Loading...I had been married for three years when the events I am about to relate started to unfold. I should tell you about myself – stuff I had never revealed before included. Twenty eight years old, heterosexual, (though not homophobic) I have always – or at least since I had my first hard-on – been prey to a range of fantasies, some of which I think are abnormal. (though what, pray, is ‘normal?’)
Reading stories posted here, half the world seems to be obsessed with panties, or stockings. Although I’m by no means opposed to a pair of black stockings, especially if combined with high heels, I am much more interested in long, silky nightgowns. Before I was married, I would often sleep in one myself, and the more of my body that was in contact with soft silk – or, more likely, synthetic material – the better I liked it, and I would frequently stroke myself through the gown until I came. There, I’ve confessed! It didn’t have anything to do with wanting to go out in drag – the idea never occurred to me. On my wedding night, Roni, who is a slim, vivacious creature with very small tits, wore a long silk nightgown bought specially for the occasion. I fucked her before she had chance to take it off, then again. But she’s never worn it again since then – shit! My own inclination to don such garments seemed to have left me, but my pulse till quickened when I touched Roni’s silky slips.
I mentioned panties. Another fantasy of mine is imagining girls in the street to be without them. I once actually came across a miniskirted young mum in a supermarket, who bent down to tend to her child, and afforded me an uninterrupted view of her shaven pussy. Lovely! (I’ve been looking for her – or another – ever since. No luck.)
You know how it is in the first years of a marriage, especially when you’re young. It’s tough to talk about sex, and you tend to fall into a rut. In our case, I loved it that as soon a I kissed Roni, her nipples went hard as rocks, and she moaned when I fingered her pussy, then we usually fucked in missionary position, though occasionally in doggie fashion, and rolled over and went to sleep. It wasn’t that I was particularly bored with that – she was a great fuck, without doubt, and screamed noisily when she came. (though I did wonder if she sometimes faked it) No, it was great, so far as it went, but……
I haven’t spoken of my other fantasy. Looking idly through porn on the internet (who doesn’t?) I ran into some BDSM clips, and was especially turned on when I saw a Hungarian offering, featuring beautiful young girls being whipped, until their backs were patterned with red welts. The equally gorgeous creature administering this punishment was evidently enjoying herself, and the young ladies being whipped were obviously willing participants.
Oh, and I forgot, I get turned on when I see a girl wearing clothes that must be enormously uncomfortable – very tight skirts, ultra-high heels – I can just imagine that they get off on the restraint too.
I suppose all of that makes me weird – but I do no harm to anyone, do I?
One day I took a phone call, and ended up chatting about this and that with an old schoolfriend of Roni’s whom I’d never met, Hazel. She wanted to talk to my wife, who was out, so I promised I’d get her to call back. When Roni came in, she seemed pleased that Hazel had called and rang her straight away. They talked for a while, they I heard Roni say, ‘Hang on a mo. I’ll see.’
She covered the mouthpiece and said to me, ‘Hazel’s left her husband and wants to come and stay for a while – OK?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Good, she said you sounded nice.’
‘What’s she do for a living?’
‘She’s a psychiatrist at the hospital.’
I never gave the matter another thought until a couple of weeks later, when she turned up on the doorstep. My first impression was that she was a pleasantly plain, slim young woman, a touch more curvaceous, but rather shorter than my wife, and with a nice smile that lit up her face. The idea of sharing my home with two women was slightly worrying – it seemed unlikely I should get much choice when it came to which channel to watch. But Hazel settled in almost invisibly, and all went smoothly. Then, one evening, Roni came home from the solicitor’s office where she worked, and announced that we were invited to a party at the lavish home of one of the junior partners.
‘And Hazel?’ I asked, concerned she would be left alone.
‘Oh, I told them about her, and she’s invited as well.’
So we all three got ready to go.
Roni looked good in the short, black velvet cocktail dress she wore, which moulded her slim form, and showed a lot of her great legs, encased in black patterned lace stockings. She hummed and hawed over footwear, but plumped for some nice stilettos, which pleased me.
When we went downstairs, Hazel was standing there waiting, and I was immediately struck by her transformation. Plain she wasn’t – any more, with artful make-up and long, dangly ear-rings, but it was her dress that caught my attention – all of it! She wore a bronze-coloured, silky, floor-length gown with a halter-neck, which left her long back quite naked, right down to the very beginning of the crack between her buttocks, and revealed a tattooed red and blue butterfly on her lower back. The loose bodice allowed what looked like nice, high breasts a little movement, so that even walking a few paces to the front door caused them to jiggle pleasingly.
We took a cab to the big house in a posh suburb, and a uniformed maid (hired for the occasion?) showed us into a big room, where all the furniture had been cleared, apart from tables groaning under food of all kinds which lined two walls. In the corner beside the door was a well-stocked bar.
The hostess came to greet us. She was a willowy blonde, dressed in a fifties-looking white taffeta skirt, and a blue silk blouse. She introduced herself as Karen, and invited us to help ourselves to food and drink. I reckoned about thirty people were already engaged in just that.
