I picked up one of his shiny, tasteless apples and a squidgy orange.

“Those will do. And no coffee or lunch breaks. Now, I’ve just got time for one of your so-called cappuccinos, Vittorio.”

It was after 8 p.m. when I stopped by to pick Sally up.

She was leaning over wiping tables. Her skirt barely covered her thighs.

I waved at Vittorio who was counting money at the till.

“How’d she do ?”

He made a face. “Sulky bitch. She worked but never smiled once. Mind you, the customers seemed to like her.” He winked. “Know what I mean.”

I winked back.

“Get your coat Sally. Hurry.”

I let her see Vittorio carefully counting out notes and a few coins into my hand. I picked out the small change; two 10ps, a 5p and a 2p.

“Here, Sal. Your share.”

She took the 27 pence from me like an automaton, mouth agape.

“Lets go.”

She didn’t speak in the taxi the whole way home. I ignored her, watching the streetlights and traffic. I usually travel on the bus and it was nice to splash out on my own cab.

When we were nearly home I lifted the hem of her coat in silence. She stonily let me finger her cunt under her skirt. I sniffed.

“You stink.”

“And who’s fault is that ?” she glared at me.

I nodded at the old cabdriver up front. “You want to fuck him ?”

She shut her eyes apologetically. “… no.”

I put two fingers to her lips and she slowly licked them clean.

I paid the cabbie and made sure to give him a generous tip. It put her own 27 pence for 12 hours hard work in context.

Once inside my place, I told her to crack me open a beer.

“Please.” She said, returning with it. “At least tell me what’s going on. Have you spoken to Gordon ?”

“No. Why ? Should I have ?”

“But he’s my husband. He’ll be worried.”

“Why ? I told him you might not be going home tonight.”

“But … oh shit, I can’t go on like this.”

I smiled pleasantly. “Yes, you can. But actually, if you must know, I did call Gordon. He’s busy, doing some chores for me. So don’t worry. He’s not expecting you.”

There was a shrill ring on my doorbell. Sally jumped.

“Go open the door, Sal.” I said. “It’s poker night.”

I lied.

It was a small lie. Just a spelling mistake actually.

She opened the door to five guys; our mutual friend Leon and another black guy named Anthony, plus a carrot-top called Tom, an Asian known as ‘Phuket’ and my sad, divorced schoolmate, a barrister named Charles.

I am an equal opportunities party giver.

You see, it wasn’t really poker night.

It was poke-her night.

Sally brought in a tray of beers, vodka and wine, with peanuts. The guys were all sat in chairs round the room, enjoying the view. Her legs must have been tired from a long day in the heels. Phuket shook his beer and spume sprayed onto Sally’s tight top as she bent over.

“Got an ashtray ?” Tom said, producing his inevitable pack of Marlboros. We call him ‘tomato’ and people think it’s a play on his name and due to his hair. But it’s actually because he’s always carrying a red pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

Leon opened a tin and removed several fat marijuana joints.

I gave them both ashtrays. It was going to be a heck of a party.

Tom lit his first cig and opened his thighs suggestively, leering at Sally. He was wearing baggy jeans and a moth-eaten sweater.

“Hey.” He called over to me, raising his vodka shot. “Cheers.”

We all lifted our cans and glasses. Sally watched us, her wet top clinging to her boobs.

“Take that off Sal.” I said. “It’s soaking.”

She looked like she was going to argue but she saw my expression. With a sigh, she lifted her arms and peeled it over her head.

The guys whistled, enjoying the topless display of her 34Cs.

“Hey babe.” Tom called out to her. He took a long drag on his Marlboro.

“Come to where the flavour is !”

Part Six

Sally reluctantly dragged herself over to where Tom was sitting in a grey wreath of tobacco smoke. Her bare tits hung down as she crawled while Leon, Anthony, Phuket, Charles and I encouraged her with wolf whistles, laughter and ribald comments.

Tom sat in his jeans and sweater grinning at us, Marlboro wedged in the side of his mouth while he refilled his shot glass with vodka.

I watched her unzip him, tug down his baggy jeans and grubby, grey underpants. There is a certain pride that any Master reading this will recognise, watching your slave servicing your mates. I know quite a few dom guys even enjoy sharing their own sub wives. Personally, that’s not for me, but I sure as hell get a kick chipping in somebody else’s wife !

Tom glanced up at me appreciatively.

I mean, he’s not the kind of guy who often gets blowjobs, with his thinning ginger curls, freckles, almost white skin and unkempt clothes.

As I’ve already said, I’m a stickler for great oral. Some vanilla gals can do it right but, let’s be honest here, the best head usually comes from subs.

Sally wasn’t any great shakes yet but it’s a question of attitude as much as skill. Before I took over she had the wrong mind-set and Gordon wasn’t the guy to put her right. Now, for a start, she was on her knees and Tom was in a chair. She was doing him and he was just sat there puffing away. There was no sense of equality, or foreplay or reciprocation. She just concentrated on treating his dick like it was meant to be treated and ignored us all sat around watching, commenting, the smell of tobacco and weed in the air.

I had my camera out, of course, snapping some nice digital images for posterity. Close-ups of her face and lips slurping on yet another anonymous erection for my ‘Sally Album’.

After Tom blew his load onto her tongue, Phuket took his place. He’s one of those ‘hard as nails’ Asians with a washboard stomach and wiry muscles. His dick isn’t that big but he keeps himself waxed hairless so it looks kind of impressive jutting out of his smooth groin.

Sally groaned out a ‘mmff’ sound as Anthony knelt behind her, flipped up her skirt and plunged his black meat into her from behind. She was still unbathed from our session in the morning and he began spit roasting her easily.

By now, Leon and Charles had unzipped themselves and each placed their dicks in Sally’s hands so she could prepare them while she used her mouth on Phuket and accommodated Anthony in her cunt. I managed to take a great shot that showed her in all her glory without revealing a single one of the guys’ faces. She looked like a pro-hooker in a Swedish orgy mag from the 1980s.

The action continued apace; Anthony blew his wad and was replaced by Leon, Charles tipped the contents of Anthony’s condom into Sally’s platinum blonde hair, Phuket jacked his load over her face, then Leon shot his bolt, Charles turned Sally over onto the carpet and mounted her, Tom sat his butt down on her face for rimming, while I kept filming.

After each guy had cum twice, we ordered pizza. While waiting for the delivery guy, Leon and I escorted Sally through to the bathroom.

“Fuck you.” She muttered to me insolently. Her first words other than grunts and groans for ages.

“Who’s talking ?” I answered. Sometimes you just have to humour them. After all, you can’t get pissed off every time they show a bit of spirit.

She stared at me, unable to think of a retort.

“Get in the shower.”

While she washed, Leon fetched a piece of equipment he’d borrowed. I was surprised it had fitted in his car. It was made of light but strong aluminium, wood and leather. We set it up in the bathroom.

Sally emerged shivering from the cold shower and I handed her a towel.

“What’s that ?” she whispered.

We didn’t respond. We showed her instead.

We fixed her into the box frame with her arm and wrists in the four leather straps. Then Leon strapped the punishment collar round her neck, forcing her head up, and I wedged the dental brace into her mouth. Finally, we closed the wooden semi-circles round her collar.

The result was she was squatting in an open sided box with her head poking out of the wooden top. Her neck was nicely rigid and her mouth was stretched wide open due to the steel ring-gag. Her hair hung damp from the shower and she couldn’t move or speak.

“Sal,” I said, unzipping my fly. “You’ve already drunk my piss on day one, so you really can’t object.”

Her eyes blazed and she emitted a gutteral objection.

I held the tip of my dick an inch from her mouth and aimed.

“Ummmm.”

I needed to lose a few hours worth of tea, water and beer. I’d eaten salad for lunch with a load of raw beetroot and my piss flowed pale red.

“Every good party needs a urinal.”

She’d screwed her eyes shut and her face contorted.

I peed for 54 seconds. Leon was timing me. A lot ended up on the tiled floor but plenty went down her throat.

Then Leon unzipped himself and stepped forward.

We partied for ages, eating pizza and ice cream, drinking, watching a soccer match, then ogling some of the footage I had of Sally and Gordon.

All the while, the guys were nipping into the bathroom to leak. The beer flowed and so did the piss. There barely seemed to be a minute without somebody getting up to go. I made a pot of coffee and we sat smoking, telling jokes.

When the party was finally over and we travelled home, Sally was livid. She folded her arms and said whatever hold I had on her, she couldn’t care any longer. It was over.

My extra ‘insurance’ was a DVD of Gordon. While we’d been partying with Sally, he’d paid £1,000 to a black hooker and her boyfriend to film him licking out her oozing pussy and ass. I watched it later and it wasn’t the sort of footage a respectable, middle class white guy would want his wife, colleagues, friends and the whole world to see.

He arrived at midnight in his car to hand over the DVD and collect Sally. She didn’t know about his evening and I’d told Gordon his ‘infidelity’ would remain our little secret so long as he behaved.

