Paying in Full

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by don_jetman, Feb 8, 2017.

  1. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Paying in Full
    by Don Jetman

    - Chapter 1 -

    "You have both agreed that cooperating is preferable to prison, no?"

    Barbara and Peter stood before him in room 720. He had written the
    instructions inside a greeting card, delivered only yesterday. "Friends
    like you make my world a better place," it had said on the outside.
    Inside, the message was more sobering. "Room 720. Lexington Hyatt. 7:00
    PM. Attendance not optional."

    They nodded in unison, both knowing his price would be exorbitant.

    He opened a small pillbox. The left compartment held a blue pill, the
    right, a pink one.

    "Please. Ladies first," he said, grinning at Barbara. "No, the blue one,"
    he told her, when she reached for the pink one. Peter was to retrieve the
    pink capsule.

    "Barbara, put it on your husband's tongue, then tell him to swallow."

    She raised it to his mouth, he opened, felt the bitter taste of it on his
    tongue, and swallowed.

    "And of course, that one's for your wife," he told Peter.

    Barbara opened and took hers as well, swallowing it with some difficulty.

    "Your wife will become my property for a year," he explained. "Barbara, I
    know how you despise the treatment of women as sex objects, so I've
    decided to make you one."

    Barbara cringed, but was determined not to let him see her weaken.

    "For the next month, each weekend you will attend a series of crash
    courses, custom tailored to your most personal traits. In the end, you
    will find your role as a sex object not only acceptable, but desirable."

    "I won't," Barbara answered, seething at the thought.

    "Oh, but you will," he told her. "The pills you have given each other are
    only a start, but one you'll soon appreciate. You can probably feel yours
    already - a slight trembling in your arms and legs, the increased heart
    rate, a hint of euphoria as your breath becomes quicker and deeper."

    Barbara stared at him, her mouth now open in disbelief, her breasts
    rising and falling with each deep breath as beads of sweat formed on her
    forehead. "Oh God," she whimpered.

    He smiled at her, then turned to Peter as she struggled to keep from
    shaking. "Yours is somewhat more innocuous, but yet more sinister at the
    same time," he explained. "Although the effects can't be felt outwardly,
    the little blue pill your wife has so cooperatively placed in your mouth
    will render you helplessly impotent for thirty days. When Barbara returns
    from her training, she'll give you one on the first of every month, for
    the entire year. I'll be sure to be present, just to make sure neither of
    you decides to cheat. I like my women to be faithful, you see. So, while
    Barbara must do most of the work, or have most of the fun as she'll soon
    see it, you must stand by her like a eunuch while your wife satisfies her
    sexual needs elsewhere. And her sexual needs will be most astonishing, I
    assure you."

    With that, he approached Barbara and began to unbutton her blouse. When
    she took a sudden step back away from him, his look hardened, and after a
    stern warning about what prison might be like for her, she let him open
    her blouse to the waist and slide it down over her shoulders. In a single
    swift motion, he pulled her bra up roughly, letting her breasts fall free
    beneath it. Her bare shoulders and firm breasts were creamy white, her
    nipples embarrassingly puckered and hard. He cupped each of her breasts
    lightly in his hands, lifting them gently, testing their weight. Her
    breathing became heavier, her eyes fluttered, then closed.

    "Your husband can't believe what he's seeing, Barbara," he told her
    softly. "His faithful wife submitting to a stranger as he fondles her
    bare breasts. How breathtaking his humiliation must be as he stands by
    helplessly, knowing he can't intervene, knowing just as well that for the
    next year he'll be useless in bed, useless to satisfy you."

    Grinning at Peter, he released Barbara's breasts, covered them once again
    with her bra, then raised her blouse, smoothing it over her slender
    shoulders. He stepped away from her, leaving her standing there, her
    jutting nipples mocking her shaken husband. He walked to a mahogany desk
    a few feet away and sat, eyeing the couple with perverted amusement.

    "Peter, you may now remove your wife's clothes."

    Peter stared across the desk at the large man. Now a new horror caused
    his hands to shake and bile to rise into his throat. Before him stood his
    wife of five years, first curious, then alarmed, now uncontrollably
    aroused in spite of the circumstances that brought them here on a Sunday
    afternoon. The man had pawed the yielding skin of her firm, round
    breasts, and she was panting, her face flushed, her body trembling, her
    smooth, flay belly pulled taught as she fought the effects of the small
    pink pill.

    The large man was his boss, a demanding sort who by nature found it far
    easier to humiliate than to praise his employees. Peter never considered
    Jack Farmer beyond using blackmail, or any of a hundred shady methods to
    get what he wanted - but this, this was more that he could have imagined.

