"Stand up, Jill,” Barry said, his voice lifting with pride. He grinned, very obviously proud to be showing off his girl. Jill stood, suddenly feeling embarrassed and exposed. While she normally didn't feel at all shy in front of men, she wasn't used to someone like Paul, someone so clearly in control, and not easily impressed.
He came close to her, leaning in to smell her hair, to touch her ear. His finger trailed down her neck and she shivered slightly, then caught herself and raised her chin in an unconscious defiance. Paul noticed, but didn't react. He ran his hands down her sides, like he was feeling a race dog or a horse, checking the flanks. He pinched her calves and upper arms, and she was waiting for him to inspect her teeth! It didn't feel sexy, this examination, it felt debasing.
Barry was watching Paul, his neutral smile belied by the glittering, intense expression in his eyes. Jill had her eyes on the floor, and her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were pressed together, forcing the air through her nostrils as she tried to control and slow her breathing.
Paul leaned aside a moment and murmured something to Barry, who nodded his assent. Jill strained to hear what they were saying, but she could not. Paul stepped behind her and with a kick to one ankle he sent her legs flying apart. Jill stumbled on her high heels and gasped in surprise. Barry steadied her shoulder and looked at her warningly. Stunned, she tried to regain her balance and her composure. Paul ignored all this. Instead, he calmly reached between her legs, and ordered, “Keep your legs spread. Stay still.” She felt his hard fingers against her thighs. He pinched her, sharply, and she jerked away, crying out. Again Barry's warning look.
Jill bit her lip and tried to steady herself on her heels. Her heart was pounding now and she felt confused. His fingers brushed her pussy and she felt a sudden sexual jolt. His fingers feathered against her, like liquid fire against her clit. She responded, against her will, to his masterful touch. Barry's hands were on her shoulders now, holding her as Paul touched her, standing behind her, hands under her dress.
After several moments of caressing and teasing her pussy, Paul pushed a finger into her slit and she sighed involuntarily. Paul finger fucked her for several moments, and then withdrew his finger and feather-teased her clit again until Jill felt like she would fall down from the pleasure of it. She was breathing hard, and would have fallen if Barry hadn't been in front of her, holding her still, his face intense and inscrutable as another man touched his wife in this most intimate of ways.
Jill felt her impending orgasm, and she wanted it, desperately. She forgot about who was touching her, or that she had planned to scorn him by leaving him aroused and unsatisfied. All she wanted was to come. Her hips were rotating as she strained to reach his teasing and withdrawing fingers. She was on fire with lust. Paul laughed suddenly, but it was a hollow sound, amusement without pleasure.
"She's nothing but a cunt right now,” Paul said, suddenly standing back from her.
His words cut into her consciousness and her eyes flew open. She saw Barry staring at her, his face flushed, and she felt his hands, clutching her shoulders, hurting her with their grip. She was confused, and suddenly terribly self-conscious. She struggled to stand up straight, to close her legs. She wanted to run away from them both, to hide.
"Make the slut kneel down,” Paul instructed, and Barry, still gripping her shoulders, pressed her to the ground. Jill sank down, hiding her head, feeling confused and humiliated. They spoke over her head. “She's lovely, Barry. Absolutely stunning.” From below them, Jill felt slightly mollified. “But no control. A slut. She was going to come, Barry, right there. You saw it. She was going to come without your permission all over my hand.” Jill's face was burning and she felt a cold rage start to rise up in her. All thoughts of orgasm were erased as she silently fumed, kneeling on the ground between them.
Barry protested, “But I love that, Paul! I love that she is so easily aroused, so sexual and passionate."
"Yes,” said Paul dryly. “I keep forgetting; she's your wife. Your lover. I prefer slaves, as you know. Much simpler that way. No muddy waters. She submits, I use. Period. My slave lives totally to serve me. I am completely uninterested in her sexual pleasure, except when I feel like exerting my control by making her come on command. But I must remember you care about this slut's pleasure. We are different in that regard. If you give her to me, I will teach her about submission, I can promise you that."