She’d showered for the second time, eaten some cold pizza and recovered her composure but was still mightily pissed.

“You can have tomorrow off.” I told them. “I’m seeing Jan. But I’ve got to work Friday and you can do another stretch at Vittorio’s.”

She shrugged her shoulders, suggesting no commitment.

“Gordon, I was going to let you have an orgasm.” I said. “Now I won’t. Sally’s insolence just cost you another few days.”

“Sally !” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

She shook her head. “This is bullshit. The game’s over.”

“Tell her Gordon. Is the game over ?”

He put his arm around her. “Darling, it’s not over. It can’t be.”

She looked at him, eyes shining with tears. “We can leave the country.”

He made a face. “We can’t. He even has our passports now.”

“But …”

“Trust me, darling. It’s not that simple. We have to do everything he says. That’s what we wanted. Remember.”

She was crying softly. “Not … everything.”

“Yes. Everything.” He replied.

I leaned forward and kissed her wet cheeks.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

I rang them at five to seven the next morning.

“Jan had to cancel. She’s working today. Both of you get here within an hour.”

“But …” Gordon replied. “I’ve got a meeting at nine.”

“Cancel it.” I snapped. “And the rest of the day.”

I was cheesed off. I’d wanted to see Jan, not my ‘owned couple’.

“Yes … er, okay.”

50 minutes later my doorbell rang.

I gave Gordon a note in an envelope, keeping him outside.

“Read this. I’ll see you later.”

He took it and watched me pull Sally into my house and shut the door.

I beamed. “Morning, Sal.”

“Hello.” She replied in a surly tone.

I slapped her across the face. Not hard, but enough.

She clasped her cheek in shock.

“Take everything off. Now !”

She paused just a second, then hurried to obey. She quickly removed her sweater, boots, socks, denim jeans, top, bra and thong.

I walked around her, studying her nakedness.

“I don’t see anything wrong. No harm done. No marks. You are making a lot of fuss about last night for no reason.”

“It’s not here …”. She pointed to her head. “It’s in here.”

“That’s where it’s meant to hurt, Sally. Your pride. Your ego. Your over inflated sense of your own fucking worth. You are a pussy, an ass, and pair of tits, a fucktoy, a cumbucket. That’s all. Get that into your bimbo brain.”

“You’re a … monster !”

“No. I’m just a guy. A penis. A pair of balls. But I own your ass.”

“Please.”

“This is getting boring. Bend over and touch your toes.”

She stared at me, trying to read my eyes, I guess looking for mercy.

“Now !” I barked.

I gave her a thrashing with a cane. It was light and thin, the kind that stings dreadfully without doing any serious damage. She howled and hopped from one leg to the other, doing all that apologising and begging crap. By the time I’d finished, her ass was super-red and nicely tram-lined.

And I was stiff as an iron bar.

I fucked her from behind, enjoying the feel of her scorching butt cheeks against my own skin, and wondered how Gordon was getting on.

*** *** ***

Out of hand.

Today’s blog entry could only be titled ‘out of hand’. I have spent this morning in a state of shock. Our Master has us eating out of his hand. We are like birds pecking at the few seeds he chooses to bestow upon us. More to the point, this situation has now got completely out of hand.

I had suggested a payment of one hundred pounds a week. That’s a couple of hundred bucks, give or take, or a hundred and thirty Euros.

Each and every week !

Plenty, you would have thought as a decent ‘fee’ for his silence and our arrangement.

My heart was pumping for hours in a way that didn’t feel good for my health. There was that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach and I was short of breath.

He wasn’t satisfied with my proposal. Not by a long way. It wasn’t as if he wanted just to up the amount either. No, he wanted total control of my income.

I went to my bank and arranged to transfer out my entire net salary by standing order into his account each month from now on. He said he would consider applications by us for some cash back but they would be subject to our behaviour. Otherwise, we had to live frugally and off our savings.

The idea that I would be working effectively for nothing makes me nauseous. Having to hand over a bit of money seemed erotic. But like a beating that’s too severe, excessive blackmail is pain, not pleasure.

On top of the monthly transfer, he wants £10,000 by next Tuesday.

I called my broker and told him to sell two shareholdings we had.

After the financial arrangements, I went to the company address that was on the note. It was called SSMS Ltd; Safety, Security and Monitoring Systems. They do burglar and fire alarms and, in particular, CCTV systems around offices and homes.

There was a sketch on the back of the note, showing a rough lay-out of our house, with places marked in red pen for hidden cameras. Each room had at least two and some even more. For example, there were four in our main bedroom and five in our ensuite bathroom.

Even the SSMS Salesman said it was overkill and way too expensive. But I had to say we were overly security conscious and I wanted to be able to monitor every inch of the house when we were out.

He smirked. I’m guessing the guy thought I wanted to spy on my wife, either for thrills or to check if she was being unfaithful.

Ironic, huh.

I handed over a £250 cheque as a ‘rush’ quotation fee so that they’d send a quote within 48 hours and do the work in 7 days if I accepted the quote.

Finally, I took out the blank American Express card application form and found a coffee bar where I could fill it in. I treated myself to a latte and a chocolate bar and sat outside in the chilly, winter sun, wondering how it had all gone so wrong, so quickly.

I sipped my coffee sadly and then had to give a weak smile.

I tore open the chocolate wrapper.

Apparently, there’s a smile in every bar.

*** *** ***

Gordon called after lunch to say he’d completed the list.

I was reading the newspaper while Sally was washing my underpants and socks by hand. She was wearing a small, tight top that reached her waist but I could watch her ass glowing as she did my domestic chores. She was humming happily as she worked.

“Hi Gord.” I said. “All go well ?”

“Yes … Sir. Everything is done as you instructed.”

“Good man. When do I get the ten grand ?”

“Monday … Tuesday latest.”

“Excellent. Easy come, easy go, hah ?”

“… yes.” His voice was surly. These two were starting to piss me off.

“In that case, add another ten grand to the deal.”

There was a long pause. “You’re kidding, right ?”

“No. I want twenty grand. And it’ll double again to forty if I hear another negative word or the wrong tone in your fucking voice. It’s the same with your slut wife. I had to thrash some sense into her. I want you both happy and obedient, at least on the surface. Not rude and insubordinate. Is that clear ?”

“Yes, Sir. Twenty thousand, ASAP, Sir.”

I grinned into the phone. “Better.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Okay. I’ll let you go and update your blog. Remember I want the whole truth; what happened and how you are feeling. And then I want you to type me out on paper a full confession of your crimes. Your theft, fraud and submissive, gay desires. Something juicy for the jury.”

“Ple … Yes Sir. Of course, Sir.”

“You want to cum, faggot ?”

“Er … no, Sir. This has all kind of destroyed my desire. You know, I guess only temporarily, but I don’t feel … horny.”

“That’s lucky for you. Because from now we’re going to make your chastity a lot stricter and a great deal less comfortable. There are a couple of new devices you’re going to invest in for us to try.”

“Yes Sir.”

“You can come by here at six o’clock to collect your missus.”

I glanced over at her. I fancied a little entertainment, featuring her and various kitchen implements and vegetables, followed by an extended rimming and a gargle blowjob. Wipe that fucking grin off her face.

“Yes Sir. Six o’clock.”

“Oh, and did you fill in that Amex Card form ?”

“Yes Sir, I’ll bring it with me.”

“Too right you will.” I replied.

Don’t leave home without it !

Part Seven

I’m no techno-whizz.

But after half and hour’s trial and error, I had learned to work the controls. I was able to set the monitor to display any of 12, 4 or 2 cameras at once, using the split-screen facility. And I could zoom, withdraw, pan and focus on a single shot in glorious widescreen.

I could also change volume, listen, speak and record.

And I could store, file, delete, download or broadcast straight to the net.

The company had installed a total of 36 cameras, hidden in the plaster walls, ceilings or carpeted floors of Gordon and Sally’s home. There were 18 microphones in all and a set of tiny speakers in every room.

“Testing.”

Gordon looked at the screen and put his thumb up.

“I hear you, Sir.”

His merry voice came through loud and clear. He and Sally were learning to sound happy and contented, whatever I asked them to do. While Gordon tried out the CCTV system with me, Sally was lying on her living room floor, legs above her head, fucking herself with a butternut squash.

“Try one of the mobile cameras close up.”

There were two hand-helds. Gordon knelt and pointed the lens at Sally’s squishing cunt from a few inches away.

I clicked the mouse, changed camera, and zoomed. The hand-held had its own microphone and I switched from the overhead.

The slurp-squish came though in stereo on my PC speakers.

“Okay. That’s fine.” I said into my built-in mike. “Listen to the rules.”

I told them how I saw it. From now on, they would be under my control 24/7 whilst at their home. My cell phone was now linked up to my new PC dedicated to monitoring them, so I could keep an eye on them while I was out and about too.

