Wife In Bondage 5

Master provided me with a maid's outfit that was so skimpy I felt more naked with it on than I had done lying in a state of nature in my cage. Examining myself in the mirror I could see that more of my breasts was revealed than concealed. The outfit was so short it hardly reached below my buttocks, easily revealing that I was wearing stockings and suspenders. There was no question of my wearing underwear. The heels I had been given to wear were high and narrow, and I staggered uncomfortably before I got used to them .

When my wife returned home on the Sunday after another night away from home at the behest of the enigmatic Mr Black, nothing was said of what had passed. There seemed little point. I sensed immediately that my wife was in no mood to talk about it, and I was still in turmoil, reliving my own part in my wife's punishment, albeit a part played unbeknownst to her; torn between wanting to know what the previous evening's “entertainment” had entailed, and dreading such knowledge at the same time.

That knowledge would not be withheld. My wife spent most of Sunday on her computer, and a couple of days later I understood what she had been doing. A story appeared on the site where my wife published her racy works, and there was no doubt to my mind that it was a true account of what had happened, and that Mr Black had commanded her to write and publish it.

Master had made clear to me that the three men he was entertaining that night were very important to him. He expected me, as his Slave, to obey not just him to the letter, but to not deny his friends anything. It was all I could do to stop myself from trembling uncontrollably. It was impossible to misconstrue Master's meaning.

I wasn't sure I wanted to read on. This game had progressed to the point where it was no longer a game. Mr Black was clearly serious about my wife being his Slave, to the point where he now expected her to engage with anyone he chose. I couldn't help but wonder if the business on Saturday when my wife, blindfolded, begged for my cock without knowing it was me (I had been introduced as “a friend”), had been Mr Black's way of testing the waters, of discovering how my wife would react to the prospect of others entering the equation. The more I thought about it, the sicker I felt, convincing myself that I had played my part in bringing things to this point, having allowed myself to be manipulated by this dreadful man. Nevertheless, after a short break I also knew that I had to read on, that I had to know.

I waited at table, tottering around on my towering heels, feeling the men's lecherous eyes on my body, feeling every bit the harlot I probably looked, a collar round my neck the physical emblem of my bondage. It wasn't long before it began. I knew it would. The groping. As I served, the men touched me, felt me up, slid their hands up my thighs, squeezed my buttocks, pinched me, making me squeal so that Master reprimanded me.

Just that might not have been so bad, had I not been certain that far more intrusive things were to follow. Then there were the things I overheard the men saying when I lingered just outside of eyeshot, but within earshot.

“ That's one fine filly. Where did you get hold of her?”

“ The tits and the arse on her... I can't wait to get better acquainted.”

“ It's like having your own private whore wandering about the place. What a delight. She looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but I bet other things would.”

Again I broke off. This was all my doing. If I'd put my foot down to begin with, none of this would have happened. I was too soft; I had always been too soft on my wife. This was where it had lead. The worst of it was, that though the tone of the story suggested my wife had experienced some reluctance, from what I'd experienced, and from what I knew of her reluctance fantasies, I guessed this was far from the truth. Had my wife wanted things to reach this pitch all along?

I threw myself into my work with renewed vigour, if only to blot out the thoughts that kept impinging on my mind. The slightest lull, and I was recalling my wife's tale of what had occurred, especially those parts that revealed the true extent of Mr Black's utterly malign depravity.

Master was adamant that I must serve with due diligence, without any mishaps whatsoever. But I soon found out that he was only waiting for his chance.

I had cleared away the food when Master ordered me to pour more wine. I served the men, feeling their hands all over me as I did so, then tipped the bottle towards the glass Master held out. I saw the signs, but too late. As I poured, he tilted the glass just enough for some of the expensive liquid to trickle onto the table. I knew, even before he roared “Slave!” that nothing could save me.

“ You are careless!” Master told me sternly. “Did you not understand that I expect nothing but perfect service from Slave?” I was glad he was wearing his customary mask, so that I could not see the rage in his eyes.

“ Master, I am sorry, Master,” I replied. It was pointless to point out that he had caused the mishap by tilting his glass. I should have been prepared for it.

