Through the Looking-Glass

[Don Jetman]

Through the Looking-Glass

By Don Jetman



- Prologue -

This one's hard. Not because of mistakes or regrets. In fact, on the surface, it was
what I always wanted. But, well, maybe I can just take you there and sort it out
along the way...

August was long and steamy. If only I could say the same about our sex life. We were
miserable - over-worked and stressed in yet another new city, with never enough time
to get the house in order and make it a home. We had done this all before, taking it
day-by-day, looking ahead by week, then month segments, knowing that over the
horizon, someday, we'd have a regular life again. And maybe even sex.

Dave often enters our life at the most opportune times, so conveniently that I always
wonder if L has reached out to him in desperation. I believe it was a Sunday
afternoon when he called. His conversations were always deceptive - not in a
malicious way, but laced just lightly enough with innuendo to make me wonder if I was
imagining what I wanted to hear. Always polite, always clever and funny, he's the
too-perfect friend I never had.

But it was always different with L. He said things that made her giggle and blush,
things I couldn't hear when her ear was pressed against the phone until it was damp
with sweat. I watched her body language as they talked. The stress seemed to drain
from her, the hard edges smoothing. The magician in him could made her somehow more
feminine, not in a way I could describe exactly, but he could, just, take her to a
place where she became cat-like, her bare legs moving in languid, effortless sways
and turns, her words melting from the familiar careful use of hard, brittle "t"s and
"c"s, to phrases lifted in pitch at the end like a little girl, followed by quiet
purring when she'd rather I didn't hear.

Whether it was L's idea or his wasn't clear, but we were invited to spend Labor Day
weekend with him. Or, as long as we liked, according to L. "Could we stay the whole
week?" she asked. Now, a week with Dave was one thing to L - lots of sex with him,
and usually a little kinky stuff thrown in as a bonus. I knew she liked that. But the
week to me meant giving L to him when he wanted her (and when she wanted him), me
growing hornier by the day as the games went on, and possibly watching him paw her in
front of his friends as he paraded her on his arm at one of his famous parties. Not
that we hadn't been there before, but I wasn't sure if an entire week of masturbating
while Dave fucked her every night was what I needed to chase my stress away. But L
got her way. She always does. It was a long, slow blowjob with a furious finish that
made me wonder if she had been practicing with someone else. She denied she had been,
but I would have bet both my left and right nuts she was thinking of Dave. I didn't
ask.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 1 -

We went to dinner the first night, to a Moroccan restaurant filled with delicious
smells and exotic music. A belly dancer made her rounds to table after table, a dark-
eyed beauty who flirted like she meant it. I was stricken with a kind of erotic panic
when she danced for us. Stunned by her tiny waist, firm breasts and a velvety
rippling belly so close, so perfect, I found the flickering candle on our table made
the hypnotic undulations of taught muscle under smooth, dark skin seem even more
impossible.

Within minutes I had been sucked into Dave's world, pulse pounding, hands shaking,
completely taken by this woman, feeling I had lost control too soon. Dave and L woke
me from my trance, finally bursting with laughter as the dancer placed a hand inside
my shirt, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and made her way to the next table.

It didn't take Dave long to guide the conversation into uncomfortable territory. He
wanted to hear about L's month with Derek, a trial game we played with a health club
owner in the past. It was a month of agreed-upon ownership of L by Derek, a Dom-
submissive relationship between them, completely out of my control. As uncomfortable
as I was during Derek's "ownership" of L, I really wasn't ready to rehash it again,
especially in public. L didn't seem to mind, and even teased me now and then with
little smiles that anyone else would have taken for loving affection, but smiles I
recognized as gentle jabs at my admittedly hysterical behavior back then. As Dave
drew more details out of her, all I could think about was how I hoped no one at a
nearby table overheard.

Dave soon caught on, and not-so-innocently led L down a few of the darker paths of
the experience (darker for me, that is). He delighted in L's telling of how it ended,
how she had twisted me into knots and dangled the shocking offer to share her bed
permanently in front of Derek, only to see us both flustered and frustrated when she
brought the game to an end, her way. I saw Dave's admiration of her in his eyes, and
had to admit my own embarrassment didn't stop those same feelings from surfacing.

It had been after that month that Dave boasted that he might accomplish in a week
what Derek couldn't in a month - that he would send her back to me a changed woman. L
spent that week with Dave, keeping a personal diary for the duration, and he made
good on his promise. She ended the week having sex with multiple men as Dave watched,
and she did indeed come back to me a changed woman, at first quietly proud of
breaking new boundaries, but eventually slipping into a period of deep guilt and
shame over what she had done. Six men. One night. Numbers she wrestled with for
months, until sexual indifference replaced the shame for much too long. Dave never
knew the long-term consequences of her visit (at least I wasn't aware that he did).
But he risked opening old wounds. I wasn't having it, even if L wasn't forward enough
to stop him.

"I think we've played enough of that game for a while," I said finally. "We're still
kind of in recovery-mode anyway."

"Do you mean you're still recovering?" L asked me suddenly. "Because I'm fine. Would
you like to watch me do it again?"

It was one of those moments that fractures reality, a sudden disorientation that has
you believing you might actually be dreaming. We sat there in dead silence as L
picked at her plate, glancing up at me as though she was still waiting for an answer.
I'm not sure Dave was confident that he still had control. Then, slowly, a little
smile began to grow on her face. L looked up at me, still smiling for a few seconds,
and told me, "I'm not going to have sex with six guys in front of you, so just
relax." A young couple at the next table looked up for a second, then gave each other
a knowing smile before ordering another round of drinks. I glanced back at them. The
pretty, fresh-faced wife saw me, then smiled briefly into her lap.

Later that night, as we slipped into bed in Dave's guest room, it was still a nagging
thorn in my side.

"Would you really spend another week with him, and let God knows how many more guys
fuck you? All in one night?" I asked, hedging my bet she wouldn't reopen old wounds.

"Are you kidding?" she told me. "A week by the pool with a man who buys me expensive
dresses, wines and dines me like I'm his princess...". She paused a second and smiled
at me. "...and can seduce me with intelligent conversation? Why wouldn't I want that?"

"You know what I mean," I went on. "Owning you for the week, changing you into, well,
something - um, somebody else. You act like the last time never happened. Like it was
nothing. You were a mess."

I didn't get the response I wanted. She laughed at me. For far too long. I let my
exasperation show with a frustrated sigh. Were we going to fight our first night
here?

L put a bare leg over me, then rolled on top of me. Her laugh hadn't died completely,
but her eyes were sympathetic.

"C'mon, do you really believe he could change me into someone else, permanently? I
know you're excited, but aren't you letting your imagination get the best of you?
He's an amazing guy, but I think you're giving him super powers."

I didn't find much consolation in that - had it not been for Dave, L might never have
become a hotwife. But honestly, it wasn't all his doing. My initial fantasies, and
L's innate potential had played a large part. Had he changed her more than I ever
could have on my own? I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to that.

"Besides," she whispered, "something very hard is telling me you like the thought of
it." She was rotating her hips against me, pushing my erection into the soft pillow
of her lower belly. That, and her quiet whispers of how many times Dave would have
her before the week was over, made me forget his super powers. Well, mostly.
Lovemaking turned to fucking after a minute, and we made enough noise to wake the
dead. Dave may take her as many times as he wanted during our stay, but I'd damn well
let him know that I was first this time. Right. Absolutely.

L tensed suddenly and gasped. Dave stood by the bed, watching. What I thought was L's
approaching orgasm was actually her shocked response when she noticed the dark figure
looming over us. She was off me in a second, and we both lay there, naked, still
breathing hard, startled by his presence.

"As your host, I feel obligated to finish what you started, Don," he told me. He
stepped out of the shadows and opened his robe. He had a raging hard-on, just as mine
was slowly losing its rage. I caught myself staring at it as I never had before - I
had never really looked that closely at his cock. I had seen it many times in the
past, sliding in and out of L, and at more of a distance as L held the purple head in
her mouth. But now I realized I had always been careful to steer clear of any
connection to the homoerotic. Now it was only a few feet from me, at the edge of the
bed, and I couldn't stop staring.

There was no desire to suck him, or even touch him, but here was the cock that L had
taken inside her so often, the first cock she had taken after many years of faithful
marriage. She had run her fingers over it so many times, taken it between her lips
and her legs both as a lover, and as willing victim to a harsh master. She must know
it so well by now, every inch of thick, veiny stalk and angry, reddened head. Why
shouldn't I look, study it, capture the memory of its powerful urgency minutes before
he fucks her?

I left the bed, knowing it was my turn to retreat to the shadows. Dave took my place
beside L, kissing her deeply as his hand moved between her legs. She was still
breathing deeply, and what little light filtered into the room from the hallway
revealed her flat belly rising and falling, her skin damp and shiny with sweat. It
was sweat that she had given up to me only minutes before as she panted on top of me,
teasing me with images exactly like this one as her orgasm, and mine, approached.

I went to her side of the bed, opened a condom, gave it to her, and watched as she
slowly, lovingly, rolled it over his cock. She looked so adoring, on her knees,
attending to the rigid cock that rose from the new master of her bed, an adulterous
handmaiden preparing the instrument that would unleash the animal in her, and her
final bliss.

There wasn't any lovemaking when he mounted her. They fucked - immediately and
furiously. In minutes L was crying out, coming under him, her head thrashing from
side to side in one of the most violent orgasms that I'd ever seen from her. He was
rough with her, battering her harder as she came, and she loved it. It seemed to
prolong her orgasm, and her cries of pleasure. The sounds of his grunting were all
too familiar, and I knew that had the condom not been in place, the urgency of his
thrusts meant that he would have filled her with everything he had. He had taken her
violently, and she had accepted with the same violence. Then, just as quickly, it was
done.

We held each other after Dave returned to his own bed. With the nagging reminder of
my erection still digging into her belly, L told me softly, "You can make love to me
if you want." I wasn't sure how to answer. I'm not into pity-fucks, and L's offer
wasn't one of lust. Why did she really want this? To feel closer to me after sex with
him? She admitted as much in the past, but had always simply climbed on top of me and
shown me. She had never passively "allowed" me, with words like these. Or, was this
insurance, her concern that my ego wouldn't last the week without some careful
stroking?

When I didn't answer, she tugged at me, pulling me on top of her. "Make love to me,"
she whispered again. This time her words were laced with the heat I recognized. She
was still soaked between her legs, so wet that I wondered if the condom had broken. I
was inside her so quickly, so easily.

"No... ," she told me gently, "... get a condom."

"What? Why?" I was already inside her, thrusting, lost in the sensation. My God, she
was so wet!

"Because he wants you to. He made me promise while we're here."

She didn't give any more explanation than that. She just looked up at me with
expectant eyes that told me I could have her too, under the same conditions. Well, I
was here to play too, so I put the condom on and slipped back inside her. Besides, I
knew I'd never get any sleep until I got off, and the conditions were a hundred times
better than sneaking away into the night to jerk off.

