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Stranger than Fiction
Part Three
Introduction to Part Three
“Every saint has a past, and every sinner a future”
(Oscar Wilde)
On January 26th 2009, the possession of extreme pornography became illegal in UK. The legal definition of “extreme pornography” was introduced in an Act of Parliament to include realistic images of actual people involved in (i) an act that threatens somebody’s life (ii) a sexual act involving a human corpse or an animal (iii) an act that results, or is deemed likely to result, in serious injury to a person’s genitals, anus or breasts.
Now, I am a liberal who believes that governments nowadays are generally too quick to ban things and tell us what to do, but on balance I think there probably are extreme movies and photographs that should be controlled. I personally don’t like photos that portray mutilation, asphyxia or necrophilia (so I never look at them) and I would never possess any, not that my own tastes are relevant. Overall, I guess I wouldn’t want to propose or oppose any motion on ‘extreme images' and I plead the 5th on the issue.
However, something rather more sinister has also been debated in the UK House of Lords (the second house of the British Parliament) that proposes making possession of “extreme pornographic writings” illegal as well. Whilst I am sure my American cousins and overseas readers needn’t be alarmed yet, it would be naïve to think that our lawmakers don’t keep an eye on the debates of their international counterparts.
The idea that ‘scribbles’ written by adults, for adults, featuring adult characters, on this and similar sites might somehow become illegal seems to me both inherently absurd and a legal minefield. The proposal intends to define extreme writing on exactly the same basis as images, namely those involving death, corpses, bestiality or genital mutilation. Again, I personally don’t get off on fantasies that feature snuff, necrophilia or disfigurement (so I don’t read them), but I think that legislating about possession of them (is just reading them ‘possession’ ?) and defining them (to be judged ‘pornographic’ it is proposed that the writing must have been produced principally for the purpose of sexual arousal) is likely to waste an awful lot of police and court time that could be spent chasing the real murderers, rapists, terrorists and criminals.
I have never claimed to be a saint. But I’m not a sinner either.
Part Three
‘Saints and Sinners’
February 2009
Jed remained entirely without an orgasm throughout the chill, dark 31-day month of January and then into February. We experimented with an alternate tube while his original was briefly sent back to Chris at Steelworks Extreme for a very minor (1/32nd of inch) adjustment. I would strongly recommend the Steelworks company, its service and their products to anybody who is contemplating serious chastity.
Most of the time I like to control Jed’s mind as well as his body. The only way he can avoid the restricting discomfort of his steel curtain is by thinking ‘pure thoughts’. I tease him about having to behave like a saint in a house of sinners.
He wears the tube almost 24/7, obviously including throughout the night. Inevitably he suffers wakeups in the dawn hours that are more to do with his bladder than sexual desire.
During the day he has to ignore Candace and whatever’s going on. Whether she’s in her sexy housemaid outfits or totally nude, Jed can’t afford to allow his mind to wander in the lustful way most males do.
But when called upon, he still has to lick her cunt or body, either in preparation or cleanup and try to suppress his instinctive sexual and submissive reaction to what he’s doing.
“It’s a great piece of engineering, isn’t it ?”
“Yes Sir, it is.”
“Comfortable ? Snug ?”
His expression is deadpan. “Yeah, pretty much, Sir.”
Of course, my most important requirement is that he shows no visible signs of grouchiness. In my life, whenever I’ve felt like sex or an orgasm and not been able to have it for whatever reason, I get tetchy very quickly. So I simply won’t put up with any bad attitude from Jed.
I scratch my own balls in a leisurely manner and grin at him man to man. His tube is like a highly polished thimble, not that much longer than my thumb. “It looks cute. But those balls do look a bit swollen.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Mine get like that after a day or two as well.”
He nods in sympathy. “Yes Sir.”
“Well, don’t worry. It’s a new month. I’m sure by the end of it you’ll have had some kind of orgasm. I mean, well, that’s pretty much certain. Say ninety percent certain.”
“… yes Sir. Th … thank you, Sir.”
Sunday, February 1st 2009, 11 p.m. in the UK.
Super Bowl XLIII is starting on the BBC. Jake Humphrey introduces the British coverage.
I’ve stayed up to watch it in the living room on the huge widescreen, rather than my old bedroom TV, which is where I usually catch television at this time of night. The Steelers are Jed’s team and they’re playing the Cardinals in Tampa.
Back in my twenties, on those occasions I had threesomes or with some other guy watching, I used to find it harder to perform sexually. I’m not an exhibitionist and it always took a while for me to get used to people. Now that I’m 50, before Candace and Jed arrived, I was seriously concerned I’d struggle, or even not enjoy it at all, if Jed is present.
I’d seen on the webcam that he was younger and fitter than me. Some residual vanity made me sensitive about my age, looks and stamina. It’s all very well to write porn about this and that, but in the flesh things are different.
However, surprisingly, I suffered no early nerves and have loved him watching us, being in attendance, witnessing every new step of our journey. I sometimes like Candace to ‘trash talk’ during our sex, telling him what a great time she’s having, what he’s missing. I tend to be less verbal, quietly relishing it all.
“Thank you sooo much, Sir.”
It amuses and excites me when he thanks me profusely afterwards. We have a kind of cuckold movie script that we adlib.
“That’s okay.”
“It’s awesome watching you both. The way you guys have sex.”
“Not have sex. We fuck. I fuck your wife.”