Give her to me? Jill's ears were ringing. She couldn't have heard him correctly. Barry would never give her to him! Then she remembered the contract. The wording about giving her to other masters! And she had signed it, feeling excited at the time about having another lover. But not this man! Not this cold strange man.
"Jill. Get up; let's have coffee.” Barry was speaking, and she struggled to concentrate, to stop the swirl of confusing thoughts screaming in her brain. She stood, determined to regain some composure, some measure of respect. She walked gracefully to the kitchen and the men followed. They allowed her to serve them, pouring and preparing their coffee and slicing them each a serving of her cheesecake topped with fresh blueberries.
"You may sit,” Barry told her imperiously, as if she didn't always sit with him at the table.
"Delicious,” Paul announced, and Barry smiled, looking pleased. He seemed impossibly invested in pleasing this man, and Jill was hard pressed to contain her irritation. They made small talk for several minutes, and enjoyed their coffee and cake. Then Paul stepped out on their patio to smoke, leaving the two of them alone for a moment.
Jill expected Barry to apologize, to try to explain why Paul behaved as he did, but instead, he smiled happily and said, “I love you, Jill. Isn't Paul great?” He looked so happy, and so pleased with himself. Jill smiled in spite of herself, realizing he would never let this strange man harm her. She relaxed as he put his hand over hers. “He does things differently than we do, but that's because he isn't in love, like we are. But I want him to see how well trained you are, Jill. He doesn't think sex and love can mix with true submission. I want to show him he's wrong. I want to whip you in front of him. I want him to see what my darling can do."
Jill nodded, feeling the sudden catch in her throat. She had thought something like this would happen, but now that he was saying it aloud, she was scared. She wanted to submit for him; to show this haughty bastard that she wasn't ‘just a cunt’ as he had so coarsely dismissed her. She felt her resolve grow, and knew she wouldn't let her Barry down.
"Go, Jill. Go to the playroom and strip to just your garters and panties. Leave on your shoes. Kneel like I taught you and wait for us. Go!” He patted her ass and Jill hurried out to do his bidding. It was hard to believe that her possessive husband was going to show her bare breasts to this stranger. But then, in his mind he was hardly a stranger! More like a mentor, and clearly a man he deeply wanted to impress. Well, she would do her best not to let him down!
She pulled off her pretty dress and draped it carefully over a chair. Kneeling on the soft throw rug, she spread her legs, hands on her thighs, in a position of subservience that offered access to her sex. She felt her own desire throbbing in her pussy, and heard Paul's words again, spoken with derision. “She's nothing but a cunt.” She licked her lips and tried to slow her breathing. She knew in her heart he was right. She was a slut and she lived for her own pleasure. But she could submit, and she wanted to tonight, desperately. She would show the bastard.
The two men came in a few minutes later, and they silently surveyed the beautiful woman kneeling on the floor. They had clearly discussed what was to take place, but they weren't sharing this with Jill. “Get up,” Paul said, as he grabbed her hair, pulling her pretty braid askew.
"May I?” Jill heard him say behind her, and apparently Barry had nodded, because she felt Paul release her barrette, pulling free the braided tresses so that her long dark hair fell down about her shoulders. “I like it down,” he commented, winding a great handful of her hair and then jerking her back roughly, so that she crie
d out.
They led her to the wall where several hooks had been strategically placed. Quickly the two of them secured one arm to each hook, using her cuffs, so that her arms were raised and spread over her head. Paul moved against her so that her whole body was pressed against the cold wall, breasts mashed. “You start, Barry. Show me what she can take."
It was said cordially, but Jill heard the challenge in it, and she trembled, knowing Barry wanted to impress this man. It was the heavy-tressed whip that smacked against her flesh and Jill breathed an inward sigh of relief. She loved this whip. The thick braids of leather caressed and massaged her, building up pleasure and pain, taking her to some secret place where she gave herself over to its lash. She could take quite a beating with this whip, and of course, Barry knew it.