L lay there quietly under me while I pushed into her. She warned at my second stroke
to go slowly, that she was a little sore, but other than that seemed content to lie
there and watch me. There was no reciprocation, no heavy breathing, just a contented
smile on her face as she ran her hands over my chest and shoulders.

"You like to watch him fuck me, don't you?" she whispered as I sweated over her.
"Watching him fuck me with his big, hard cock? His cock feels so good, Don. Sooo
good. I want him in me, Don. I want you to see him in me, to see him make me come. He
makes me come sooo hard, Don. You like that, don't you? Watching me come with him?
Watching him come inside me?"

As heated as her words were, she continued to lie there calmly, yet seductively,
allowing me to have her, urging me on with images of her and her lover fucking. I was
beyond any concern of pity-fucking. I was beyond any bruised ego, even as my wife
passively allowed me to have her after rutting with her lover. She was still smiling
as I came - that same contented smile that, under these conditions, often meant
something else entirely.

Afterwards, I lay beside her in the dark, replaying the events of that night,
digesting them, committing images and words to memory, weighing their effects on me,
and ultimately on L as well. Dave had taken her, literally right out from under me. I
watched L accept his cock willingly, greedily, seconds after I had been inside her. I
wondered about the contrast she felt within those seconds. Was the physical
difference between Dave and I - my cock, then his almost immediately - one she could
detect blindfolded? What were her thoughts? Were the changes in her arousal subtle or
overwhelming in those seconds between husband and lover? What would it be like to
know - to really know - her every thought and emotion? As I drifted off to sleep, my
frustration wasn't that my wife's lover had interrupted us while we fucked and had
taken my place inside her, but that I would never completely know her deepest secrets
as she surrendered her orgasm under him.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 2 -

Staying with Dave was a bit like coming home - our room with a spacious bath, the
well-stocked fridge and bar, and the very pool where memories were made that live on
in our hotwifing Hall of Fame. He has a way of making you feel all of it really does
at least partially belong to you. We're never intruders there. Which is a good thing,
because we (or at least I) pay a subtle but expected price for all this comfort - the
unrestrained use of my wife. And yet, Dave has never kept a tally, never acted as
though he extracted the price of his special brand hospitality from us. We're all in
the game together, and although he has a special place in L's heart, and between her
legs, he's never taken advantage of the trust we've given him. In fact, in the past,
at times it felt as though we should somehow reimburse him more than we had - he's
the master of games, and the games are never dull.

As we settled in, there was some adjusting on my part, some recalibration to L's
habits no doubt learned and taken to heart on her last visit without me. She spent
much of the time in the house nude, some days never bothering to dress after her
morning shower. On our second day I noticed she wore her wedding rings on a thin gold
chain about her neck. It was a small thing, but one Dave knew would drive home the
idea that, at least for a while, she wasn't mine anymore. It was a constant reminder
as she strolled around naked, especially outside around the pool. The gold and
diamond that symbolized our marriage glittered against her bare skin, boasting that
our vows had been suspended until she saw fit to place the rings back on her finger.

She played in the pool and sunned herself on the surrounding deck naked as well,
seeming to know just how much sun was tolerable without her clothes. Not that I
minded - I loved looking at her body, especially in circumstances I wasn't used to at
home. I loved that she was so at ease, so comfortable in her skin, as though living
naked with two men was the most natural thing in the world. She had dropped a few
extra pounds lately, and I could tell she was proud of it. She looked absolutely
delicious. Unfortunately, she was the only dish in the house I didn't feel free to
sample at will.

Eventually we all spent time out of our clothes around the pool, which predictably
led to Dave and L making out on a lounge chair while I watched with a very lonely
boner. She rarely let him on top when they fucked, which was an ongoing habit of L's
in our bed at home as well. She loved control, and had learned to get what she
wanted, those subtle little motions and wiggles that hit the right spot for her as a
cowgirl.

Watching her use the same moves with Dave was a bit unsettling at first, but
eventually intriguing - I could watch her from a perspective that told me so much
about her I couldn't know while down under. She worked at him with so much pleasure,
her back arching, covered with tiny droplets of sweat that sparkled in the afternoon
sun. Her sweet little ass and hips swiveled and pumped, sucking his cock inside, then
expelling it, over and over and over, the muscles in her thighs flexing, hard as
heavy rope, then soft as silk again as she rose and fell on his cock. She almost
always came first, then had to finish him with her hand or mouth. When she blew him,
the furious finish was unmistakable - and always with her rings and necklace tossed
carelessly, almost violently back and forth, making little jingling noises that drove
me crazy as she worked on him. It wasn't lost on me that her rings were often soaked
in sweat and semen by the end of the day.

I watched like this for the first two days, feeling too awkward to masturbate to
their fun, but finally gave in on the third. L would notice now and then and threw me
these beaming smiles as she rode him, I suppose happy that I had acclimated, or maybe
just proud that her cowgirl skills were hot enough to get a husband off while
watching another man fuck his wife. Either way, it was great fun, and very liberating
for both of us. L would do her pacing kitten walk over to me after I came, dip a
finger in my come, and tease me about making me taste it. Sometimes her hands were
still wet with his semen, the shallow spaces between her fingers glistening with
little pools of thick, pearly liquid. She'd put the slimy tip of her finger on my
lips and tell me to "open up". I did a few times, to her delight, but it's not my
bag. Still, the look on her face was priceless - it was all about control, and
getting her own way.

When we've played with Dave in the past, there was always protocol. We've done lots
of role playing with him, from off-the-cuff games at his parties, to some fairly
heavy BDSM scenarios in the privacy of our home. This time there didn't appear to be
any. Other than the condoms I had to wear, he never told me L was his for the week,
or what he expected for limits. Unscripted, this could simply be a fun week, the
three of us together with lots of sex. But I've never known Dave not to have a plan,
often with clear and simple beginnings, then evolving into a convoluted maze that had
me twisted in knots by the end.

By mid-week, I wanted to fuck my naked, two-man wife. So, playing the good submissive
husband, I took Dave aside and asked him if I could have sex with my wife while we
were his guests. He looked at me strangely for a few seconds before replying.

"Didn't she tell you? L decides who she fucks this week."

Then, in his usual cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, he said, "You know Don, your odds
aren't looking very good if your own wife hasn't asked you yet. She really hasn't let
you touch her?" He's the best at making one feel very small at critical moments, and
I did feel microscopic. The truth was, he had taken her to his bedroom every night.
Sometimes she'd fall into bed with me at three in the morning, and sometimes neither
of them appeared before breakfast the next day. And at three in the morning, smelling
of sweat and semen, she always had an excuse to keep me waiting, always teasing a
little by draping a bare leg over mine, her soaking wet pussy pressed against my
thigh. Well, at least now I knew I could ask, and I might get lucky. Was there
something wrong with this picture? Nope. The plot just thickens. But I had a feeling
the twists and turns ahead were killers.

We became a comfortable threesome surprisingly soon, thanks to L's ease at having two
full-time men in her life. Whether it was an afternoon visit to an art gallery,
Dave's notorious shopping sprees for L, or just a pleasant walk through a nearby
wooded park, L would walk between us, put an arm around each of us, and wear a smile
more joyous than I had seen in much too long. She'd look up at me, her fingers
probing seductively into my side, then do the same to Dave, always drawing a huge
grin from him.

I'd get this odd mix of emotions; I was elated to see her so alive, so free and
uninhibited, yet at the same time, felt the familiar little pin pricks of angst when
she looked at Dave the way she did. I knew that's what put the spice in our
arrangement, and that Dave had never taken advantage of her adoring stares. I knew
they were exceptionally sexually compatible, but that Dave had never made that a
divisive issue. Still, there was the fact that Dave had made her happier in a few
days than I had seen her in months. Rationally, I knew it was the proximity effect of
new, relaxed surroundings, and having her favorite lover's cock in her night after
night with my patient, tacit permission. I suppose there was a part of me that wanted
to be able to give her this myself, twenty-four/seven. But this was a game, not life,
and I knew L understood that as well. Still, like a potent drug, it was so tempting
to crave a steady supply of it, indefinitely.

But the changes in L ran deeper than a libidinous week under Dave's roof could
account for. I suddenly realized that the woman-child I had known since we met years
ago, the girl I taken my wedding vows beside, was much less a child and much more a
woman these days. There were less giggles, and more thoughtful stares. There was a
hint of calculation in the way she talked, dressed, and even fucked. Always the
tease, she had gradually substituted a kind of "thoughtful omission" for her girlish
innuendo, and replaced much of her old habit of using inhibited euphemisms for sex
with graphic, unapologetic words that fell from her lips like warm honey. "Fool
around" was now often "fuck", and "penis" had become "cock" without a blush.

Yes, it was what I had wanted from the start, all the little details I had bound to
my hotwife fantasies before I ever dreamed L would become one. She had made herself
more exotic, more exciting, more of a woman, almost as if she had been molded by my
fantasies. But L has never been "molded" by anyone. She's always been her own person,
independent, stubborn, and practically immune to change. As much as I welcomed the
siren in her, in a way I mourned the loss of the child. I had always found the
contrast so sexy - the "good little girl" who lapsed into the "dirty little girl" on
a rainy Saturday afternoon, the career professional who confessed she loved the risk
of getting caught by doing "something dirty" in public. It was always about
contrasts, and never knowing when she'd surprise me with the nasty L at the most
unexpected times or places.

But honestly, as a woman-child, L looked to me as more of a parent, and I had become
accustomed to the uneven weight of power in our relationship. That power was shifting
now, to a more equitable balance, and at times even to her favor. It was an exciting,
gratifying, sexy thing to behold. But was I a bit frightened of it as well? Was it
only the loss of my woman-child that made me uneasy, or was it the prickly erosion of
my ego, or even fear of becoming the child to her parent that tickled my angst a bit
more these days? If there had been a shift in power, an exchange that shifts back and
forth between us as husband and wife, I knew Dave had been the agent of change, and
that L had been his apt pupil. As much as I had been the one to plant the seed and
fertilize it, I was now reaping what I had sown. Some of the fruits were bitter, and
some were sweet, but the harvest was inevitable.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 3 -

Dave had planned a party Saturday night, so Friday afternoon he and L went out to
find her party clothes. I wasn't invited to go along, and knew better than to ask. It
was probably better to be surprised anyway. L wore a sexy pair of shorts with little
cuts up the outside of each leg. It was the kind of style that suggested she wanted
to show more, without being slutty, and it worked. I was shocked when I noticed her
gauzy, nearly transparent top. Draped over her bare breasts, it exposed her belly,
and in the right light, her breasts and nipples could be seen as though she wore
nothing over them at all. I bit my tongue at first, then complained. She may be
arrested, I told her. She couldn't go out like that in public, I said.

Dave intervened, explaining that in this climate many women dressed in scanty outfits
there, and that it was accepted in public. I just stared. And as I did, L's nipples
grew hard, obscenely so for public display. I was making things worse. So I looked
away, mumbled something about being careful and to have a good time. L gave me a huge
hug, pressing her pouting nipples against me, and told me I worry too much. Then she
took his hand and walked through the door, her top dissolving in the afternoon sun.