    OK, so he did send a portion of the schematics to the Chinese. But they
    were worthless without the rest of the set, and the money - $750,000 -
    enough to afford a home that he knew Barbara wanted, a home more like her
    wealthy father could provide, if she would let him. Each time "Daddy"
    offered his help, she refused, but the look of disappointment was always
    there to haunt Peter later, the look that said, "Why can't you give me
    what Daddy gave me?"

    When Farmer intercepted the transfer, he threatened to contact
    Washington. As a defense contractor, Farmer knew the consequences, and
    threatened to involve Barbara's father, a twice-elected Senator from
    their state. Peter would have agreed to anything to stay out of prison,
    and to preserve the good name of his wife's family. Barbara was
    incredulous when Peter confessed, then furious when she learned of the
    threat to involve her father. Now she stood before him in a perversely
    lavish hotel suite, pale and unflinching as they faced the consequences
    of Peter's imprudent greed.

    "Your wife's clothes, Peter. I'm waiting," repeated Farmer.

    To everyone's surprise, Barbara moved slowly to the center of the room as
    if in a trance. "Do it, Peter," she said coolly. He rose and approached
    her, knowing full well that her concern was for her father and not for
    him or herself. When he reached for her blouse, Farmer stopped him.

    "Turn her to face me, Peter. Do it from behind. I want to see. I want to
    see what you can't see - your lovely wife, stripped naked, ever so slowly
    in front of me."

    He shot Farmer a look of pure hatred, then retreated to a position behind
    his wife. Reaching around her, he followed the open edges of her crisp
    white blouse up to the collar, then slowly pulled it back over her
    shoulders and down along each arm. He could feel her breathing as he held
    her in the strange embrace, breathing that caused her firm breasts to
    swell suddenly as his fingers brushed over them.

    "Take it off, Peter," Farmer instructed as he watched from behind the
    desk. "Drop it on the floor beside her."

    He freed the blouse from under the waistband of her skirt, pulled it over
    her shoulders, and dropped it as Farmer had commanded. He could feel her
    shiver in the cool air-conditioned office.

    "Now the bra. And stay behind her Peter. Don't block my view."

    Slowly, fingers shaking, he opened the hooks one by one, feeling the
    material give and then go loose when the second hook came undone. He
    could feel her heavy breasts fall partially free, still encased in the
    lacy cups, but now hanging naturally inside them. He eased the first
    narrow strap over her shoulder, then the second, feeling the heat from
    her body rise to meet his clammy fingers. Once again, he reached around
    her and, resting his hands over the upper slopes of her breasts, peeled
    the bra from her and dropped it to the floor.
     
  2. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    "Ahh, Peter, if you could only see what I see. Such ample breasts for her
    size, hanging ever so slightly, like ripe, succulent fruit. She's my
    type, Peter - large, pink nipples, now puckering so urgently like tiny
    fingers set free in the cool air. You don't mind if I have a closer look,
    do you Peter?"

    He eyed Farmer with resentment, but did not dare give him a reason to go
    forward with the alternative.

    "Well, Peter, do you?"

    "No. No sir," he spat back sharply, bitter resentment accentuating each
    word.

    Farmer rose and came closer, a step in front of Barbara. As he reached
    out to touch her, she took a step backward, crying out, "No! Please
    don't!" Farmer scowled at her, then suddenly and roughly took her by the
    shoulders.

    "Listen to me, bitch. You don't have a voice here. You're property now,
    so shut up, and do what you're told, or your father's picture will be on
    the front page of every paper in the country."

    She began to shake in his grasp, then went limp, surrendering to him. As
    Peter stood behind her, Farmer took her breasts in both hands, kneading
    the firm pillows of flesh and pulling at her tender nipples until they
    jutted and throbbed between his fingertips. He stared at them as he
    worked.

    "Yes - these are perfect," he muttered as he studied her full, creamy
    breasts. "Her nipples harden so quickly, Peter. A woman so responsive may
    prove to be quite an enjoyable source of entertainment. Tell me, Peter -
    is she, 'enjoyable', to put it as delicately as I'm able at this moment?"

    He could hear his wife sobbing as Farmer fondled her. When Farmer looked
    up at him for an answer, it took everything he had to force a strained
    "yes" from his throat. He could see that Farmer not only enjoyed physical
    torture, but their humiliation as well.

    "Well, you've only wetted my appetite, Peter. Please continue," Farmer
    replied as he took a step back and waited.

    Peter looked down at the short zipper at the back of her skirt. Once
    lowered, it would allow the skirt to fall to the floor. His stomach
    churned as he imagined his beautiful wife standing before Farmer in her
    underwear, allowing him to examine her body as only Peter had done when
    she undressed at their bedside. Farmer's expression was one of sober
    expectation, and Peter knew he had to do as he was told. He took the
    zipper in his fingers, tugged until it lowered to its limit, and watched
    the sheath of grey cotton creep over her narrow hips and slide over her
    thighs to the floor.