After we had enjoyed some of the tasty snacks and a couple of glasses of wine, Karen announced that she was putting music on for us to dance to. She then dimmed the lights, and the music started with a smoochy number. Karen took to the floor with a young guy, who Roni whispered was a colleague from the office. Karen’s husband James was in a clinch with an Asian-looking girl with long black hair, and a long slit in her silver-grey skirt. When another two couples joined in, a guy I knew to be a senior partner at Roni’s firm came over and asked if I minded him dancing with my wife. I said I didn’t, and took a draught of wine as I watched them go onto the floor, and get lost in the growing number of couples.
‘Why don’t we have a dance?’ asked Hazel, quietly, and we sidled out into the slow-moving throng. She moulded herself to me in a very nice way, I thought, and soon laid her head, with its mane of soft brown hair, on my shoulder. I pulled her even closer.
‘Do you like to dance, Steve?’ she murmured in my ear.
‘Not normally, but I could easily be persuaded,’ I replied, ‘I like your dress, by the way.’
‘I’m not wearing anything underneath it,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact way.
Almost automatically, I moved my hand lower, from where it had been resting at the top of her dress’s low-cut back, and, with a life of its own, it made its way to the silky material which covered her buttocks. Simultaneously, I was embarrassed to realise that my cock also had ideas of its own, and a rock-hard erection was insisting itself against Hazel’s flat stomach.
‘Was it something I said?’ she said teasingly, pressing her slim body even tighter against me, and I was lost for a reply.
Her nice buttocks were softer than they looked, and as I felt them, she snaked her arm around my neck, and presented her lips to mine. Desperately, I shot my eyes around, but seeing no sign of my wife, I gave in and kissed Hazel’s soft lips, letting her dart her rapacious tongue into my mouth. My erection grew, if that were possible, and I suddenly felt in real danger of cumming, there and then. I tried to think about something else, and partly succeeded, because just then I saw Roni dancing closer to us, and smiled at her.
As she moved out of range, Hazel said, ‘Who’s a naughty boy, then?’
‘You don’t know how naughty.’
‘It was when I told you I wasn’t wearing panties, wasn’t it?’
I murmured my assent, as my cock again ground into her stomach.
‘Let’s go sit down,’ she suggested.
‘Walk up close in front of me, or something’s going to be obvious,’ I said.
I safely negotiated a path to two chairs, helped by the gloom, and sat down gratefully, and Hazel leant across to talk to me, a subtle perfume invading my nostrils.
‘I know you love Roni,’ she said.
‘You’re thinking there’s a “but” somewhere there, aren’t you?’
‘Well, is there?’
I hesitated. ‘You can tell me,’ she said, her eyes looking startlingly gorgeous so close to.
‘I know, you’re a psychiatrist.’
‘But I’m a friend of you both – I hope.’ Her long fingernails trailed along my thigh, almost casually, and I could have fucked her there and then. I was still reluctant to open up to her, though.
‘If it’s a no panties thing, I could talk to Roni about it,’ she said, ‘would you like that?’
I nodded dumbly.
‘But I don’t think that’s all, is it?’ she persisted.
‘Do I have to pay for the psychoanalysis?’
‘Look, Steve, I want to help you both, that’s all, and I just might be able to.’
‘So I tell you my innermost secrets, fantasies and all that?’
‘Ideally, yes, the I may be able to make some suggestions.’
‘Wait while I get us another drink,’ I told her, and as I walked to the bar, I saw that Roni was deep in conversation with the same young guy she’d been dancing with, and they had been joined by a pretty young brunette. She would be leaving us undisturbed for a while.
After a good draught of wine, I poured out my heart to Hazel – well, some of it! I told her about how I should like Roni to wear silky and transparent things around the house – without ever admitting that I had once liked wearing them myself – and how I liked the idea of a girl who was without underwear, especially if she risked exposing her nakedness from time to time. I started to say more, then clammed up.
‘There’s more!’ said Hazel, bluntly, looking at me intensely.
‘I suppose I’m really weird,’ I said.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she replied, ‘you just wouldn’t believe some of the fetishes I hear about.’
‘Restrictive clothing?’ I murmured, hesitantly.
‘Mmm,’ she said, ‘like it!’
‘You mean………?’
‘It excites me to wear a very tight corset, or a hobble skirt, yes.’
‘Wow!’ was all I could say, but she went on, ‘And what tends to go with that is a spot of sadism, right?’
I cast my eyes downwards, but nodded. She put a long-nailed hand under my chin, and raised my head so that I was obliged to look into her serious face.
‘Steve, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, as long as the object of your sadism is a true submissive, a masochist who enjoys receiving whatever you wish to inflict.’
‘But…but, how would I know?’
‘It takes, perhaps, a conversation such as this, don’t you think?’ She looked at me with a new, almost coquettish, expression on her face.
‘You… you?’
‘Yes, Steve, I am a submissive. Would you like to picture me chained up, being brutally whipped?’
‘I…I don’t know what to say.’
She patted my knee, as if the conversation were coming to an end. ‘I’ll talk to Roni tomorrow,’ she said, ‘ now let’s go and mingle.’
Next morning was Saturday. Before Hazel came down to breakfast, Roni told me that the two women had arranged to go shopping together for the day. It suited me fine, as I needed to go into my office for the morning, and there was what promised to be a good match on the telly in the afternoon.