As trusted as he is by us, Dave is also always somewhat of an enigma, so I used the
afternoon to explore the house. There were things I needed to know - blanks I needed
to fill in. The basement was as I remembered it. Just down the hall from our guest
bedroom I found the small but well-stocked wine cellar with a few cases of his
favorite liquor stacked in one corner. It was here, as I helped him restock the
upstairs bar one night, that he prepared me for L's lovemaking with his nephew, Rick.
We watched them quietly from the shadows a few minutes later as L kissed him deeply
for much too long, then finally came, half-whispering, half-crying his name over and
over. I remembered seeing her take his face in her hands and trying to make out the
words she whispered to him, how lovingly she took him in her mouth and finished him,
and how they collapsed together on his sofa and slept there through the night.

Dave's bedroom was on the second floor, a large, neat, sparsely decorated space with
a king-size bed against the far wall. Tall windows lined the adjacent wall, filling
the dark burgundy, thickly carpeted room with afternoon light. There in front of me,
covered with a gleaming white duvet that seemed to glow like a spotlighted stage, was
the bed where he took L so many times. As I stared, motionless, a few feet away, I
imagined how many times she had come in this bed, and wondered what words, what
sounds these walls had heard as he and L fucked, made love, and all the things in-
between that made them such familiar lovers. So many secrets here. Things I would
never know, things said and done, long forgotten by L, or that she would never dare
to tell. It was the bed of the man who first made my wife a hotwife, and I felt small
here in a place he may think I hadn't the privilege to stand. But at the same time, I
again felt this uncanny mix of excitement and loss. Even when submissive, L had the
power here. She was no longer the wife who blushed at the sound of "fuck" or "cock".
Now she used the words, not crudely, but skillfully, manipulating our pillow talk in
a subtle display of her power. I may have told myself we were a threesome while in
his company, but I was a far distant third, a watcher, a giver, not a taker.

I found several other bedrooms on the second floor, all unremarkable in their sparse,
eclectic furnishings and empty closets. At the end of the hallway, inside a doorway
without a door, I found a smaller room lined on one side with the same tall windows I
saw in Dave's room. Everything was stark white here - walls, carpet, the bed -
everything. The mid-day sun was blinding, making the room seem as is if the walls
themselves were the source of the unrelenting, blue-white light. The large, gleaming
white adjoining bath and shower seemed oddly out of place for such a small bedroom,
but uncomfortably odd in another way as well.

Of course - this was L's room during her last week-long stay, Dave's "Story of O"
script, his bet that he could own L after one week alone with her. She wrote in her
diary here, brief letters to me that both excited and shocked me when I finally read
them. It hadn't worked quite as he had planned. L fought unexpected embarrassment and
shame later after giving herself to a small group of men, all in one night. It was a
long healing process, one that seemed to make her more resilient, but with a thicker
skin that sometimes scared me a bit. L confessed, long after the event, that although
initially it was just a game to her, Dave did own a piece of her after that week. She
wouldn't tell me any more than that, as much as I begged to know what piece or how
much I'd have to sacrifice. She'd just smile and assure me that the variety of her
tastes for all things was expanding, and that everything she was to me in the past
was still mine. But the new things? Well, she wouldn't say, but I imagined they were
Dave's. I wished I could know what she went through that week, hoping fragments of
her emotions had stayed behind in that room like ghosts that I could summon. Instead,
the white walls just stared back at me, as though everything there had been
completely consumed.

Downstairs, things were more familiar. It was the place of past parties, events where
I loved watching L on Dave's arm as he presented her to his guests as if she was his
very own. Through the glass doors and lanai was the pool were I had taken part as an
extra, meeting and chatting with some of the most tempting women I had ever seen in
the flesh, then after hours, sharing L with Dave in our first real threesome. These
were memories that grounded me - times when, although the angst was palpable, it
faded quickly. L was joyous here, absorbing everything Dave had to teach her through
each pore of her always overexposed body. We were both students then, with no history
to cherish or regret. There were many ghosts here, and I could almost see them.

Down a short hallway I had never noticed was a single door, the only closed door in
the house. Assuming it was locked, I was surprised when the knob turned freely in my
hand and the door opened into a small room lined with bookcases. A large antique desk
sat in its center, piled with stacks of binders and papers. I browsed as discreetly
as I could, uncomfortable with snooping into Dave's business affairs, but unable to
help myself. There was certainly nothing sexy, only several bound book galleys,
contracts, and rejection letters to authors ready for mailing in open envelopes.

Only one of the desk drawers was unlocked. As I quietly inched it toward me, I was
faced with a photo of L staring up at me. I knew he had taken photos of her during
her last stay, and that he had passed them on to the men who attended her "party" the
last night. But Dave never shared any of these with me, even ones he had taken of her
long ago. I lifted the small collection from the drawer and stared, one by one, at
pictures of my wife.

I had to give him credit - the quality was gorgeous, as though they had been taken in
a studio. As an advanced amateur photographer who had taken many photos of L, in and
out of her clothes, I recognized immediately he was at least as talented as I.

Sprawled on his bed in a black crotchless body stocking, the little petals of her sex
displayed in detail, she had a come-hither look that reeked of a longing for the
photographer himself. Another, taken by the pool, showed her stretched out on a
lounge chair, naked, neck arched backward, mouth open in mid-orgasm, while tiny
droplets of sweat covered her from head to toe, glistening in the sunlight. A third
showed her pressed against the window in her tiny, white bedroom, naked, wrists tied
with black velvet rope above her head, her ass forced backward toward the camera.
There were no shadows in that room, and she was clearly dripping wet between her
legs. The last was on his bed again, this time spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles
tied to the four corners. Two thick, white pillows were tucked under her belly,
raising her ass and exposed sex in the air as she smiled beguilingly over her
shoulder at the camera. It was the smile she gave me, the smile that she used to
answer one of my questions when she couldn't (or wouldn't) use words.

Knowing Dave took these was enough to make me green with envy, not possessive
jealousy, but only because I'd have given anything to see them. He knew that at the
time and refused to show them to me. But were these the photos passed along to other
men? Men who no doubt took them as advertising, then as a preview of the featured
entre in an arranged gang-fuck with a willing wife? How many men had seen these at
the time? And how many by now, many months later?

But why would he keep a few copies in his desk drawer? In an age of digital
photographs, why would he have paper copies at all? It was much easier to email the
files to others, in large numbers. Were these simply his favorites? Would he take a
brief break from his work and masturbate to pictures of L at this very desk? Still,
why not keep them on his computer and bring her to the screen at will?

I felt a sudden chill when I finally realized I was meant to find the photos. Left
alone in the house, tempted by the only closed door, the only unlocked desk drawer?
Dave knew I would find them. He knew I would want to see more. He knew I would obsess
about strangers seeing her like that. And, he knew I couldn't say a word without
revealing I had invaded the privacy of his office. After looking again at each of the
photos for as long as I dared, they went back in the drawer, but not out of my
memory.

By the time L and Dave returned I was sipping a beer by the pool, hoping my erection
would subside before they noticed. It didn't. L noticed, ran up to me grinning, and
gave me kiss. She put her hand down my trunks and made busy with her fingers for a
few seconds. "Wait till you see what we bought!" she gushed, then went back inside,
unbuttoning her top as she went.

Later, L went for a swim while Dave barbecued, and we all sat in the shaded lanai and
talked about their day. L didn't bother to dress after her swim, and I still marveled
at how at ease she had become practically living in the nude. Dave mentioned their
embarrassment at a nice restaurant that afternoon when the management asked them to
leave. It happened that L's transparent top was a bit over the top for their liking.

"Dave bought me a new blouse and we went back, just for fun," she told me. "Anyway, I
was still mortified when they made us leave - but none of the customers seemed to
mind."

I watched her as she blushed, sitting between us, naked as the day she was born,
slowly nibbling at the end of her hotdog bun. A small glop of mustard fell on her
delicious breasts. I wanted more than anything to lick them clean.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 4 -

I found L in my bed Saturday morning, spooned against me. She had put on a one woman
fashion show for us the night before, modeling the clothes Dave had bought her that
afternoon. L was never the type to obsess about clothes, even though fifty pairs of
her shoes took much more than her share of our bedroom walk-in closet. She always
dressed in earth tones, preferring roomy, comfortable styles that, although not
exactly matronly, sent a clear message of professionalism, or the carefree woman-
child inside, depending on the occasion. The styles Dave chose for her (or, they
chose together), were colorful and meticulously fitted, if a bit on the tight side,
which L had always disliked. One was cutting edge modern, while the next was
tastefully retro in a very innocent but subtly sexy way. Blouses were clean and
classic, skirts were short without being slutty, and even the two transparent
negligees were classy and bore frightening price tags.

There was a clear message, not from the clothes alone, but in how L wore them. A
clingy, turquoise silk top became a daring show of pouting nipples as it clung to her
swaying breasts like a second skin. A crisp, white blouse unbuttoned nearly to her
waist revealed even more as it fell open each time she turned to give each of us a
good look. A blue and white summer dress, thin enough to assure anyone she was naked
beneath it, became nearly transparent when light shone through it from behind. But it
was her attitude that surprised me. She was showing off, twirling, grinning, swaying
her hips, leaning toward us just enough to promise her body might be ours, then
whirling away again to disappear, reappearing in a new outfit that flaunted her body
in a different way. It was sexy. It was fun. But it was also uncomfortably not L.
These were astonishingly close to stripper moves. Where did she learn to do this so
suddenly?

There was an edge to the evening, an edge that was no doubt to remind me that the new
L was Dave's - dressed by him, seduced by him - as though she was more than his house
guest. I felt she was his creation during these times, and although I loved her in
her sexy new role, it was a role she played because of him, not me. He truly could
"own" her at times, and the boiling intimacy just below the surface had me more
nervous each time they served me some of it. And they enjoyed doing just that -
teasing, pushing, retreating, ramping the anxiety, knowing I couldn't watch but
couldn't look away. In the end, Dave took her hand and led her upstairs to his room,
leaving me alone with my angst and confusion. Resigned to spending another night
without sex, I retired to my basement bedroom, masturbated while imagining how he was
using my wife's hungry little body just two floors above me, and fell into a fitful
sleep. My dreams were vivid and disturbing, and I woke several times through the
night with a pleading erection.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 5 -

"Wanna have sex?"

They were the first words she uttered that Saturday morning. They were soft, sexy,
and she whispered them in my ear to wake me. I could feel her bare breasts against my
back and her thighs tucked up under mine. Her hand found my dick, and she milked it
gently, breathing a little "Mmmm..." as she felt it come to life.

"You know I love you, right?" she said, suddenly more serious. "You have to remember
it's a game, OK? This week, but especially today, tonight. I don't mean I don't like
it - I do. I like being with him, and I like teasing you, because I know it's what
you want. But it has to be what we want. I don't want us to regret this when we go
back home."

