Wife In Bondage 6

Strangely, after the deal I had struck with Mrs Black, I felt positively serene. It was is if some kind of resolution had been reached, an uneasy equilibrium. For two weeks there were clear rules. I would take a step back and let things run their course, let Mr Black dispose of my wife as he saw fit without complaint.

My new state of calm may have had something to do with my wife's amorous advances the moment the deal had been struck. That, I gathered, had been my reward. What I hadn't bargained for was that things would seem almost as of old on the Saturday morning. I imagined my new acquiescent deportment helped, but I could hardly have expected my wife to announce over breakfast, “Darling, why don't we drive to the park? It's been such a long time since we did something like that.”

So we did. I found some crusts of bread to feed to the ducks, and for an hour or so, walking round, looking at the verdant growth, it was almost as if there was no Mr Black, no Master, no Slave; as if none of the perversions of the last few weeks had occurred at all.

Of course I knew it couldn't last. After about an hour, we bought an ice cream each and went to sit down on a bench, overlooking a small pond. My wife's laugh tinkled as she watched the antics of the waterfowl. “What a lovely day,” she said. “It's so very...”

She broke off all of a sudden, her face contorting as if she'd been struck by some physical symptom. I watched her squirm slightly where she was sitting. The low hum that emanated from beneath her clothes told me that we were back to square one, back to where things had started, more or less. At Mr Black's behest, my wife had some kind of vibrating stimulus under her dress, possibly in her vagina, just as she had all those weeks ago sitting tied to a chair; Mr Black's little game, amused by being able to administer arousal or withhold it from a distance.

Except that now I watched with what almost amounted to an amused eye as my wife fidgeted and did her best to control her breathing. My serenity held, but I was curious. Clearly whatever the device was, it was being operated from someone close at hand, though I couldn't see anyone who fit the bill. Really there was only person who would, and I would recognise her when I saw her.

When the humming stopped and my wife's body relaxed, I asked, almost conversationally: “So what's the device?”

“It's a butterfly,” my wife said, looking at me anxiously, as if afraid I was going to fly off the handle. “It's a...”

“I'm familiar with the concept,” I said, as lightly as I could.

At that moment my wife's mobile went off, and she dug it out of her bag. I could tell who it was from the way her eyes lit up when she looked at the display. “Master,” she said, holding the phone up to one ear. There followed one of those conversations I was by now so familiar with, hearing only my wife's side of it.

“Master knows that Slave is always wet and horny... From longing for Master's big cock... Slave is always ready to cum, Master... Being Master's Slave makes Slave so horny, Slave is always ready to cum... Yes, Master, Slave knows she must learn to control herself... Master, Slave will do all she can not to cum unless Master allows her to... Slave is so horny, Master... Horny for Master...”

As she spoke, I took the opportunity to look around. Not only to determine if anyone, horror of horrors, heard what was being said, but to see if I could spot Mrs Black, who I assumed was the one with the controls, doing Master's bidding.

I saw neither, which in one case at least was something of a relief.

“Darling,” my wife was saying. “I hope you don't mind, darling.” She sounded anxious that I would mind.

When I just shrugged she looked nonplussed, and a bit suspicious. I felt a twinge of guilt over the deal I had struck with Mrs Black. Clearly my wife was being kept in the dark about that. “Shall we walk?” I suggested.

We continued through the park, strolling aimlessly. Things were suddenly a little more tense, now that we were both waiting for the inevitable.

It came as we approached a spot where five young men were sitting spread out on the grass, drinking beer from bottles. They seemed in high spirits. Three of them had removed their shirts, soaking up the sun, flaunting their tanned, muscular frames and their elaborate tattoos.

We couldn't have been more than a few yards from them when my wife let out a little gasp. It wasn't loud enough for anyone but me to hear, but the humming was a different matter. That, I felt, though I was probably imagining things, could be heard far and wide.

My wife had stopped dead in the middle of the path. “Come on,” I said, “best keep walking.”

“I can't,” my wife gasped, crossing her legs as if she was about to wet herself.

The men had noticed her now, watching as if she, we, were some kind of circus act. My wife twisted her legs round each other, her breathing laboured. The men were staring openly, looking like dogs who had suddenly caught the scent of a bitch on heat. I tried to ignore them, focusing my attention on other spots. Sure enough, I fancied I caught a glimpse of a trail of black skirt behind some bushes. Mrs Black was holding the controls.