I could record every room in their house and watch later. Motion sensors created ‘tracks’ in the recording, so I could fast forward from track to track, to check up on any movement.

I told them that the bathroom and lavatory were out of bounds without permission and they couldn’t eat, drink, watch TV, make calls, dress or undress, go to bed, without asking me first.

“What … I mean, but hey, how do we contact you ?” Sally laughed.

“I’ll contact you. When I have time. You make a list of your requests and you can put them to me each time I get in touch.”

“But …”

“Great. Sure.” Gordon interrupted her enthusiastically. “Wow, good idea, Sir !”

I chuckled. “Bye.”

I watched them for ten minutes afterwards. They stood around, uncertainly, glancing at the screens, shrugging, making hand gestures.

“I guess we can talk.” Gordon whispered.

“He didn’t say we couldn’t, right.” Sally replied.

They stood in their living room, then walked slowly through to the kitchen.

I switched camera, although they had no way of knowing that I had.

“Fuck.” Gordon said, slumping down at the table.

“Sssh.” Sally hushed him.

I got up and fetched myself a beer.

That was a Saturday in early February.

Jan arrived at 8.00 p.m. and I took her down to a romantic, neighbourhood bistro for supper. It was a new place, pricey, not that I didn’t have plenty of Gordon’s cash to splash on nice restaurants. We chatted and canoodled.

I slipped into the mens room after my main course and opened my cell.

After dialling and waiting, a murky picture appeared on screen.

“Hi.”

They were both still sat at the kitchen table in silence.

“Er … hi.” Gordon replied.

“You hungry ?”

“Yes please, Sir.”

“Okay. You can both eat. But just a dry salad for Sally. Undressed. Hah !.”

They nodded at the screen.

“Er … can we use the toilet, Sir ?” she asked.

“Pee or poop ?”

“Just pee.”

“Him ?”

“Pee too, please Sir.”

“No. You can both stay in the kitchen. Piss in each other’s dinner bowls.”

I could just make out their shocked expressions on my cell screen.

“Yes, sure, thank you S … Sir. Great.” Gordon stammered.

“I’ll be watching.”

I flipped my cell closed and unzipped myself to use the urinal.

“Hey. New PC.” Jan said. “Nice.”

I smiled, putting my arms around her.

“Expensive ?” she asked.

I kissed her. “Nope. It kind of fell into my lap.”

Her nipples were hard and her lips soft. I scooped her up and carried her into my bedroom. Sometimes I enjoy a bit of romantic vanilla.

At half past midnight, I sneaked out of bed and logged on.

“Okay. You can get to bed.” I said.

They both jerked their heads up from snoozing at the kitchen table.

“Thanks.”

“You can do your teeth and wash. Toilet ?”

“I need another pee.” Gordon replied.

“And you, Sal ? You like to shit at night, yeah ?”

She swallowed. I zoomed so her face filled my screen. “Mm … please.”

“Okay. Put me on a show. Don’t let your ass touch the seat. Squat over it, right ? I’ll watch it in the morning.”

I quickly opened up my email and fired off a one-liner to Leon.

Jan and I had sloppy sex again the next morning, made coffee and then she took a bath. I took a second cup and sat down by the PC.

I selected the ‘master bedroom’ icon. The name amused me.

I nearly flipped as loud grunts exploded out of my PC speakers. I was confronted by a scene of Leon fucking Sally in her bed. I clicked the mute button as fast as I could.

“What’s that ?” Jan called out to me from the bathroom.

“Nothing. Just some feedback.”

I found Gordon. He was lying on his back on the bed, under Sally. She had her thighs astride his head while Leon pounded her with DP strokes. Leon’s big black hands were holding her ankles up wide in the air.

I switched from the overhead to the side camera to check out the view.

Leon’s face was almost childlike in blissful enjoyment, eyes half closed, his white teeth clenched gently over his lower lip. Sally’s tits were jiggling to and fro like marshmallows on a plate. I could just make out Gordon’s mewling ‘mmff’ sounds from underneath Sally’s ass.

A typical Sunday morning scene in Gordon and Sally’s new life.

I watched Leon’s piston sliding rhythmically, disappearing and reappearing, deep into Sally’s sweet cunt. It looked like a black ladle stirring a pot of soup. Her own expression was that familiar blend of shame and excitement, with occasional winces as Leon found an extra millimetre of depth.

“What are you up to ?” Jan called out. She was lying in the bath.

I sighed. Leon’s back curved like a bow as he blew his wad.

I guess it was time to come clean with Jan.

I did the night shift on Sunday night and finished work at 8 a.m.

Sally met me outside Vittorio’s.

“Good weekend ?” I asked.

“Yeah … er, great.”

Her acting was getting better. I patted her ass and pushed her into the Café.

“I’ll see you at seven this evening. Get the bus back to my place.”

I waved at Vittorio who was frying up bacon and sausage.

“Morning. Work her hard.” I told him. “Bye.”

By eight thirty, I’d arrived at Gordon’s offices. He worked in a small accountancy firm, about a hundred people in all, from partners to secretaries. Gordon came down to meet me in the lobby.

“Hi.” He said nervously. “Er, what can I do for you ?”

I smiled. “You got an office ?”

“Yes … this way.”

He had a small private office on the first floor. It was off an open plan room with about ten workstations. Only about half the places were occupied. A couple of guys were stood at a coffee dispenser.

“Morning.” I said to them.

“Good morning.”

One of them gave me a lingering, inquisitive look. He was perfect; early twenties, still acne-ridden, skinny, kind of rat-faced.

“Who’s he ?” I asked Gordon, as he shut the door.

“Er, him ? That’s Kevin. A trainee.”

“Kevin, hmm. He work for you ?”

“Sort of. On some projects, yes.”

“Good. I want Sally to seduce him. To have an affair with him.”

“But …” he forced himself to smile. His face was puce-coloured.

“Behind your back. I want your office to think you don’t know, so that your colleagues smirk at your naivety.”

“Please … how … I mean what if he doesn’t want to … he might have a girlfriend.”

“It’s Sally’s job to make him want to. You invite him round and she does the rest. She can pounce on him while you’re out of the room. Make it obvious she’ll do anything for him. Then give him her phone number. To be honest, I don’t give a shit how you both do it, but get it done.”

“How … do my colleagues find out ?”

“He’ll talk. But Sally can meet him here for lunch. They can be obvious. You just have to pretend not to notice. You’ve got one week from today to get him in bed with Sally or I go public with the evidence.”

“Please …” His voice was a desperate, trembling whisper. “Can’t you think of anything else …”

“No ! I want to see Sally sucking and fucking Kevin on my CCTV entertainment system within seven days or it’s over !”

He squeezed his features into a contorted expression of obedience.

“Yes, Sir. Understood.”

“Good lad.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Show me your wallet.”

He removed a leather billfold from his jacket pocket.

There were seven crisp £20 notes and one £10; a hundred and fifty quid.

I left him the tenner and lifted all the twenties out for myself.

“What do you say ?”

“Er … thank you, Sir.” He enthused. “For my ten pounds.”

I nodded, walking to the door. “You’re getting the hang of this, Gordon.”

I was horny when I got home but I resisted jerking off. I had a shower and went to bed. I wanted to save a good load for Sally.

She arrived at bang on seven, as instructed.

“Vittorio pay you ?”

I held out my hand and she put all her cash into it.

“Get down on your knees.”

She knelt down in the hall, staring up at me. I grinned and opened my towelling robe. My dick was swollen with the need to piss.

She didn’t need to be told any more. She opened wide, even forcing a slight smile.

“Don’t spill any.”

I was kind, controlling the flow of frothing urine into a steady jet, studying her eyes as she concentrated on gulping it all down without any waste. A little trickle bubbled onto her chin that she wiped off and licked.

“You make a good toilet.” I said, tying my robe closed. “Get up.”

She followed me through to my bedroom.

“Er, Sir.”

“Yes ?”

“I … my period has started.”

“You’re on the rag ? Show me.”

She lifted her skirt and pulled her thong off. There was a blue string nestled in the puffy skin of her labia. I slapped her thighs wider apart.

“Hold still.”

I tugged the string, slowly pulling the tampon half-way out. It glistened red.

“Okay. Push it back in.” I said.

She was flushed with humiliation as she pressed it back in.

There was a red smear on my fingers. I held them up.

“Lick them clean.”

Her pink tongue slowly, hesitantly, appeared and lapped at my hand.

I chuckled.

Finger lickin’ good !

*** *** ***

Three months came and went.

February was her last period.

Winter turned to Spring and eventually the weather turned hot.

In March, Sally’s time of the month came and went. In April, she took a test. By early May, we knew for sure she was ten weeks pregnant.

The only thing we didn’t know was ‘who’.

No fucking idea.

Any one of about twenty five sexual partners could be the dad. The only guy we could say for certain wasn’t the biological father was Gordon. I guess we’ll have to wait until November and we can look for genetic similarities. The chances are the child will be white but there’s about a 20% likelihood of black or oriental.