Her invitation to have sex now sounded ominous. Another twist. Another turn. Was it
L's, or Dave's?

"You know Dave pretty well. He's never done anything to hurt us, has he? I mean,
everything we've been through with him has been good, hasn't it?"

"I'm not so sure of that," I told her. "Your last visit here? Was that good?"

She paused for a few seconds, then sighed.

"I just wasn't ready. But maybe I never would have been - until he pushed me. I'm not
ashamed of what I did. Not now."

Outwardly she had fully recovered, but I still had my suspicions that the damage was
deeper than she let on, or recognized. It had changed her. Again I was reminded that
with the changes, as a more mature, sexually adventurous woman, some of the child I
loved was gone. We had both gained and lost, but in my case I suspected my sum
balance wasn't equal to hers.

I was always the practical one, the over-thinker, the worrier, as L put it. Now, for
L's sake, and my own, this wasn't the time to overthink. And to her point, we had
always come away from Dave's games richer in memories, and closer as a married
couple. Still, I didn't know how to answer her. She wanted encouragement, approval,
and my trust that all was as she claimed. Without my approval, I suddenly worried I
could have undone much of what Dave had made her. I could have my little girl back,
my blushing bride who only teased me under the covers at night, and who quietly
harbored fantasies that she would never share. The sudden realization that I might
have that power, to one-up the rival for my wife, was an almost overpowering
temptation. But in another instant, I sensed the selfishness in that decision,
knowing that I'd abandon my dignity forever for the emotional rush of the short-
sighted, macho attempt to out-play a rival who was only an imaginary one at that.
There was only one right path to take.

"OK," I told her. "I believe you."

She went to the nightstand to get a condom, opened it, pulled the covers off me, and
rolled it on with practiced skill. It occurred to me that we had used more condoms
since meeting Dave than we had used during our entire marriage. It was a little dig
he used when we first role-played, and I remembered him telling us one night that L
was allowed no contact with my semen throughout the night, only his. It was only
implied, but I knew he was planting the idea that if L was impregnated that night, it
certainly wouldn't be by me. He'd made L milk me with the condom on, then made her
boil the contents in the microwave. Funny how those memories come flooding back when
you're feeling completely powerless.

"We're going to try something new," L said, again retrieving a small object from the
nightstand. "You've been through a lot this week, and I know I haven't been here for
you for sex, so I want to make it up to you. Men are supposed to love this - it
massages your prostate while you come. Can I?"

I recognized it - a small, squiggly looking phallus with plastic loops on one end,
advertised as the "ultimate" prostate massager. We had never tried anything like it,
and I knew the toy was new to L. No doubt it was Dave's idea. I didn't ask.

Surprisingly, L knew how to use it, probably after being given instructions by Dave.
Or had they already played with it in private? She posed me on the bed, on hands and
knees, lubed the thing, and slowly invaded my ass for the first time. I didn't like
it. It felt cold and foreign, and made me feel just a little too submissive. I
couldn't help recalling pictures of leather-clad Dommes with huge strap-ons,
violently pegging some poor guy whose ass must be taking a beating I couldn't
imagine. L kept asking if it hurt, and it did for a while, but I went with the game,
just as she wanted.

She circled the bed and leaned in to face me, stroking my shoulders and chest,
telling me how wonderful the week had been, and thanking me for bringing her. She
climbed on the bed beside me, reached between my legs, and walked her fingers over
the condom as she told me how she posed and stripped for Dave the night before in his
room, how she teased him like she often teased me, and how finally he tied her to the
bed and took her just the same way she was taking me now. She closed her hand around
the condom, squeezing and releasing as she whispered, "I loved it, Don. I came with
him in my ass. The first time that's ever happened. I want you to feel it too. I want
you to feel that good. Tell me, Don. Tell me you want him to do it to me again. Tell
me you want me to do it to you too. Tell me you want all that...please...tell
me...tell...me...tell me..."

I'd have said anything, anything, to make love to my wife for the first time that
week. I told her she could have whatever she wanted, with him, with other men, any
kind of sex, any time she wanted, and that I'd do anything to be allowed to have her,
then and there, on that bed. She kissed me deeply, so deeply that I was left shaking,
thrusting my poor cock in the air, so close to finally having her. She rolled off the
bed and went behind me again, pulling my cock back between my legs, gently stroking
it with both hands. The damned condom dulled what I expected from her agile fingers -
it was fucking torture knowing how good she was with her hands, and how I'd already
have come without the condom. She began squeezing and milking when I started to lose
my erection, knowing what it took to bring me right up to the edge. Still, it wasn't
the most pleasant feeling - bound in the condom, with the plastic prostate gizmo in
my ass.

"I have so many nasty stories to tell you when we get home," she purred. "Things he
won't let me tell you now, things we did here in the house that you never knew about,
things we did in public, just yesterday. I know you're jealous sometimes when you see
us together. I know sometimes you think it's more than just sex. But he treats me
like a cheap whore in public, Don. He tells men we don't even know how good I am in
bed - all the filthy things I do to him, and that my husband knows everything. He
whispers to me that I'm his piece of meat. He tells his friends I'm the tightest
married pussy he's ever had because you've never fucked me like he does."

She began to rock the prostate plug slightly as she talked, then worked it in and out
so slowly I wasn't sure exactly when she had begun. There was a sudden urge to piss
and come at the same time, held in check by my desperate need to hear more of the
soft onslaught of words that had only been shared by L and her lover. She milked me
harder and faster, pulling my condom-skinned cock back toward her while she talked.

"But you know what, Don? I don't know why, but I like it. I like the way men look at
me when they think I'm sexy, when they imagine what I might do with them. I like
being the slutty girl I was never allowed to be, flashing my boobs in public, not
wearing panties, not having any doubts that men want me. But most of all, I love it
when he ties me up and fucks me, Don. He plays with me, does things to my body,
things that make me lose control and submit to anything, anyone. And I come, Don...so
hard, so many times with him...oh God I can't tell you how good it feels when he
pounds me with his cock - over, and over, and over inside me until he comes too..."

It was a helpless release when I came listening to her confessions, as though every
shred of control over my bodily functions vanished at the same instant. And yet, it
wasn't like any orgasm I had known before. It was a loss of awareness of everything
around me, an instantaneous lapse into a drug-like state that was euphoric for an
instant, then faded as everything was slowly drained from me - all my energy, all
concern and angst, and all sexual arousal as well. I felt I was shrinking as my
internal fluids were sucked from me, as though L's grip on my cock was some ultimate
vacuum, sucking me dry as she toyed with my prostate using a kind of magic touch that
she had kept a secret until that very moment. And it refused to stop. Pleasure became
emptiness, which eventually became pain. When I begged her to stop, she did, stroking
me lightly as I collapsed on the bed. She sat there beside me, fresh and pink and
naked as I opened my eyes to reclaim reality. Her touch was calming, reassuring - but
the touch of a wife, not a siren I needed to fuck.

"See - I told you," she purred. "Now you know. You see things differently, the way I
did the first time. It's wonderful isn't it? And it gets better, and better, and
better, each and every time."

Really? The same way it felt to her the first time she took his cock in her ass? That
would take some convincing. And I wasn't yet convinced.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 6 -

Dave was gone when we surfaced for breakfast. L and I had showered together and
dressed after our morning...well, I suppose it was sex. It was her turn when she
gently pushed me to my knees under the hot water and I lapped at her freshly shaved
pussy until she cried out, thrusting her hips against my mouth and moaning that I ate
her better than any man ever had. I supposed it was a compliment. I took what I could
get under the circumstances.

L seemed as full of energy as I was drained. She flitted about the kitchen making us
French toast and bacon as though she had lived there for years. I couldn't help
staring as she put my plate in front of me. She had chosen a tiny pair of pink
elastic shorts for the day, no doubt purchased on her shopping trip with Dave. Her
smooth belly pooched just a little above the deep V in the front that plunged almost
to her clit. Everything beneath was outlined in exquisite detail under the thin
material, and I suspected that if she stretched a bit farther to reach the plates on
the top shelf, the pretty little nub of her clit would be freed into the fresh air
and morning light. It was as though the chance of exposing her sex was more shocking
than seeing it fully bare, as I had only just recently as I tasted her in the shower.
She wore nothing else, and I supposed that when Dave arrived she would strip off the
shorts as well to satisfy him.

We ate in relative silence, with L glancing up only now and then to grin at me. I ate
like I had been emptied, and she made me seconds, then thirds. A full stomach did
wonders for me, and we cleaned the kitchen, then went for a walk in a nearby park. L
was clingy and giggly for a change. She never took her arm from around my waist, and
wanted to stop at every hidden clearing to make out. She kissed lovingly, not
fiercely, and her kisses were long and heartfelt. She'd run her finger over the fly
of my shorts now and then, but nothing was rising inside. Not that I didn't want her,
but I was still feeling empty below my belt, and a little sore where my prostate had
taken a very rough "massage". Not that there weren't plenty of other guys we passed
that would have been up for the task. L wore the same tiny pink shorts, adding a red
and white checkered blouse but left it unbuttoned halfway down the front. It reminded
me of what she told me - that she loved flashing men in public - and she took every
opportunity to show that she was naked beneath it. I watched guys do double-takes and
stare, a few even daring a whistle as she walked by. But L only had eyes for me, and
it felt pretty damned good.

We stopped for lunch at an outdoor cafe, and I ate like I hadn't had breakfast. L
picked at a salad, then finished with a slice of her favorite desert - cheesecake.
Our waitress wore a top that rivaled L's for attention grabbing, and was so well-
endowed that all surrounding attention was on her, not L. Still, L was dazzling,
sitting across from me in her open blouse and with her new care-free attitude, and I
felt things beginning to stir again down below.

As I stood at the register to pay our tab (our busty waitress was busy flirting with
a table of men in business suits), I noticed a young blond girl in a red mini dress
standing at our table, talking to L. Although our waitress had all the guys'
attention, L told me that the girl said she had hoped I was just a friend or
relative, and asked if L would consider having a drink with her sometime. I wondered
if everyone could see the new L, flaunting her sexuality with abandon. I knew men
wanted her, but now it was women as well - or at least one ballsy lesbian with very
good taste. I could tell L was flattered, but I knew girls weren't her thing, under
any circumstances.

She laughed it off as we walked home, but mentioned, "She was really pretty, don't
you think?"

"You'd make a sexy couple," I joked.

"Don't worry," she assured me. "That's one thing Dave hasn't taught me."

She paused, thinking for a second.

"Now, maybe if he had a wife...".

Her sly grin told me she was teasing again, in spite of my mental picture of L and
the blond writhing and moaning, naked on our bed together as I watched.

We had the house to ourselves again when we returned very late that afternoon. L
slipped out of her blouse and shorts and went for a soothing swim, so I followed her
into the pool, leaving my clothes on the tile deck. We splashed and played like kids,
finally taking turns groping each other under the water. L led me to a grassy spot
beyond the pool, went to her knees, and sucked me while she cupped my balls in her
talented fingers. She had me urgently hard, over and over, slipping me in her mouth,
then backing off, looking up lovingly at me as my dick twitched in the air. When I
suggested we go inside to finish, she whispered, "No - here." When I worried the
neighbors might be listening on a Saturday afternoon, she said, "Let them." She
brushed the grass from her knees, then told me, "Keep your leaky friend hard - I'll
be right back."