Master rose with heavy movements. He cleared a space in front of him and commanded, “Slave will bend over!”

I did as he said, trying hard not to tremble visibly, though I was shaking so inside I hardly knew how I stayed in one piece. Bending over the table I could see his friends' lewd faces. Master didn't have to adjust my outfit; it was so short it had ridden up quite enough for what he had in mind. I felt a sharp sting as his hand landed on my bared behind, the sensation quickly spreading outwards from the point of impact.

“ I'm sorry, Master!” I cried, feeling utterly humiliated at being punished in this way in front of other men. “Please forgive me!”

“ Silence, Slave!” Master ordered. “You will suffer your punishment in silence!”

I did, though I wanted to cry out every time a hand landed on one or other of my buttocks. Not just Master's hand. All of the men took turns spanking me, six times on each buttock, 48 blows in all. When they were done, my rear cheeks were burning with shame as much as from the spanking. I knew as the men delivered the punishment that they could easily see my pudenda, that they took great pleasure from the sight, from treating me in this way, and from the lustful idea that they might do more than just look at my naked genitalia later. When it was over, I said what I believed was expected of me. “Thank you, Master, for punishing me so that I might become a better Slave.”

“ Silence!” Master roared. “I'm not done with Slave yet. In the kitchen, bottom drawer on the right, there is a leash and a silver bowl. Bring them to me!”

I tottered out into the kitchen, heart beating, the burning sensation on my buttocks only matched by the infernal intuition of what was to come.

When I returned, Master took the leash from me and attached it to my collar. Placing the bowl on the table, he turned to face me. Because of the mask, I could not see his eyes, but I imagined them to be cold, stern and unrelenting.

“ Slave!” he began. “Tell these gentlemen what you begged for earlier today.”

My heart sank, but I knew what he was referring to, and I had to say it. “I begged for cum, Master.”

The men smirked. Master traced a path over my chin. “Perhaps it is time you got what you wanted,” he said. “What do you say, Slave?”

“ Your wish is my command, Master,” I replied.

I could feel the men's eyes on me, though I refused to look at them. I knew perfectly what a predatory sight they would present, watching me as I watched Master unzip his trousers and display his impressive erection. I love Master's cock, and the sight of it ameliorated my feelings somewhat. I sank to my knees and leaned forward.

The collar tightened around my neck, Master yanking on the leash. “Slave!” he cried, and I looked up at him, my eyes no doubt betraying my surprise. “I am glad that Slave is so eager to illustrate her cocksucking prowess,” he said, causing ribald laughter to erupt. “But no! Slave will not have that pleasure. She will use her hand only.” He took the bowl from the table. “Slave will see to it that every drop of Master's sperm lands in this bowl!”

One of the things I love about Master's cock is how it is such a perfect fit for my hand. With the three men watching me, I was, however, eager for the humiliation to end as soon as possible. I worked Master's cock as fast as I could, marvelling, as always, at the way he could with perfect self-control refrain from making any sign of pleasure as his seed spilled out into the receptacle.

When this was done, Master took the bowl and placed it a short distance from the table, on the floor. “Down on all fours, Slave!” he barked. “Slave will make sure she devours every drop of Master's sperm!”

The humiliation was complete, and I was powerless to resist. I crawled over to the bowl on hands and knees in full sight of the men. Lowering my head I began to lap up Master's sperm, like a dog. There was complete silence as I did so, but I could sense the men's delight in my humiliation. Yet even the humiliation could not quite dispel the delight I felt, as I always do, in tasting Master's salty seed. Master didn't have to order me to ingest every drop; I wanted to with all my heart!

Thankfully Master, having inspected the bowl, was satisfied. “Slave has done well!” he said, and in spite of everything I felt a sense of pride rush through me.

Master yanked on the leash again. “Come, Slave!” he said.

I followed him on hands and knees, finding it hard to keep up with him as he lead me from the room, my knees aching as we entered another room; spacious, with expensive furniture and a huge open space in the middle. Here Master stopped. “Slave may rise to her knees,” he said.

I did as Master said, standing on my knees, waiting in quiet obedience for whatever command Master saw fit to deliver. “Slave will clasp her hands behind her back and remain in this position until told otherwise,” Master said. Then he disappeared back to his guests.