No sooner had the final whistle sounded on a boring drawn game, than I heard Roni’s key in the door, and the two women clattered in with arms full of shopping bags. They greeted me, and both went about their girlie business while I watched Discovery Channel and drank a cold beer.
Later, over dinner, I felt rather than saw a subtle change in the relationship of my two female companions. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but they were somehow more….intimate? Secretive? No, probably not really, but I sensed that whatever they had bought (and they didn’t show me anything) was secondary to whatever they had discussed. I just wondered if I had imagined what Hazel said to me about her being a submissive, and if she had, in fact, spoken to Roni about the things we had talked about last night.
I didn’t have long to wait for at least a part of my answer.
‘Coming to bed?’ asked Roni. That was new – she normally just sloped off, and when I got upstairs, she was sound asleep.
We went up togther, and I did my usual act of undressing in half a minute, and diving into bed, while my wife called, ‘Won’t be a minute,’ from the en-suite bathroom.
When, after more like five minutes, she eventually emerged, my jaw dropped open with astonishment. For she was wearing a long, black gown, long sleeved and with a silky sheen, but completely transparent, with a lace fringe at the hem and cuffs. As she walked up to the bed, I saw beneath it a heavy silver chain hanging loosely about her narrow waist, its loose end dangling suggestively around the neatly trimmed black triangle of pubic hair. Her nipples – always her best feature – poked out at the sheer material from the small mounds of her almost adolescent breasts, and my cock rose uninvited just from the erotic sight of her.
‘I can see you like it,’ she said, walking very slowly, sexily, towards me, smoothing the hem of the gown up her slim legs.
I lay there and let her climb onto the bed and straddle me, allowing the lovely, silky gown to trail down over me as she impaled herself on my rampant shaft.
‘Oh, Roni!’ I said, hoarsely, as I felt her agile cunt-muscles grip my cock, then release it, as I drove into her with my hips, simultaneously sliding my hand under the gown to massage her clit. She threw her head back and moaned as I thrust into her very centre. I came almost immediately – too quickly, I thought – but the moisture oozing from her pussy, and her extravagant moans told me that she too had cum.
‘Hazel spoke to you,’ I managed to say, when I had partially recovered.
‘Yes, darling,’ she said, ‘If only I’d known.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but we never seemed to talk, at least, not about…..’
‘She told me a lot of things,’ Roni said, nibbling my ear-lobe, and snuggling closer, the soft material sensual against me.
‘Things?’
‘Yes, things. I think our lives are due for a change or two.’
She wouldn’t be drawn on just what Hazel had said, or what changes she envisaged, and we drifted off to sleep, entwined together.
When I awoke, though, I patted the bed alongside – it was empty. I showered, dressed and went downstairs. Since Hazel had been with us, I no longer slouched down in my tatty robe; it seemed better to look presentable.
The two were having breakfast in th kitchen.
‘Coffee?’ asked Roni, and got awkwardly to her feet to get the percolator. Awkwardly, because, as I saw to my astonishment, she was dressed in a black skirt so tight she could hardly move. It was real ‘restraint’ gear, a broad band at the knee-length hem which was tightened with a big silver buckle. She also wore black patent heels at least twice as high as any I had seen her in. She saw my surprise and laughed. ‘Do you like my skirt, Steve?’ she asked.
‘Do you like wearing it?’ I rejoined.
‘Mmmm, it makes me feel very sexy, and the corset too.’
‘Corset?’
She lifted the hem of her ribbed cotton top, to reveal that her waist, already narrow, was pulled in cruelly by a black, whaleboned corset. When she spun around, I saw that it was laced up tightly.
‘Hazel must have helped you with that,’ I said, glancing at our guest, who was sipping her coffee and smiling at me.
‘She’s helped us a great deal,’ said Roni, ‘made me see the light, so to speak.’
I didn’t question her as to that last statement – things were becoming clearer by the minute.
There was no hurry, as it was Sunday, and the shops opened late. Roni had told me she’d like us to go shopping together some days ago. As I was finishing breakfast, Hazel stood to start clearing the table, and my eyes took in her bare legs, which she had scarcely exhibited before. God, they were lovely! She wore a miniskirt, a flared and pleated little tartan job, making her look like an erotic voyeur’s version of a schoolgirl, further accentuated by a transparent white blouse, buttoned up the back, to allow an uninterrupted view of her lacy white half-bra, nipples barely hidden by the lace frill at its top. Her shoes were white stiletto-heeled sandals, and a silver ankle-chain was a pretty accessory.
‘You look gorgeous,’ I told her, when Roni was out of earshot.
She smiled gently. ‘I am yours to command.’
My prick rose unbidden as she spoke. Did she mean that, apropos of our dicussion a couple of days ago, or was she teasing me?
She showed me her answer, slowly and deliberately bending over the kitchen counter right in front of me, looking over her shoulder into my eyes as she did so, and letting the very tip of her tongue protrude from between her slightly open, even white teeth. Her skirt wasn’t all that short, as miniskirts go, but she knew it would ride up sufficiently as she bent over to afford me an enticing view of her shaven pussy.
‘You forgot your panties,’ I pointed out.
‘Yes, Steve,’ she replied simply, and stood up straight, just as my wife returned, hobbling into the kitchen, her skirt restricting her paces to little, mincing ones, tottering just a little on her heels.