Soon I watched her pace back toward me from the house carrying two huge white towels
in her arms. She wore one of Dave's bright white dress shirts and nothing else. She
spread the towels out on the grass and guided me to one of them. "I want you right
here," she told me with an evil smile. I lay back just where she wanted me, and she
climbed on top, straddling me, her moist pussy resting on my cock. "Oh - wait," she
said suddenly. Reaching into the folds of the second towel, she held up a single
condom, still in its wrapper. "You know the rules, right? Dave doesn't want you in me
without protection." Without giving me time to object, she opened it and rolled it
onto my impatient erection, then sank down onto it, taking me inside her tight little
pussy I remembered so well.

She fucked me like a demon - for a little while. "Oh - I forgot - you liked this so
much, I wanted to try it again." She stood and retrieved the plastic massager from
the towel, placed a dab of lube on the end, and told me to roll over.

"Well, I think I've had enough of that kind of fun today," I told her, a little
worried about what a second session might feel like.

"Well, Don, if you want back inside me, this is the only way - Dave's rules, you
know?"

I'd have done just about anything to have her after watching her prance around naked
all week, knowing Dave had taken her every night since we arrived and I could only
stand by, limp and disappointed. So I let her impale me with the thing again, rolled
over, and felt the fist of my wife's pussy close tightly around my dick. I put my
hands on her as she rode me, sliding them up under the shirt and over her firm
breasts, feeling her nipples harden under my fingertips. She closed her eyes and
moaned. And she fucked me like her life depended on making me come inside her.

It was an odd sensation, and slightly more pleasant this time. I could feel the thing
pressing against me inside, still foreign, but sending little stabs of pleasure
through my groin and belly each time she rocked and pressed into me. When I raised my
hips into her, the thing pushed back with a sudden rude reminder that it was still
there, hard and unforgiving, filling me like Dave must have filled her on so many
nights.

Then, suddenly, she moved off me, rolling the condom off with an intense expression,
as though following Dave's past instructions.

"I want to see you. I want to see you come. Not in this thing - for real, on my
fingers - all over my hand, Don. Will you do that for me?" She was already milking
me, and without the damned condom it felt amazing.

"If I could only show you how good he makes me feel. When he's in my mouth, or my
pussy, or even my ass, I feel so owned by him, Don. Yes, he takes me, but I'm giving
him everything too, every ounce of pleasure I can give a man, and at the same time,
I'm getting so much from him, more than any sex I've ever had. I just collapse inside
and become whatever he wants me to be. Can you let go, Don? Can you let me show you
how that feels?"

She began working the plastic massager against my prostate, in and out, quickly, with
short little stabs that almost vibrated. She was between my legs looking at me,
grasping and releasing the base of my cock as she talked.

"He owns my body now, Don. You know that, don't you? He fucks me over, and over, and
over, and I can't help it - I come so hard, so many times with him. But you know that
too, don't you, Don? You want him to fuck me, don't you? You want him to make me come
with his cock in me, don't you, Don? You think about us together, fucking, coming,
and me being a slave to a man who isn't my husband? When I tell you I love his cock
so much I can't stop thinking about it, it makes you come, doesn't it, Don? Doesn't
it? Doesn't it?"

I gave up everything with her last few words, grunting, thrusting, and imagining them
together with L's face in perpetual orgasmic bliss. And with her firm, skillful
fingers still clutching the base of my cock while she pumped the plastic massager in
my ass, I came in a small, steady river that covered the waiting hand that not long
ago displayed the shiny gold band dangling from the chain about her neck. A split
second later, as I felt her nails lightly rake the head of cock, she told me, "He
owns us both, Don. Now he owns us both." I just kept coming, spurting, thrashing
around on the grass-stained towel as she pumped the plastic cock into my ass and
watched me give her everything. And in those few seconds, I knew she was right.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 7 -

Dave returned home with a companion. I recognized her perfect, hard body and shining
blond hair immediately. It was Gail, the mysterious woman I had met at an earlier
party here. There are pretty women, and then there are the drop-dead gorgeous ones.
Gail put all of them to shame. With the most stunning face and body I had ever seen
in the flesh, she was the kind of woman men stare at from a distance but fear to
approach. She had been aloof at the party, but spoke to me a few times about L and
Dave together, telling me how lucky L was to be on his arm (and to have him as a
regular fuck as well, I assumed).

Gail's relationship to Dave was never clear, but I always thought she may have been
an ex-wife, or at least one of his special conquests. Dave kept all his relationships
close to the vest, and we tried to respect his privacy, as he respected ours. Still,
although L never mentioned her, her cool, confident sexuality and catlike stroll
through the crowd of guests never left my memory.

An hour before the Dave's guests were to arrive, he took me downstairs to the room I
(almost) shared with L, and Gail led L upstairs, whispering to her along the way.
Dave explained to me that tonight I might be pushed farther than he ever had before,
and that L would be as well. He asked if I could take outwardly exposing L and me as
a hotwife couple to a few of his closest friends. I admitted that I had a pretty good
idea at least some of those who attended his past parties already knew, and that L
had told me he had shown suggestive (or filthy?) pictures of her to the men who took
her when she was there last. He smiled for a second, and agreed I was correct. But
tonight was to be mixed company, six additional guests, three couples, that he had
chosen just for our occasion. When I reminded him that L had always refused to share
me with other women, and that swinging was definitely not on her menu - ever - he
smiled a second time.

"I know her well enough to know that, Don," he told me. "Tonight is a fantasy come
true for both of you, but not in ways you might expect. So I wouldn't count on
getting lucky if I were you, if you know what I mean. But there will be an audience
tonight, so if you don't think you can take sharing what L and you are, in front of a
small, sympathetic group of my friends, let me know now." When I asked him what L
thought, he told me, "Just leave L to me. Tonight she's not your concern."

He had done it again. He had planted the seed of excitement, fear, and confusion
while pushing me toward an uncertain situation that may test my limits. Usually I'd
have L by my side when we gave in to his game. I could tell by the look in her eyes,
and often the flush of excitement on her face, that she was a willing player. I
wondered what he had told her, and what Gail was preparing her for. Was she as
willing as before, or would I notice a hint of hesitation, or even objection on her
face if she was there beside me? Knowing we were in this as a team was important to
us, and by separating us at the time a decision had to be made, Dave had severed that
link.


***


Dave is all about ritual and ceremony, but there wasn't any of that when he brought
me back upstairs to meet his guests. He introduced me to them, and we made small talk
as if it were one of his ordinary parties, if you could call any of Dave's parties
ordinary.

A gorgeous Asian woman in her thirties flirted with me as her fiftyish husband stood
by and smiled cordially. She was as tall as I, at least 6'1", and had long dark hair
that fell in a gleaming sheet to her waist. Her green dress was so tightly fitted
that I had to imagine her naked beneath the delicate, silky material. A slit along
the thigh that opened to her hip practically guaranteed it. She kept touching me as
she spoke, her green eyes drilling into me when I answered. She seemed to enjoy
playing the hypnotic predator as her husband watched with pride and satisfaction.

A WASPy couple in their mid-thirties greeted me as though they knew me, and I soon
remembered them (well, at least her) from a former party. He could have been an
accountant, or a banker, with his clean-cut vanilla good looks and round, Harry
Potter horn-rimmed glasses. She could have been a school teacher, fresh-faced and
reserved, with golden blond hair that fell in loose curls to her shoulders. Imagining
her cheating on her husband had my heart racing. I knew all too well how exciting it
was for him each time his "innocent" wife was "corrupted" by yet another lover. I
could almost see that tangle of thick, golden hair soaked with her lovers' semen.

The third couple was as mismatched as I could ever imagine - he towered over her by
at least a foot, with huge arms and a body insanely bulked by thousands of hours in
the gym. She was petite, but just as obviously a gym rat, with toned arms and legs
and a waist that would have been the pride of any fitness model. He pumped my hand
when we met and seemed to have the aggressiveness of a stereotypical Bull. She was
severely introverted, with a quiet little Jennifer Tilley voice. Sweet and
vulnerable, with a body that could give a man a boner at fifty yards, I wondered how
many men would dare to look twice with a husband like hers at her side.

Several sofas, a love seat, and some extra chairs had been arranged in a large oval
in the center of the room. Dave served the wine, and tiny chocolaty morsels topped
with fresh strawberries, with the warning that the kick from the wine was nothing
compared to his "brownies". I watched the other guests imbibe and partake of what I
understood to be Dave's pre-party "inhibition relaxants", and ingested with similar
caution. I may have overdone it with the brownies.

Eventually, Dave led me to a small leather recliner with buckled leather restraints
attached to the arms and base, which I now realized might be my chosen observation
spot for the entire evening. Dave buckled me in, smiled, and asked, "Are you ready?"
The room was already spinning a bit, and I remember asking where L was. "She's here,"
he told me. "This is her night. Are you ready to watch her?" I told him I was, but I
wasn't sure what I was ready for. I imagined her being given the choice of any man in
the room to fuck, and wondered whom she would choose, if not all of them. Or maybe
she and Dave would fuck, giving L her secret fantasy of doing it in public, or at
least in front of an agreeable audience. I remembered L's college story, when she
reluctantly admitted that while having sex with a guy in an upstairs frat house
bedroom, realizing that a small group was watching the entire time made her very
horny. As adamant as she was about swinging in the true sense of the word, she still
loved fucking where the neighbors might hear us, or a stranger might happen by to
see.

As Dave turned away, I saw L come down the stairs with Gail beside her. They held
hands as they took one step after another, certainly not looking like sisters, but
very much like good friends, and both very beautiful. Everyone's attention was on
them. Gail's glowing platinum hair and tiny black dress offered a stunning look at
her perfect long legs and plunging neckline. L was dressed much more conservatively
in what appeared to be a black business suit. As she reached the bottom of the
stairs, I could see she had nothing on under the jacket, the deeply cut opening above
the buttons exposing the inner curves of her bare breasts. Gail gave her a quick kiss
on the cheek and handed her off to Dave, who introduced her to the three couples,
much as he had done with me.

Dave dimmed the lights after L's arrival, and I struggled to see across the room as L
met the others. She glanced at me now and then, but quickly looked away. She was
pretty good at Dave's games when the time was right, almost always able to fall into
the role he had for her. L was so surprisingly good at times it was hard to tell when
she was acting. She always claimed she said and did things that she knew would excite
me, but there was always some doubt on my part that her performances were rehearsed,
evidenced by a certain inflection of her voice, or an all-too-real sob of pleasure
when she submitted to Dave's Dom persona. There was an increasing bite in her words
when she told me she'd rather fuck him than me during one of his scripts that had L
and I owned by him. Sometimes I wondered which she relished more - the words or their
meaning. I'm not complaining. It's always been L's private mysteries that make her
surprisingly hot at the most unexpected times.