You will no doubt appreciate, dear reader, how anxious I was not to relive this episode too often. Except that I must confess that this wasn't quite the case. In my more lucid moments I could not deny that it gave me a certain satisfaction, a satisfaction born of resentment as to my wife's willingness to submit to this depraved man, and a resentment aimed at myself for still finding myself unable to prevent it.

Married life was of course nothing like it had been or should be. There were moments when we managed to behave as if things were as they'd always been, but because my wife was steadfast in her determination to follow Mr Black's orders to the letter, there was no question of any conjugal joining, and that was driving me crazy, since, in spite of everything, I still loved and desired my wife.

Then there were the odd phone calls, when my wife would disappear from the room. I didn't bother to eavesdrop; I knew who it was, and I knew roughly what I would hear if I did. But there came an evening when things came to a new head.

I could tell from the way my wife's mobile bleeped that she received a text message. Having read it, she simply left the room and seconds later I heard the front door being opened and shut. There was only one person who would make her dart from the house like that. Mr Black was out there somewhere, I was sure of it.

I peered out of several downstairs windows, heart beating, seeing nothing. Surely Mr Black wouldn't be abducting her for one of his orgies on a Thursday evening? But I couldn't get my wife's story out of my mind. All kinds of perverted phantasms passed through my mind before I heard the front door open again.

I marched into the hall, just in time to catch my wife coming in. Instantly I saw the trickle of sperm on her chin. “What do you think you're playing at?” I asked.

My wife looked at me as bold as brass. “That was Master,” she said. “I'm his Slave now, remember?”

“ You're my wife.”

There was a flicker in my wife's eye. “You could have prevented it.”

I gave a hollow laugh. “You mean if I'd agreed to suck his cock you would not have consented to becoming his slave?”

“ Perhaps,” my wife said.

“ The pair of you deserve each other,” I said bitterly. “You're as mad as hatters, both of you.”

“ Darling,” my wife tried. “Please be patient. Please try to understand.” A drop of sperm fell to the floor as she spoke.

“ Understand!” I burst out, pushing my wife back against the wall. “Oh it's not hard to understand, believe me!”

“ Darling...” my wife tried.

“ My wife has become a whore who'll service anyone's cock but her husband's.” As I spoke my hand shot up under my wife's skirt, feeling her nakedness, as I realised I'd known I would.

“ Darling...” my wife gasped. “Master will punish me.”

“ Do you think I care?” I sneered.

My wife looked at me, a new expression coming over her. Perhaps she'd miscalculated badly, perhaps she was just trying to figure out how to come to grips with this new situation. “He will,” she breathed at last. “Master will punish me.”

“ Don't worry,” I said, pushing my figures in between my wife's pussy lips. “You'll no doubt enjoy it.”

“ Darling...”, my wife began again as my fingers worked their way up into her. She was wet inside, her moisture suggesting that whatever had gone on outside agreed with her. I drove my fingers harder inside her, feeling her juices gather as I dug harshly, as if trying to unearth her dirty little secrets.

“ Did my wife get nice and horny sucking another man's cock like a little whore?” I said.

“ It was Master,” my wife breathed.

“ Does it matter?” I said. “If you can let yourself be whored out to others, you can damn well take my cock.”

“ I'll be punished,” my wife breathed yet again, failing utterly to comprehend that I felt she deserved to be punished, or perhaps she did understand and wanted it. I had long since ceased to understand her at all. “Please just trust me.”

“ Too bad,” I snarled. My one hand squeezed my wife's breast through her top, while I unzipped with the other. “I'm fresh out of trust. But I do have a big hard cock that needs seeing to.”

My wife just stared at me. Then something defiant came over her. “Make me!” she said.

She said it in the way most people would have said “bite me”, which only enraged me all the more. As I've said earlier, my wife and I had indulged in reluctance role-play many times, but this was serious. I kicked one of her feet out from under her, making her stumble. “On your knees, whore!” I demanded.

My wife regained her balance, but I grabbed hold of her and contrived somehow to apply my foot to the back of her knees so that her legs buckled. Her face was right in front of my crotch as I pulled my cock out. “Open up!” I said. Her mouth remained resolutely closed. “What's the matter?” I said. “Is your husband's cock not good enough for you any more?”

