Message-ID: <13100eli$9807161218@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: MarArch@ix.netcom.com Subject: Around the Cape of Good Hope (17/?) - Wife, D/s Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories.moderated Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <35ad5ed3.41127721@nntp.ix.netcom.com> (AUTHORS NOTE: The following is a chapter of what I hope will eventually be a novel outlining the exploration of the world of BDSM by a married couple. Many things will occur to, with and for them throughout the story as they plumb their hidden, dark, secret passions. I am submitting each chapter for copyright as it is completed so please do NOT REPOST or REISSUE it in any form whatsoever. I did, however, wish to share a bit of it here and get your reactions. Whether or not I continue with it will depend heavily on your reactions to it so please feel free to email me about it. More of my stories can be found at: http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/jon_thompson_3/adult01.htm Thank you.) Around the Cape of Good Hope chapter seventeen by MarArch It was a strange, atypical Monday. Stephan sat in his office, fretting over the approaching presentation of the new marketing program which had finally been set for Wednesday, and in quieter moments, considering the changes in his life the past few weeks had wrought. A number of times he found himself reaching for the phone, intent on calling Barbara, just to hear her voice, reassure himself of... something. But he always drew his hand back, never certain of what he might say that would not sound foolish or alert her to his deepened sense of worry. Then he would shake off the gloominess and plunge back into the task at hand, filling in the spreadsheet or adding another bullet point to the overheads he planned to use. Once, when Lee came by to waste his time and attempt to appear as if he served some sort of useful function, Stephan found himself considering the heirarchy of the company... indeed, the heirarchies of life itself, how everyone fit into their own little niche, always above certain individuals in power and authority, always below others. How unbearable it was to be answerable to one who was totally and completely unworthy of any sort of loyalty or fealty. And those thoughts brought him around once more to Barbara. Was he worthy of her? Would he be worthy of her? He knew he was merely a rank amature in this new world they had both sought out, and that his responsibilities would be massive, calling for the whole of his heart, mind and spirit. And there was so much to learn, so much to contemplate. In a way, he mused, it was almost like attempting to consciously become part of another faith, one that promised revelations and enlightenments for all true believers, yet striving to find that belief with slow, clumsy, pedantic steps. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. Where to turn, he wondered. He knew it was useless to ask Cheryl to take him on... train him. And he understood why. She already had that responsibility with Johnny and her attachment was firmly fixed on him. And besides, he had already asked her to consider taking on Barbara. She was simply the only one he would ever trust to handle that without any hidden, personal agenda. To now toss himself at her feet would be to impose far too much on her time, her spirit and her energy. No, he decided, he couldn't ask Cheryl. Yet he desparately needed to be trained, if he had any hope of maintaining pace with his beloved wife. Then the glimmer of a thought raced through his mind and his hand unconciously jerked toward his shirt pocket, stopped just before patting it. The phone number, he realized. Opal. She was skilled, he knew, having experienced her power himself over that long, world shattering night the week before. She had fire and passion and knowledge that he hadn't been fully exposed to over that single brief encounter. Might she know of someone who would agree to tutor him? Or, his mind inevitably conjoured, might she be willing to do it herself? She did frighten him? That much he knew. But then again, did she really? She'd swept over him when he was off-balance, ignorant and blind to what he was letting himself into. Now at least he could distinguish that he was in a new forest, even if he couldn't yet make out any of the individual trees. And really, what harm would there be in simply calling her, feeling her out, seeing how she felt about his dilemma? She was, after all, possessor of that dark knowledge. Would she be willing to share a touch of it with him? He made a mental note to himself to find that slip of paper on which she'd scribbled her phone number when he got