We left the car in the big Commercial Centre’s underground car-park. As soon as we emerged from the lift (Roni said they couldn’t manage the escalator in their heels) I saw people – men especially – gazing hungrily at my two companions. Christ, but they were incredibly sexy. Hazel was an enticing ‘Lolita’ in her tartan miniskirt and transparent blouse, and the mere thought that she was without panties, her shaven pussy inches away from full view, was enough to set my cock pulsing. Roni, on the other hand, was an erotic vision, her cruelly tight skirt and ultra-high heels giving the whole world a signal: here is a girl who enjoys suffering, who will willingly endure and embrace discomfort. Hazel walked along between us, and when I took her slim hand in mine, she offered her other one to Roni. Everyone must have wondered what our relationship was, and I enjoyed the experience.
‘Let’s go and have a coffee,’ said Hazel, ‘we should make a few plans.’
When we sat in the big open café area, eyes upon us from all around, it was Hazel who spoke first.
‘As you both know, I am a psychiatrist,’ she said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I want to tell you what to do. Quite the reverse, in fact; I know that, by my very nature, I am a submissive. If you’ve read “O” you’ll know that the submissive, according, anyway, to the book, is really in control.’ She looked from me to Roni, to see what effect her words were having, then went on, ‘There’s another book, supposedly by a Jean de Berg, but really by a woman. In it, a couple take a young girl as their sex-slave.’ She smiled and said, ‘You should read it.’
‘I already have – “The Image,” it’s called,’ said Roni, and I glanced at her in surprise, ‘it turned me on.’ Then by way of an explanation to me: ‘I read it when I was at university.’
I nodded. I too had been pretty wild then.
‘What do you say we reenact some of the book, Hazel?’
‘Mmm, sounds good,’ she replied. I started to think I was living in an erotic dream.
‘You certainly look the part of Anne, in the book,’ Roni told her.
‘I don’t know. Didn’t she wear stockings and a garter belt?’
‘That’s easily remedied,’ said Roni, getting to her feet, the tightness of her skirt making movement difficult, and causing heads to turn around us.
We found a lingerie shop, and Roni bought Hazel a blue satin garter belt, which was scarcely more than a strip of material with long garter straps. Then they picked out some white stockings, with lace tops, and Hazel went into the Commercial Centre’s nice clean toilets to put on the new purchases.
When she emerged, the hem of her skirt just falling below the lace tops of the stockings, Roni said, ‘I think we should get you some more shoes. I’d like you in higher heels.’
We went into a big chain shoe-store, and sat on a bench, waiting to be attended, Hazel between the two of us. A pretty young blonde eventually came and asked what we would like.
‘The girl is to have some very high stiletto-heeled sandals, size 36,’ said Roni, indicating the mute Hazel, and causing the assistant to look askance at her as she went off to look for what was required. She soon returned with two boxes, from one of which she took a pair of gorgeous, strappy, silver sandals, with ultra-high, shiny metal needle heels. She passed one to Hazel, who bent over to try it on.
‘Perhaps you’d give her a hand with the buckle?’ Roni asked the girl, and she obedintly knelt down in front of Hazel, while my wife surreptitiously slid the hem of her skirt up, just past the stocking-tops. Hazel shifted her arse slightly and parted her slim legs a fraction. The blonde found herself looking straight at Hazel’s naked pussy, and started with surprise, fumbling her shoe-fastening task. As I paid for the shoes, the girl looked from one to the other of us, and seemed to be on the point of asking something, but then walked away, shaking her head. I made a mental note that she might be an ‘interested party.’
Our business in the Commercial Centre complete, we got in the car, and I drove us to a seedy part of town, as Roni had expressed a desire to go to a sex shop. We found one with a surprisingly long window-frontage, all painted out in smart white, custom-lined in red. We walked in past shelves full of lurid mags and DVDs, and a bored-looking Goth girl perked up a bit to see customers who weren’t furtive-looking guys. We eventually emerged with a pair of handcuffs, some wrist- and ankle-restraints, a silvr-studded collar, an evil-looking black, flanged, conical butt-plug, a long rope of blue plastic balls, and a set of nipple-clamps. (‘They are the best type,’ said the Goth girl, and she appeared to know)
When Roni asked about whips, she lowered her voice, and said, ‘Against the law to sell them.’
Accordingly, we drove out to a posh suburb, and found a big shop called ‘Equestriana,’ beside a riding school Hazel said she had once taken lessons at. There we bought a long, leather riding crop.
‘I think it’s time we went to the park,’ said Roni, and Hazel looked at her knowingly. There was a nice park, with a rose-garden, quite close by, so we rode there and parked.
There were people strolling around, some with dogs, others with push-chairs, but in the pretty rose-garden, no more than a couple of lovers, an elderly woman with a small dog, and a youngish man sat on a bench, reading a newspaper.
‘Now, Hazel, let’s see you pee on the border,’ said Roni, ‘just like Anne.’
Hazel glanced around fearfully, her composure suddenly deserting her.