The humming stopped and I took my wife's arm, quickly leading her away from the young Adonises. But the game had only just begun. Whenever we came near someone who might see my wife, the humming started up anew, my wife biting her lip, trying hard to quell the small sounds that arousal inevitably caused her to make, squirming as the vibrations threatened to send her over the edge.

People looked. Oh how they looked! I quickly adopted a look of my own, designed to suggest anything from a desperate need to find a lavatory to a mental affliction, and people surprisingly often smiled before continuing on their way. Nevertheless, each time my wife was finding it harder and harder to maintain control, and whether it was she or I who found the bench overlooking the canal, we eventually sat down, staring at an old mediaeval prison in the middle distance.

I wanted to ask how my wife could allow herself to be embarrassed in public like this, but I had made a deal. I couldn't upset the apple cart. I had always been a man of my word, and I would keep it now, no matter what.

Inevitably my wife's mobile soon demanded her attention. “Master,” she said, holding it up to her ear. Then: “It has been close... Yes, Master, I know I must learn to control myself...” She gave a little shriek. I could tell by the way she screwed up her face that the vibrations had started again, even without the tell-tale humming from beneath her clothes.

She sat there for a while, not speaking, but her body constantly on the move, her breathing growing more and more laboured, her gasping, her small moans suggesting extreme arousal. Then at last she said, “Master, why do you torment me so?... Yes, I know Slave must be punished... It's just... Master, it's just that when you tell Slave how you want to stretch her cunt with your big cock, how you want to fuck Slave's cunt hard with your big hard cock, just hearing that is enough to make Slave cum... With the other thing as well... “ A big long moan erupted from my wife as she shifted violently.

Loud shrieks behind us made me jump. Turning, I saw a group of teenage girls staring wild-eyed. Giggling hysterically, they turned and ran. How long they'd been standing there, how much they'd heard was anybody's guess.

“Yes,” my wife was saying, as if oblivious to them. “I deserve it, Master... I will be your obedient Slave, Master... I will do it.”

She was still wriggling where she sat, finally stopping as the humming stopped when she put the phone back in her bag. “I must go to the toilet,” she said. Her tone of voice suggested this was less a direct need, more the result of a direct order.

That was fine by me. I had done the deal, sold myself out, sold my wife out, and I was as easy in myself as I'd been since this whole business started.

The game continued as we walked. Whenever there was the possibility or the certainty of anyone observing my wife, the humming resumed. I could tell from her breathing whenever the vibrations sounded that it was all beginning to get the better of her. I kept up my bemused reaction when people stared at her squirming frame.

Finally we reached a small hut set back from the path. “I shouldn't be long,” my wife said, as if there was a danger that she might be about to take a trip to some far off place, before disappearing through one of the steel doors that made the small building seem more like a secure shelter left over from the war than a public lavatory.

While I waited, I cast a keen eye over the surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mrs Black. I knew she was there, somewhere, but the shadowy figure kept herself well hidden. Part of me was actually enjoying this. The deal I'd made had, after all, dampened my resentment somewhat, made me almost something of an accomplice. Whichever way you looked at it, there was something to be said for seeing my wife embarrassed like this.

I was still nowhere near prepared for what happened next.

When my wife reappeared, I just stared at her. It was impossible not to see the generous portion of fresh sperm that had been smeared round her mouth. “Darling, can we go back to the car now?” she said, looking suitably ashamed for once.

“Perhaps we'd better,” I said.

My wife kept her head bowed as we walked, but even so I fancied we attracted the attention of the people we passed. To get to the car, we had to cross a bridge over the canal, and it was when we were halfway across that the whole event reached a climax - literally.

My wife suddenly gave a shriek. The humming was louder than before. I watched her cross her legs, then wriggle uncontrollably. Reaching the side of the bridge she clung hard to the railing. A young couple passing looked set to intervene. “It's all right,” I said, trying to sound as authoritative as I could. “It's a medical condition. I've got it covered.”

My wife undermined this attempt to preserve her modesty by gasping, “Oh shit, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!” I wasn't sure if the couple heard, but they looked back as if in shock while my wife sank to her haunches, her body twisting and shaking violently. Other people were approaching, and I attempted to shield my wife from their inquisitive eyes as she continued to tremble.