He began slowly, whipping her ass and thighs, and then moving on to her back and calves, methodically covering her body with the soft but stinging leather lash. Jill felt her breathing slow as she entered that lovely ethereal space where pain and pleasure truly did combine into something almost spiritual. Usually at this point, Barry would drop the whip, release his wife, and make passionate love to her.
But not tonight. Instead, she became dimly aware that the whipping had stopped, but she was still tied to the wall. She realized that her arms were aching, and her feet were tired in the high heels on which she was still balancing. She wanted to be let down, to be adored, but that wasn't happening. Instead, the men were talking and she struggled to listen.
"She takes a good beating; I'm impressed,” Paul was saying. “How about the front. Does she handle a breast beating well? And how about the crop?"
In truth, Barry had only occasionally whipped her from the front, and then just briefly. Her nipples were extremely sensitive, and while he liked to bite and nibble them, he rarely whipped them. But tonight he was on show, and he wasn't going to admit any weakness. “She'll take whatever I give her.” They undid her arms and turned her around, forcing her arms back up again, and re-securing her quickly.
Jill wanted to lie down. She was hot and felt her underarms prickle with sweat. She was tired and her back and ass were on fire. Usually this fire was quelled by their soft sheets and Barry's sweet kisses. But tonight she was tied against the wall, her bare breasts promised a beating. She thought of begging Barry to let her down, but then she saw Paul's cool appraising look. He was waiting for her to protest, to prove that she wasn't a ‘real slave.’ Well, fuck him! She bit her lips and stared back at him, again tilting her chin slightly in defiance. Barry was oblivious of this secret battle of wills as he went to fetch his riding crop.
"Wait,” said Paul, “Let's make her nipples more sensitive."
"Oh, they're very sensitive already,” Barry began, but Paul wasn't listening. He was removing something from his pocket, which he showed to Barry.
"Oh, is that them? Cool,” Barry said, leaning over the little chain Paul held in his hand.
"Do you know what these are, slut?” Paul asked Jill.
She looked at what he was holding, and her eyes widened. They were nipple clamps, and she had seen them online at a site a chat room girlfriend had directed her to, but she had never seen them in real life. In his palm lay a long silver chain, with an alligator clip at either end, and a little screw on each to adjust the tension. The clips were covered in black soft plastic.
Jill felt her nipples stiffen to attention, but she also felt nervous. Barry was right that her nipples were extremely sensitive. Suddenly Paul slapped her face and Jill jerked back, shocked. “Answer a direct question."
"Nipple clamps,” she gasped, unable to touch her hot cheek. She looked toward Barry for support, but his face was hard, eyes bright.
"That's right. Have you ever experienced them?"
"No,” she whispered.
"Call me sir when you speak directly to me,” he said quietly.
"No, sir,” she amended.
"Well, it's your lucky night,” Paul said as he opened one of the clamps and pulled her nipple out to secure it. As the clip clamped down onto her tender bud, Jill yelped.
"Hurts, doesn't it?” Paul's expression was alight with sadistic pleasure.
Jill nodded, biting her bottom lip, trying to stay quiet. She couldn't help the sharp intake of breath as she watched him open the other clip and release the spring so it clamped down on her second nipple.
"I make them tight,” Paul explained, turning to Barry, who had leaned in to examine her nipples. They were mashed, red between the silver and black, the chain swinging between them. “If you make them too loose, they come off easily, and it's annoying. This hurts a bit more, of course.” He stopped speaking and they both looked at Jill, whose eyes were screwed closed as she tried to absorb the pain of the unfamiliar metal teeth on her delicate nipples.
"We'll leave them on while we whip her. They add a certain—intensity. Don't worry, Barry. It does no permanent harm. Just makes them a little sore. Nothing she can't handle. Not a well trained slave girl like Jill.” Again the subtle challenge in his voice. Barry stiffened and stood back. Paul smiled and handed Barry the crop.
He leaned over and kissed Jill's mouth, whispering, “Do this for me, slave girl. I love you.” And then he used the crop, smacking her breasts and belly, avoiding the swaying chain and the clips that held her poor nipples captive.