“I’m sorry, Sir. The way you fuck her. It was better than ever.”
“Hear that ?” I nudge Candace. “How was it for you ?”
“Mmm. Better than ever.” She says, stretching like a cat.
“I am seriously grateful, Sir.” He says. “I sincerely mean that.”
Sometimes, like an actor on stage, I have to bite my lip not to laugh.
Candace was an anal virgin. Only digits had ever been up her backdoor. She and Jed had never quite got beyond the old finger diddle. During our ‘negotiations’, we’d obviously discussed anal sex. For Christmas I gave her a brand new boxed set of five butt plugs, graduated by size, to prepare her for the big day.
I’d been holding back, taking things slow, just one a step at a time. I decided that February 1st would be the perfect night. I decided two weeks before, the moment Pittsburgh won the Conference Game, but I kept it quiet from them until lunchtime. Candace was wearing the largest plug when I told her.
“I think we’ll put the real thing up there this evening.”
She turns pale. She’s referred to anal sex as ‘the last taboo’, although she has no idea then how wrong that comment will eventually prove to be !
I wink at Jed.
“I’m going to need you help tonight.”
Late that evening, Jed plays his supporting role. He administers her enema, washes her, finger a small dollop of lube inside her, then dresses her in just seamed stockings, a suspender belt and high heels. He arranges her on the Persian rug in the living room for me. The lights are on low, just lamps and the flickering light from the television. The black lingerie frames her dimpled buttocks. She moans into a cushion, ass in the air, as he thumbs open her cheeks.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Please fuck her ass, Sir.” He whispers. He’s dressed in a tutu, white tights and glow-pink trainers.
“Why ?”
All three of us have kind of rehearsed this exchange during trash-talk. But this time it’s for real. The Super Bowl coin toss is underway onscreen.
“Because I never have.”
“And never will, right ?”
“And never will, no Sir.”
“Other men, maybe. But you, never.”
“No Sir.”
“Not even when you return home, and live a normal life again.”
“No Sir. Never.”
“This … is my hole. It will always belong to me. Whatever.”
I touch her rim, see her body tremble, hear her gasp.
“Tell me.”
“It will always belong to you, Sir.”
I slap her white buttock, making a red handprint appear.
“You say it too.”
“It w … always belong to you, Sss.” Candace shivers, mumbles.
“Lick it.”
Jed prises it wider with his fingers, lowers his head, drools into her.
I let him spend a full minute preparing her for me. We’re right beside each other on the floor now. Master and husband. Making our personal history.
“Now take my dick.”
I’m not into fluffing. I’m pretty certain this is the first time in my entire adult life a guy has handled my erection.
“Put it against her rim.”
He carefully guides my purple crown to her puckered brown entrance. The shimmering combination of shiny lube and his saliva catches the flickering colours of the TV, resembling morning dew on a flower.
“Now move and go kneel by her head. Hold her shoulders down.”
I dribble more of my own saliva onto my shaft, I grip her hips and shift her down so I’m pushing at the correct angle. Fucking an ass is like riding a bicycle, right ? I use my thumbs to crack her crinkled walnut open.
“Aagh.”
I’m no thicker than the widest butt plug she’s already worn today. I seesaw in and out and her sphincter surrenders almost too quickly.
“I’m in.” I wink at Jed. “It feels good.”
I wait, just savouring the moment. This is a rite of passage. Candace’s back passage. I am in her ass, planting my flag. I slowly push, studying each veined inch disappearing between her cheeks.
“Aahhmm …” Candace gasps or groans, I can’t be sure which.
I ease out slightly, then wiggle in, out, in, and it becomes easier each time.
“Your ass is mine.” I hiss.
Not exactly my most original line.
“Yesssss.”
I grin at Jed. Of course, being honest I have no idea if they will honour their promise. Will he truly never sample her anus ? Would she let him ? To be honest, I neither know nor care. A little bit of me would like to imagine that some part of Candace will really remain forever mine but the only important thing for now is the fantasy. If this memory turns us all on in the years to come, then that’s really all that matters.
She is tight. Uncomfortably so.
To be honest, I’m not the world’s greatest fan of butt fucking. For me, it’s about dominance more than sex. If there is a next time I’ll be using more lubricant. But there is something erotically hot about a dryish fuck, something more akin to using real force. Besides it won’t take me long.
I want to close my eyes when I cum, but I manage to force them to stay open. I snort and try to focus on Jed’s face. Meet his eyes in the lamplight.
Candace is hissing ‘yes’ when I squirt up her ass, more from relief than anything. She hasn’t responded in the same way as when we fuck. I haven’t fingered her clit. I don’t want her to cum yet. Anal is a one-way ride, in my view.
The commentary on TV suddenly seems to fill the room, drowning our uneven breathing. I hadn’t noticed it but the pre-game hullabaloo is reaching a crescendo.
I push against her butt cheeks and gingerly uncork my dick from her ass. I catch Jed’s furtive peek at my gleaming, still marble-hard dick.
I allowed Jed to watch the fourth quarter of the Divisional playoff mid-January against the Chargers. I let him enjoy the whole of the second half of the Championship decider against Baltimore. I’ve purposely made him no promises about the Super Bowl, but I know he’s optimistic.
I pull on a robe and sit on the sofa.
“Fetch me a beer and water for her. And bring a towel.” I tell him.
I pat the cushion and Candace snuggles next to me. I leer suggestively and arrange her on the sofa. Her knees flop wide apart.