“Oh shit!” she gasped. “Oh shit!”

Finally the humming stopped. My wife just sat there, gasping for breath. “Come on,” I said, “let's get you back to the car.”

My wife nodded, allowing me to help her up, clinging to me as we continued across the bridge, face down, still breathing, almost as if in pain. Finally we reached the car, where my wife collapsed into the passenger seat, while I took up my place in the driving seat.

“Oh darling,” she exclaimed. “I know you must think I'm mad. Thank you for being such a good sport.”

I felt a twinge of guilt. My wife, as I had already gathered, clearly had no idea about the deal that had been struck with Mrs Black. Fortunately I was spared having to find a response by the sound of my wife's mobile. There was no doubt at all as to who it was.

“Master,” my wife said. A new conversation ensued with pauses. “Slave knows it was wrong of her to cum... Master, Slave knows she needs to learn to control herself better... Master, Slave couldn't help herself... Master knows how much Slave loves Master's cum... Slave was so turned on from knowing that anyone could see Master's cum round Slave's mouth... Slave is ashamed, Master... Ashamed that she enjoyed her Walk of Shame, Master... Ashamed that she could not control herself better... Yes, Master... Of course, Master... At once, Master...”

Having broken the call, my wife turned to me, almost apologetically, her mouth still a picture of debauchery where Mr Black's cum was visible. “I'm wanted at the house,” she said, looking a little anxious, as if she was afraid I was going to throw a fit. There was no need to ask which house.

When I just started the engine, I fancied my wife looked at me a little suspiciously. She was right to. Having struck the deal, the deal that ensured that I would allow Mr Black's plans to continue without any attempt on my part to upset them, I was calmer than I had been since all this began. I was like that. Once I had made a choice, given my word, I felt that things were simpler, which they were. In this instance, I just had to let events unfold.

Perhaps my wife decided that things were best not discussed at present, for she sat staring out of the window as I drove; drove her to the big house where just about any perverse thing may happen to her. Once I'd pulled up outside the front door, she leaned across as if she was about to give me a peck on the cheek, but held back, no doubt recalling that Mr Black's sperm was caked to her lips.

“I don't know how long I'll be,” she said, before getting out of the car, walking up the steps to the house and disappearing inside.

As easy as that. This was clearly how things were to be. Any seeming resumption of normal, married life instantly perverted, just another stage in Mr Black's power play. And now I too was an accomplice, or at least it felt that way. I leaned back in the driving seat, feeling the full weight of my own duplicity suddenly descend on my shoulders, when there was movement. Mrs Black was coming round the corner of the house in her long, flowing dress. Without a moment's hesitation she walked up to the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

“You're doing well,” she said. “Another thirteen days and I'll be all yours.”

I didn't reply. I was feeling wicked. I was a bad, bad man. Deep down I must have known; at some subconscious level I must have known that Mrs Black would willingly give herself to me if it meant that Mr Black could dispose of my wife as he chose. It probably meant less than nothing to them.

Mrs Black was eyeing me with a certain amusement. “You can sit here and wait for your wife to come out,” she said, “but it will be a very long wait. You're welcome inside, but it will still be a very long wait and you won't see or hear anything. Go home and switch on your computer, is my advice.” She opened the door and swung one leg out before turning to me again. “You're doing well,” she repeated. “Remember, keep it up for thirteen more days and I'm all yours.”

She got out, slamming the door behind her. Her meaning couldn't have been clearer; my wife was in for a marathon, and I was expected to go home and watch the depraved action on my computer.

A deal was a deal. There was little else to do but drive back out to the main road and home, all the while thinking that I didn't need to watch, but knowing just as surely that I would establish the computer link as soon as I got through the door.

The first thing I saw was my wife's face in profile. She seemed to be talking to herself, and the words were clear enough: “I must not cum without Master's permission.” There was a scratching sound as she uttered the words

This was repeated a few times until the camera panned out slightly. The sound revealed itself to be that of chalk on an old fashioned blackboard. My wife was doing lines! Even given my extreme antipathy to Mr Black's activities I couldn't help but smile to myself.

Nor could I help but watch, though the activity went on for some time longer; my wife in profile murmuring, “I must not cum without Master's permission,” as she chalked the words on the blackboard. There was something oddly mesmerising about the whole thing.