Then, as they stood in near darkness across the room from me, The Asian woman reached
forward and unbuttoned L's jacket. She spread the lapels so everyone could see, and I
could hear her comments to the others - "such pretty little things, aren't they?" L
stood angled away from me, but I could make out the curve of her bare breast jutting
from behind the black lapel, her nipple pink and hard, her smile never fading as she
sipped her wine. When the huge body-builder spread the lapels of her jacket wider and
lowered it off her shoulders a few inches, I'm sure I saw her straighten her
shoulders a little, pushing her breasts up and outward for him to admire. When he
took her nipple lightly between his fingers, L jumped and pulled away for a second,
but then let him fondle her breasts until Dave stepped in to dress her again.

Slow, somber music seemed to signal everyone that the show was about to begin. They
took their places on the couches around the oval as Dave led L toward me, through the
single spot light over the empty oval's center. When they stopped in front of me, L
finally looked down at me, but with a cold expression I didn't recognize. The room
was deathly silent.

Dave turned L to face his guests, and began.

"Tonight is about corruption of the innocent. Our guests tonight are a married couple
- a husband who has willingly shared his wife with other men, and a wife who gives
him his fantasy by surrendering her body to the whims of others. So, is she innocent?
Has she been unfaithful to her husband? Yes - many times, at least with me. How many
times, L? How many times have I fucked you? How many times have you begged me to fuck
you?"

She answered so quietly I couldn't hear her. He told her to speak up, to tell
everyone.

"Many times," she answered. "I don't know how many."

"More than ten times?" he asked.

"Yes"

"More than twenty?"

"I don't know - maybe. Yes."

"Did you enjoy it, every time, L? Be honest."

"Yes"

"Was it better than with your husband? Again, we want the truth."

"I - don't know - not always..."

"Aren't you sure, L?"

"No - um - I mean - I don't count them. I don't always compare you to him."

"But you do, don't you? At least much of the time. You do compare us. Don't you?"

"I - I guess - sometimes."

"You can be honest, L. No one's here to judge you. You compare me to your husband
every time we fuck, don't you?"

After a long silence, she whispered, " Yes..."

"And, are your orgasms better with me?"

"Sometimes..."

"Don't be coy, L. Think of all the times we've fucked. Think of all the times you and
your husband have fucked. Do you come harder with me? Are your orgasms better with my
cock inside you?"

L lowered her head showing reluctance or shame for the first time. She turned and
looked directly into my eyes when she answered. A microsecond of a grin. A break from
the script? Was it involuntary, or a safety net?

"Yes - they are. I'm sorry, but they are. It's true."

A murmur rose in the room, and I could see the others whispering among themselves.

"So we have as our guest tonight a wife who gets more pleasure from other men's cocks
than from her own husband's," Dave continued. "But can she still be innocent? Tell
us, L, before tonight, have you told your husband that I fuck you better than he
does? That you come harder in my bed?"

"No. I couldn't do that."

"But you realize, that by your confession here tonight, you're no longer innocent.
You've corrupted yourself with your confession to your husband, and to everyone in
this room. You're no longer the pretty little wife who lies to her husband about his
cock, about how other men, including me, are better. But you probably think that's
hardly enough to corrupt you completely in his eyes. Words are cheap. You would have
to do more to convince him, right?"

"H-He won't believe it. Not really. I've said lots of things when we play - but it's
a game - he always knows it's a game."

"Well, maybe you're right. Maybe."

He put a hand on L's shoulder, and gently pushed her to her knees in front of me.

"The last time we spent time together here, that very enjoyable week without your
husband, do you remember what you told me before leaving, L?"

"Y-Yes"

"Why don't you repeat it, now? Tell me again what you told me then."

"That you own me."

Again the sound of hushed voices rose in the background. It wasn't only what she
said, it was how she answered him. There was no hesitation in her voice. Was I
imagining that there was even a hint of pride as she stared up at him?

"And do you still feel owned when you're in my home, even when your husband is with
you?"

"Yes"

"If I tell you to take my cock in your mouth in front of all these people and your
husband, what will you do?"

"I'll do it, if you want me to. I'll do it for you."

L's eyes were glassy and wide, and she was breathing heavily. Everything seemed to
fade into the background except her face and her moist lips as she said the words out
loud - that she wanted to suck his cock. In fact, her face wasn't completely
recognizable and seemed to morph slightly until all I could see was her mouth, her
hungry, cock-sucking mouth, begging for it. Then her face would return, the sweet
face I knew, but with the same wet, hungry mouth.

Dave reached down, took her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.

"If I tell you to do your husband first, will you, L? After telling him other men are
better, do you think you can make him hard, make him come?"

"Yes, if you want me to."

"So, you think he still sees you as innocent? That you're playing a game for him? And
that he'll get hard just like he used to when his little wifey puts her lips around
his dick?"

"Yes"

"Then show us."

L unzipped me, loosened my belt, and opened my pants. I was already partially hard,
and couldn't wait to feel her mouth on me. I felt hyper- sensitized. Every time L
touched my pants I imagined growing bigger and harder. Her fingertips were electric,
yet soft and comforting. I was aware of those around us, but at a level that didn't
seem to matter. I felt L's lips guide the head of my dick inside her mouth - her
warm, sucking mouth. I imagined us alone on a warm beach, my cock immense and hard,
my loving, horny wife eagerly devouring it. There was a sense of timelessness, that
we could go on forever, her sucking, me coming, her greedy little belly never too
full to take more of my come.

Reality intervened when the ache between my legs intruded. I opened my eyes to see L
still sucking, harder and harder, her fingers pulling and stretching me. But I was
completely limp. It was a chilling feeling, like the sudden jolt of car accident.
Goosebumps rose over my entire body as I watched L's futile attempt to bring me back
to life. The ache in my belly and cock began to grow - a dull, throbbing that was
strangely familiar. Now I was aware of the people around me, and it wasn't pretty.

Finally Dave moved her away slightly, and my ever more flaccid dick fell from her
lips. She just sat there on her knees, her hands on my thighs, staring at me, pupils
as large as dimes.

"So, do you think he believes you now, L?" Dave asked. "Do you think he knows that
he's only a small part of your sex life, that I, and so many other men as well,
satisfy you more?"

"I don't know - I don't know why he can't get hard - I want him to get hard. I really
tried. But, he just can't."

"Now, now - you can't blame yourself, L. We both know that I taught you to suck cock,
and that no one is better at it. So redeem yourself for us. Suck me."

I'll never forget how eagerly she opened his pants and had his cock in her hands,
then how greedily she licked and sucked. He was huge, instantly, and stayed that way
until he stopped her minutes later.

"You need to tell him, L. He needs to hear it. Do you want to stay an innocent
forever? Do you want him to see you that way? Look him in the eye. Make him
understand."

L knelt between my legs again. My dick was still exposed, shriveled and tiny, oozing
drop after drop onto my belly. She put her hands on my thighs again, looked down at
it, then up into my eyes. She was trance-like. Her dark eyes tunneled into mine, her
chestnut hair half-covering her face in wild disarray, her mouth still open and moist
from Dave's relentless supply of pre-come. And with more resolve than I'd ever seen,
she hit me with words that stung straight through my altered state.

"Do you see why? Do you understand now? I'm not your innocent wife. I have sex with
other men. They fuck me, and I love it, and I come so hard with them. It's not like
when I'm with you. Do you understand? Do you?"

Through my stunned silence that followed, all I could finally muster was a weak,
"Yes." I didn't know if I meant it. I didn't know that she did either. But it was
real enough to take the wind out of me for a second. Still, there existed a thread of
reality, a connection when our eyes met that fought what I knew was scripted fantasy.
But I knew it was real enough to everyone who watched.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 8 -

He left her standing alone in the middle of the circle of sofas and waiting couples,
the room darkened, with only a small recessed ceiling light over her. A quiet
Gregorian chant began in the background, a sign that Dave hadn't lost his touch for
the dramatic, or of ritual. L just stood there, hands at her sides, head bowed,
staring at the floor in front of her. I tried my best to peer through the shining
chestnut hair that fell over her face, desperate to see her eyes, desperate to see
some hint that she was in the game and not just a victim of it. The couples around
her just stared, whispering a few words to each other now and then, but apparently in
a quiet trance themselves. The music droned on. L swayed slightly from side to side
now and then, but never looked up, never moved.

A sudden uneasy feeling crept over me, and the cuffs around my wrists and ankles felt
tighter, as if they were anticipating an event that would make me want to escape. L
stood there, so vulnerable, so submissive in her back suit and heels, that I imagined
her as a sacrifice, a willing one, which might require a price I was unwilling to
pay. The music went on forever and seemed to soak into me, escalating my fear to
something just short of panic. I could feel the chair shaking, then realized it was
me, tugging at the cuffs that held me there. Then, from the darkness beside me, a
voice - soft, soothing, reassuring.

"It's only a game. You know that, don't you? Only a game."

I turned my head to see Gail's glowing shock of hair and perfect face beneath it
peering into mine. She knelt beside my chair, her long fingers and perfect nails
resting gently on my hand. I could still hear the echo of her voice as she looked
away, fixing her eyes on L. Her hand remained on mine. The room seemed tilted at a
slightly odd angle, and so dark beyond the circle of couples that I thought we might
have been transported to a place beyond Dave's house, far removed from any moral
consequence, a place of no escape without the forfeit of my wife. A part of me knew
it wasn't rational, but another part of me thrived on the anxiety and pushed reason
into the black fringes of the room.

The damned chanting droned on. A musky, smoldering odor wafted by me, vanished, then
found me again, this time stronger. It smelled of the smoking embers of a wood fire
mixed with the odor of musty old books in a place that had been abandoned for
hundreds of years. Suddenly, Dave's mention of Dante's Inferno came to mind. I
remembered his grin as he sat beside L the night before, stroking her thigh as he
asked me if I thought I could survive the Nine Circles of Hell once my guiding angel
had lost her way. Now I was flooded with imagery, of Dave as Satan, and his guests as
flagrant practitioners of lust and adultery, unable to escape the Circle of Lust. I
imagined L as the prize, welcomed into the Circle by Satan's minions, her corruption
the final severing of vows to her husband. I became obsessed with the imagery while
my attachment to reason hung by a thread. Then, I felt her hand tighten around mine,
and looked again into Gail's bright eyes. I could see the words form on her lips as
if in slow motion, but could only hear the incessant chanting.

"It's - a - game."

If this was hell, I had a new guiding angel. She was too perfect, aloof,
unattainable, and held mysteries that I had no hope of ever knowing, but she was all
I had. Finally, my chair stopped shaking and the room righted itself to a level, but
still dark, foreboding place.

