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Article 6 of 16
Subject: Husband part 2
From: jimcougar@earthlink.com (Jim)
Date: 1997/01/29
Message-Id: <5cmndq$28b@chile.earthlink.net>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
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220 125307 <3mou9r$e31@unix.tpe.com> article
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From: alcibade@unix.tpe.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: Repost by Request: Husband 2
Date: 15 Apr 1995 13:03:55 -0400
Organization: The Power Exchange, Washington DC
Lines: 313
Message-ID: <3mou9r$e31@unix.tpe.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: unix.tpe.com
HUSBAND (Part 2)
by
Alcibade
I'm not sure what I expected from Peter during the week leading
up to our "vacation," and to Charles' arrival. He didn't exactly
mope, but he was strangely withdrawn and reticent. He
seemed to want to avoid discussing what had happened and what was
about to happen, so I didn't push the issue. On Sunday night, and
then again on Monday, he had attempted to initiate a love-making
session. I couldn't decide if he had simply forgotten about the
prohibition, or if it was a test of some kind, but I gently and firmly
put a stop to it. After a deep sigh, he rolled over and fell asleep.
I had decided that, if we were going to do this, we were going to do
it right. Peter lacks a certain amount of self-discipline; I've been
told that I have too much.
I got home from work on Wednesday evening to find the promised
letter, addressed to me, in the mail. As expected, there was no
return address. The only enclosure was a list of serial #'s and the
name and address of a store located in the seedier part of town. I'd
never heard of it, but I put the list and address in my purse and
called work to tell them I would be in late on Thursday. I told Peter
about the letter at dinner and that I would be stopping there Thursday
morning. He only nodded and continued to pick at his food.
Thursday morning I stopped at the store. It would be an
understatement to say that I was extremely uncomfortable and nervous.
I wondered how often a single young woman, dressed in a conservative
business suit, shopped here. There were a lot of pornographic videos,
adult toys, etc. The few customers in the store were men who seemed
to be a touch resentful that I was
hovering about (actually, I wasn't "hovering," I was trying to make
myself as inconspicuous as possible. It didn't work. I felt
conspicuous as HELL). I handed the clerk, a balding, fat slob of
a man, the list. He seemed to be expecting me and, after practically
licking my body with his eyes, returned with a large bag. I paid what
he asked without checking the contents and got
the hell out of there as fast as I could. Thursday night I put the
bag, unopened, in the back of our bedroom closet and forgot about it.
On Friday night, Peter and I went out to dinner and did some
dancing to celebrate the beginning of our vacation. I was starting to
get a bit horny over the past few days, and the dancing didn't exactly
quench any fires. Peter had a hard-on the whole night, but bravely
"kept it to himself" on the dance-floor. My panties were soaked by
the time we got home. I hadn't had sex in nearly a week (okay, it may
not be that long for SOME people...), and had avoided
masturbating.
As I lay in bed Friday night, listening to Peter's rhythmic
breathing, I suddenly realized that the weekend was here. I was
beginning to get a little scared about what the next week would
bring. The excitement, though, was almost palpable. So much so, in
fact, that I didn't drift off to sleep until the wee hours of the
morning.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
On Saturday, Peter and I moved his things out of the closet and
dresser and into the guest room just down the hall from our master
bedroom. We stayed up and watched a movie, then slept in separate
beds in our own home for the first time in our marriage. It was a
strange, strange feeling. I kept telling myself that this was what he
wanted...
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
DAY ONE: Sunday
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
We spent the day doing some laundry and housecleaning, then
tinkered in the yard with a new patio that Peter had been "installing"
for what was now going on 3 months. Covered with dirt and sweat, we
worked until about 3:00.
"I guess we better get cleaned up. We've got company coming in a
couple hours," Peter said, tossing the various rakes and shovels in
the wheelbarrow.
I wiped my hands on my dirty sweatpants and stood up.
"Peter?"
He stopped and turned to look at me.
"Yeah?"
"Still sure you want to do this? It's not too late to change
your mind. I'll understand."
He put the wheelbarrow down and crossed his arms.
"I'm sure. How about you?"
"I'm sure, too. I'm just worried that things might not work out
like you expect. And I'm worried that it might somehow affect us.
Our marriage, I mean..." I said. I'd made my decision to give
my heart and soul (and body) up to Peter and his fantasy. Had he?
This had the potential to be terribly exciting and fun, but it also
had the potential to be a great disaster.
He came over and kissed me, sweetly, in the middle of my
forehead.
"Everything will be just fine, darling."
After showering, I put on a bright and colorful sundress over a
skimpy pair of hip-cut cotton panties. Peter wore a pair of brown
slacks and a white dress-shirt open at the collar. We
settled in the living room with some books, sipping a soft bordeaux
and listening to Mozart's Die Zauberflute, and waited.
At precisely 5:00 p.m., the doorbell rang.
I hesitated for a moment and, when Peter didn't get up, assumed
that I was to answer it. I moved quickly to the door, took a deep
breath, and opened it.
The man standing before me, between two expensive suitcases, was,
if you'll forgive the trite and hackneyed expression, tall dark and
handsome. Black hair, greying at the temples (45, maybe 50 years
old?) with wide shoulders and slim hips. Handsome, but austere face,
with piercing, steel-grey eyes; the kind of face women fall in love
with even knowing full-well the potential for heart-ache and pain
(even violence?) that such a face and eyes portend. While his bearing
screamed refinement and elegance, he was dressed in jeans and a
t-shirt. The muscles on his arms were well-defined and sculptured,
but not massive like a weight-lifter's. More like the graceful sinews
of a swimmer. Peeking out just below the left sleeve of his shirt was
the bottom part of a tatoo. I couldn't make out it's details.