Jed returns and sets our glasses on the side tables, hands me the towel, imagining that I want it to wipe myself.
“Here.”
I help Candace lift her knees up to her chest and she sinks back into the cushions. Her butt is raised up and I ease the towel under her hips to protect the sofa.
“Higher.”
There is a joke. What decoration does a lady wear on her ears to attract a man ?
Answer. Her ankles.
Candace looks like that joke now, clutching her calves so her feet are next to her head. A smear of my jizz wells up from the o of her bottom.
“Kneel.”
Jed sucks in his cheeks and gets on his knees facing us, with his back to the screen.
I smirk and slowly jiggle my finger at his wife.
“Okay. Clean her ass up.”
I watch the start of the Super Bowl. I’m no expert on Football but I know the rules and enjoy a good game. However, the BBC coverage starts to annoy me early on. During the endless ad breaks, we cut away to some talking heads that start explaining even the most basic elements of the game to the British audience.
Heck, if you’ve stayed up after 11 p.m. watching, I figure you probably know a tight end from a tight ass, right ? It’s like some bozo trying to tell Jed how his wife would like her anus corked.
He’s been a good kid, patiently slavering his tongue in, out and around her upturned poop chute for ages whilst pretending not to listen to the commentary. Pittsburgh takes a 3-0 lead. Emotion flickers across his face.
“Just concentrate on her butt.” I warn him.
Candace seems pretty disinterested in the game. She occasionally sits up to sip her water but mostly lies there quite contentedly enjoying the tongue massage. She has let go of her calves and her knees have fallen open. Her nipples are hard and she occasionally runs her fingertips over them.
On TV, the talking heads prattle on about some technicality.
“I can’t stand all this bullshit.” I mute the volume during another ad break.
I lean over and kiss Candace. She responds breathily, giving me tongue.
“You naughty minx.”
We make out like a couple of teenagers until the action restarts.
“That’s enough. Refill my beer and rinse your mouth out.”
I flick the volume back on while Jed fetches my drink. He soon reappears, mouth smelling of peppermint. His Steelworks tube creates the usual small indentation in the front of his pink tutu.
“Now kneel and lick your wife’s cunt.”
She shifts slightly, hips forward, head thrust back into the cushions.
Pittsburgh goes ahead 10-0. His expression doesn’t change. I lower the volume again.
“How did you enjoy your first taste of anal ?”
“Mmm …” she hesitates. Her nipples are now like bullets in my fingers. “Okay. B … better than I feared.”
I glance down at Jed. His eyes are closed, his forehead creased. I occasionally wonder how he copes with his own frustration at moments like this, but it’s not something I lose sleep over. And shucks, I genuinely will let him have one orgasm sometime in February.
“Hold off as long as you can.” I tell Candace. “Don’t cum.”
I leave the volume muted. The action has resumed. I switch from necking and teasing her to glancing at the game. The Cardinals pull back a touchdown to make it 10-7. Luckily for Jed, he’s totally unaware his team has been pegged back.
Another five minutes pass, maybe longer. Candace is writhing on the sofa now. Her breathing and his slurping are the only sounds in the room.
“Pl … m … may I c … ?”
I catch Jed’s eye just as he peeks up, pleading with her to climax.
“Just a moment longer. It’s nearly Jed’s bedtime.”
Then comes one of those extraordinary coincidences that life sometimes throws up, I swear. On screen, still muted, the Cardinals are camped on the Steelers’ goal line.
“Aagghh … pl … nngghssss …” Candace finally has a titanic, shrieking orgasm.
As her wailing kicks off, my peripheral vision catches the Cardinals’ quarterback throwing an intercepted pass. I grab the remote control and whack the volume up, as some Steelers’ player runs from his own end zone all the way to touch down at the other end, to make the score 17-7. What a climax to the second quarter !
The crowd and commentators have gone berserk.
“Oh fucking A, Jed. You should have seen that.”
He looks at me, a spark of anger, excitement and heaven knows what swirling in his confused eyes. His chin is slick with fluid.
I stab the ‘off’ button on the remote again. The screen goes grey.
“Well, I’m going to catch the second half in bed.”
His mouth opens, shuts, frown-lines creasing his forehead. The outline of a ‘pl …’ shapes his lips.
“No Jed. I’ve spoilt you already letting you listen to the first couple of quarters. You can find out the result in the morning.”
Funny. All the ‘sadistic’ things I’ve done in 7 weeks, and this is the one that brings moisture to his eyes. He sulks but undresses and gets into bed like a naughty kid.
“And you too.” I say to Candace, slapping into her bedroom by her satisfied butt.
In the event, I actually drift off to sleep and miss the final quarter. I check out the score in the morning. Jed’s Steelers have triumphed 27-23. Must have been exciting !
But I make him wait a further 24 hours before I eventually tell him the good news.
Of course, a small part of me still has the nagging concern that I was unnecessarily cruel that night, in a very non-erotic way. Making Jed go to bed and miss his team in such a huge game wasn’t very kind of me.
And yet, the irony is, without even seeing the game, Super Bowl XLIII will be the one he’ll remember most vividly for the rest of his life.
“I feel as if you’ve seen inside my soul.”
It is two weeks later, Saturday, February 14th 2009. The three of us are having dinner at a London restaurant; tablecloths, candles, three courses, the lot.
“I’ve seen inside a bit more than just your soul !” I reply to Candace.