***

He was tall and well-muscled, but extremely lean in a way that promised an agile but
strong body. Appearing in the circle as if he was suddenly transported there, he
stood six feet in front of L, studying her, his wide chest rising and falling with
the precise, controlled breathing of an athlete. L looked up at him, then scanned his
body from head to toe. He was naked, except for a tiny flesh-colored thong that
barely contained the outline of a thick rope of flaccid cock beneath it. Her eyes
stopped there, fixed to it, her face slowly morphing from an unconscious trance to a
look of hunger I recognized all too well. A hint of betrayal pricked me - she didn't
care that I saw her staring at his cock, or that everyone in the room saw her. She
was beyond modesty or fidelity. She just looked...hungry.

He wasn't her type at all, her fantasy lover with thickly muscled thighs and ass, the
dark swarthy Mediterranean man with a thick beard. The man before her was pale and
slim, with golden hair that lay flat against his even brow. He was a modern day
Viking, with fine, even features that flattered him among all Scandinavians. He
seemed to me almost a machine, the perfection of the physical, an equal to my
guardian angel, Gail.

I watched him undress her. He was gentle, but methodical. She was naked to her waist
after he took her jacket, but she showed no signs of embarrassment. When he touched
her breasts, she reached out to him, but he stepped back, leaving her swollen nipples
in the light for all to see.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lifting her breasts for him. Was it
intentional, I wondered? Or was she simply gathering her resolve to be patient, to
control her hunger in front of an audience? He undid her slacks as though it had been
practiced, or maybe he was just better at it than I. She wore black stockings under
them that seemed to stay magically at mid-thigh. He took her slacks, one leg at a
time, easily removing them as she lifted one foot, then the other. She stood before
him, before everyone, in nothing but her black heels and stockings. The light caught
the sparkle of a drop of her juices between her freshly shaved sex, and I marveled at
how quickly it had grown red and swollen. When he touched her there, her knees
buckled, she leaned forward into him.

The kiss that followed was violent, aggressive, as though he would devour her tongue,
then her insides. A deep, passionate kiss from another man, and L's often surprising
surrender to it, was always something that twisted me a little. It forced a stab of
jealousy into me, a pin-prick of worry that L's interest was more than just physical.
Even after assuring me that it was just a physical part of sex that felt good to her
with the right man, I could never quite shake it when it happened. This kiss had none
of that. It was entirely physical, almost brutal in the way he held her, in the way
he attacked her mouth, and in the way she responded. As absent as the emotional angst
was at the moment, I was stunned by her immediate, willing surrender to him, then her
own uninhibited hunger as she sucked his tongue. He held her there, his hands firmly
under each of her arms as though she was an object, not a person at all, just
delicious flesh, to eat, or fuck.

There were quiet murmurs from the others when she began to grind her hips into him,
straining up on her toes to feel his cock between her legs, or at least against her
lower belly. It was only after he picked her up, raising her off the floor so she
could match his height, that she wrapped her legs around him and dug her hips into
his cock, now a thick, rigid bulge under the tiny pouch of the thong. I trembled
again when she began to whimper.

When the chanting suddenly changed to Chris Isaak's "Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing", the
room seemed to shift again. As closely as I was focused on L and her lover before, I
now saw the entire room - the circle of couples watching, the small disk of light
where L fought to get more of him, and barely visible in the distance, Dave - our
Merlin, our Svengali, our Lucifer - standing silently in the darkened shadows.

The shift was abrupt, so much so that it threw me. It was more than uneasiness, more
than angst - closer to panic. My vision blurred then sharpened, then doubled and
shifted and swirled with garish color. The music changed pitch erratically - higher,
lower, tinny, rough and low, then back again. I fought to control it. A part of me
struggled to reason with the other half - I had seen L with men before; I had seen
her obsess over men, come under them with frightening passion, even play with them in
public like boyfriends. But now I had absolutely no control. There was no opting out,
no reassuring glances from her, no comfort of privacy while I watched her give
herself to a man we both knew was part of our game. She was doing this in front of an
audience, with a stranger that I couldn't imagine she would chose. Had Dave chosen
him for her? Would she now do anything for Dave? Fuck anyone? Had I lost her? Had the
last vestige of what was sexiest to me, the hint of little-girl shyness, the demure
daytime wife I had known for so many years, gone to join Dave in Hell's shadows?

The music went on and on, looping into more choruses of the pounding message - baby
did a bad bad thing baby did a bad bad thing baby did a bad bad thing. L was humping
him in the spotlight, her hands now exploring lower, dipping into the elastic pouch
that could no longer confine his erection. I could see her arms flexing and working,
her hands holding the entire length of his cock, pressing it into her belly as she
moved against it. She worked it in circles, her flat little belly glistening with
more and more of his pre-come. As his cock grew impossibly thick and long, her
fingers grew longer to accommodate it. Her hands and arms extended into grotesque
arcs that circled his cock, wrapping around it like twisting vines bent on encasing
its entire length while milking it in waves of pulsing, sensual contractions.

When the first quiet moan escaped from her, I tried to escape from my chair. I
searched the room for help, and discovered the Asian woman watching me intently, a
small smile on her beautiful face. I was part of the spectacle now, genuinely trapped
while my wife betrayed me in ways I wasn't able to rationalize. Others began to watch
me as I pulled at the cuffs that held me, and my panic escalated.

Then, through the fog of confusion and fear, a soft hand found mine again. Gail the
Angel leaned close to me, again whispering, "This isn't real. Remember? This is a
game. This is your game. L's game. Everyone's game." As if by magic, she calmed me.
Her soft voice, incredible beauty, and the sincerity with which she comforted me, all
worked together as I fell back into my chair and tried to catch my breath. Seconds
later her hand went to my lap, opened my pants, and closed over my erection. I was
shocked to find that, through all my hysteria, I must have been hard the entire time.
I collapsed and gave in to it. I no longer believed I could sort the real from the
unreal. I was defeated and defenseless, with only Gail to guide me through either
Heaven or Hell. And I was pretty sure Heaven would have nothing to do with this.

He had L on the floor now, pinning her under him as she circled his waist with her
thighs and pulled him closer. They tore at each other, kissing, licking, sucking, so
violently that I couldn't tell when he entered her. He took her like a machine, his
cock so hard it threatened to burst, pumping, thrusting, battering her while his own
groans joined L's. She went wild, thrashing on the floor under him as she made
obscene animal sounds I had never heard from her before. I won't lie. I envied him. I
wanted to be him. I wanted her to make those sounds for me, to lose control with me
like she did for him. I wanted his huge, hard cock that never seemed to tire, to
stretch her with it relentlessly, driving her to levels of abandoned lust I doubted
she had ever experienced.

And as Gail stroked me, a dull ache rose from the base of my cock, into my balls,
then much deeper from within. My erection softened, a little at first, but almost
completely as the ache became more persistent. I wanted to tell her, to tell Gail I
didn't understand, that she was so beautiful, so sexy - how could this happen? She
continued for a while, then stopped, as though it was expected.

"She took it from you. They took it from you. This morning. And this afternoon.
Remember?" she purred. I remembered all right. And at that moment, although I knew
the only sex I had with L all week was probably part of the game, I learned that it
was the part that would ruin me sexually while I watched L willingly perform in
Dave's version of the Circle of Lust. He had persuaded her, taught her, to do what it
took to render me impotent for her ultimate act - proving, before witnesses and her
husband, that the "good girl" in her was gone forever.

As shocking as it was, I somehow knew it was coming. I had no choice. Defeated and
lost in this new world, I said goodbye to the "good girl" and watched as the phantom
lover used my wife as a succulent piece of meat at the end of his tireless cock. I
watched L use him as a declaration, not just to me, but to Dave, and to his guests,
as if they were every woman and man she would ever meet, that she had stepped through
a new doorway, just as she had when she first became a hotwife.

I'm not sure how much time passed. They only stopped to change positions when L
pushed him off her and climbed on top, riding him slowly, her head back, eyes closed,
a faint smile on her face. She paused when she rose over him, keeping the head of his
cock just inside her, frozen for a few seconds like an erotic sculpture in the narrow
beam of the spotlight. He was so relentlessly hard, the veins of his cock still full
and throbbing under the skin after so much time. It glistened in the light, wet with
L's juices, so long, so thick, so much an object of envy, I was certain, by everyone
in the room. When she lowered her hips to meet his and it entered her, inch by inch,
I imagined it inside her, filling her as though it became a part of her, a part she
proudly owned, her trophy for winning a conflict she had fought for so long. He was
no longer taking her - L was taking what she wanted, what she needed, and in the
midst of her pleasure was flaunting her performance in front of me. As she worked him
in and out of her small but now not so fragile body, I could hear her voice in my
head.

"This is who I want to be - it was always my destination, from the first time you
told me your fantasies, the first time I fucked Dave, then other men, to the final
step tonight. You helped make me who I am now, dear husband. You made the path, then
showed me the way, finally sending me along it on my own. Do you like who I've
become? Are you grateful for having found the man who owns me now, who helped me
find, then embrace my inner slut? Are you happy now?"

As more time passed, I felt consumed by it all. L and I had talked about exchanging
power - hell, we had played with it on and off, but always in a scripted way. It was
always a game where we both knew all the rules, and the probable outcome. Now she had
taken it all without her usual caution or my consent. I was tied, drugged, and
impotent while the world around me became a dark corner of Dante's hell where my wife
performed for its inhabitants. I was powerless in every way, while L seemed to siphon
libido from everyone in the room, accumulating it in a way that powered her ability
to extract the rawest form of lust from him as she rode her phantom satyr.

She had everything. I had nothing. The thing she rode would never tire, a true
magical beast with limitless reserves of lust for her to draw on. I was an impotent,
captive spectator. Even Gail's repeated attempts to fondle my lifeless dick were
futile. And her words, still whispered in my ear by those full, promising lips, "It's
a game. Only a game," became a meaningless, repetitive recording. I still clung to
them though. They seemed my only lifeline, offered by a stunning angel who took my
breath away the first time I laid eyes on her so long ago. My dark world was ruled by
two women, an impossibly beautiful, unattainable angel, and her dark sister, my naked
wife, writhing in endless, unapologetic ecstasy on a supernatural creature's cock,
playing gladly to a voyeuristic audience of strangers. Was my chair growing larger,
or was I shrinking into it? I felt very, very small in the grand scheme of the
evening.

It was inevitable, I suppose. He was on top of her when he came, grunting, with his
head back like a wolf calling to his pack. She ran her hands over his chest, calmly,
in awe-filled satisfaction, and let him empty himself into her. Then, under the ever-
pounding cadence of babydidabadbadthing, I could barely make out her quiet whisper as
she stared at him.

"...yes...yes...yes...yes..."

Gail's hand tightened on mine, and she kissed me suddenly, blocking my view. It was a
deep, passionate kiss, lascivious in the way she penetrated me. She thrust her
tongue into me, sucking at my mouth as though it quenched some bizarre thirst. Then
she was on my lap, straddling me, her dress hiked up, her bare legs woven through the
spaces under the chair arms that bound me. She moved as though we were fucking,
grinding her hips into me in a practiced, even, mechanical way.