‘Now!’ rapped Roni, and even though we were directly in front of the bench on which the man sat, and quite close to the couple, who were kissing as they walked along, looking very much in love, Hazel squatted beside the path, as Roni and I stepped aside to watch her, and daintily raised her short skirt, revealing the white flesh above her lace-topped stockings, and the blue garter-straps. The man was trying hard to continue reading his newspaper – and failing – and the couple, the man’s arm still about his lover’s waist, had stopped kissing and were staring at Hazel. The sight of my wife, in a skirt so tight she could hardly walk, and the highest heels anywhere, giving orders to a sexily-clad young girl, must have been staggering. The woman with the dog appeared not to be looking. To order, a thin yellow stream was issuing from Hazel’s behind, and ran in a rivulet down the hard-baked earth of the border. Roni, obeying some dictum of which I wasn’t aware, crouched down beside our ‘slave’ and, putting a cupped hand beneath her white flesh, caught the last of her stream, and held it up to her face.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ she said, quite loudly. Hazel nodded.
‘Then you must be punished, you little slut.’
The young couple had turned away, but the girl looked over her shoulder at us, and spoke to her man, who started to walk her quickly away. Newspaper man had put his paper down, and just watched and listened, his mouth open wide, as Hazel stood up and we linked hands, Hazel between the two of us, and walked off behind the lovers.
When we arrived home, after a bite of lunch, Roni said to Hazel, ‘I suppose you know what form your punishment must take?’
‘As in the book?’
‘Yes darling, would you like that?’
‘Oh yes, mistress.’ She was playing her role to perfection, and I wondered what they knew that I didn’t.
‘Wait until I get out of this skirt,’ said my wife, and went upstairs, a step at time, constrained by her offending hem. When she came down a couple of minutes later, she had on a black negligee that looked as if it belonged with the gown she had worn to bed last night. It was completely sheer, trimmed with fur at hem, neckline and the cuffs of its wide sleeves. Under it, she still had the corset, pinching in her waist cruelly, and she hadn’t changed her shoes, still wearing the black patent heels.
She stood for a moment, then said, ‘Steve, would you like to undress Hazel?’
I didn’t know how I should respond – my own wife asking me if I’d like to undress her friend!
‘Well….,’ I started.
‘Go on!’ said Roni.
Hazel stood in front of me, a look of innocence on her face. I spun her around, and undid the buttons which ran down her back, one by one. When I slipped the sheer blouse from her shoulders, she turned to face me, and I realised that her little haf-bra was fastened at the front, down between her breasts. My hands shook as I unmhooked the clasp. When I slid the bra off, her breasts were firm, and I couldn’t resist cupping them in my hands for a moment.
‘Now the skirt!’ said my wife, interrupting. I found the fastening on the waistband, and pushed the little skirt down over her hips. She looked marvellous in just the satin garter belt, stockings and stilettos. My cock responded, standing smartly to attention.
‘That will do,’ said Roni, then, addressing Hazel, ‘we don’t have the right kind of chair – I’ve just realised.’
When I looked puzzled, she said, ‘we ought to have one with wooden arms, so that I can cuff her to them.
‘That’s alright,’ cut in Hazel, ‘I won’t run away, and my hands might help.’
Roni gave a little laugh, and said, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
I was still in the dark, but Roni led me to one of our armchairs, and pushed me down onto it, then made Hazel kneel in front of me. She was almost close enough to touch, but Roni said, ‘Go on, my dear, right between his knees, and I parted my legs so that she could move into position. Hazel looked around at Roni.
‘Start, then!’ she told her, and Hazel pulled down my zipper. In warm weather I don’t wear underpants, so she was able to grasp my shaft and lever it from its hiding place with her cool, long, beautifully manicured fingers. When she lowered her head and started to lick the length of my rampant erection, I needed to exercise control. My wife was fetching something from the table, and the sight of her naked arse under the sheer black negligee, and Hazel’s hands expertly manipulating my cock, were alnmost too much. I managaed to get myself under control, however, before Hazel rounded her red lips and took m gently into her mouth, her tongue still busy around my crown. Then, as she took my whole length deep, deep into her throat, she twitched and writhed suddenly. I realised that Roni had given her a sharp, stinging stroke with our new riding crop. Another one followed, and another and another, each one making a swish as it flew through the air and a thwack as it rained down on the soft flesh of her white back. With each stroke she sucked me, the rhythm of the lash repeated by her eager mouth, but it couldn’t last, and no more than ten vicious, stinging blows were all it took before I spent my load in a hot, urgent spurt deep into her throat.
My wife desisted then, saying, ‘Oh, Hazel, I’m sorry, darling, that must have hurt – I’m afraid I got carried away.’
‘Don’t be sorry, love,’ she said, ‘I came twice.’
Gently, I turned her around as she got to her feet, and saw that on her back were some half a dozen red stripes that Roni had caused with the crop. They would soon fade, but must have stung when they were inflicted on her.
Roni turned to me. ‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘Does the Pope say his prayers?’
‘Well, I’m going to soothe Hazel’s back now. Why don’t you watch the telly for a while?’ With that, she extended a hand to Hazel, and led her, still clad in only garter belt and stockings, upstairs. I turned on the television, and soon fell asleep watching a nature programme.
When I awoke, I was surprised to find I had been asleep for an hour, and there was no sign of my female companions. Taking her time soothing Hazel’s back, I thought, and climbed the stairs.