In my mind's eye I was replaying my wife sitting on the sybian in Mr Black's house, blindfolded, my cock moving over her chin, her begging to be allowed to taste it.

“ Coming in here,” I said, “cum all over your chin like a cocksucking little whore. Fucking open your mouth.”

Whatever went through my wife's head these days was a complete mystery to me. Now she parted her lips, though her eyes still spelt defiance. I put one hand on the back of her head, steering my cock with the other, making sure it went deep enough to cause my wife to gag. I relented a little without pulling all the way out, before driving my cock hard and fast between my wife's lips.

Over and over I made sure she took the full length of my cock. I was panting loudly, shoving my cock back and forth while my wife sat there, stoically letting me fuck her face. Her impassive demeanour enraged me even more. “Fucking cock whore,” I spat. “Take my fucking cock you bitch.” Still my wife managed to sit there, giving off the odd noise from the back of her throat, but otherwise acting like the treatment was neither here nor there to her.

I pulled my cock out, moving round behind my wife and giving her a hard shove. “Get on all fours, slut!” I barked.

Again I was surprised when my wife complied without so much as a flicker of resistance. Pulling her skirt up, I immediately shoved my cock into her pussy. It sliced into her easily, her moist vagina reminding me yet again of the effect her antics with Mr Black had on her. At least I got a reaction now, my wife moaning out loud at the moment of penetration.

“ So we like that, do we?” I said, thrusting my cock in her in a thoroughly merciless fashion. “What's the matter? Wouldn't Master service your little slut pussy? Just wanted a blow job and it made you fucking horny, eh?”

My wife still didn't answer, but her moans were in a sense answer enough. The fact that she seemed to be excited was no comfort at all. I was too far gone for that. I wasn't feeling love for my wife, nor even lust, just pure rage, and I fucked her harshly, angrily, hearing every thrust like a hammer blow in my own head.

Finally I just let it all out, delivering my semen deep inside my wife's pussy, spurt after spurt, leaving me mentally and physically spent.

As soon is I was done, my wife rose to her feet, almost sprinting down the hall. I zipped up and followed, hearing her voice from behind the closed kitchen door. Pressing my ear up against it, I caught my wife's side of the conversation, punctuated with pauses.

“ I could have... I should have done more to stop my husband, Master... Yes, Master, of course Slave must be punished... Any way you see fit, Master... Because Slave is a slut, Master... No, Master... Master's cock... Master, all the time my husband was fucking my face, fucking my cunt, it was Master's cock I was thinking of, Master's cock Slave was longing for... Yes, Master, anything... Anywhere, Master... It was very wrong of me, Master... If Master wished to spank me a thousand times for my transgression, it would be a just punishment... No, Master, Slave did not cum... Thank you, Master... If Master were to honour Slave with his big, wonderful cock, how could Slave resist... Yes, Master... Of course Slave enjoyed... Master, Slave is fully committed to being the best little cocksucking, cum-drinking slut she can be... Yes, Master... Master, Slave does not deserve such kindness... Yes, Master... Slave longs for Master to use her errant flesh to his own ends... Yes, Master... Slave will obey... Slave awaits Master's instructions... Yes Master...”

With that the call ended. I was feeling ashamed and very annoyed with myself. Why did I keep playing into the hands of this perverted sadist? Why was I having such trouble finding a way out of this bizarre situation? I shouldn't have done what I had done, but the frustration was overwhelming. My wife had willingly let herself be enslaved by this Mr Black, who remained a complete enigma, whichever way you looked at it. And I kept playing along, unwillingly, yet somehow as if I was a willing participant, always doing the one thing that would get my wife deeper into this business.

I crept away, keeping myself to myself and letting my wife go about her business. I needed time and space to get my head in order, to get a grip, but found myself going back over the story my wife had written, and this was almost designed to ensnare me all the more between my own extremes of emotion.

To make matters worse, the next day was Friday, and I fully expected my wife to not return home in the evening. No doubt Mr Black would see fit to punish her, and by extension me. I wondered if the pervert did not in some way enjoy humiliating me as much as my wife.