Perhaps Mr Black thought so too. Throughout there was no inkling that he was there in the room, but when my wife eventually put aside the chalk and stood with her arms along her sides, the man's voice suddenly rang out. “Well, does Slave think she can live up to that?”

“I will try, Master,” my wife said, her voice weak and submissive.

“Trying isn't good enough!” Master barked. “Slave needs to learn self-control! That business on the bridge... Could Slave really not have withstood a few vibrations?”

I could hear my wife swallow. “Master, I'm sorry. Slave got carried away from the feel of Master's cum on her lips.”

Mr Black gave a hollow laugh. “Does Slave believe that herself? Is it perhaps not the case that Slave wanted people to see what a slut she is?”

“It's possible, Master,” my wife responded.

I wondered. But more than anything I remembered the question Mrs Black had put to me: “Aren't you the least bit curious as to how far your wife is prepared to go?”.

“Be that as it may,” Mr Black snapped. “We are not finished with Slave's training.”

“Master?”

“Slave will learn to control herself.”

“Yes, Master.”

Now the camera panned right out. My wife's full body came into view, her naked breasts with luscious nipples pointing straight at the camera. She was wearing nothing but black hold-ups, at least if you discounted the collar round her neck and what I understood to be the butterfly she had been wearing at the park, still in place.

The surroundings were very bleak; a concrete floor, concrete walls. I wondered if this might be the mysterious basement room I had once seen from the outside of the house. Mr Black came into view, back in his “ordinary” black garb, with the ubiquitous mask. “Come, Slave,” he said, leading my wife across the room.

The camera followed them to a small table. My wife was instructed to kneel and to lean over the table. This she did. The table was so small that only her stomach fit onto it. Her arms, head and breasts all hung over the other side. The camera came to rest directly behind my wife, showing the plump labia easily visible between her thighs, and allowing me a glimpse of the butterfly nestling against her clit.

“Now,” Mr Black said sternly, “I don't want to hear the tiniest sound from Slave. Do I make myself clear?” My wife said nothing, and Mr Black smirked. “I'm glad we understand each other,” he said.

Suddenly there was a loud humming. An instant later my wife let out a tiny squeak.

The humming stopped. “Slave disappoints,” Mr Black said. “She was not to make a sound.” I could almost sense my wife's own sense of failure, but she remained silent.

Mr Black began pacing. “Slave has trouble controlling herself. While I am obviously pleased that Slave is such an incorrigibly horny slut, Slave needs to exhibit some self-control. Clearly Slave needs some... Well, let's just say it's time to play carrot and stick. Or as I prefer to call it, cock and cane.”

The man disappeared briefly from view, indeed returning with a wooden cane which he lightly tapped my wife's buttock with. I could clearly see my wife's body tense, with good reason. I was old enough to have been at school when such implements were regularly used to instil discipline in recalcitrant pupils, of which I myself had been one. I knew only too well how the thing felt.

“This is the cane,” Mr Black said. “And if Slave doesn't buck up her ideas...”

He let the rest hang, pacing the room again. As he did so, the humming resumed. Since Mr Black wasn't holding the controls himself, I imagined it was Mrs Black, who was there, invisible to the camera. This time my wife held out for a few seconds before she moaned out, “Oooh!”

The humming stopped. Mr Black stepped forward. Standing diagonally behind my wife, obviously to let the camera get a clear view, he lifted the cane and let the tip work it's way between my wife's labia. I could feel her breathing heavily as he drew the cane back and forth in her slit. Then he withdrew it, inspecting the tip.

“Interesting,” he mused. “Slave has been given Master's cum. Slave has orgasmed in full view of other people. Yet Slave is still as wet as anything. Slave obviously still wants to cum. It seems to me that Slave can never get enough. Slave must be the most debauched slut I've ever known. Excellent! Except that Slave must learn to control herself!”

Having said this he gave my wife a slightly harder tap on the buttocks. I saw her body shift slightly and could only imagine her trepidation. As soon as the cane was removed, the humming started again. I could hear my wife's breathing increase in volume, but this time she really did appear to make an effort not to make a sound. Eventually though, it became too much for her, an “Aaooooh!” emerging from her.

“Oh dear!” Mr Black said as the humming ceased. “It seems as if Slave needs more punishment.” This brought on some heavier breathing, but Mr Black did no more than tap my wife's buttocks with the cane. “Or perhaps it's time to mention the carrot.”