We all laugh. The wine is talking. I’ve decided to do my bit for the UK economy and spend the last of my savings not already destroyed by another interest rate cut and last week’s further collapse in my bank shares.
So to celebrate Valentine’s Day I am giving them a surprise treat. They’ve both had haircuts earlier in the day, been shopping, walked in the fresh air. Breaking the ‘slavery spell’ for a few hours is a risk that I decided to plan a couple of weeks ago to keep us all sane.
Later, Candace’s comment sets me thinking. I think it’s quite astute. Earlier today I had lunch with my wife too. It went pretty well. We avoided any difficult subjects; just enjoyed catching up on nostalgia, the kids, her news, my work. I love my wife and, whatever happens, I will always feel as if we can see inside each other’s heart.
But the soul is different.
I’m pretty sure that in my half a century on this earth nobody has opened up to me in the way that Candace and Jed have. The soul is a person’s personality, their mind, their spirit. Although I have actually spent relatively little time verbally discussing stuff with them, I feel I understand them more intimately than people I’ve known throughout my adult life.
“Still no regrets ?”
They exchange glances. We are roughly a third of the way through our six months. Neither they, nor I, know exactly where we’re heading.
“None.”
“Enjoy the meal ?” I smile. They’ve evidently relished every mouthful but neither of them could finish due to their shrunken appetites.
“Fantastic.”
“And still no limits ?”
“None.” They chirp in unison.
After my morning massage, I always eat a light lunch. Big meals in the middle of the day just make me sleepy. I like cold food; a salad, maybe some poached salmon or sliced ham, a piece of fruit or cheese. I don’t keep a lot of food in the apartment. There are nice shops, a deli and the butcher, just around the corner.
Jed buckles on a ball gag while he prepares my food. Just as the tube ensures his chastity, so the gag stops him picking at my food and drink. It’s a sad fact that men can’t be trusted like women can.
Before I tuck into my lunch, I watch the regular ceremony of Jed bringing the plastic jug from the fridge and pouring a pint of the golden liquid into a pan. It is time for he and Candace to stock up on fluids.
They are always thirsty after their exercises, spicy breakfast and a morning’s hard work. Jed uses a measuring pot to add exactly a pint of tap water to my green-tinged urine, mixing a 50/50 cocktail.
In my opinion, the goal of this kind of slavery is to set extreme mental challenges for them to overcome. I mean, there’s no subtlety or imagination required to get them to push a sub or slave too far physically, by skewering her breasts or flogging his balls. Anybody can push a person past his or her limits with brutality and mutilation.
But that’s not the kind of scene Jed and Candace want and it’s certainly not what excites me.
A challenge should be achievable with the right level of submission, humility and commitment. Drinking piss is straightforward and low risk. Quite early on I peed directly in Candace’s mouth and Jed drank my undiluted urine.
Frankly, an occasional water sport sex game is a harmless, second to third base Bdsm activity in my book. For some subs it’s a hard limit but in my opinion those calling themselves slaves shouldn’t say no.
However, for 24/7 slavery, I wanted something much more permanent, a kind of long term challenge, but obviously one that was safe. So I decided that they would drink only my piss for several months, apart from occasional glasses of tap water to help flush their systems.
Living on urine is physically quite doable. But there’s a serious mental block to be overcome. I did actually agree with them we’d review it a week at a time.
We also decided to render it even safer by reducing the mineral and salt concentration. Firstly, we only use mine, not theirs, as recycling can be dangerous. Secondly, I allow them to mix it with water, usually 50/50, and thirdly to flash-heat it in the microwave to limit the risk of any bacteria. Nobody can say I don’t take health and safety seriously !
While I slowly enjoy my meal, their brew cools. An advantage of heating it up from the fridge is that they drink it tepid, not chilled, making it less pleasant. It is greenish gold today with a distinct vegetable odour. We are what we eat, and I ate both asparagus and pickled cabbage yesterday. I frequently use the jug to piss into during the day and then it matures on the bottom shelf of the fridge until it’s needed.
“Mmm.” I point with my chin. “Looks good.”
I myself have a nice glass of chilled white wine and a highball of sparkling mineral water with ice.
Their drink has now cooled to lukewarm in the microwave pan.
They are both too thirsty, too well trained, to be pernickety.
I push my plate away. The sign they may now drink. Jed carefully pours a pair of pub-style beer glasses full and hands one to Candace.
It’s a sight I never grow tired of. Watching their eyes over the top of the pint glasses as they glug back the nectar. The squint of distaste they can never quite hide. Even a simple thing like quenching their thirst is an act of submission. Jed finishes, wipes his mouth.
Candace pauses and belches acid quietly.
“Sorry, Sir.” She blushes.
She downs the remainder, her tongue snaking over her upper lip.
“Right, guys. Back to work.”
Those of you who have had kids may remember that expression on their faces when they fill their diaper ? Well, adults do the same. Jed’s harder to read than Candace but I can tell whenever either of them is doing it. He grimaces, while she puts on more of a guilty blushing face.
Afterwards, they carry on their duties regardless. The only type of accidents that have to be cleared up quickly are Candace’s poops. Fortunately they’re rare, only twice so far. Jed’s diapers keep everything odour-proof inside.
I love watching their awkward gait as they continue working with soggy thighs throughout the afternoon.
“No regrets ?”
It’s still our safe question.
A shake of the head, means everything’s okay.