I felt the cool wetness of her sex on my dick, and soon found it coming back to life.
She was as insistent, as hungry, and as tireless as L's phantom beast. I wanted to
touch her, to stroke the perfect skin I had always considered untouchable, to tease
her nipples with my fingertips and then wet my fingers in the slick pool of liquid
that seemed to flow from between her legs. But my hands remained tied, helpless as
they were throughout the night. It was torture, but of a better nature than my
earlier panic. Quiet applause came from the room in front of us, and as I opened my
eyes and shifted my sight past Gail's shining hair, I saw the beast holding L in his
arms, carrying her up the stairs toward an even darker place, a place filled with
memories of her former week-long submission to Dave and his accomplices.

As Gail continued to devour me, my dick rose to half-mast and found its limit, but
she never put it inside her, never even tried. Her frantic kissing and humping was
all I got, even as she soaked my lap and desperate cock with the juices that seemed
to pour from her. Soon the others followed L and her lover up the stairs, leaving
Gail and I alone just outside the empty circle of light on the floor a few yards
away. Her advances continued, silently, until they became an attack. I tried to raise
my hips to enter her, but she seemed to know just how to avoid me. I bucked and
groaned, begging her to free me. I needed to show her that I wasn't that small,
impotent man, that I was more than the helpless target of a game chosen to confound
me with my wife's betrayal. If I was ever to fight for and regain my manhood, this
was the woman who had the power to restore it. But she just kept at me, forcing
herself into my mouth, pulling at my nipples under my half-opened shirt, grinding,
grinding, grinding what was left of my erection into a lifeless worm of flesh, all to
the maddening drone of babydidabadbadthing that never stopped.

Eventually, I just gave up. I turned my head away from her kisses and went limp in
the chair. I was drained of all energy - physical, mental, and sexual. I was hollow,
emptied and weak, and despite the siren on my lap, I wanted only to sleep.

Gail unfastened the cuffs at my wrists and ankles, took my hand, and led me
downstairs to the bedroom that L and I shared on this and many past visits. I
collapsed on the bed and watched Gail strip. As much as I lusted after her in her
clothes, the sight of her naked was impossible to describe. The essence of physical
perfection, aloof, and unfathomable, she slid into bed, lay her lean, tanned body
against me, and I slept.

[Don Jetman]

- Chapter 9 -

The next morning, the right thing, the fair thing, is that Gail redeemed me, brought
my wounded pride and manhood back to life with a body too perfect to have ever
promised I might have her. In truth, when I woke, she was gone.

When we left, the air between L and I was thick with silence, with things that
couldn't be said in public. It was quiet torture during our flights and three hour
layover to return home. In the days and weeks that followed, had I found L changed?
The child in her corrupted, lost to our descent into Dave's Circle of Hell? Yes - and
no. She confessed that Dave's hold on her was real, and more intense, but I continued
to recognize the child in her when it escaped, even if it was to be more rare and
guarded. L was still L, a bit more fearless, and a bit less "little girl" than
before. But that was happening anyway. I hadn't thought much about it until Dave
captured the changes in those few hours, condensed and frozen in lurid detail much
like his secret photographs he led me to discover.

Perhaps my mistake was assuming I knew L too well. Along with that came a quiet
comfort that allowed the minutia of daily life to smother the heat of our marriage.
There was still heat, but not the fierce, gut-punching highs that fueled our sex life
for weeks and months after an unexpectedly memorable adventure. Now, suddenly I found
L still had many more mysteries that she hadn't shared. It's what drew me to her the
moment we met - she makes men believe she's shy, or playful, or businesslike, then
takes delight in shattering their misconceptions. She lives to tease, to surprise,
and sometimes to shock. She can be an enigma, even to her husband, which is much of
what I still love about her. Forgetting that, or at least taking it for granted, was
what had shaken me that night when I watched her offer a stunning reminder.

There are still other mysteries - dark, shadowy places in Dave's imagination we
haven't explored. Gail remains an enigma. Part Guiding Angel, part Dominatrix, her
true agenda is forever hidden behind those icy blue eyes and cool smile. There are
photos of L, records of obscenities with whereabouts, destinations and purpose
unknown. A full account of events after L, her tireless satyr, and six horny guests
climbed the steps to the second floor while I was tied to my chair remains L's
loosely held secret with only a handful of details.

At times this account makes the event seem nightmarish. Looking back, it's hard to
relive it second by second. There were moments of panic, most likely exaggerated by
Dave's drug-laced snacks, but even through the worst, a real sense of the erotic was
never absent.

Angst has always been a part of the attraction of sharing L. It's that exotic rush -
the teetering between desire for her and seeing another man have her - the burning of
possessiveness and jealousy simmering beneath seeing the beauty of her body locked in
the most primal sex with another man. It's having to wait until after they share
orgasms to finally have L to myself in our bed. It's always there when we play, but
in a controlled way, a way that assumes the outcome, and L's behavior. But that
night, Dave prepared a dose of mega-angst, as though he plucked it out of my chest
and showed me my own beating heart.

We became archetypes that night - the sex-starved cheating wife, her virile alpha
male, and the helpless cuckolded husband. It was far from a cheap copy, a play we had
scripted from beginning to end. In the moment, my angst, my helplessness, my
disorientation, was real, as was L's desire to prove to me and the others that the
little girl in her was gone, that she loved to simply "fuck" without guilt or regret,
and that the kinds of men she fucked were entirely of her own choosing. Today, it's
not a memory that brings regret or trepidation. It's a memory that shines a light on
who we are and what we do. It crystallizes moments of fear and desire, and paints the
memories in colors L and I had never seen before.

Dave answered questions we hadn't asked, even to each other. But they were questions
that silently loomed over our increasingly mundane marriage.

"Is this all there is? Where do we go next?"

We hadn't even spoken the words, but L and I later admitted they needed to be said.
And Dave always seems to know what we need.



-End

[Frenchie]

Just perfect !!

[goodjob]

You are correct...extreme!

I would have told him no. I would have never allowed anyone to restrain me. I would not have allowed myself to be milked as I knew what they were doing. They knew what they were doing. I would have walked out. Nobody would have stopped me.

You were lied to.

You were set up.

You were manipulated.

It was not a game. It was intentional, malicious to a point (premeditated milking and humiliation in front of others).

All that being said, this is your experience. All that matters is that you and your wife are ok with it.

I had issues with the first story. I have more issues with this story.

Did you ever find out what happened when L went upstairs with Dave and the other guests?

Silence on the flight back would have been the least of L's and Dave's problems for me. However, I describe my personality as Type AAA. I spent nearly 4 years as a Sniper Instructor in the Corps so I can be very intense.

Your writing is very good. The conveyance of emotion and description of the scene is excellent. I would read everything you write. I'm actually in the process (very long process) of writing a book and I hope I am as descriptive as you have been.

Please believe me when I say I am non-judgmental. While aspects of this experience are outside of my comfort zone without a lot of communication with my wife, the overwhelming majority of what you have written here and in Midnight Strikes is exciting to me. The lack of knowing EVERYTHING that happened every moment of every day would be a no-go for me. The only time "secrets" would be ok is when she visited him on her own. It's her experience. I, you, weren't there to share it live so it's her memory.

Thank you for sharing a very personal experience.

You are a stronger man than me.

[Don Jetman]

I understand all of your issues with these situations - it's why I was reluctant to repost this, as I was flamed badly when it was posted in the past. But it's a part of our story, warts and all. As insane as this got, my strength comes from L, seeing little hints from her that it's still role playing, trusting Dave, and knowing we'll be fine after it's over. Even if I wouldn't want to repeat things like this, I learn what my limits are, as do Dave and L.

It's difficult to accurately describe what I went through during the finale. Maybe it sounded like horrifying fear, but it was more confusion, surprise, mixed with an underlying eroticism of being helplessly forced to watch. I'm still not exactly sure what I was dosed with, but no one else seemed to have as extreme an effect - but in my excited anticipation I probably consumed too many of the hors doeuvres Dave warned us about. Fighting bouts of losing touch with reality can be scary, but interesting in a way as well. But I never felt I was in real danger.

Once again, we don't crave a steady diet of this, just a binge now and then to push the limits. It's the suspense that we love. Some people jump out of planes, ride coasters, or river raft. We don't like any of that. We do this instead. Then we go home and fuck.

Don

[goodjob]

And I sincerely hope you don't feel I am flaming you. I give you and your wife a lot of credit for being able to do this and come out of it stronger. It takes a lot of trust.

Again, thank you for posting it. It gave me plenty to think about myself.

I feel I could do it but not over a week where contact with my wife was minimized. I would need to know what was going to happen so I could prepare myself. I am not good with surprises.

I also want to reiterate that it was well written.

Ironically,

Dave

[Don Jetman]

No - no offense taken. I actually considered I'd be chased off the forum, so no problem. A week seeing him own her as his pet is fine, but I'm ready to have her back right after that. We've done this so long we need surprises and then. And I can only take so much submission until it becomes irritating. My most sincere takeaway is - no butt stuff from now on! At least not with me on the receiving end...

Don

[goodjob]

LOL I can't say that I blame you...about the butt stuff.

I can see where surprises help break the mundane of every day life. And, you two have been doing this for awhile so the trust has built up to where you go with it. Good for all three of you.

[SutterKane]

Don, this isn't a just a story, it may well be a Magnum Opus. I've read it four times now and had to let it sink in before I spoke. It is a mind fuck on so many levels. It makes me long to find a "Dave" for my wife, a woman-child that teams with sexuality but is terrified of it and what it means. I've tried for decades to set it and her free, but I don't have the power and it's become clear to me that she will never let go and find her true sexuality with me, for me. It will take a man of Dave's skills and power to do that. What I wouldn't do to find that man for her. Yes, it would change everything. Yes, I'm willing to take that risk. Because of what we both might gain, I'd risk Hell itself to free her from her bonds. I love her with my very soul and would give it gladly to see her become what I know her to truly be, a deeply sexual woman.
Best wishes,
Sutter

[Don Jetman]

Thank you, SK. I really can't take credit for finding Dave. The chemistry was very strong when they met, and I was more surprised than anyone when she suggested for the first time back then that she'd consider sleeping with him. I'm convinced that the sexiest hotwife relationships rely on the wife meeting the perfect guy, and having it be her decision to tell him what she wants. In this case we were just lucky that he fits both our needs.

Our relocation after he and L became lovers was something we first regretted, but actually I think having to travel to spend time with him has made it an even more special event. The anticipation amps up the excitement and libido, and also encourages us to absorb and appreciate every minute we're with him. The years together have also built trust and erased any fear their relationship may entangle emotions. I know he cares for her, but I'm sure he desires the games (and the sex) more than her heart.

Never give up. L was the same woman-child for years while we dated and after we were married. I could see it, but it took the right man to set her secret fantasies free. After that, it's accepting that often one man can't be everything to his wife. Then it's her constant, heartfelt reassurance that makes it all work.

Don

[goodjob]

Don - Your story is going over much better this time. I'm glad to see that. Thanks again for sharing.

Dave