I went with Sally to the various medical appointments and check ups.

“Everything okay, nurse ?”

She was a dragon-type, mid-forties, red hair in a bun. She gave Sally a professional smile and eased her legs apart. “Let’s see shall we ?”

I watched her expression harden as she raised Sally’s skirt.

“Mmm …” she frowned.

I could detect the fishy scent from several yards away. I hadn’t allowed Sally to bathe for 72 hours. She was carrying the ripe, encrusted remains of several sexual encounters with various men. I was determined that she’d continue her healthy sex life well into her final trimester.

The nurse looked at me then at Sally.

“I assume you realise the importance of hygiene at all times, and especially during pregnancy.”

“Of course.” I replied, putting on my shocked husband voice. “Darling ?”

Sally had turned puce red, her eyes filling with tears. “I … I’m sorry.”

*** *** ***

Of course, the best development of all, was Jan’s acceptance of the situation. No, not acceptance. Her enthusiastic adoption of it.

When I got home that afternoon, she was on our bed eating a box of chocs, watching some 1930s black and white movie. Her naked legs were in a v, knees up and wide apart. Gordon was ever so carefully and reverently lapped his tongue between my girlfriend’s thighs.

“Hi.” She said, unabashed. “All go well ?”

I pushed Sally into the room. “Yeah. Okay. The nurse had to scrub her cunt clean though.”

Jan smiled, her eyes rolling as her head fell back on the pillow.

“I prefer having mine cleaned by her husband’s tongue.”

I took Sally’s hair and guided her head down alongside Gordon’s.

“Get down there and watch him serving a real woman.”

Jan giggled. “Ooh, darling. You are perverting me.”

I slid down onto the bed next to her. She turned and tongue-kissed me.

I kissed her back. It was a Friday and her day off. That morning we’d told Gordon phone into his office pleading sickness, volunteering to work all Sunday instead. His middle-aged and overweight boss, Oscar, had happily agreed, since he had become another of Sally’s coterie of lovers. He’d undoubtedly be round Sunday for a little action.

“Mmm.” Jan’s eyes sparked. “You ?”

I pecked her nose. “No. Later. I want to watch you instead.”

She exhaled, parting her thighs wider. We both looked down at Gordon. He was studiously focused on her juicy snatch. His skin was smooth where he’d shaved and his nose, lips and chin glistened with her secretions.

I reached down and pushed the top of his head. He understood. So did Jan. She shifted her hips and he lowered his head so that he was tonguing between her anal cleft. I caught Jan’s shy glance.

“Relax, hon’.”

I’m happy to give Jan a little cunnilingus as foreplay but, to be honest, when it comes to oral, I’m more of a receiver, than giver. And as for analingus, I’d rather watch. I’m thrilled that Jan has gotten into it and I don’t feel remotely jealous seeing her like that with another guy.

I looked at Sally who was watching her husband with a strange, faraway look on her face. Usually it was her ‘being unfaithful’ and I guess it did her good occasionally to get an idea what Gordon must feel seeing her with others. We both watched his long tongue seeking out Jan’s guts and maybe Sally was even wishing he’d tried doing that to her ?

“Good ?”

Jan nodded. “Uh-huh.”

I lifted Sally’s hand and gently laid it on Jan’s mound. “Play with her clit.”

Sally obediently spread her fingers and placed two in Jan’s bush. She started moving them up, down and around. It didn’t take my girlfriend long to respond to the tandem massage. She started bucking her hips.

“Mmm … yesssssss …” she hissed.

“Let it go, baby. It’s what they’re for.”

And Jan wailed like a banshee. I knew she was hooked.

*** *** ***

Next morning, I had a coffee and juice. Sally had slept at the foot of my bed while Gordon was locked in the wardrobe. I was hungover. The previous evening Jan and I had drunk a lot with our TV supper, while Gordon and Sally did a bunch of chores. My head hurt bad.

“Go find me some Alka-Seltzer.” I said, nudging Sally with my foot.

I could hear her rooting around in the cabinets. My guts churned.

“Found some ?” I called out irritably.

“No, Sir.”

I unlocked Gordon and pulled him out the wardrobe. “Go help her.”

I waited another minute while they both looked. I drained my coffee. Jan was still snoozing, head under her pillow.

“You useless fuckers.” I said, slamming the bathroom door.

I pushed them both out of the way and looked on the shelves. I found everything but any sort of hangover remedy. Shit !

I sat down on the toilet in front of them, throwing open my dressing gown.

“Sally, come here. Kneel between my feet.”

She obeyed. I looked at Gordon.

“You, come here. Kneel behind your wife.”

He looked at me, eyes squinting, but did as he was told.

“Hold up her tits.”

He reached underneath and pushed up her cleavage, his fingers like bra cups. Both of them were looking up at me nervously.

“Point my dick at them.”

Sally swallowed and took my helmet between her fingertips. She aimed.

It took a moment. We all stared at each other. Then I let rip.

The stinking, early morning flow jetted all over her tits, splashing upwards, then falling in a mini-fountain onto the tiled floor, forming a golden puddle. I sighed, enjoying the hidden anger behind Gordon’s eyes.

I had an overnight bladder. It took almost a minute to empty. The floor was soaking, piss running in the tile grout like an irrigation system.

“Kiss it clean.” I said to her coldly.

She bent her head, lips and tongue lapping and sucking.

I smiled at Gordon. “Thank me.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He said, teeth semi-gritted.

“For ?”

He blinked. “For … using Sally as a urinal, Sir.”

I laughed. “She’s lucky she’s pregnant. We now have to watch what she drinks.” I paused, meaningfully. “And eats.”

With perfect timing my guts rumbled and a hiss of air was audible.

“Mmm.” I sniffed appreciatively. “Lick my balls, Sall.”

I could tell Gordon was having difficulty controlling himself. He was still clutching her soaked tits, or he might have swung a punch at me. Sally’s tongue snaked out, caressing my sweaty, hairy scrotum.

“Now, now, Gordon.” I said. “Remember what could happen.”

His shoulders slumped slightly.

This time it was louder. A big, gut-wrenching trumpet.

At that moment the bathroom door opened. Jan appeared. She took in the scene, froze, then grinned.

“Are these what all the noisy fuss was about ?” She held out a pack of Alka-Seltzer. “They were in the bedside drawer.”

I nodded. It was all happening at once.

I smiled at her, then beamed at Gordon, and Sally. My ass opened.

Plop plop, fizz fizz, oh what a relief it is !

Part Eight

Last weekend we went to Holland.

I’d negotiated for Sally to take the starring role in a couple of movies, so she, Gordon and I flew out on Thursday night, with Jan following on Friday evening.

I sat up front in Business with Sally three seats behind me in the front row of Economy and Gordon way behind in the back row of the plane. Towards the end of the short flight, I slipped into one of the economy lavatories, winking at Sally as I passed her. She squeezed into the cubicle after me and I lifted her skirt, fucking her in the stand up position leaning against the basin. While I was zipping myself up, there was a knock on the door.

I opened the door to see a travelling salesman-type, with his tie loose. His breath stank of beer.

“Hi.” I said, squeezing past him. He stared drunkenly at Sally. She was still adjusting her top, smoothing her skirt down.

“Hey ?” He mumbled at us.

I shrugged. “Sorry, mate.” I took Sally’s hand and pulled her out after me. “I’d love to let you have a go at her, but the pilot’s put the seat belt lights on.”

He stared at our backs as I escorted her to her seat. As she sat down I spotted a globule of my semen that had trickled below the hemline of her skirt.

The producer-director was a Dutch guy called Marcel. We struck a decent deal whereby he paid us higher than his usual rates, but he got more for his money. What’s more, Gordon was thrown in for free.

Marcel had a studio in the countryside, two miles from the nearest town, so it was very private. He picked us up in his car on Friday morning and we drove thirty minutes from our hotel. But there were already a half dozen cars and trucks parked round the back when we arrived. We walked into the reception area and it was full with about thirty guys, stood around drinking steaming mugs of coffee.

He smiled at me. “Coffee makes their sperm bitter.” He said under his breath. I looked at the guys; the vast majority were big, hairy, farmer types, in dungarees and denim, check shirts and beards.

Sally glanced at me apprehensively. I hadn’t involved her in the negotiations at all. She knew nothing of the deal I’d struck with Marcel or what was required of her.

We walked through to his small, cluttered office.

“Hey.” Marcel said to a hard-faced black dude with dreadlocks. He gestured at Gordon, speaking in Dutch. The black dude stood up and put his arm on Gordon’s shoulder, marching him out the room.

“Do whatever he says.” I called out after Gordon.

Marcel used his arm to push a load of papers off the desk onto the floor.

“Lie down there.” He said to Sally.

She looked at me again. I nodded. She climbed onto the desk.

Marcel stood between her knees and parted them. He lifted her skirt and thumbed the gusset of her thong out of the way.

“Nice, shaved fanny.” He commented, sliding a finger up her.