A shrug means, not sure.
A nod would mean they want to talk.
Jed shakes his head.
Candace is on her elbows and knees, forehead pressed to the wooden floor, butt in the air.
“Lick her clean for me.”
Jed dry-swallows and hunkers down behind his wife’s upturned hips. Today I came inside her after breakfast. I’ve just finished my after-lunch coffee. In the past four hours, her cunt has festered nicely.
I watch a while. Today he is dressed in a kind of butler’s uniform; shiny shoes, white shirt, black waistcoat. His dark, herringbone pants bulge over his diaper and steel cage. His face burrows between her cleft, his tongue lapping up my stagnant leftovers.
I have often wondered how a couple like Candace and Jed get together, get married. I knew a few submissive couples in my twenties but nothing like this pair. Life would be so much neater if one of them was dominant, the other submissive, although that would mean I’d never have met them !
Of course, I have asked them how, both together and individually. Jed is the more hardwired sub sexually, but in other ways the more alpha personality too. Candace is more confused. She has a deep seam of Catholic guilt running within her. In private she had admitted tearfully to terrible shame about our adventure. And yet her need for it is even greater.
What is quite clear is that, despite everything, they love each other. They met, fell in love, married and are still in love. Each has told me separately that, even knowing what they now do about each other, neither would change a thing. They would still get married.
It is that certainty that means we can continue deeper into the garden of sin. I drag up a low chair and sit facing Candace’s face.
“Suck.”
While he prepares her, and she gets my dick hard, I talk.
“So far, so good guys. But it’s time to broaden Candace’s diet.”
They both acknowledge me with slight moans.
Jed is doing the ironing while Candace is on my PC. First she sends a quick email to USA about what fun she’s having in Scotland. Second she logs onto her new Ashley Madison account. The day when she starts taking on a few lovers is fast approaching. This is the darkest, most illicit, part of her particular fantasy.
We have set up her profile and uploaded a discreet photo. Her limits are set as ‘Anything Goes’. She’s already had a lot of interest, although many are either timewasters or perhaps they think she’s phoney.
Which is half true. We’ve ticked her main intimate interests as being submissive and oral sex. But we’ve said her older ‘British husband’ wants to watch her give head to another guy.
This is Jed’s fantasy too, in a different way. Way down deep, I know he’d prefer Candace to be a domme wife cuckolding him, but this is second best.
I sometimes call him over, ask his opinion, look over our shoulders.
What about this guy, Jed ? Hey, look at those muscles ! He’d look good with Candace.
But mine is the only opinion that counts. I tell her what to write to whom. It’s a wonderful feeling of power. I dictate aloud like a boss to his secretary. I mix-n-match truth and fantasy and make her fingers tremble with embarrassment as she types. She’s an active correspondent but has no idea which guy I’ll choose.
Nor do I.
But I’ve narrowed them down to three.
We meet in another bar, located quite near to the one where I first met Candace and Jed. But this is a tourist hotel; cheaper, drab, a few questions asked type of place.
Jason is a nice, mid-thirties, middle class, professional black guy. Trustworthy. We’ve spoken on the phone and he knows the score. He smiles at me, then appreciatively at Candace. She looks good in a tight wool sweater, new jeans and boots.
“No small talk.” I say. “This isn’t a date.”
To be honest, I’m nervous. In fiction it’s easy to involve strangers but this is different. Although I’m confident Jason’s not going to be a mad axe-man, there’s always that tiny bit of doubt. I like the idea of today being rushed and sordid but it’s also about wanting to get in and out of here quickly.
Is it legal to ‘pimp’ a consenting female adult in a hotel nowadays ? Who knows in the nanny police state my country has become.
Jason nods. He’s a music industry accountant. Charming but matter-of-fact. He and I have discussed everything beforehand. He addresses me not Candace.
“I have a room.”
It’s number 11. At the end of a corridor. A view of the trash and recycling bins through the net curtains. Avocado wallpaper. Floral eiderdown. But it looks clean and smells okay. Perfect.
“I’ll sit in the corner here. Out the way.”
I have locked Jed in his bedroom back at my apartment, writing lines. He has keys in a wax sealed jar so he could let himself out in an emergency. But I’m his wife’s security here.
“Top off.”
It’s a topless blowjob. That’s the agreement. Nothing else.
Jason sits on the bed. He’s 6’ 3”, wearing a charcoal suit and tie.
If this were a story, I’d have made the stranger a fat Asian cabdriver ! But I actually want Candace to enjoy her first time. She said in her fantasy his part would be played by Johnny Depp. I guess Jason’s a compromise candidate.
A Stranger.
And not fiction.
She timidly pulls her sweater over her head. She’s not wearing a bra. She keeps her jeans and boots on.
He has my permission to touch her. His black hands cup her plump white tits.
“Okay.” I say, hurrying them on.
The agreement is fifteen minutes. It’s a squalid quickie. That’s what I want her to experience. The excitement and shame.
Jason shucks off his suit without embarrassment. It feels weird watching another man undress but I keep still. He’s got sleek satin boxers on. Candace kneels and cautiously tugs them down to his ankles then he sits on the bed.
“So how was your journey here ?”
“Slow. Traffic.”
I have to shift in my chair to hide my erection. I have always wanted to select a woman’s partner. The feeling is immense. Yes, the decision to submit to this was hers but everything else is down to me. The when, the where, the what, and above all, the who.