Mr Black began pacing as I watched my wife's body, feeling its state of extreme tension through the screen. “Slave has so often expressed her desire for her Master's cock. Naturally this pleases me. I would of course be happy to honour Slave with my cock.”

At this Mr Black stepped forward. His cock had been big and erect throughout, and now he gripped it, pushing the black sheathed monster up against my wife's labia. This caused her body to tense a little more. Mr Black moved, and though he partly obscured my wife I fancied he was now moving his cock head up and down, from clit to hole and back again.

“Once I am satisfied that Slave has learned her lesson, Slave will of course be rewarded with her Master's cock. I know Slave wants her Master's cock in her depraved, slutty cunt because she begged for it. So seedy. In a public lavatory. Slave begging for Master to fuck her slutty cunt as he adorned her lips with his seed. Yes, so very seedy.”

He pulled away and the humming began again. This time Mr Black continued talking.

“Not that Master has anything against planting his cock in Slave and filling her tight little cunt with his seed, far from it. Slave has a perfect, eminently fuckable little cunt, and it is Master's firm belief that tight little slave cunts should be kept fully occupied. Idle cunts lead to idle thoughts, and idle thoughts lead to actions slaves should refrain from engaging in. Without express permission, of course.”

I was watching my wife closely during this barrage of idiotic verbiage. I could see her legs trembling as Mr Black continued.

“So all in all, though I am determined that Slave should learn self-control, in due course her cunt will of course be fucked thoroughly. Slave will spread her legs and welcome her Master's cock...”.

“Oh, Master...”, my wife burst out.

The humming stopped. “Silence!” Mr Black snapped. “Slave is having trouble with this very simple task. He moved swiftly towards my wife, pressing his sheathed cock against the one buttock, tapping the other with the cane. “Spare the rod and spoil the slave,” he said. “So true. Well, Slave shall have one rod or the other, it's her choice.”

He moved away again, the humming resumed. Now the camera began to move, coming closer to my wife so that it became easier to see her legs trembling. “Mind you,” Mr Black went on, as if he'd just thought of something. “I'm not so sure Slave should be given the satisfaction of either. Perhaps it would be more efficacious to just send her back to her cage if she will not learn the requisite level of self-control.”

The camera moved round, focusing on my wife's face, which soon filled the screen. She was grimacing wildly, biting her lip. I could see in her eyes how she was fighting every instinct in her body.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” Mr Black said suddenly. “Slave is learning. At a guess I'd say Slave is anxious to be fucked, to have her tight cunt...”.

“Master!” my wife blurted out in a great gasp. “Please, Master, I'm so close!”

“Did I give Slave permission to speak?” Mr Black asked as the humming was discontinued.

“No, Master, forgive me, Master.”

“Silence!” Mr Black shouted. I heard the sound, watching my wife's face contort. It was impossible to know how hard Mr Black had struck her with the cane, but certainly harder than he had hitherto.

Slave shall be given one last chance. If Slave makes the slightest sound, or even worse, cums without my permission, she shall be returned to her cage!”

The humming resumed. I watched, hardly knowing if I wanted my wife to succeed or not. In the end it hardly mattered. I knew she would break sooner or later, and as the humming increased in volume incrementally, my wife finally let out a squeak that caused Mr Black to cut in.

“Well!” he said. “Clearly Slave has a lot to learn. Slave's training will be resumed later. In the meantime she will have ample time to mull over her disobedience, her uselessness, in her cage. Until she has learned to control herself, Slave will not have the pleasure of Master's cock!”

“Please, Master...”, my wife began.

“Silence!” Mr Black barked. There was a tremendous thwack as the cane was heard striking wood of some description. Then the link was broken.

It would be wrong to say that I was indifferent when my wife didn't return home that evening, but I expected it, and managed, just about, to retain my serenity. When my wife did return the next day, she behaved as normal, nothing being said of what had passed, of the events to which I had not been privy.

However, there would now be no pretence whatever, no attempt to cover up the deeply debauched perversity now unfolding.

On the Monday evening, we were watching TV when a humming suddenly accompanied the sound from the television. I glanced to one side, seeing how my wife instantly began squirming. I watched with some amusement as my wife screwed up her face and shifted her body. Clearly she was in training, and I was willing to put money on Mrs Black lurking somewhere outside with a remote control device.