home, sighed, leaned forward and turned his attention once more to the damn presentation. Bob heaved, lifting the center of the frame and reaching up, looking left and right, keeping pace with the other two burley men as they walked it upright where the carpenters waited on their ladders to nail it into place. Every muscle in his body ached, and having to keep his shirt on in this heat made the sweat on his shoulders and back pool up, sticking the fabric to his spine uncomfortably. But there was no way he was going to go shirtless today. Not with those welts on his chest and back. Worst of all, his ass was burning and sore, shooting a sharp twinge straight through him every time be squatted or bent over. Why the hell had he let Doris do that to him, he thought darkly. Sure, it was a genuine turn on to crane his head around from where he was tied face down on the bed and see her standing there, strapping that... thing around herself... that fake cock. And it even felt nice when she smeared the slippery whatever-it-was on his backside and worked a finger into him. That felt really good, he admitted to himself. But then, when she'd climbed up on the bed, between his helpless legs and lowered herself onto his back, spreading out on him, like a heavy, soft, warm blanket, he'd felt the tip of it pressing against him. He was just about to tell her that he didn't want to go any further with this particular game when suddenly he'd felt her clutch his shoulders and pull herself up his back, felt the thing open him, stretch him, slide into him. If he hadn't had her panties jammed into his mouth and tied in place with a scarf he would have been cursing and screaming at her, threatening her with seven different kinds of death. In the end, all he could really do was just make a loud, muffled noise of pain as she sank that thing, slowly, all the way inside him. He'd bucked, thrashed, tried to throw her off, but she clung to his back like he was saddled, sushed him and told him to relax, that she was going to do it no matter what and he'd be a lot better off just trying to relax. And in the end, that's exactly what he'd had to do. He'd let his body flop face down, moaning, feeling her on him, in him, as she continued to murmur and stroke his hair. And in a few minutes he could actually feel his stuffed opening begin to ease, relax and the pain subsided. And then, very slowly, she began to... well, to fuck him. Slow, almost gentle strokes that went all the way inside him, pressing on something that shot an incredible sensation through him, as if his cock was being stroked from deep inside and behind. And he'd actually gotten hard, feeling himself swelling, trapped between his stomach and the sheets. And after a while, there wasn't any pain anymore. Only that incredible sensation mixed with the mind-blowing thought that this must be what a woman feels when a guy drives deep into her. And those thoughts and feelings started him whimpering, just like he'd heard girls do when they were being fucked. And damned if he didn't actually cum, feeling the hot jet of his fluid trapped between himself and the bed. And somehow, she'd known. She'd sensed it or felt it or something, and immediately slowed then stopped, simply lying on top of him, the thing still shoved deep inside him as he lay there panting beneath her. And after that, he simply didn't have the will to be mad at her, or want to yell at her, or even defy her. When she'd finally pulled slowly out of him, untied him and told him to roll over, he'd obeyed, as meek and docile as a puppy. He'd let her tie his hands together again, securing the other end of the long silk scarf to the headboard, and snuggled up next to him, telling him to go to sleep. And he had, just like that. This morning he wasn't sure he'd be able to even get out of bed, he was aching so badly in so many places. But she'd swatted him on the backside and told him to get up, and he'd done it, without a word of protest. And in spite of the shock he'd been feeling, in spite of the hurt and anger and humiliation, he had to admit to himself that he hadn't railed or screamed or threatened her... because it was the most incredible fuck he'd ever had in his life. For the first time, he felt like he'd cum from somewhere in the center of his gut and his thoughts had been totally scrambled. And when he'd gotten a long, hot, soothing shower, and dressed, feeling much closer to human again, gone downstairs to kiss her goodbye, she'd looked him right in the eye and told him that was the last time he was going to get to cum until he was fucking Barbara. And damned if his cock didn't start to get hard again, right there. But there was no way he was going to tell anyone