The deal is simple: I chat with Jason while Candace blows him. We both discuss her, ignore her, as if she’s not here.
“Worth the travel time so far ?”
He smiles, smoothing Candace’s ash-blonde hair back from her eyes. “Yeah.”
The skin on her neck is mottled red with shame. For a moment I wonder if she’s going to back out. Jason flashes me a concerned look. Then his face dissolves into a shit-eating grin as her head descends into his lap.
“Let me know what you think. She’s not that experienced yet.”
“Sure. Only my second white one, you know. Most of that stuff about horny white wives on websites is bull.”
“Not total bull.” I smile. “This one’s for real.”
He winks. “Right !”
I am not a racist. My brother-in-law is black and I have a lovely nephew and niece of mixed ethnicity. I have mixed feelings about stories that use cliché black and white stereotypes. But I want Candace to submit to several obvious tests, including giving a blowjob to a stranger and having a sexual experience with a black man. It seems a good idea to merge the two.
As far as I can tell, Jed isn’t a racist either. But he isn’t one of those ‘white wimp with black dude fantasists’ either. So this will be a nice test for him too. He doesn’t know Jason is black yet. It’ll be too late for him to do anything about it when he does.
I sit quietly a while then chat some more with Jason about this and that. I can see Candace’s tits in profile, her nipples rubbing against his legs. She’s lost ten pounds in weight, mostly from where I intended. Her cheekbones are prominent where’s she sucking him.
“Mind if I take a photo ?”
“Sure.”
I use my I-phone. Snap three shots.
“Smile.”
Candace peers sideways, blushing, stares up at me with black meat bulging her cheeks.
I take a couple more souvenirs, glance at my watch.
“Time to use your hand.”
Her hand timidly reaches up to him, pale fingers round his shaft. For this symbolic occasion I have let her put both her rings back on. She masturbates him while still sucking the helmet.
“Feel free to cum where you like.” I shrug. “Mouth, face, tits.”
He bites his lower lip, sitting back on the bed. Her hand is moving in a practised blur. The small diamond of her engagement ring catches the light. Slightly obscene noises escape from the sides of her mouth.
“Oh … yeah …”
Jason unloads into her throat. I study her closed eyes, her neck.
“Swallow it bitch.” He mutters, rather obviously.
Candace does as she’s told. Her throat gulps as she knocks a stranger’s load back for the first time in her life.
Just 22 minutes have passed since we arrived at the hotel.
Jed stands to attention.
He is naked, unlocked. His dick hardening, already pointing north.
I sit on the sofa with Candace, the scent of strange semen still on her breath. Or am I imagining it ?
Neatly handwritten pages of lines are stacked on the table next to my I-phone.
‘My wife Candace has gone out to meet a guy called Jason.’
“Jerk yourself.”
He reaches down, starts sliding his fingers along his erection.
I gesture to Candace. By chance, her period began yesterday. It’s fortunate my decision for her only to blow Jason coincided so neatly with her menstrual cycle. She crawls over on her hands and knees, takes Jed’s cock in her soiled mouth. He takes his hand away.
“Don’t cum yet, Jeddy-boy.”
He sucks in his breath, grimaces.
“Can you feel how much better she is now ? Feel the way her tongue works. The pressure. None of that dreadful mwah-mwah slobbering she used to do. I’ll bet she could have got Jason off no-hands with a bit more time.”
“Uhmm.”
He seemed to take the photos showing Jason in his stride. I’ll print a couple out later for their bedside tables. C & J. Same initials.
“Okay. That’s enough you two. Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.”
‘Doing a number’.
Last year I had an interesting email and yahoo exchange with a female correspondent about the psychological effect on a man of having his ass penetrated. She’s Australian but now resident in Sicily. Online she’s known as ‘the White Lady’ and she’s into Female Supremacy, which must be especially interesting on such a macho Latin island !
Anyway, in her view, fucking a man’s ass definitely ‘does a serious number’ on his masculinity.
Her comments set me thinking. I have zero interest in gay sex. But I liked the idea of seeing the effect of anal penetration on Jed. I decided it would suit my plan better if Candace were the one to breach her husband’s virginity.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Yes Sir.”
You know that slightly ridiculous phrase ‘through gritted teeth’. Well Jed’s teeth really are the definition of gritted.
“Are you ready to do anything to cum tomorrow ?”
“Pretty much.”
I nod, beaming.
I’d already purchased a double-ended dildo with an elastic harness. It’s a weirdly garish shade of yellow with one of those dividing plates half way along. On one end is a smooth 6-inches plastic dildo that pleasures the wearer. At the other end is a ribbed 6-inches shaft that penetrates the recipient.
It’s a starlit evening. Outside the window, a silver moon hovers in the dark, clear sky. What is that old song ? Bad Moon Rising.
Jed is folded over in a bondage harness facing the view of the river. Leather straps fasten his wrists halfway up his back. He is forehead down on the floor, buttocks in the air. His inner thighs are red, pockmarked with spots of diaper rash.
Candace kneels nervously behind him wearing a dildo for the first time in her life. Her period is over and she’s dressed for her maiden voyage in a bra, suspender belt and fishnets, the dildo’s elastic straps are around her waist and between her legs. One end of the lubed prong is already inside her cunt and the ribbed half juts out from her body like a ripe banana.