Paradoxically work was going swimmingly. Anxious to banish all thoughts of what was going on at home, I threw myself into work with more vigour than I ever had before. All day Friday seemed to be one new success story after another, and it was only when it came time to leave that renewed dread descended on me.

Gathering my things, I looked out of the window of my office as I often did. The office was situated in a tall block overlooking a large traffic junction - so large that the centre of it had been turned into a miniature municipal park, with lawns and flower borders and trees and paths and benches. And sitting on one of the benches, I saw Mrs Black, as I tended to think of her, the mystery woman who had occasionally spied on my wife for Mr Black. She'd exchanged her long, flowing dress for something much more professional looking; knee-length black skirt, black nylons, expensive shoes. But it was her, Mr Black's aid, helper, wife, accomplice whatever she happened to be.

No, I was imagining things, I decided; this business was really screwing with my head. Then I looked again. No, it was her all right. I was just having a hard time viewing her as a normal person with a normal life in the midst of all these goings on. I didn't top to think, but shoved the rest of my things into my case and was downstairs, out on the street in a jiffy.

I needn't have hurried. Mrs Black was sitting calmly, watching the world go by, for all the world like an ordinary office worker resting after a long week, as others marched past, heading for the trains and buses and taxis that were to take them home.

I paused briefly as I approached the bench, trying to forget that this woman had twice taken my sperm in her mouth. I didn't know if approaching her like this would do any good, but it was my chance; or perhaps no chance at all.

“ I thought you'd see me,” the woman said, as I positioned myself not too near her, but nor too distantly on the bench.

“ So you can speak,” I said, unable to resist striking a caustic tone. And it was, indeed, the first time she had spoken in my vicinity. She had a nice, smooth, cultured voice that might have come as a surprise to me, had she not been dressed as she was.

The woman stared at me impassively, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Let's not beat around the bush,” she said.

“ Let's not,” I said.

The woman caught my tone. “It's in everyone's best interests that things go smoothly,” she said.

“ Really?” I said. “And what if it's in my interest to understand what's going on?”

“ There's a time for everything,” the woman said calmly.

“ Oh for goodness' sake!” I exclaimed. “This is ludicrous. This is my wife we're talking about.”

The woman had an enigmatic, amused look on her face. “Yes,” she said. “But perhaps we're talking about you too.”

“ What?”

“ Suffice to say,” the woman said, “that we're concerned that you're a bit of a loose canon. It would be better all round if you just let things proceed along their natural course.”

“ Their natural course?” For some reason this perfectly poised woman was making me feel perfectly stupid, and I didn't like it.

“ What would it take for you to let things... just develop?”

I looked at her. Something was going on here that I couldn't quite fathom. “What do you mean?”

“ There's very little to it,” the woman said. “Anything you want, anything at all, just name it. On condition that you let events unfold as they must.”

I just stared at her, not quite able to believe I was hearing what I was hearing. At the same time I was just a little bit pleased that I was enough of a nuisance to be approached in this way.

“ And how must events unfold?” I asked, unable to keep the sardonic tone out of my voice entirely.

The woman wasn't inclined to answer that. “Put it his way,” she said. “Aren't you the least bit curious as to how far your wife is prepared to go?”

I leaned back, staring straight ahead at a squirrel hopping nimbly across the carefully trimmed lawn. This was the nub of the matter. To my mind she'd already gone much further than I'd ever imagined possible. My mind reverted inexorably to the story she'd recently published.

By the time Master reappeared with his three guests, my joints were stiff from standing on my knees with my hands behind my back. I could have stretched in the meantime, but somehow I was afraid that Master would know. He seemed to know everything, as if he had some kind of strange, psychic ability to see me even when he wasn't there.

There they were, the three men and Master, standing about six feet away from me, Master just in front of the others.

“ Slave!” Master said. “Tell these gentlemen what you are.”

I responded in the way I thought he would like. “I am a slut, Master.”

Master's stern voice corrected me. “Slave was more than that earlier today.”

I remembered only too well. I was reluctant to say it in front of these men, who were all staring at me with one-track eyes. But if Master wanted me to, I would say it. “I am a cocksucking, cum-drinking slut, Master.”