about it. And no way in hell he was going to let anyone see him without his shirt until those damned welts went away and he could go to the bathroom without wincing in pain. He just hoped, suddenly feeling the ooze of sweat on his forehead that was not generated by the heat of the day, she wouldn't want to repeat all that stuff from last night too often. If she did, he'd be all used up very quickly. And as he released his hold on the frame and moved around to the other one, preparing to raise it, he realized that as much as he loved her, she was starting to scare him. Barbara moved through the den, stopping to pick up a throw pillow from the floor and toss it casually onto the couch, bending to the coffee table and moving things around, telling herself she was actually being productive. But in fact she was merely edgy, uncertain and wanted to be doing something, rather than sitting and allowing her thoughts to rush away with her. The loud knock on the back door came as a shock, startling her, causing her to flinch sharply. Then she heard it open. "Hello!!?" Doris called out. Barbara sighed, heaving an exhale of relief. "In here" she called back. Doris stepped into the doorway, crossed her arms, leaning on the frame, a wicked smile on her face. "Hi there" she cooed. "Hi" Barbara said, turning back to straightening the small knick knacks on the coffee table. "What's going on?" "Oh" Doris said, breezily "nothing much. Sorry I wasn't around last week, but... well, I had a few things I had to do." "Oh, no problem" Barbara answered, dismissively. "I was sort of busy myself." "Oh?" Doris said, her eyebrow arching. "So, did you and Stephan do anything special this weekend?" Barbara felt herself blushing, in spite of herself, but didn't look up. "We stayed busy" she said quietly. "Me too" Doris said, grinning. Barbara looked at her friend, saw the grin and felt her own lips curl in a mutual understanding. In a moment they were laughing, the tension ebbing visibly. "We're evil" Barbara said through the deep chuckles. "I know" Doris cooed. "And I like it." "Me too" Barbara sighed. "So, you want some coffee?" "Sure. You want me to make it?" "No, I'll get it" Barbara said, starting for the doorway. As she stepped up close to where Doris was lounging in the opening, suddenly she felt her wrist grasped, firmly. She gasped, stopping in her tracks and was turning to her friend, a look of surprise on her face, even as Doris grabbed her other wrist and raised them, pressed her back against the open doorframe, pushing her arms over her head and against the wall as if they were tied there, pressing her body firmly against Barbara, her face an inch from her. Barbara whimpered, feeling the wave of startled panic flood over her and fade, replaced by the knee-weakening sensation of being deliciously overwhelmed. "You remember your promise?" Doris virtually growled at her. Barbara gasped and nodded her head, the quick responses of tightening nipples and clenching pussy flowing through her. "What was it? What did you promise me?" Doris intoned deeply. "Oh God" Barbara sighed, her voice quavering. "Tell me" Doris growled. "To let Bob fuck me" Barbara gasped, her breath beginning to tighten, coming in sharp pants. "To let Bob fuck you while I watched" Doris corrected her. "Yes" Barbara whined. "And you'll do it, right?" "Doris" Barbara moaned, tensely. "You'll do it, won't you" Doris repeated, pressing Barbara's wrists back hard against the doorframe. "Yes" Barbara whispered, feeling herself tumbling down into that swirl of sensations. "When?" Doris asked, quietly. "Whenever you say." "Wednesday night" Doris said firmly. "Tell Stephan you're planning to spend the night at my house. Make up some excuse. You agree?" "Doris" Barbara replied, her voice a quiet sob. "Do you agree?" Doris said, firmly. Barbara hesitated for a moment, then surrendered to the driving heat inside herself, nodding firmly. Slowly Doris loosened her grip on Barbaras wrists, slowly lowered them, letting her fingers slip down until she was holding her friends hands, gently, lovingly. She peered at Barbara's anguished face, the eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Are you excited?" she said. Barbara nodded, feeling the heat rolling over her, the need erupting slowly through her like a lava flow from the deep pit of her sex. "So am I" Doris whispered. "I've never -" Barbara blurted quietly, "Not since -" "You've never fucked anyone but Stephan since you got married" Doris elongated the thought for her. Barbara nodded sharply, sighing once more. "Well, you will on Wednesday" she said quietly. "I want you to think about that. Getting fucked by another man." Barbara whimpered, feeling the