Jed’s anal rose is puckered but well prepared, a dollop of gel emanating from the rim. His steel tube has been unlocked, removed, and his own dick quivers between his thighs; 57 days of chaste celibacy have trickled by since his only previous release. December, Christmas, New Year, it is now late February.
Candace smiles at me nervously. She has downed the shot of neat vodka I poured to calm her nerves.
“Go on.” I grin.
Do a number on him. The words echo in my head.
Candace gnaws her lower lip, steadies her fingers on his hips, and leans into her husband. Only recently she was an anal virgin herself. The banana bobbles about until she uses her hand to guide the tip to his rim.
“Shh.” I hiss a warning. “Hold still.”
I am down in his face now, watching. I raise eyebrows at Candace. She thrusts, triggering a loud grunt from her husband. His cheeks scrunch tight.
Actually, to be precise, the dildo is calibrated metrically not in inches. According to the packaging, the diameter is exactly 5 centimetres thick, including the ribbing, and its length is 15 centimetres, which I figure are say 2 and 6 inches respectively.
A comfortable size for a vagina.
Slightly less so for an anus.
His breath stammers in a series of short, sharp gasps.
I exchange glances with Candace. We are like two interrogators silently communicating; the old hard guy - soft guy routine.
“Don’t worry, Jed. You can take it my friend.”
She grips his waist tighter, grinds her pretty white teeth with determination.
I’m certainly no anal expert but I’ve fucked enough women’s butts to know there is that crucial moment when the defences are breached. Like the 300 Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae, however well they resist, once the sphincter has succumbed, the opposing forces flood through the gap.
It is the same with Jed’s asshole. Resist, resist, resist, then suddenly, several inches of yellow plastic invade his virgin territory.
“Aagh … nghm …” he groans, part-pain and part-acceptance.
His grey eyes blink up at me, his face slack-jawed.
“Oah, Jeddy boy. That was beautiful. Pure poetry. Whatever happens now, you’ll never be a hundred per cent man again.”
Candace reaches under Jed’s hips and takes his penis in her right hand. He is rock solid and his circumcised helmet is the colour of eggplant.
I nod to her again. Her mouth pouts in an unspoken thank you. Sweetly, it’s on his behalf. But I raise a finger of warning that she doesn’t forget our agreement.
Slowly she builds rhythm, sawing to and fro, an expression of mild surprise emerging on her face as she realises the dildo inside her own body actually feels good. She begins pegging her hubby with gusto.
Jed’s face gradually changes too. While Candace’s hand is pumping his erection, I’m assured even the most hetero guy can also derive pleasure from a dildo massaging his prostate.
“Come on Jeddykins. Enjoy ! It’ll be a long time until you can do this again.”
His eyes close as eight weeks of frustration finally boil over. I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a visceral roar from any man.
“Yesssss … aaaarrrrrrrrrrrmmm …”
I pass my finger across my throat in a cut off sign.
Candace immediately pulls her hand away.
“Nnnagggh … nnnpll …”
He groans in helpless disappointment; part orgasm, part denial.
It is wonderful, awe inspiring to witness. His eyes roll in their sockets like fruits in a slot machine. A single spurt litters the floor beneath him. His erection twitches as he bitches and gasps, finally triggering a second jet onto the wooden floor.
“Is that all ?”
“Nnn … hhh …. Hhh.” He pleads.
His shoulders, elbows shudder in the leather harness as he starts fighting to retrieve his orgasm. A third pearly globule drops out of his piss slit. His body has begun to sag just as Candace picks up the pace. One final, unexpected, squirted teardrop is like a last hurrah.
I smile encouragingly at my accomplice. Her own eyes are glazed now, selfish and hungry. She thrusts, almost snarling, concentrating on her own climax.
The change in Jed is almost instant. His body has tensed. One second he was into it, lost in the moment. Post-orgasm, he is shamed by what’s happening as his asshole is reamed. His remaining seminal fluid dribbles harmlessly onto the small puddle beneath him.
But Candace doesn’t stop. She is entranced in her own world.
Her head leans back like a howling wolf.
Yep, my plan is slowly working.
Most evenings I spend quietly at home. On the few occasions I have to go out for some reason, I leave Candace and Jed locked in their separate bedrooms with their homework. They each have pairs of keys in separate wax sealed jars, to their own room and to each other’s, just in case there were ever an emergency. Candace also has a cell phone with my number plugged in. But I leave a sound recorder running to check they don’t communicate or unnecessarily break silence in any way.
Their studies are usually mundane but useful school-type homework such as learning lists of dates or the Kings and Queens of England, the Presidents and Vice Presidents of USA, long passages of poetry, or speeches from Shakespeare.
When I return at 10 or 11 p.m., it’s nice to sense the studious hush, quite unlike when I returned home to a place full of teenagers.
“Fuck, I’m horny.” I say to Jed with a wink. I’ve gone eight hours without an orgasm while he’s just been eight weeks. I switch on the baby monitor in his bedroom and turn his light off.
“Yes Sir. Have a good night, Sir.”
Jed has the parent’s unit at his bedside. I’m not a noisy sleeper but I often like him to hear my bedroom: me getting ready for bed, a bit of late night TV. He can listen to me getting up for a piss in the night, my light snoring. And unless I switch it off, the children’s unit by my bed also broadcasts my conversations and sex with Candace.
“I’ve had a few drinks. Just jack me off a while.”
I lie back, eyes shut, relaxing after the business dinner I’ve been to.
“Mmm. That’s nice. Now tease my asshole with your tongue too.”