Eventually my wife let out a deep moan. The humming continued a little before ceasing, resuming some ten minutes later. This game with the vibrator was carried out the whole week. At any point my wife might suddenly gasp or screw up her face or twist her body uncomfortably; fighting the sensations that were attacking her clitoris, fighting the most natural of urges.

I must admit at this point that I came to enjoy it. I enjoyed watching my wife squirm, enjoyed watching her be driven close to, but never attaining release. It was a punishment of sorts, even though I fully understood that Mr Black was training my wife to ends of his own.

There were other things that were more difficult to swallow, but which I accepted stoically. Mysterious phone calls, equally mysterious trips to the shop for things we already had. On the Wednesday I came home to find my wife on her back on the bed, naked from the waist down, a laptop between her legs, aimed at her pussy which was filled with a big, red vibrating dildo.

That evening, I nipped outside myself while my wife was fighting the vibrations, thinking to have a few words with Mrs Black. Wherever she was she kept herself well hidden.

I was not, however, prepared for the events of the Saturday morning, though they began predictably enough. We were in the middle of breakfast when my wife's mobile sounded. There ensued another one of those conversations that I only caught my wife's side of, with the by now predictable statements.

“Master... No, Master, Slave has not cum... Oh Master... Master knows how horny Slave is... Slave has been dying to cum... Thank you, Master... Master knows Slave would... Because Slave is a horny, cum-drinking slut, Master... A horny, cocksucking, cum-drinking slut, Master... Yes, Master, I will do as Master says... Master knows Slave would rather have his cock... Thank you, Master... Slave longs for it Master... Slave longs to take Master's cock deep inside her... Yes, Master... I will do it now, Master...”

The conversation ended, but it was now that things took a turn I could not have anticipated, for my wife slid off her chair and disappeared under the table. In no time I felt her hands pull aside the flaps on my dressing-gown, her fingers grip my boxers, pulling them down under my testicles.

I sprang to attention immediately. Whatever had gone on, whatever continued to go on, there was nothing I could do to stop myself from feeling desire, to stop myself from wanting this.

I felt my wife's hot breath on my cock. Her fingers stroked one side as her tongue slid slowly over the other. It wasn't just my wife who had gone all week without satisfaction, and a surge of pre-cum emerged from me. My wife's lips suddenly surrounded me, her tongue slithering over my helmet, gathering up the tiny amount of liquid.

Then her lips moved downwards, right the way down, pushing down to the root of my cock before sliding back up to half mast, suddenly moving swiftly up and down with short, brisk strokes. I was gratified that my wife showed such hunger for my cock, even though she'd just said that she preferred Mr Black's. I was gratified even though I gathered that this was more a reward for me than a spontaneous action on my wife's part. A reward for sticking to my part of the bargain and letting things follow their natural course, as Mrs Black had put it.

As my wife sucked harder my cock tensed. My wife sucked deeper, from the root to the tip, her saliva coating my shaft. Whatever the circumstances, a breakfast blowjob was never to be sniffed at, and I closed my eyes, revelling in the feel of her tongue as it slithered over me while her lips continued to move up and down.

My cock expanded, my wife continuing her action with the kind of hunger I remembered of old. My cock grew rigid, the sperm in my balls gathering, assembling on the starting line. I grunted loudly. My wife shoved her lips down my cock, letting my seed pulse straight out into the moist cavity; spurt after spurt after spurt, for it wasn't only my wife who hadn't cum for a week.

When I'd finally delivered all I had to give, my wife licked my shaft clean without a word before crawling out from under the table and saying, as brazen as anything, “I must go. Master wants me.” Reward and humiliation all in one.

I discovered that not one drop of sperm had escaped my wife, a trick she must have learned from Mr Black. Reward or no, new skills or no, I regretted bitterly that I had entered into such a deal as I had. The trouble was that being the man I was, nothing would make me renege on it. Nothing at all.

There was a lawn to be mown, but wandering back and forth with the machine would in no wise have taken my thoughts off things, so I threw myself into work instead. There was always plenty of it, even when I was at home. Even so, this time it was hard to take my thoughts off what might be happening. Every now and then I saw Mr Black before me, cane in hand. I knew from experience that no one deserved that cane, whatever they'd done.

This time I wasn't sure that there would be any developments that involved me, but of course there were. It was early evening when the message was sent to my mobile informing me that should I be interested, I could now see what was going on.