moisture flow through her pussy, the tingling in her erect, tight nipples. "Does that make you hot" Doris said, breathlessly. Barbara nodded, now turning her head aside, even though her eyes remained tightly shut. "Me too" Doris said. She stepped into the den, drawing Barbara along helplessly behind her. "Come on" she said, moving steadily toward the couch. "My pussy needs your tongue. Right now." A half an hour later, Doris lay sprawled on the couch, naked from the waist down, her jeans and panties in a discarded heap on the floor, her legs splayed obscenely, one foot on the carpet, the other hooked over the back of the couch. Beneath her the cushion was stained dark with her eruptions. Barbara sat on the floor, still fully clothed, her head resting on Doris' thigh, feeling the softness of it, the coolness of the skin. "I'd make you cum, too" Doris said quietly "but I want you super horny for my husband. Hope you don't mind." "No, Miss" Barbara whispered, nuzzling her leg for a moment. Doris lay back, relaxing, letting her mind float over the ebbing pleasure that was slowly fading from her body. "Oh" she sighed "I think I'll have you do that every day. It really is relaxing." She giggled deeply. "Yes, Miss" Barbara sighed. There was a deep silence before Doris spoke again, her voice cautiously quizicle. "Barb..." "Yes, Miss?" "I think I'd like to fuck Stephan sometime. You wouldn't mind, would you?" A sharp, undefined something stabbed through Barbara's mind and body at these words and she moaned quietly. "No, Miss" she croaked, her voice hoarse. "Good" Doris cooed. "I need a different cock. And I've thought about fucking your husband for a long time now. Not constantly, just now and then. When I do... would you like to watch?" Barbara could only nod her head against Doris' thigh, unable now to force sound from her tight throat. "Would you like to be tied up while I do?" Barbara moaned and turned her face against her friend'ss soft skin as if hiding it. "Yes" she hissed. "Okay" Doris said, quietly. "We can do that maybe next week." Doris felt a fresh, distant tingle ripple through her. She sighed, reaching down, slipping her hand along the back of Barbara's neck, pressing it gently. "Right now, though, I need some more attention." Barbara drew herself to her knees, raising and sliding close to Doris' pussy, feeling the urgent need to please, to obey, to satisfy. She was home. Stephan stood up behind his desk, lowering the lid of his briefcase and snapping the catches. It had been a long day and he was ready to leave, to return home and feel the soft, gentle, loving press of his wife's body against his own in a deep, adoring hug. For a moment he felt a pang of... what... regret? Would they be able to do those old, simple, affectionate things any more, he wondered. Would they be able to snuggle down on the couch, leaning heavily against one another and simply feeling the comfort and contentment of each other without some lingering overtone of this new aspect seeping into those moments? Would they ever just be dull, satisfying husband and wife again? He sighed, scooped up his briefcase and jacket and headed for the door. "Honey?" He closed the front door behind himself, leaned to set the briefcase down and stepped over, draping the jacket across the foot of the bannister railing. It was odd that she had not replied and when he stepped into the kitchen he found Barbara sitting in her usual chair at the table, her elbows planted firmly on its surface, her fingertips pressing against her inclined forehead. Stephan stopped, his face furrowing in concern. "Honey? What's wrong?" She shook her head but otherwise did not move. Stepping over to her, genuine concern now rising in him, he reached out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right? Do you have a headache?" Again she shook her head sharply, once, and then he heard the sniffle, that sharp, wet intake of breath that told him she'd been crying. Instantly a hot prickling flooded over him and he tensed. "Honey, what's wrong? Tell me, please." Her voice was low, croaking. "I can't" she said. He knelt beside her chair, now looking up, seeing her face half masked by the hand, but clearly noticing the tracks of the tears on her cheeks. "Yes" he said softly, soothingly "you can. Please." "Oh Stephan" she moaned "I - I don't know what's happening to me." "Why" he said quickly. "What's happened? Tell me." He could see her body tense, straining with the burden of the thoughts that swirled through her mind, and finally she burst. "Doris" she said, and the sobs began. Stephan rose and pulled her against himself, feeling her arms circle his waist, her face press against him and the sobbing well up. He