When I got to our bedroom, what I saw shook me rigid. No, better still, I became instantly rigid, my cock registering the scene almost before my eyes did. Because my wife and our new slave were both naked, in ’69’ position on the bed, their busy tongues lapping each other’s wet cunts, a lovely slurping noise issuing forth, punctuated by little moans from one or the other. I watched, enchanted, and Roni, at least, knew I was looking on, but it didn’t seem to worry her, and when she closed her eyes, and shuddered, in a familiar gesture, I knew she had cum.
I was sat on the end of the bed, still fascinated, when at length they were through, and we then had a companionable dinner, sat around the table in our robes like an ordinary family.
As we finished, almost as if she was talking about the weather, Roni said, ‘I’ve noticed that your arsehole looks very small, Hazel.’
Hazel cast her eyes downwards. ‘Yes,’ she said, in a rather indistinct manner, ‘I’m a….virgin, if you know what I mean.’
‘I thought so. You’re going to have to be plugged, I’m afraid, as Steve will want to fuck your arsehole.’
I looked at my wife wonderingly. We had, in fact, only had anal sex two or three times, as Roni complained that it hurt her, even though I had often expressed a desire to indulge.
But now she was making Hazel take off her robe and kneel on the floor. Somehow the pattern of red lines across her white back began to turn me on. Perhaps it was just the thought of having a slave, someone who would do whatever we wanted.
‘Part your knees! More!’ said Roni, and Hazel obeyed. I saw that her arsehole was no more than a tiny, puckered little orifice. Roni produced a tube of KY jelly, and laid the new black plug on the table, then started to smear the lubricant all around Hazel’s butt.
‘Now, Steve,’ she said, ‘see if you can get it in.’
‘Stretch your arse-cheeks apart with your hands,’ I told Hazel, finding a cushion to lay her head on, ‘and hold them open.’
The sight of her offering up her most intimate hole like that had made my cock stiff, and Roni came around the table and reached within my robe to grasp my tool as I gently pushed at the very portals of Hazel’s rectum with the tip of the plug. I wriggled it around, helped by the gel, but, when it was halfway in, she gasped with the unfamiliar pain. I wasn’t to be denied, however, and pushed less delicately, twisting it like a screw, until the maximum diameter of the plug was about to enter into her stretched anus. I gave it a brutal thrust, and Hazel screamed with the agony of it, as I pushed it right home, leaving only the flange, now flush with her anal crack. Roni, meanwhile, had my shaft in one hand, and was massaging Hazel’s clit with the other, causing her to moan rhythmically. Suddenly she stopped.
‘Hazel, go to your room!’ she ordered, then, to me, ‘It’s my turn, Steve – fuck me please.’ With that, she lay back on the floor, her knees raised, legs open, lewdly opening her cunt with the fingers of both hands, so that its glistening, warm pink depths beckoned me. I fell on her, and buried my throbbing cock to the hilt in my wife’s eager cunt, feeling her agile muscles grip, then release me, in a way she knew I found irresistible. She knew I couldn’t last long, and somehow geared her orgasm to mine, biting down painfully on my shoulder as we both came, my hot spunk shooting deep within her in an endless gush.
Hazel had disobeyed, and watched us from just around the door.
‘You will have to be punished for that,’ I called to her, when I caught my breath.
‘Tomorrow,’ added my wife, ‘and see you keep that plug in place.’
We went to bed, and slept soundly, both quite spent.
Next day, I had to go to work, and so did my two female companions. I was pleased when both demonstrated to me, as they went out of the house before me, that they had worn no panties under their skirts. My life, I thought, had undergone quite a change since Hazel came along.
I could hardly wait to get home that evening – I had been feeling horny all day. The weekend had started me in thinking about all the attractive women I saw all day long. How many of them were ex-slaves? Who, amongst the loads of girls in our typing pool, was a submissive, and would sport the lovely marks of the whip on their backs? And who would be wearing no panties, and would be prepared to show her naked, shaven cunt to anyone who cared to look? Perhaps that leggy blonde who had just walked down the corridor had a butt-plug in? After all, somebody bought them – not just us.
When I got home, however, Roni had a surprise for me, one that I thought thwarted me in my urgent need to get my rocks off.
‘I’ve invited Karen and James over for dinner tonight. Hope you don’t mind?’ I did.
‘I hope it’s not a dressing-up job.’
‘Well, they are a bit formal, but no tux or anything like that. It’ll give us girls a chance to wear something pretty.
‘Oh, that’s alright then,’ I said peevishly.
‘Don’t be upset, Steve – it’ll turn out OK, you’ll see.’
‘But they’re very…..upper crust, aren’t they?’
‘Not really. And when I told James that we are “unconventional” he said he couldn’t wait.’
‘But you’re sure they’re not going to turn up in tux and black velvet?’
‘Stop worrying, Karen rang me after James had told her about the invitation, and asked what she should wear – us girls do that, you know.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Something sexy.’
I shrugged and went to get a shower.
As I was getting undressed, the phone rang. Nobody picked up downstairs, so I picked up the extension. It was James.
‘Hi, Steve. Look, old man, I know this is frightfully cheeky, but would you mind if we brought someone else along tonight?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a bit,’ I said, ‘but I ought to check with Roni – she’s cooking now.’
I yelled downstairs, ‘Any problem with an extra for dinner?’