I sat down in the guest’s chair. “Yeah.”

He ran his hand over her tummy. “Four months ?”

“Give or take.” I replied. “We’re not sure exactly when it happened.”

“Let’s make a film when she’s eight months gone, yeah ?”

“If the price is right.”

He gave a gutteral chuckle. “You drive a hard bargain, my friend.”

I shrugged, watching him pat Sally’s hip.

“Turn over.” He said to her.

I moved my chair so I was sat at the end of the desk. I watched Sally’s face as she lay tummy-down on the desk. Marcel slid her thong down.

She whimpered as he spat on his fingers and lubricated her bottom.

“I’m sure you don’t mind a bit of butt fucking on the casting couch.” He said, leaning to whisper in her ear. “To get the main part.”

I bent forward and kissed Sally’s forehead. One thing I will say is that the past few months had been good for her 33 year old looks. She’d lost weight and toned up. Her long platinum hair was cut more provocatively, and she was wearing more mascara and lipstick. The crow’s feet round her eyes had been treated with botox and her teeth had been whitened.

Her face screwed up as Marcel’s dick began its assault.

He grunted hard with effort, thrusting his hips impatiently.

“Open up wide for him.” I twisted her hair. “Spread those fucking ass cheeks. And hold your fat tummy up off the table.”

He pushed hard and grinned at me appreciatively. “Oh, yah !”

I sat back and watched her hazel eyes as he rocked to and fro on her back. Marcel was no looker but he was sure as hell better than most of the guys lined up outside. In 48 hours Sally was going to be a true porno professional.

And I was her greedy, sleezy agent taking my hefty cut.

One hundred per cent !

*** *** ***

I love bukkake.

Always have. But the annoying thing is that politically correct porno values have turned what was originally a humiliation tool into a ridiculous cliché. The Japanese used bukkake as a way of punishing disobedient or unfaithful women where the entire male population of a village would ejaculate in her face, shaming her forever. No way did the chick enjoy it.

Nowadays you get all these videos and internet clips of ‘actresses’ moaning with delight as they get a facial, then rubbing the jizz into their skin like it was a moisturizer cream, mouthing ‘yum yum’ at the camera lens. As if the chick is enjoying it.

But Sally’s mouth was held wide open by a steel spider gag. There was a rubber ‘o’ ring to protect her teeth and then metal springs and bands that secured her jaws far apart. Inside, there was a steel tongue depressor that held her tongue down and ensured an open channel to her throat.

One camera was dedicated to Sally’s eyes. It was focussed right into them from above, giving the viewer a lovely insight into her mind.

No way was this chick enjoying it !

Her face swam with pools and streams of pearly fluid. Already about half the fifty or so guys who’d now arrived had deposited their first loads onto her face. Marcel told me ran a competition during scenes like this. The guys only earned a few Euros each for their roles but he offered cash prizes for the top three who produced the biggest loads. His regulars apparently loved the good-natured competition with each other and were skilled at eating right and abstaining for several days before a shoot.

As a result, some of the eruptions were massive. These big hairy guys, with big hairy guts, would jack off their big hairy dicks only inches above Sally’s head. Often they’d stand there two and three at a time, a couple beside her ears and one over her forehead, and squirt simultaneously.

Most aimed for the ‘o’ ring, leaning over to shoot thick white jets directly into her mouth. She couldn’t swallow or spit because of the gag and tongue depressor. The look in her wide eyes was a mix of alarm and distaste, as she snorted breaths in through her nose. Nice and slowly, gravity caused the cloying gunk to pool in the back of her mouth, before trickling down her throat. The slow journey allowed her buds to savour the taste and texture to the full. The guys knew their stuff; red meat, onions, garlic, alcohol, nicotine, coffee.

Others ignored the gag and uncoiled great ropes of jizz over her tummy, boobs, neck, face and hair. Sally’s pregnant state was showing via the slight bulge in her belly and an extra cup size in her bras. Her skin glistened and there was a gob of cum pooled in her belly button. She was tied on a long bench, with her arms stretched out above her head. Although she was topless, we’d left her dressed in her skirt and thong.

I glanced at my watch. So far, we’d been filming less than half an hour. There were five cameras rolling but Marcel reckoned to cut a lot of the footage, so we only had maybe five minutes of hardcore ‘money shots’ so far. Fortunately, there were plenty more guys and most of them would be up for two, sometimes, three orgasms.

I took a wander down the corridor. In the other studio, Gordon was having the finishing touches put to his makeup. Except that this was not some short term cosmetic fix. It was a long term makeover.

Four guys were mincing around him in the room; a hairdresser, a needle man, a tattooist and a makeup artist.

I couldn’t help laughing. Gordon’s head was now completely bald and it gleamed with a wax finish. He had big gold hoop earrings hanging down to his collar bones and a line of gold studs up one ear. There were smaller hoops in his nipples. His white body had been completely shaved and waxed. Most impressive of all was a full blown Prince Albert piercing of his penis, along with a one pound weight attached to it, hanging between his thighs.

The tattoo artist was just finishing a pink heart on Gordon’s right bicep with ‘buttfucking’ inscribed inside it in scarlet letters. There was now an enormous dragon on his bare back with its claws digging into Gordon’s buttocks and breathing a plume of fire between his cleft. Finally, in neat black capitals along the line of his front waistband was written; ‘if you want to fuck my wife sally, please ask my Master’.

Meanwhile, the make up guy had done a good job fixing a false moustache and goatee beard to Gordon’s face, making him resemble one of those characters in the Village People band.

“Good work, guys.” I congratulated them.

They smiled. Like all Dutch, they spoke pretty good English.

“How’s it going in there ?” one of them asked me.

I shrugged. “Fine. She’s getting a taste for it.”

He laughed. “He should too.”

“You want a go ?” I asked.

“Sure. No need to wait for filming to begin. Only a blowjob, right ?”

“For now, yeah.”

All four of them were obviously interested.

“Gordon.” I said, looking at him. “It’s time to earn your keep. I want you to suck these guys, right ? And do your best, or else. Clear ?”

His bleary eyes stared up at me, trying to focus. Marcel’s little tablet had done just enough to take away Gordon’s ability to concentrate and some of his inhibitions. His mind was in hallucinogenic, la-la land.

But his body was here, now.

The hairdresser was unzipping his tight black PVC jeans without any shame. His friends cooed and clucked as he extracted a thickening, circumsized penis and waved it in a circle in front of Gordon’s moustache.

“Mmm …” I whispered into Gordon’s ear. “Looks delish.”

His head rocked slightly and he slowly opened his mouth.

The hairdresser winked at me gratefully and put his hand round the back of Gordon’s shining head. He pulled Gordon’s lips onto his crown.

“Come on, Englander.” He said. “Make my day.”

I pointed to a small handheld camcorder on the table.

“Hey, film this for me guys, will you. Keep your faces out of it, if you like, but make sure his is in shot. I want to post a few to Gordon’s facebook.”

Back in the studio, there was a bit of a commotion. The place stank of sex and sweat. Marcel was shouting at one of the studs who’d shot his load all over Sally’s eyes. She had her eyes screwed shut and was twisting her head because of the stinging juice. Marcel wouldn’t have minded normally but for this flick we wanted the constant close up of her eyes, so that everybody could tell that her distress was real. Sure, you can tell that most crap porn actresses are only doing it for the money, but you don’t get to see inside their minds while they swoon about how lovely it all tastes.

Somebody mopped up Sally’s eyes sockets and the train continued to roll. She’d been well and truly messed up while I’d been down the corridor chatting to Gordon. I sat in the empty chair next to Marcel who was directing the scene. There were three fixed cameras and two roving ones operated by cameramen. He had six screens on his desk taking feeds from each camera. The sixth was linked to the internet.

I smiled. It was open at Google with two words in the search box; ‘semen taste’. Of course, there were endless sites offering advice about how to improve the taste of your semen, to make things nicer for your missus or girlfriends. You have to delve a little deeper to find help with making your manjuice less palatable.

On the closeup monitor, I could see Sally’s eyes staring straight up. What are you thinking my poppet ? Her facial expression was distorted by the tough gag that she’d now been wearing for quite a while. There was a pool of creamy jizz bubbling in the back of her mouth, slowly seeping away like the waters of a semi-blocked drain, only to be filled again by another spurting faucet. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in and out, inflating a bubble of semen in the trail running along her nose and upper lip.

Marcel turned and smiled at me, using his thumb and index finger to make a circle, signifying things were going just fine.

“This is valuable stuff.” He said. “The punters will gobble it up.”

I smiled, rubbing my own thumb and index finger together in the universal sign for cash. This porno business was easy. I looked at Sally taking another couple of loads all over her face and lips.

“Just like Sally !” I replied to Marcel.

We lunched in his office; a snack of beers, cold cuts, bread, cheese and fruit. I enjoyed watching a few minutes of the ‘rushes’ from each camera. Meanwhile, Sally had been taken to the ladies room to shower, clean up and get ready for the afternoon.