He smacked her thighs and the tops of her breasts. He smacked her flat belly and the sides of her lean body. The chain swayed between her breasts with each blow from the crop, but the clamps stayed firmly in place. Jill found that the pain had lessened and her nipples felt almost numb. She could take this! She let her head fall back, and let her body flow with the crop, riding the pain, feeling it transmute to pleasure.
Suddenly her nipples were on fire! She opened her eyes and saw that Paul had released the clamps. She hissed with pain as the blood flowing back into her nipples made all her tortured nerve endings scream. Watching her, knowing exactly what she was experiencing, though Barry did not, Paul aimed and then smacked first one and then the other nipple, hard, with the crop.
Jill's yell pierced the air and pain exploded from her nipples like red hot fire branding her psyche. Her head fell forward and Jill was gone. She had fainted.
She came to moments later and found herself on the chaise lounge in their playroom, a blanket tucked up around her shoulders. She heard the men talking out in the hall. Then Barry heard her stir, and ran over, kneeling next to her.
"Are you ok, sweetheart? You passed out."
"I'm ok, I think. What happened?” She felt confused, disoriented.
"I guess Paul was a little rough. He didn't realize how sensitive your nipples are, I guess. I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have let him...” She stopped him with a finger to his lips. She didn't like it when he apologized. In her mind, a ‘real’ dom didn't apologize, no matter what. But also she was glad he was concerned, and that he was there protecting her from that bully.
"Well,” he said, “if you're ok, I'll just go say goodnight to Paul.” When he returned, he carried her to their bed and made love to her with a fierce passion. When he made her come, they both thought of Paul. Jill's orgasm was searing and left her completely spent. And when Barry ejaculated into her soon after, he cried out with passion, riding her like a beast. Yes, Paul had left the house, but he was still with them.
Chapter Five
Paul
The weeks passed and Barry had to return to work. Each morning he locked his slave girl into her chastity belt, forcing her to wait all day to pee. She learned not to drink during the day. She did her exercises at home, not able to workout in public with that contraption possibly showing beneath her shorts. Because her pussy was encased, she was constantly aware of it, and constantly aroused. When Barry came home, the first thing he did was unlock her belt, and then feel her hot wet pussy.
He liked to watch her pee in the shower, and then he would make her come. Sometimes she would come by her own hand, right there on the bathroom
floor. He would smile and ask her if she had behaved that day, knowing of course that she had, since she had no choice. “Come for me, slut,” he would demand.
She would lie back, naked, and spread her legs for him so he could see her pretty pussy. Then her long fingers would swirl and play until she let her head fall back, sighing sweetly. She liked to play in front of Barry, knowing he loved to stare at her lithe body and her own hands making her hot. She would come fast, because of waiting all day for this release. He would let her, just to ‘take the edge off’ he would say. And then the real fun would begin.
He would bind her, gag her, whip her, fuck her, and all of it was fun. But it was play. Somehow they both sensed this now, and somehow, unspoken between them, there was a sense of dissatisfaction. And it had to do with Paul. Jill found herself thinking about him. What would Paul do in a certain situation, how would Paul react, what would Paul expect from her? Barry was so head over heels crazy about her that he often let his romantic feelings overcome his dominant ones. She would press the envelope, test or challenge him secretly, by disobeying some rule or command, and he would overlook it, because she was his sweetheart and really he just wanted to please her.
Not that he wasn't a good lover, or a dominant one. He still used her and beat her, treating her like the slut she was, and she loved it. But the edge wasn't there. That edge of, what was it? Fear? Perhaps it was the fear, the uncertainty, of not knowing just what would happen. The risk factor, the danger. The same sensation she had unknowingly sought when she had those brief affairs. She was looking for that element of risk, that willingness of another to take her farther than she herself felt she could go.
Paul had hinted at these limits, and she was sure he could take her there. And yet she felt disloyal and confused for having these feelings. And she didn't even like the man! An arrogant insufferable person who thought only of himself and his own pleasure. And yet, when he had been there, she had been alive! Thrilled and excited to her bones. Vibrant and ready for a challenge.
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