gently stroked her hair, letting her vent the pain, not attempting to quiet her or stop its escape. In a few minutes the sobbing subsided and eventually she sighed, the tears now spent. "You'd better tell me about it" he said quietly, soothingly, gently disengaging himself from her arms and sliding into the seat next to her, leaning towards her to maintain his hands upon her arms, assuring her of his presense and his care. She leaned forward and turned her face away, and began to speak. She told him. About the visit Doris had paid that day, about her fear of this compulsion that seemed to be slowly taking complete possession of her... this burning need that showed no signs of abating. She told him of her changing responses, how it was becoming easier for her to be swept up, suddenly and with startling power, almost against her will. And then, closing her eyes and laying a hand across them, she told him of the promise she had made to Doris. Throughout it all Stephan sat, his body frozen with tension, feeling first a deep concern, then confusion, shock, caution and finally a growing outrage directed at their neighbor. But through it all he flowed with an overriding adoration for this wonderful, tormented woman, and a distinct sense of the pain she must be suffering, the confusion of not knowing what was slowly taking her over, drowning her in a sea of frightening, uncontrolled pleasure and changing her. Cheryl's words came rushing back to him... it was a kind of addiction, this powerful pleasure, and the need in her was too strong to fight. The compelling darkness in her mind and body were bursting forth and sweeping her away with each sudden arousal. And then the anger flashed through him once more. How dare this selfish neighbor, this supposed friend, presume to utilize his wife in this way, taking no care of concern for her feelings, for her value, for her vulnerability. This would, he vowed silently to himself, not be allowed to continue. But then the fear rushed up, driven by the realization that he could not constantly watch Barbara, direct her, control her. He simply did not yet have the strength to do that. Not yet. Perhaps he never would. And to his confused shame, he felt a distant twinge of excitement at the thought of her fulfilling the promise. He sprang up, tense, driven by the mix of emotions coursing through him, his impluses conflicting within him... the protective heart, the angry mind, the curious excitment. She gasped, startled by his swift move, her head jerking to stare at him, mouth open in alarm. "Stephan" she gasped. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly, as if drawing strength from her, his body rigid and trembling. "Would you do it?" he hissed. "Do what?" she whispered. "What Doris said." There was a tense pause, her words stuck in her throat. "Probably" she said, her voice quavering. Stephan felt the stinging hot flash shoot up his chest and spine, a blazing mixture of jealousy and numbing sexual excitement. "Do you want to?" he said, his voice hoarse. "I don't know what I want any more" she whispered. Stephan stood rigid for a long moment, paralyzed, his mind overloaded, sliding along the razor- thin edge between utter horror and abject sexual fascination. The only thought that formed itself in his thoughts was a welling compulsion to form two words, a simple thought, a second's working of the muscles of tongue and jaw and breath... do it. Do it. Tell her to do it. But he could feel the end of the blade rushing forward, the deeper darkness of abandoning himself and her to this irreversable step lying at the end, and instinctively his mind rebelled. He was not ready to be absorbed by that unknown land. Not yet. Maybe never, but absolutely not yet. He squeezed her hand once more, tight enough that she winced, then released it. Stiffly he moved to the doorway and back into the hall, his steps mechanical, like those of a man trapped in swirling dizziness. He bent slowly to pick up his briefcase, turned and mounted the stairs, stepping into their bedroom, laying the breifcase on the bed and opening it. He withdrew his daytimer and opened it to the contact pages, his motions slow and weak, as if his body was wracked with a debilitating fever. He found Cheryl's number and reached for the phone. She listened in silence as he spoke, the disjointed thoughts tumbling out of him in fits and starts, disgorging everything, the fear, the excitement, the confusion. And then he fell silent. "Stephan?" Cheryl said quietly, her voice firm yet placid. "Yes" he whispered. "Calm down. We'll handle it. Now, hang up. Call the airline. I want Barbara here tomorrow." -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----