We could also watch a direct feed from the smaller studio. Over lunch, Gordon was starring in a gay short. He was bent over the back of a chair, head down, ass in the air, held in position with plastic cable ties. He had an over-sized red ball gag wedged in his mouth to prevent anything but drooling.

His first partner was a slim, obviously homosexual young man. Not an actor, just a guy who’d responded to our personal ad. He was running his delicate hands up and down Gordon’s hips, thighs and butt. A film assistant handed him a tub of lube and he gratefully dropped his pants, oiling up his erection and then the crinkled rose of Gordon’s asshole.

The kid had produced an AIDS-test certificate as he was obviously used to transacting in the gay community. I was happy to waive the use of a condom. With his new Village People look, I’m sure he thought Gordon was a very experienced bum-boy.

He skilfully prised open Gordon’s butt with his thumbs, adjusted his angle, and eased the head of his modest-sized dick into place. Marcel had installed one of those hidden, security mini-cameras under the chair, aimed directly at Gordon’s face. It was beautiful as he winced when the guy’s dick pushed through his sphincter muscle and into his butt. A few watery tears escaped out the corners of his eyes and splashed to the floor.

I chuckled and made a mental note to stand new framed photos of Gordon’s and Sally’s faces side by side at their bedside. I would have loads of shots to choose from.

His next partner was a big Turkish labourer, now living in Holland. He was wearing a stained, weightlifter’s shirt, knee-length shorts and trainers. He was bald but with a straggly beard, pierced eyebrows and a ring in one nostril. But the best bit was when he shucked off his shorts.

I’ve seen a few dicks in my time, including some whoppers, but this one took the Cuban cigar. Even limp it hung down the side of his balls like a salami sausage. Once it was jutting out from his hairy groin at full erection, it must have grown to getting on for 12 inches long.

The guy bit a plastic wrapper viciously and rolled a purple condom onto his length, though it only covered about two thirds. The first guy’s deposit was the only lubricant offered.

Marcel and I watched the screen transfixed. The roving cameraman had managed to lean in and film from only inches away, as the great purple dick forced its way through Gordon’s defiant but defenceless resistance. Load mewls of gagged displeasure filled the speakers.

Sally was made up and ready to go. She’d been given some bread, cheese and milk to recharge her batteries, then dressed in a bride’s white wedding dress, veil and all.

The movie was called ‘Fuck my pregnant bride’.

The opening scene of Gordon and Sally at the church would be filmed later and edited in.

For now, the main studio had been set up like hotel bedroom, with a double bed, bedside tables, TV, mini-bar, etc. Sally walked into the room in her wedding gear with three guys; a white, a black and an Asian.

This time we were testing her acting skills a little. Her role was to play the willing hot wife, celebrating her marriage to her cuckold boyfriend, by banging his mates while the reception continues downstairs.

They all sipped a champagne toast and then the guys undressed her, while she cooperated, teased and kissed them. Soon enough they had her veil, dress and shoes off, so she was on the bed in just her cream silk bra, thong and white stockings.

The action was predictable enough. She unzipped the black guy and sucked him while the other two undressed. The Asian undid her bra and fondled her jugs while the third man slowly peeled off her thong. Soon she was astride the Asian on the bed, slowly taking him into her ass, while he lay flat on his back and grinned happily through his spectacles. Once she’d got him wedged, she lay back and beckoned the black guy to mount her carefully. A camera zoomed on her mildly pregnant belly. Once the men had her in a sandwich, the white guy hunkered down by her head and fed her mouth his shaft.

It continued that way for a couple of minutes, with Sally moaning in pretend excitement, then they all switched positions. This time they spit-roasted her, with one guy in the doggie position, and the other fucking her face, while the third tugged roughly on her pendulous nipples.

Again, all change. Then the doorbell rang. An actor dressed as a waiter arrived with a room-service order. The white guy smiled and invited the waiter in to join the party. They left the door open, and shortly afterwards a fifth man arrived. He was older. The father of one of the bride’s friends. In seconds, he was stripping off his wedding tux, climbing onto the bed.

I couldn’t resist taking a look into the other studio. By now, there were a dozen guys standing around, some who’d already enjoyed Gordon’s hospitality, others waiting their turn. Gordon was untied now. He was bent over the arm of a sofa, with somebody in his butt and another feeding his face. Perfect symmetry ! A double spit-roast. Husband and wife in different rooms enjoying the same experiences.

After the five men had all cum, Marcel called a ‘wrap’ on Fuck my pregnant bride. Sally was sticky with sweat and semen and dressed in only her laddered stockings and pearl necklace.

“Well done. Sal. Nice work.”

She looked at me from the bed, too exhausted to express any emotion.

I took a one pound coin from my pocket and pressed it into her palm.

“Here’s a tip. Buy yourself something nice. Some soft tissues, maybe.”

She curled up into a foetal position.

“Go grab a shower.” I said. “You’re finished for today.”

*** *** ***

Late that night, Jan arrived. Her plane had been delayed. She was pooped so we ate room service on the balcony, watching the Dutch sunset.

Gordon and Sally ate what we’d ordered them from bowls on the floor in the bedroom, observing strict silence.

“What are you going to do about Gordon’s job ?” Jan asked.

I shrugged. “Why ?”

“He can’t work looking like that !” she giggled.

“He can. I’ve cleared it with Oscar.”

Oscar was Gordon’s boss. He was married but enjoyed occasional uncomplicated trysts with Sally. We’d agreed that ‘gay Gordon’ would have to give up a couple of key accounts and take a pay cut, but he’d still earn plenty for my requirements.

“Besides,” I added, “we’ve found a new way of earning good money.”

We finished our drinks and went in to the bedroom.

Jan beckoned Gordon over to her bedside. She’d become addicted to his fingers and tongue. She reached out and fingered his Prince Albert. It was the classic piercing from the outside of the frenulum into his urethra. The heavy weight had been detached and was in my suitcase.

She smiled and ran her fingertip along the tattoo on his waistline.

‘If you want to fuck my wife sally, please ask my Master’.

“Oh dear, Gordon.” She said. “What a pickle you’ve got yourself into.”

He bowed his head, looking at the floor. “Yes.” He mumbled.

She glanced at me, then spoke to him.

“Undress me.”

I left them and went through to our hotel bathroom. It was quite plush, with a marble bath, separate shower, twin basins and a toilet. I sat on the john and took a piss, before getting rid of the lunch we’d eaten. I wiped my ass and washed my hands, humming a little tune.

When I got back to the bedroom, Jan had sat astride Gordon’s upturned face, tilting her body to and fro sensuously. I gestured for Sally to join me on the bed, lying face up like her husband. She hesitated.

“Hurry !” I snapped.

Once she was in position, I knelt over her head, facing Jan. We kissed each other, smiling encouragement. I settled my weight down, feeling Sally’s nose slip right between my cheeks.

“Damn … this is hot …” Jan gasped, tongue-kissing me.

“Mmm …”

“You really are … corrupting me.”

“Nonsense.” I smiled. “You’re a nurse.”

She laughed. Her nipples were rock hard as he leaned into me.

I shifted position, taking my weight a little. I looked between my legs.

“Tongue.”

Jan grinned and imitated me, rocking back slightly on her heels.

“Tongue.”

Sally and Gordon did as they were told. I could tell his tongue had only been licking beforehand. Now it was burrowing deep inside Jan. She shuddered against me as we entwined tongues. I felt her fingers reaching down, circling my hardening erection.

“Is this for me ?” Jan gasped. “Or her ?”

I replied by kissing her harder, my hands stroking her boobs. I wanted Jan more than ever before. Her enjoyment of our slave couple had reassured me that we had a long term future. If she’d been too small-minded, sexually conservative, or jealous, she’d probably have lost me. But now I could imagine her being my soulmate forever.

“It’s yours. Whenever you want it.”

She inhaled. Her fingers stroked my scrotum lightly. I could feel her brushing Sally’s forehead and my balls simultaneously. I smiled and leaned back, taking my weight on my outstretched hands.

Jan looked down at Sally, pushing my balls out of the way.

“Hear that, slut ? This dick’s … mine.”

Her index finger slid up my shaft, making me shudder. There was a gleam in her eyes. She rose up, on her haunches, and shuffled off Gordon’s face, before rooting her hot, wet cunt on my dick.

Our combined weights squished Sally’s head and she groaned.

Jan leant down to one side. “Shut up and tongue-fuck his ass !”

I kissed her again. It was sensational. Sensual overload. A tongue up my shithole and my dick in a greedy lovebox.

Jan twisted her head away. “Get up and stand by the bed.” She ordered Gordon. We watched him stagger to his feet. Her juices glistened on his face and bald head.

“I’m sorry, d … darling.” I gasped. “I’m going to …”

I was losing it. I’m proud of my self control but just occasionally the moment takes over, especially if I haven’t cum for twelve hours or more.

Jan hissed. “Yesss ! Cum. Don’t worry. Just fill me up.”