I shut down everything else and established the by now familiar computer link. Immediately I received the live transmission from wherever Mr Black and my wife happened to be.

The first thing I saw was a number of men with their backs to the camera, in some kind of outdoor location. It didn't take any imagination to tell from their body language that they had their cocks out and were masturbating. I tried to count, but gave up as the camera moved forward. Where had Mr Black got hold of them all?

The camera made its way between two of the men, so that the open back of an estate car came into view. And, of course, lying inside, in only black hold-ups, high heels, a fishnet top and a collar round her neck, my wife. She was propped up on one elbow, legs parted, her fingers toying idly with her labia, actually smiling. “I'm very wet,” she announced.

Mr Black was nowhere to be seen, but his voice came through loud and clear. “Would Slave like to tell the gentlemen why she's so wet?”

My wife didn't hesitate. “Because I'm a slut,” she said.

“That goes without saying,” Mr Black said.

“I'm a slut,” my wife said, “and the sight of so many hard cocks really turns me on.” She was beaming as she said it, smiling out at the men as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be lying there in front of them, rubbing herself shamelessly.

This was a turn up for the book. My wife had always been reticent about saying such things, and to say them in front of a large group of men would have been unthinkable to her earlier. Yet, now, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to her. Something had obviously been going on, some kind of training, that I knew nothing about.

Mr Black's voice rang out again. “Yes, it would. We've established, haven't we, that Slave is obsessed with cock?”

Without batting an eyelid my wife said, “Yes, Master. I am a cock-loving slut.”

“And being such a cock-loving slut, no doubt Slave is eager to be fucked,” Mr Black said.

“Oh, Master,” my wife breathed, her fingers moving a little faster, with the hint of a little more intent. “Slave desires that more than anything.”

“I see,” Mr Black said. “Well, why doesn't Slave ask these kind gentlemen?”

My wife swallowed, but continued to smile. It was as if she was considering what to say. Then she said, “Sirs, the sight of so many hard cocks is wonderful for a horny slut like myself. Should Master permit it, I would gladly let each and every one of you fuck me.” As she spoke, my wife pulled her labia apart, showing the men her gaping cunt.

I could feel my chest tighten as a murmur went through the crowd. This was horrible to behold. Some mark had definitely been overstepped here, as if enough boundaries hadn't been blithely crossed already.

Mr Black broke in. “Which of Slave's holes is she willing to offer these men?”

My wife just smiled. “Slave is willing to let these men fuck whichever of her holes she wishes. Slave is open for business.”

My blood froze to ice. Surely these lines must have been fed my wife beforehand? Surely she wasn't making them up on the spur of the moment? I still couldn't quite believe she was saying them, let alone meaning them.

“So Slave wants to be fucked?” Mr Black said. “Does Slave want cock in each and every one of her holes?”

“Yes, Master,” my wife replied. “Slave would like to be filled by each and every one of these cocks. Slave agrees with Master that slaves should have their holes fully occupied as much as possible.”

“Too bad!” Mr Black snapped. “I have agreed with my friends that none should penetrate Slave with their cocks.”

I felt a brief moment of relief, even though my wife said: “Master! I beg of you.”

“Slave will have no cocks inside her!” Mr Black decreed. “But in all other respects, Slave is fair game!”

Suddenly the camera had trouble finding my wife. The men had surged forward. I understood that she was being pulled from the back of the car, then my wife disappeared from view completely. That didn't stop her voice from coming through. “Oh, Sirs! Slave wishes so that you were allowed to fuck her! The feel of your hard cocks against Slave's skin makes her so horny!”

“She's not lying!” a male voice said. The camera suddenly found my wife, or rather found the point where two fingers were pushing up inside her pussy. “The cunt's wet to overflowing.”

The camera moved. I could hear my wife moaning loudly. Her breasts came into view, or at least the backs of two heads did, clearly sucking on my wife's nipples through the top.

“Come on then,” a voice said. “Get your hand round my cock!”

“With pleasure,” my wife gasped. “What's a cock-loving slut for?”

It was very difficult to see what was going on, but by turns I saw my wife's carefully manicured nails as her fingers wrapped themselves round a cock. Two cocks, for she held one in each hand. Male hands were grabbing at her breasts through the fishnet. The camera did its best to focus lasciviously on my wife's pussy as fingers wriggled inside her. Cocks were rubbing against her, pre-cum being smeared over black nylon as swollen cock heads pushed against her thighs.