It takes a while. One of the things about getting older is you sadly can’t mix alcohol and sex like you used to in your twenties.
“I bet Jed used to love it when you rimmed his butt ?”
I don’t like to leave our eavesdropping friend out of the conversation.
“Mmh …” she replies in an uncommitted murmur.
Her tongue and fingers work their magic. I enjoy everything about a female slave but, when all is said and done, having sex on tap is ultimately the best part. However willing a wife or girlfriend is, there are always those times when they’re not in the mood. Heck, there are even moments when they’re frisky and you just want to go to sleep !
But a true slave just adapts her rhythms to yours. Her periods become irrelevant. Her headaches are beside the point. Her own desires are neither here nor there.
As I’ve said before, no guy wants sex literally all the time. We have beer, TV, sport, sleep, and our mates. Even our jobs. But when we want sex, we want it now. We don’t want bullshit about it being inconvenient, or she’s watching some soap, or not in the fucking mood.
We just want maybe a quick blowjob. Perhaps a leisurely fuck. Or something a bit different, a bit imaginative.
“Okay. Get on all fours. Let’s finish off in the doggy.”
Like any normal woman, even Candace didn’t used to be like this. Not with Jed or anybody else. But it’s what she wanted. She’s not just learned to do exactly what I want, when I want, she does it unquestioningly and with a smile on her cute face.
Or a smile on her cute butt.
I love doing it from behind. Her face in the sheet, both holes presented. She has a couple of faded yellow bruises across her buttocks. There is something caveman about the position. I can really thump my dick its full length into her clenching, Kegel-enhanced cunt.
It still takes a while, thanks to the booze, but I eventually empty inside her with relief. She’s nowhere near an orgasm herself. Which is fine tonight. She’s just a receptacle.
I collapse back into the pillows with a sigh.
“Scoop it out with your fingers.”
She makes a face. Funny how she swallows readily enough nowadays, but I think she considers my making her shovel out her own cunt after fucking to be simply gratuitous.
“Good girl. Now lick your hand clean. You still awake Jed ? You should see this. Say goodnight to Jed, darling.”
“Night Jed.”
I dismiss her off to sleep in her own bed, with my salty toothpaste on her lips.
The following evening I test them on the previous night’s homework. Jed and Candace are an intelligent, educated couple and I set high standards. I not only expect top scores for their latest studies, but I throw in questions that test all previous lists, names and passages they’ve learned as well. This cumulative library of trivia will be a handy memory for them to take home.
Funnily enough, Jed and Candace are both keener devotees of CP than me. I think that’s quite often the case. Subs get a masochistic thrill from being beaten. And many female dommes seem to get a buzz caning subs. I’m sure sadistic males enjoy inflicting pain too, but for others like me who are more dominant than brutal it’s a challenge.
I have never been into real life corporal punishment. Stories are okay, but I just don’t get off on actually hitting people. Never have, never will. But that’s not to say I spare the rod entirely. I think spankings and canings have a role to play in teaching, training, behaviour reinforcement and punishment.
My father brought me up with the attitude, if you’re going to do something, do it right ! So that means making any caning humiliating and painful enough that your sub doesn’t want another in a hurry.
I enjoy the ritual most.
To even take their tests, I make Jed and Candace bend over side by side and clutch their ankles. They are sometimes naked, sometimes partly clothed, but always bare bottomed. It is dusk outside, and they face the window overlooking the Thames. In theory somebody with a telescope in the office block on the other side of the river could be watching. Minimal chance but I find the possibility enhances the tension.
I use a plastic cane. It’s wide and flat, like an architect’s ruler. It stings without breaking skin. I use it to tap their ankles wider apart. Both their faces stare up at me through their open legs, cheeks turning red.
I make them wait in that humiliating posture for five to ten minutes, while I pour myself a drink, maybe make a phone call, prepare my questions.
I rest the cane gently on the bottom of Jed’s spine.
“Who was the eighth President ?”
“Martin van Buren.”
I tap Candace. “Twenty ninth President ?”
“ … er … Harding. Warren Harding.”
“Thirty eighth ?”
“Jimmy Carter.” Jed answers.
I thwack the cane without warning across his buttocks. There is still very faint yellow-brown bruising from his most recent punishment. A brand new bright red line appears.
I take a step and give Candace her first stroke too. She must pay for Jed’s errors and vice versa. It’s a mixed doubles event.
“Thirty eighth ?”
“Gerald Ford.” She gasps, correctly.
“Forty fifth ?”
“ … none.” She replies. “Obama is the 44th.”
I give her a warning rap.
“Not Obama. Show respect.”
“Barack Obama.”
I nod at her. Her upside-down face grimaces at me with concentration.
“James Monroe’s Vice President ?”
Silence. Jed doesn’t know.
I’m loosening up now. I give him a second blistering lash and his entire right buttock turns a satisfying crimson hue. I do the same, only a touch less harshly to Candace.
“Do you know ?”
“Tompkins.” She blurts out.
Correct.
But no cigar !
I give them both a third hard stroke each.
“Daniel D Tompkins. I want full names !”
And so it goes on. They shift from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching their baboon-red posteriors.
“Date Thomas Jefferson died ?”
“July 4th, 1826.”
“Age when he died ?”
“Eighty three.”
As I said, they learn some pretty useful stuff.
END OF PART THREE
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‘BY KISS AND SWORD’
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