So I did. I let go, feeling her muscles contracting as I blew my load.

Jan lay back on the pillows. She’d never tried a woman’s tongue before.

Sally grovelled between her thighs, lapping up every drop of my mess.

Meanwhile, Gordon was lying on the hotel bedroom floor, face up, with his ass in the air and his ankles above his ears.

“Faster.” I said.

He was jacking off his pierced dick, pumping frantically.

“Slower.”

I watched him grimace and control his arm, decelerating his hand movements. I smiled and took another photo. His ass was in the shot, the rim still loose and red.

“Stop !” I instructed Gordon.

I waited, while Jan gasped, building up to her second, noisy climax. Her hands were twisted in Sally’s straggly hair, pulling her head against Jan’s bucking thighs. Meanwhile, Gordon remained motionless in his uncomfortable, inverted pose.

“Wait, while your betters enjoy their orgasms.” I told him.

I gave it a good minute, until Jan had come down and composed herself.

“Start again.”

Gordon began pumping, gradually picking up speed.

“Don’t cum without permission.” I reminded him.

“Pl … please …” he wailed.

“No !” I shouted. “Control your fucking self. Don’t cum.”

His eyes roved around, looking up, trying to focus on me. They pleaded.

“I … please … I … c … can’t …”

“In your face, then.” I said. “Mouth open and dump it all on your face.”

His hand moved in a blur. Then he opened his jaws and curled his lips wide apart. Suddenly an arc of semen splattered down onto his forehead.

I was ready. I leaned over and yanked his arm, pulling his hand away from his dick.

“Nnnooommgh …” he moaned.

His penis kept shooting, like an uncontrolled gun. I pressed down on his buttocks, pushing his dick nearer his red face. Spurts continued to scatter all over his bald head, snorting nose, flushed cheeks and open mouth.

His hand hovered over his twitching dick, wanting to finish his orgasm properly. He peered desperately at me through his own mess.

“Don’t you dare. You’re lucky I let you cum at all. Wait there.”

I watched him lying, ass in the air, as his penis dribbled the remainder of his load onto his face. I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-bar and walked over to Jan who was smiling at me in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Sleepy ?” I asked.

She nodded.

I slid my hand up between her thighs and pushed my finger inside her, then pulled it out. It was still soaking wet but there was no sign of creamy jizz. Sally had done a good clean-up job. I pushed her aside. “Go sleep on the bathroom floor hon’. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Then I grinned at Jan and sniffed my own finger.

“Mmm, finger-lickin’ good !”

The next morning, Marcel had uploaded a few clips and shots of the new movies onto the promotional, free area of his website.

Sally and Gordon stared at us, dumbfounded. Their names, ages and potted biographies were all up there in glorious technicolor. There was also an email address for ‘fan mail’.

I scratched my finger under Sally’s chin as I would a dog.

“Only I have the password to that email account. But from now on, dear, you’re going to answer all your fan letters. I’ll read them and decide which ones you maybe invite to meet you. After all, a star should mingle with her fans.”

She screwed up her face. “Please …”

Gordon threw his arms out in frustration. “Look … Sir. This has all gone too far … please, we can’t take any m …more …”

His voice cracked and petered out. He fell onto his knees.

Jan glanced at me apprehensively. Marcel simply shrugged.

I stared at Gordon, letting him read the meaning in my eyes. He blinked. It was for a moment like this that I’d taken out the extra insurance. Gordon had stolen six figures. Committed fraud. Implicated Sally. As he’d written on his blog; they didn’t have any choice but to play this game out now until the end.

I slapped him across the face. A crisp smack, then a backhander with my knuckles. He gasped and his fingers flew up to his cheeks.

“Tell Sally that you both have no choice.” I ordered, coolly.

He was crying, silent tears. “W … we have no ch … choice, love.”

She sobbed, also falling to her knees, clutching my ankles. “Pleeeease.” She begged. “I know we don’t have a choice. But have some mercy !”

I turned to Marcel. “We’re losing time. We’d better get a move on, hadn’t we ?”

Ten minutes later, Sally was stretched out facedown on a special fucking bench. Her ankles and wrists were tied outstretched, and her mouth was gagged. Gordon was gagged as well, hogtied on the floor, staring up at us helplessly.

I stood at the end of the bench, wiping Sally’s cheeks, soothing her. I flicked away a tear and pushed flyaway hairs out of her eyes.

“It’s about new experiences.” I said.

There was a loud bark. At that moment, Marcel walked in, holding a leash with a large dog attached. It didn’t seem to be a pedigree breed. It resembled a cross between a Black Labrador and a German Shepherd.

“Meet Bud !” Marcel announced, fighting to control the skittish hound.

I peeked down at Gordon and winked. He was trying to speak, his cheeks puffed and red with rage.

Sally was looking up at me, eyes wide. I nodded at Jan who leaned over and began applying the ointment to Sally’s cunt. It was a mix of lube and canine bitch pheromones.

I sighed, shaking my head mock-sadly at Sally.

“For all that you do, this Bud’s for you !”

Part Nine

In the nine months I’d known Gordon and Sally, my standard of living had improved immeasurably. I had raped their savings and investments, flogged their possessions and mortgaged their assets, helped myself to most of Gordon’s income, and put Sally out to work.

Unfortunately though, in the end even the most productive oil well starts to run dry.

“Fortunately,” as my new Arab friend observed, “you just have to keep drilling.”

I’ll call him Sheikh X. He made contact with me via Sally’s website. In late July he paid us his first visit. In early September, he returned, bearing a briefcase brimming with £20 notes !

It was ten thousand pounds; a ‘gesture of good faith’ he called it.

Six days later, Gordon, Sally and I flew out to one of the smaller emirates in the Middle East. The heat haze billowed above the runway tarmac in shimmering silver and yellow stripes. The temperature was over one hundred in the shade. But the paperwork eased us through immigration in double quick time. Sheikh X’s signature clearly carried weight in these parts. The stretch limo confirmed my early impressions.

“Welcome, my friend.” He said, greeting me in the lobby of an enormous palace. He smiled at, but didn’t speak to, Sally or Gordon. In London he’d been dressed in a linen suit but at home he was wearing traditional white robes. His face was heavily creased, with fleshy lips, a hooked nose and a goatee beard.

Sally was swollen with child. Her due date was 14th November 2008. She stood in front of us and undressed while the Sheikh and I sipped mint tea in an open courtyard. Around a dozen of his Arab wives and bodyguards sat or stood and watched Sally clumsily remove her English clothes.

At 34 now, with the bloom of impending motherhood, her platinum hair neatly coiffed, her bum and thighs toned by the relentless sexercise regime I’d kept her on, she actually looked better than she did when we first met.

The Sheikh loved the idea that the father of her first child was completely unknown.

“I shall continue the tradition.” He said to me when I told him. “She shall bear many children with many men. But we won’t know exactly who. Don’t worry, my friend, I will take care of them all. I love kids.”

Once Sally stood totally nude, he twiddled his finger to indicate she should turn around slowly. Sally blushed scarlet at the stares and intakes of breath from the audience. Her breasts seemed to have grown even more in the couple of days since I’d seen them. Her nipples resembled thick cranberries.

Sheikh X motioned for one of his wives to approach. The woman was heavily robed but I could tell by the part of her face that showed she was middle aged, probably in her early fifties. He spoke a stream of Arabic to her. The woman replied, not sounding too happy. He spoke again, louder, firmly.

“She is not amused.” He said out of the side of his mouth to me. “I told her she must accept Sally as another of my concubines. I suspect that poor Sally will not be treated very well inside the harem !”

The next morning, Gordon was brought to where the Sheikh and I were having a leisurely breakfast in a sun-dappled garden, under an arbour of orange blossom and bougainvillea. Two robed guards escorted him. I was shocked. Gordon was virtually unrecognisable. Like his waxed head, his entire body was hairless, down to his bald groin and shaved legs. His skin glistened with oil, sweat and a rash. He was naked apart from a steel chastity belt and body jewellery; gold hoop earings, a line of ear studs, nipple hoops. And the words “if you want to fuck my wife sally, please ask my Master” were still tattooed neatly across his waist.

“Come near.” The Sheikh summoned.

Up close, I could see that he had been eaten alive by mosquitoes and insects. There were scarlet bites all over his face and body, particularly round his flaccid, Prince Albert pierced dick. And this was no chastity belt of the type you could buy commercially on the net or even from a specialist store. It was the most severe and brutal thing even I could imagine. A thimble-sized tube of nine rings of steel teeth, each like the cocked jaws of a small animal trap, encircled the harmless shaft of Gordon’s penis, from root to tip. Although he was shrunken and limp, the teeth still grazed his skin all the way down. It was obvious that even the slightest thickening would be incredibly painful.

“Nice, yes ? Hand forged.” The Sheikh said.

I looked up at Gordon’s perspiring and dejected face. “It’s perfect.”