”Course not,’ she called up, ‘its just another handful of rice.’
I told James, and he said, ‘Good. I know you’ll approve.’ Without enlarging on the matter, he rang off.
I looked appreciatively at Roni and Hazel as we sipped a sherry, the meal simmering away, Hazel having set the table. Roni was dressed in as daring a manner as she could get away with, I thought. She wore a long gold-coloured gown of some shimmering, shiny material, open down each side from armpit to floor, with gold-coloured clasps holding the front and back together, one just below her breasts, one at the top of her thigh, and a third at ankle level. Had she been wearing anything underneath, it would have shown. She also wore long black gloves, and in one hand she held a silver chain, which looped from the silver studded collar, now around Hazel’s elegant neck. Hazel was dressed in a similar manner to the day before, a see-through blouse over a white half-bra, this time showing her nipples quite distinctly above it. Instead of her tartan ‘school’ skirt, she wore a short, silky mid-blue one, over her white stockings and heels.
The sight of my wife sitting there, holding our slave’s leash as she sat at her feet on the floor, had my cock straining to be released, but then the doorbell rang, and Roni unclipped Hazel’s leash, and told her to go to the door.
James came first, dressed, I was pleased to see, just like me, in an open-necked silk shirt and slacks. As he shook hands, and kissed Roni’s cheek, I started when I saw his companions. This was a very different Karen from the one I had seen – and soon lost interest in – at the party. In place of her ‘fifties’ taffeta skirt and silk blouse, she now wore a long black halter-neck gown, with a loose top, which allowed her tits to jiggle prettily as she approached, taking dainty steps, due to the tightness of the gown’s skirt. Her blonde hair, which she had worn up in a bob at the party, was brushed out to a silken sheen, and reached almost to her waist. When she took a glass of sherry from the tray Hazel offered her, I saw that the long false nail on her right pinkie had a dangling decoration, a clasped stone at the end of a fine gold chain, which clinked against her glass. There was something intensely erotic about it.
But my attention was transferred to their companion, who James introduced as Indira (‘named after Mrs Ghandi) – the Indian girl James had been dancing with at the party. She was smaller than Karen, but slender and extremely beautiful, with a golden complexion, long, thick black hair and huge, almost black eyes. She wore a black fishnet sheath, and her firm breasts were naked underneath, their tips poking out through the mesh, decorated with tiny silver dumbells. The only garment she wore under the sheath was a tiny pair of white silk panties, fastened at the sides with a big white ribbon, whose bows projected through what looked like deliberately-located slits in her sheath – an open invitation, I thought, to flip them open, rendering her totally naked under the revealing mesh. When she was introduced to me, I saw that she had a pierced tongue too, and seemed to make its silver stud as obvious as she could, flicking her tongue out subtly as she talked
‘Indira lives with us now,’ said Karen, by way of an explanation for her presence, and I was left wondering if she, like Hazel, had taken the role of ‘slave.’
We sat down to a dinner tht seemed to be enjoyed by everyone, and the more so by me, as Karen’s foot, from which she seemed to have kicked off her shoe, roamed promisingly around my ankle as we ate, making it difficult to concentrate on my food.
‘Your dress is beautiful,’ I said, to make conversation.
‘It’s nice to wear,’ she said, ‘I like very tight skirts – they….er – do something for me.’
‘Me too,’ I agreed, with feeling, and she laughed, then let the tip of her tongue poke out a millimetre from between her white teeth. It was as open an invitation as if she had said, ‘fuck me, please, Steve.’
My wife, who was sitting beside me, leaned over and whispered in my ear, ‘She’d like you to fuck her. Would you like that?’
‘Yes. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not, darling, just so long as James can fuck me – he so wants to.’ I suspected he already had, anyway.
Roni pulled my head towards her, and kissed me deeply, probing with her tongue, then, turning to James, and reaching for his hand across the table, said sweetly, ‘Would you like to come upstairs with Hazel and me?’
As soon as they had gone, I too reached across, and took Karen’s slim, long-fingereed hand in mine, the dangling ornament in her pinkie a statement, I thought, if one were needed.
Karen turned then to Indira, who had been sat at the end of the table, silently observing.
‘Stand up!’ she told her, and the Indian girl got to her feet.
‘Come round and stand by Steve, my dear.’
When she was stood by my side, her musky perfume assailing my senses, Karen looked her up and down, then said, ‘You are very beautiful, Indira. Take off your panties please.’
The girl flipped open the bows which projected from the slits in her sheath, and the loose silk panties fell to the floor, so that I could see her clean-shaven mound and the start of her deeply-cut crack through the mesh of her dress. Close-up, I could also see distinctly faint red lines around her stomach and upper thighs.
‘She’s been whipped?’ I asked Karen.
‘A few days ago,’ she said, licking her lips in an involuntary gesture, ‘She had to be punished.’
I looked from one to the other of them, and must have betrayed my thoughts.
‘The idea excites you, Steve,’ It wasn’t a question, ‘And you’re thinking you’d like to whip her yourself.’
Before I could formulate a reply, she said, ‘Indira’s overdue for punishment. If you would like to……’
I nodded, speechless, my cock having turned into a rigid pole – almost painful with lust.
‘What would you favour, then; her arse, I suppose?’ It was as if she was asking me which cut of meat I wanted.