My voice faltered slightly, and Master barked, “Louder!”

I was trembling inside, but forced my voice to become firm and loud. “I am a cocksucking, cum-drinking slut!”

“ Well now,” one of the men said. “That sounds like an invitation if ever I heard one.”

“ Be my guest,” Master said.

The men advanced on me, producing their hard cocks as they walked. They did nothing whatsoever to conceal their predatory instincts, their faces a perfect picture of rampant male lust. It was all I could do to remain still, to please Master as best I could by not moving.

The men positioned themselves in a semi-circle. Taking their hard cocks in their hands, they pushed them up against me, one on each cheek, one under my chin. The big, bulbous heads moved slowly across my facial skin, while I sat there, not daring to do anything in case it was not to Master's liking.

As I stood there, letting the men push their throbbing cocks up against my face, the strong smell of male desire enveloped me. My head was spinning, the scent was intoxicating. My own words were racing through my head, “I am a cocksucking, cum-drinking slut.” A big cock head was resting against the corner of my mouth, and hardly knowing what I was doing, I turned my head, letting my lips part.

The cock moved away and a voice said, “Looks like the slut's getting eager.”

Laughter followed, but over it I heard Master's voice ring out. “Well, Slave, are you getting eager?”

“ Yes, Master,” I replied, instinctively.

“ Don't tell me,” Master barked. “Address my friends directly.”

I swallowed hard, knowing that I must please Master. I wanted to please Master. “Kind Sirs,” I said, “Slave is eager for your hard cocks.”

Master was right behind me now, and I felt his hand on the crown of my head. “Now, Slave, Master knows that Slave can do better than that.” I was about to say something when Master continued. “I had another friend round this afternoon, and Slave was much more voluble. When she'd swallowed his cum, she even begged for more.”

“ That's my kind of slut,” one of the men said, all three of them laughing.

Master must have grabbed hold of the leash, for I felt the collar tighten. “What is Slave?”

“ Slave is a cocksucking, cum-drinking slut, Master.”

“ Then beg for it, properly.”

There was a thick cock right in front of my eyes, and looking up at its owner there was only one thing for it. “Sir, Slave would very much like to suck your cock, Sir.”

The man backed up. I felt strangely disappointed. More than that I was afraid that I was disappointing Master, who said sternly, “Slave will have to do better than that!” Th e other men were backing up too, moving to different points in the room. “Slave must beg for it, on hands and knees,” Master decreed.

The men were leering, smirking. The one I'd just addressed patted his thighs. “Here, Slave!” he called.

“ Hands and knees, Slave,” Master told me.

I crawled across the room on all fours. I was nothing to these men but a little plaything. But I could feel Master's eyes on me, as I crawled, knowing he could see my pussy where the skimpy outfit rode up and revealed everything. Just feeling Master's eyes on me was enough to make me aroused. I would do anything for Master. And right now I had to banish all reservations.

Standing on hands and knees in front of the man, I said, “Slave is horny for your cock, Sir. Slave would like to suck your cock and drink your cum, Sir.”

“ You may lick it,” the man said.

I stretched my neck out, extending my tongue. Slowly I drew my tongue from the root of the man's long shaft to the tip. As I reached the tip, one of the other's called out, “Here, Slave!”

I crawled across on all fours. This time I said, “Please, Sir, I am nothing but a cock hungry slave. Please let me take your cock in my mouth and suck on it.”

“ You may lick it,” the man said.

I repeated my earlier action, drawing my tongue from base to tip, only to hear the third man call out, “Here, Slave!”

I crawled across the room, feeling my burning desire to please Master mingle with the humiliation, making me tingle inside. “Please, Sir,” I said. “I am a cocksucking, cum-drinking slave who is desperate to feel your cock in her mouth.”

“ You may lick it,” the man said.

I don't know how long they made me crawl across the room, making me tell them how much I longed for their cocks in my mouth, longed to drink their cum. All I know is that the more I said it, the truer it became. I can't explain, but after a while I was desperate for the thing I was begging for. On all fours before one of the men I said, “Sir, Slave would be honoured if you would feed her with your big cock. Slave would love to feel your big cock in her mouth. Slave would love for you to treat her like the little cocksucking slut she is. Slave would feel it a great privilege if you were to honour her with your thick, white sperm, Sir.”