Our eyes locked momentarily. Quickly, I had to break the gaze
and look down at the steps between us. There was something there I
wanted very much to explore, but just as strongly needed to avoid.
"Hello, Linda. My name is Charles. I believe you and Peter are
expecting me." I recognized the voice immediately from our previous
telephone conversation. A very masculine, professionally trained
voice. Smooth and undulating (a "melt in your panties" kind of
voice). There was that edge, though, that edge of danger and power
that remained unmasked in its timbre.
I suddenly realized that he had been standing there for an
uncomfortably long time. I opened the door and motioned for him to
enter.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm in another world," I said, laughing
nervously. " Please come in, Charles."
He entered and set his suitcases near the stairway.
"Thank-you, Linda."
"Peter's in the living room. Would you like something to drink?
We're having a nice dry red wine..."
"I don't drink. Thanks anyway. Let's move into the living
room."
As we entered, Peter rose from the couch, smiled and shook his
hand.
"It's nice to see you again, Peter," he said. Then, to me,
"Peter and I met once before."
There was a nervous silence.
"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" I asked.
"No, I'm just fine."
I smiled and nodded. As I moved to the couch to have a seat, he
spoke again.
"I see no point in wasting a lot of time with pleasantries.
We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other as the week
progresses. I prefer that we begin talking about some necessary
things. Go ahead, Linda, have a seat on the sofa. Peter, you may sit
in the center of the floor, please."
As we settled, Charles leaned back against the mantle of our
fireplace and folded his arms. He glanced around briefly at the room,
then looked intently at Peter and I in turn.
"Thank you for inviting me into your beautiful home and into your
life," he began. "The relationship we are about to form is purely
consensual on your part and on mine. The primary ingredient of this
relationship is the fact that I now have total control over your
lives, a control that you have voluntarily relinquished. If that
control is ever questioned or tested in any way, I will walk out the
door and the 'game' is over. That's not going to happen, though. I
rarely need extraneous methods to 'control' people." As he talked, he
smiled sweetly like a little child who doesn't know what the words
mean, telling you to fuck-off.
He looked at me with unblinking eyes and continued.
"Linda, your husband may own your soul and heart, but I own your
body for the next week. When I tell you to do something, do it
immediately. Never question me, never hesitate, never fail to do
everything within your power to comply and to please me. Are we of a
like mind?"
I looked into Peter's eyes as I answered.
"Yes, Charles. We're of a like mind."
His gaze fell on Peter.
"Peter, you just heard your wife pledge her body to me. It no
longer belongs to you, or her, in any way. Do you understand the
implications?"
"Yes, I believe I do."
"No, I don't think you do. I think she has a better grasp of
what this is going to mean, as well as the full potential inherent in
this situation. True submission is only understood through
experience. But no matter. As your wife learns to prostitute herself
to me, so will you, to both her and me, in many ways. Do you realize
that, just as your wife would comply immediately if I
told her to turn around and bend over so that I could fuck her in the
ass, so that same power and its ramifications now looms over your
head, Peter? Submissive fantasies are one thing, but the
reality of submission is so much different, so much purer and more
clear. It goes to the bone like a spinal tap. Have you ever sucked
another man's cock, Peter?"
Peter's face was turning very red. He didn't look up when he
answered.
"No."
"No, I didn't think so. I haven't either, but then I've never
been in the position you've put yourself and your very cute wife in.
Your wife knows the joys of cocksucking, though. She has
learned, I'm sure, the little secret that there is a tremendous amount
of power in submission. A little bit of advice that will help you
through the coming days and nights: don't submit a little bit.
Submit totally. Put everything you've got into it, Peter, or you'll
have a very hard time of it." He shrugged. "I couldn't really care
less, but it is your fantasy, after all. Accept the many humiliations
that I give out to your wife, and that your wife and I give out to
you, and the time will be so much more pleasant for you, so much more
erotic. In other words, learn to submit like
a girl, Peter. Learn the pleasures of giving up the pink."
Charles was pacing now, his hands in his front pockets, thumbs
out. Dear god, I was starting to get so turned on....
He suddenly leaned down, cupped Peter's chin with his hand, and
looked into his eyes.
"Make no mistake about it, Peter. Your wife is going to be
debased, humiliated and used. We're going to act out games that would
bring a blush to the cheeks of a jaded whore. Her mouth, cunt and ass
are going to be reamed out like they never have been. Her and I, and
maybe even others of my choosing, are going to do things you never
dreamed of. Some of them I may even let you watch. Nope. There will
be no "loving" around here for a while, Peter. Just a whole lot of
fucking going on. And when I'm tired of fucking her, her and I are
going to fuck YOU!"
He let go of Peter's chin with a curt shove and looked up at me.
"Linda, your little husband has an erection. Come here, kneel
down, and take it out. You and I want to see his cock, don't we?"
I moved to Peter, knelt down, and unzipped his pants. I removed
his hard cock, already wet at the tip, and began to stroke it. He
leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes.
"Look at me, Linda," Charles said. His long legs rose behind
Peter's head.
I looked up into the pools of steel at the center of his eyes.
"Tell your loving husband how pretty he will look sitting on the
tip of my hard prick. Tell him how excited you will be, how proud you
will be, how you can hardly wait, to see his lips around
my cock. Tell him the truth."
My cunt throbbing and wet, I told him.
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