The Sheikh smiled. “A modern day eunuch. In the past, slaves used to have their parts removed. I think this new way is less barbaric, but more amusing, yes ?”

I nodded in agreement, sipping my dark coffee.

“I do hope you intend to keep him in permanent chastity now. In effect, castrated. It wasn’t so easy to achieve that back in London.”

“But of course.” He paused while a female maid refilled my coffee cup. “My medical staff tell me that a monthly milking can be given to drain the tubes for health reasons. Maybe bi-monthly. I am assured he will feel no orgasm, no release beyond a … how do you say … vaguely pleasant sensation from the draining of any build up of fluid.”

I stared into Gordon’s eyes. He was listening to us discuss him in silence.

“And how do you intend to make use of him otherwise ?”

He gestured all around. “You’ve seen my country. It is one big building site. We need manual labour. All labour is welcome but, of course, free labour is doubly so. He will live with a pick and shovel in his hands.”

“That should take his mind off his sexual frustration !”

The Sheikh shrugged. “I have a cousin.” His fleshy lips curled in a sneer. “He is into boys … what do you call it … gay ? I have already shown him photographs of our friend here and we have done a deal. He will provide soup and a mattress for Gordon in return for nightly use of him. He knows that Gordon’s chastity belt must stay on and he’s pleased about that. My cousin much prefers the male role to the female one.” He chuckled.

I joined him, sniggering as I imagined Gordon’s endless future.

The Sheikh raised an eyebrow at the guards who marched Gordon away.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

Sally knelt between my thighs, pumping my erection in her fingers.

I studied her expression. She was obedient but sulky, resentment visible in her eyes.

And yet ? I saw something else in them. Or I thought I did.

I was sat on the toilet. My car left in an hour to take me to the airport. She had been sent to my room to say goodbye. She was too pregnant to fuck properly and I thought it would be bad manners anyway.

She belonged to somebody else now.

I had been handsomely paid.

“Not so fast, Sal’. I’m in no rush. Just lick the head a while.”

Her lips moved obediently to my glistening helmet, sucking me into her mouth. I parted my thighs wider, leaning my head back against the lavatory cistern.

“I shall miss you.” I said, toying with her greasy hair. As predicted, the ladies of the harem weren’t being too kind to the white woman in their midst. “But this is for the best. Everybody’s so happy.”

Sally and Gordon had sent gushing letters, smiling photos, long emails to their friends, colleagues and relatives. They had ‘appointed somebody to sell up their remaining assets’ in England and they were ‘embarking on a wonderful adventure’ and ‘new life abroad’. They’d try to keep in touch but, ‘please don’t worry’, just feel happy for them.

“I could never give you the kind of slavery you needed, deep down. You know that. It never went far enough. But this will be different. Total lifetime unlimited slavery, just like the real thing.”

Her eyes glanced up at me.

“Don’t cry, Sal’. That’s not the final image your admirers want to have. I shall close down your website. The story’s entered a new phase. One that’s best left to people’s imagination, isn’t it ?”

I pinched her earlobe.

“Come on. You can do better than that. Take me right into your throat.”

Mmm. I sighed, feeling my full length sliding across her tongue.

“A final blowjob. Make it the best yet. From now on there’ll be other men. Many others I’m told. And animals too. I’m told they’re big into bestiality here. Once you’ve given birth, the Sheikh’s going to give you a few months off before breeding you again. And during that break you’ll be introduced to all sorts of crazy new things.”

I was boiling up now, starting to hump her face.

“You remember Bud ? Well he was nothing. A cute mongrel. But the Sheikh has some splendid hunting dogs. And donkeys too. Goats I’ll bet.”

A low moan escaped her lips, humming against my dick.

“Maybe I will keep your website up long enough to post a few images. The Sheikh has promised to send me some. But they’re mainly for Gordon. So that he can have a photo or two to remember his darling wife by !”

I could feel my jizz bubbling up. Throat or facial ? Which would be a better way to say farewell.

In the end I wasn’t able to tear my pulsing dick from her warm wet mouth. I grunted, my legs twitching in delicious spasms, and blew my cookie-dough into her larynx. She gulped it down without demur.

The Sheikh couldn’t complain. She had been well trained.

I clicked my fingers and pointed to the door. I needed to pack my suitcase and say goodbye to my host. Sally couldn’t help glancing back at me as she walked through the doorway.

And that was the last time I ever saw her.

Not Long Afterwards

“Put my dick into your wife’s cunt.”

The guy was an American. His wife was Irish. And they lived in Scotland. That’s fucking miles away by the way, but you can’t be too fussy in this business. I’d been posting and replying to adverts for too long to let them pass.

He leaned nearer and his trembling fingers guided my throbbing shaft into the soft folds of her 30-year old pussy. She gasped, lips apart in an excited ‘o’. Ever so slowly I pushed my hips forwards, sliding my full length inside her moist warmth. I watched the lids fluttering over her emerald eyes.

How did he feel spending Thanksgiving sharing his wife with another man ?

I’d travelled up from London for two nights to celebrate their holiday with them. I paid my airfare, they picked me up and provided all the food and booze. And, of course, the entertainment !

“Watch carefully.” I told him.

Guys like him love being told to lean in close to watch, listen and smell the action. He reminded me a little of Gordon, although I suspected he would be altogether more of a challenge.

I put my lips to hers, sucking her lower lip into my mouth.

She moaned.

In her emails, she’d written she was maybe switch, unsure whether she was domme, or sub like her husband. Fucking somebody else after 4 years of marriage excited her.

I started easing my dick to and fro, making contact with her clit. The first time is the most important; so they have no regrets. It’s crucial to hook them on the thrill of extramarital sex. The regrets can all come much later.

My mind wandered back to last Christmas, to Sally, Gordon and our first meeting. Priceless ! I thought of the jpeg photos I’d recently been sent; a tired-looking Sally breastfeeding her baby boy, an emaciated, dejected Gordon toiling on a dusty road-track. Did they really, truly regret meeting me ? Or did I actually deliver their wildest fantasy ?

I’d never know for sure. Even Gordon’s Blog has been taken down.

But now I had two more candidates, ready to share themselves with me.

Share moments. Share life.

THE END

By the same Author:

Completed Novels:

“After the Pestilence” – a long (80,000 words) novel set in the near future, involving numerous characters and containing, as one reviewer said, ‘something for everyone’ (most of it is non-consensual and the humiliation is extreme, although the actual violence is mainly moderate).

“Five Words” – a long (70,000 words) Fem-domme novel, starting with just five words that changed his life. The handful of words that turned him from a husband, father and businessman to something else entirely’ (a bdsm romance).

“Best Enjoyed Cold” – A medium length (35,000 words) ‘Rape and Revenge’ thriller (non-consensual and emotionally cruel).

New Short Stories:

“Credit Crunch” – a two part Male-dom short story (M/f), September 2008

“Loaning Lucy” – a single part Fem-domme, lesbian short story (F/f), September 2008, that may continue depending on reviews and reader feedback

“Used Goods” – a single part Male-dom short story (M/f), September 2008

Completed Short Stories:

“A Special Relationship” and “A Special Weekend” – A fem-sub story and its sequel set in present day England of an Anglo-American relationship, involving a submissive British woman whose boundaries are pushed to their very limit by her younger dominant boyfriend during two turbulent weekends (a consensual story involving cuckqueening, female chastity and humiliation). This was originally intended as a ‘trilogy’ but due to reviews of A Special Weekend, the third instalment was canned.

“Son-of-a-Gun” – A male-dom short story set in both the mid-nineteenth century and the present day recounting the fate of two young ladies at the mercy of a desperate ship’s crew stranded on a remote island (part non-consensual and part consensual involving moderate bdsm and humiliation).

“The Ballad of Lara and Gemma” – a Fem-domme, lesbian spin-off tale from ‘After the Pestilence’, in two parts, describing the infatuation of a Domme and her unwilling female slave (all non-consensual scenes and extreme humiliation, including scat).

Unfinished Business:

“Hard Labor” – intended as a multi-part novel set in the near future but I’m afraid that writer’s block has prevented continuation of the story for the moment (non-consensual)

“Short n Sweet” –  a Male-dom story first posted at the same time as “Five Words”, with an invitation for readers to choose which novel was continued. Five Words won ! (consensual, at least for now ?)

“Hors d’oeuvres” and “Amuse-Bouches” (both written in English by the way !) – two collections of three ‘first chapters’ that were never continued.

Poetry:

“Supper’s Ready” – a collection of five short, light-hearted poems with a bdsm theme.

Non-Fiction:

“The Root of All Happiness” – an interview conducted for an abandoned book. I have never posted it to the BDSM Library Fiction Site. It is a transcript of a genuine dialogue with a Female-led couple and anybody interested can find it at Altairboy’s website in a posting dated August 9th 2007.

And finally, new for October 2008:

“A Tale of Two Cuckolds” – a novel to be posted in several parts (another bdsm romance, although the title does kind of give the game away)