‘I’d prefer her back – it has a sort of medieval feel, I think.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. Do you have a whip?’
‘We have a crop. Hazel felt it yesterday.’
‘It’s so nice to have friends who feel the same way we do. Now, Indira, darling, please take your dress off.’
The Indian girl reached behind her neck, and pulled down a long zipper, then pushed the mesh off her shoulders, letting it fall in a puddle about her black stilettos. She looked proud and intensely beautiful standing there naked.
I had a sudden thought. We hadn’t yet put the ringbolt in the wall we had discussed the night before, and I told Karen so.
‘I don’t think it matters, darling,’ she said, ‘If we have her kneel down here,’ – she indicated the carpet – ‘she will be quite still.’
When I had fetched the crop from the cupboard, Karen had got Indira to kneel up on the carpet, her hands behind her head, her face passive, but somehow almost challenging. For all my fantasies, I had never whipped a girl before, and my hand shook slightly in anticipation.
‘How many strokes can she take?’ I asked Karen, who was standing beside me, very close – so close that her expensive perfume – Guerlain? – wafted over me.
‘That depends on how hard they are,’ she replied, and her hand found its way to the front of my trousers. ‘That feels impressive,’ she said, ‘but don’t waste it, will you.’
‘If you leave your hand there, I probably will.’ She withdrew it, and I tried to concentrate on the punishment I was to mete out, but I was within an ace of cumming in my trousers, and had to turn away, and walk around a moment, to Karen’s obvious amusement.
When I was ready to start, Karen had knelt down beside Indira, and, taking her head in her hands, kissed her tenderly.
‘I love you, you know, don’t you, darling?’ she said, then put her hand down between the Indian girl’s legs, forcing her to part her knees a little.
‘She’s so wet,’ she said to me, ‘she so loves to be hurt.’
With that, Karen lifted Indira’s lovely thick black mane of hair over her shoulder.
‘Whip her now, Steve,’ she said, and I tried out the crop, which made a satisfying whistling noise a it flew through the air.
I lashed the young Indian girl just below her shoulder-blades, and she scarcely flinched, even though I raised an instant red welt the width of her olive-skinned back.
‘Oh!’ said Karen, as if it were she I was whipping, as I fetched another cruel stroke, a shade lower down, and it was matched by a tiny gasp from Indira. I knew it must have stung terribly.
‘Harder, harder!’ cried Karen, and I put all my strength into the next blow, which landed with loud ‘crack’ on the girl’s slender lower back. Karen then pulled me around beside her. ‘Whip her tits!’ she ordered, and I brought the crop down with a resounding ‘swish’ across the tops of the girl’s lovely firm breasts. This time she cried out sharply, and Karen had my zipper down, and my engorged prick in her hand, like lightning.
As I directed my next stroke at a point below her breasts, Karen took my length in her gorgeous red lips, one hand helping her with my cock, the other down between her slave’s legs. I got in one more stroke before I could hold out no longer, and came in a hot, urgent gush, deep into Karen’s throat. I threw down the crop, and staggered to the sofa, where the two women joined me, one on either side.
‘How are your power of recovery?’ Karen asked, at length.
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On what I’m recovering for.’
‘Let’s say you’re recovering to fuck me.’
‘I’ll be ready shortly.’
And I was. Karen played with me, cradling my balls in her hand, while I licked Indira’s pussy, then, when I started to get hard again, the blonde stood up and slowly unfastened the bow which held her halter-neck in place, then smoothed the gown down over her hips, revealing a thin gold chain, hanging loosely over a shaven mound, below which nestled a gold ring – she had a pierced clitoris. That did it – I was rock hard again, and the more so when she lay back on the carpet and summoned the wounded Indira to join her, the red welts from my whipping showing starkly on her body.
Indira knew her role, and found a cushion, which she put under her mistress’s buttocks, then parted the blonde’s legs enticingly. When I sunk to my knees, and slowly introduced my stiff rod to the very portals of Karen’s glistening wet, pink cunt, she pulled me bodily down, so that I quickly entered her, right to the hilt.
‘Oh, Steve, fuck me to death!’ she yelled, and I knew I could make it last now, having already cum once. But after a good many thrusting, lunging strokes, I felt Indira’s hands on my arse, then she plunged a long finger deep into my arsehole, and I came, again, in a steaming stream, deep within her.
‘Oh Steve,’ she breathed, ‘That was wonderful.’ I had to agree.
Later, Roni and Hazel came downstairs with James. Roni had a huge smile on her face, and James looked suitably knackered.
‘Good evening?’ I ventured, when we had seen our guests off into the night.
‘Mmmm,’ replied Roni, ‘have we any of that cream, by the way, for Hazel’s arse?’
Our life settled down into some sort of routine after that. My wife and Hazel delighted now in ‘flashing’ whenever we were in public places – we would tell Hazel to show her cunt to someone in a restaurant, and this sometimes resulted in our inviting a stranger – better still, a couple – back to our home. Hazel’s anus became an agile home for my cock on many occasions, but only when Roni was present. Sometimes, however, the two of them would exclude me, and go to bed together – I didn’t mind at all. Karen and James became firm friends, inviting us to their home frequently. There we played games and punished our two slaves – to their delight.