The man smirked. “Go on then,” he said. “Suck on it if you're so desperate for a cock in your mouth.”

His coarseness was unbearable, but his cock was by now irresistible. I was still on all fours, but I managed to raise my head enough to slide my lips down over the thick cock. As the taste of him filled my mouth, I felt everything rise to another level. Hungrily, eagerly, willingly I moved my lips over him, feasting on the thick meat. The other men were moving in. I could feel my pussy inflate, my nipples ache where they'd hardened. All that existed in my world now was these three cocks, and Master.

Master, who I could sense behind me. “Slave may sit up!” he said.

I rose to my knees as the other two men closed in on me. The big cocks rubbed up against my face. And now I wanted them; I really wanted them. I yearned for them desperately.

“ Thank you, Sirs,” I declared. “I am your willing slave slut; your willing cocksucking, cum-drinking slave slut.”

Their cock heads rubbed against my face. I opened my mouth. I sucked, I had my mouth fucked. I was used, and I exalted in being used; exalted in the big cocks that slid across my face, that filled up my mouth. I could feel Master's eyes on me, hoping he was pleased with Slave, with Slave's willingness to submit to his friends.

What I wasn't prepared for was his harsh “Slave!”

“ Master!” I tried to say, but my mouth was stretched wide by a rampaging cock.

“ Did I give Slave permission to touch herself?”

It was true. One of my hands had wandered and was moving between my thighs, stroking my pussy, which had become so needful I had lost the ability to control my actions. The heady smell, the taste, the excitement had gotten to me.

The men pulled back. “No, Master,” I breathed.

“ So why is Slave rubbing her cunt?”

There was no good answer to this and the words just rushed out of me. “Forgive me, Master. Slave is truly sorry, Master. I just... It just... Master knows how much Slave loves cock, Master knows how much Slave loves cum. Slave forgot herself, having these lovely cocks to attend to. Slave is sorry, Master. Please forgive Slave, Master. Slave could not help it.”

“ Does Slave want to cum?” Master asked.

“ That is for Master to decide,” I breathed. “But Master knows how much Slave loves to cum.”

The three men in front of me were leering, no doubt eager to know where this was going.

“ Slave needs to learn to control herself better!” Master said sternly. “I've half a mind to send her back to her cage right now.”

“ No, Master!” I exclaimed. “Please, Master! Master knows Slave will do all she can to please Master! Slave will do whatever it takes to please Master. Slave will do anything, anything at all to please Master, to please Master's friends!”

Next to me on the bench, the woman was looking at me. The question hung there. “Aren't you the least bit curious as to how far your wife is prepared to go?”

“ Anything,” the woman said. “You can have anything at all. Just name it.”

What she was saying seemed incredible. If I'd been thinking straight, I'd have called her bluff by saying something equally incredible like, “I want to be dictator of all the world” (using my powers, of course, should I be granted any, to vanquish Mr Black). Or why not demand ten million pounds, except that I rather feared that such sums were peanuts to Mr Black, quite aside from the horrid, sickly feeling it gave me to realise how close this was to selling my wife.

Instead a thought entered my head that only became conscious once I had said the words. “I want you.”

The woman gave an amused smile. “That can easily be arranged,” she said. “But first we need to be convinced that you are prepared to let things follow their natural course. If you do, then in two weeks time, I shall be all yours.”

It wasn't until I was back home, staring at the confirmatory e-mail that I began to ask myself what I had done. I didn't even know what I'd meant by “wanting” the woman. It had just seemed a way of calling her or Mr Black's bluff, though it was of course the most stupid way imaginable since I had already had the pleasure of Mrs Black's mouth. Worst of all was that I had never reneged on a deal in my life, and I could no more do so now than fly by spreading my arms and jumping off the roof.

Under the circumstances, I was surprised to find my wife at home that evening. I was even more surprised when, in bed, she climbed on top of me and eagerly bounced up and down on my stiff rod before sucking me to a climax, diligently swallowing every drop of my seed. This was no doubt a reward of sorts for me.

My wife, I noticed, was equally diligent about not cumming herself.