“Aren't you the least bit curious as to how far your wife is prepared to go?” Mrs Black had asked me. If the answer had ever been yes, I wished I had never found out, feeling sick and horrified at the lengths to which my wife was prepared to go to satisfy Mr Black's perversions. Perversions that now appeared to be her own. And to my shame, I discovered that I felt aroused too, at the excessive carnality displayed before my eyes.

“Oh, Sirs!” my wife cried. The camera found her face as she said, “Your hard cocks turn me on so! How I wish Master would let you all fuck me!” Her eyes gleamed as she said it.

“What a slut!” someone said as the camera moved back down over the breasts that were being continuously groped.

“Doll, I'd fuck you so hard it'd make your teeth rattle,” someone said, to loud mirth.

“Oh!” my wife gasped. “Why, Master! Why will you not let them fuck me?”

There was no answer from Mr Black. Instead someone said. “Turn her round.” My wife's body was twisted round. “Bend over!” the same voice said.

The camera managed to find my wife's pussy again. Fingers were stuffed inside her again. Not just her pussy, but now a finger was inserted into her anus. “Oh!” my wife cried out. “What are you doing?” Then. “Oh! That feels so good! How I wish it was a big cock! I so want to be fucked. Master, I need to be fucked!”

Her need sounded all too genuine. Male meat was pushed up against her buttocks, my wife crying out in lust and desperation. Then there was a loud grunt. The camera zoomed in as thick sperm spilled out onto one of my wife's bum cheeks. There was a loud cheer, then the link was broken.

Nothing in my experience so far suggested that my wife would be home that evening, so I was astonished when just two hours later I heard the front door open. By then I was slumped in front of the TV, cursing myself, cursing my wife, cursing Mr and Mrs Black and the fiendish pact I had entered into.

I didn't bother to go and greet my wife, remaining where I was instead. I was unprepared for my wife to come straight into the living room, walking awkwardly, dressed in the black hold-ups and fishnet top, her nipples poking through the garment, standing to attention as if she was still desperate for the attention she craved. Dried sperm was clearly visible on the stockings, and some was clinging to the fishnet too.

Without looking at me twice, my wife stood with her back to, placed her mobile phone on the table, and immediately went down on all fours on the floor. As if there was any more astonishment in me, I was still taken aback to see the plug that had been inserted into her anus, and to hear my wife's words.

“You can remove it if you like,” my wife said. “If you'd like to replace it with your hard cock.”

We were no strangers to anal sex, infrequent as it tended to be. For a moment, watching her with all those men, I'd thought I'd never be able to touch my wife again, but now I realised that my cock had other ideas. I unzipped, moving towards my wife, taking hold of the butt plug and pulling it out roughly, making my wife whimper.

She cried out even louder when I drove my cock into her arse in a harsher manner than I ever had before. Then she began crying out as I moved inside her. “Oh Master!” she cried. “He's fucking me! He's fucking my arse!”

The mobile, I understood, must have been on speaker all the time.

“Good!” Mr Black said. “It is only right and proper that Slave should be used in this fashion.”

“Yes, Master!” my wife cried.

“Did Slave keep the plug in all the way home?”

“Yes, Master! Master's sperm is still there! I can feel it! Thank you, Master for fucking me with your wonderful cock. Thank you for fucking my arse and making me keep your sperm inside me!”

My head felt like it was going to explode. Here I was with my cock in a hole that already contained that pervert's seed. I worked up a frenzy, my wife crying out. “Oh, Master! I'm being fucked so hard! How I wish it was your cock in me, Master! Owwwooooooh!”

There was no point in drawing anything out. I just fucked and fucked my wife's arsehole until with a great scream of perverse pleasure of my own, I added my semen to that already there.

“Master! I wish it was your sperm!” my wife cried.

Mr Black didn't seem too interested in that. “Slave may now cum,” was all he said. “Slave has done well.”

As I withdrew from my wife she reached back, a hand going straight to her clit. Sperm oozed out of the tiny hole as she stood there, moaning loudly while rubbing herself. Then suddenly she was screaming and bucking wildly before collapsing on the floor.

If I'd known it was the last time I got to have the pleasure of my wife, I would have drawn things out a bit more.