    But Farmer wasn't satisfied.

    "Her slip, Peter. From behind, as before. Do the panties as well. This is
    taking much too long."

    Peter went to his knees and placed his fingers inside the elastic of her
    slip. Then, sliding it lower, he snagged the sides of the white cotton
    panties as well and, agonizing over every inch, slowly pulled them both
    down along her bare thighs. Now just inches from the firm, round globes
    of her perfect ass, he could see the goose bumps rise over her skin, and
    caught a brief glimpse of silky black pubic hair nested between her
    thighs.

    Farmer stepped closer to her once again and reached out to stroke her
    silky belly.

    "Peter, Peter, Peter. This is more than I could have ever hoped for.
    Slim, long-waisted girls like this are one of my few weaknesses. Even
    rarer to find one with such generous breasts and nipples."

    Barbara gasped as he lowered his hand between her legs. Her legs
    trembled, then parted slightly, forced open by his large invading hand.

    "Would you believe me if I told you she's wet? Absolutely dripping."

    It was more than she could take. "Bastard!" she hissed.

    He shoved two fingers inside her, making her cry out in pain. He pushed
    harder, burying them to the hilt, anger burning in his eyes.

    "Since you seem to have something to say, despite my warnings, tell me
    you like this, or I'll give a reporter friend a quick call with news
    about Daddy."

    Squirming as he explored the depths of her belly with probing fingers, it
    took only seconds for her to reconsider. "OK," she relented, sobbing
    uncontrollably. "I like it."

    "Now tell Peter. Look at him. He needs to see the lust in your eyes as
    you confess."

    She turned to look at him. He was pale and sweating, and looked very ill.

    Then, hoping he could see the misery in her eyes, she obeyed. "I-I like
    it, Peter."

    Her words were like a sudden blow to his chest. Knowing she was forced to
    tell him failed to keep the scandalous admission from being painful. When
    she saw the pain in his eyes, she lowered her head, afraid and ashamed.

    "You can leave us now, Peter," Farmer said with a satisfied smile. "Why
    don't you wait in the outer office. I'll send her out when we're
    through."

    He took one last look at his wife. She stood with her back to him,
    deliciously soft and slender, naked, except for the wrinkled layers of
    clothing still encircling her ankles. Farmer had finished between her
    legs, and now held her face in his immense hands. Gently, he lifted her
    hair from her shoulders, first holding it back, then up, studying her
    perfect features, eyes, mouth, neck, and ears, as he imagined her an
    object of his own making.

    "You're dismissed, Peter," Farmer barked. "Wait outside. Don't make me
    tell you again."

    Peter tore his eyes away, walked through the door, and closed it behind
    him.
     
  3. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Farmer continued to stroke her hair, then, after tracing the contours of
    her ears with a practiced touch, trailed his hands gently over her neck,
    his fingertips exploring each hollow, lingering where he knew the skin
    was most sensitive.

    "I haven't the patience to break you slowly, Barbara. You know why you're
    here, and the consequences of disobeying me. So, I take it we're clear
    about our 'relationship'?"

    "Yes," she whispered. His caresses sickened her, but still, they were
    caresses, no doubt administered with his best skill to make her fight
    their purely physical effect.

    "Yes," he answered, "I'd say we are. A good wife knows her duty, and I
    trust you'll be *very* good."

    He walked to his desk and patted the edge with his open hand. "Sit," he
    ordered.

    She approached the slab of dark mahogany slowly, turned, and, with a
    slight hop, seated herself on the cool, hard desktop. 'He cleared the
    desk for this before we arrived', she thought to herself. 'This is where
    he wants me. This is where he'll...'

    "Lie back, Barbara." His second order was less harsh, but carried no less
    authority.

    The hard, polished surface was cold against her back as she slowly
    lowered herself. She stopped briefly to allow her body to the warm the
    cold wood, then, fearfully, came to rest, her head turned from him as she
    awaited her fate. She imagined herself a sacrifice, held to Farmer's
    perverted alter by invisible bonds of her husband's making. 'How could
    Peter do this?' she asked herself. 'How can I not know my own husband?
    Why can't he *do* something? How can he just - just - '

    "Now be a good wife and spread your legs, Barbara."

    She was screaming inside. "Y-You're g-going to r-rape me - oh God, you
    are, aren't you?" she blurted as panic overcame her.

    Farmer came to the side of the desk and took her face in his hands,
    forcing her to look at him. "We can't call it rape if a man and a woman
    agree to it, can we? Or if the woman comes? Although I doubt if 'making
    love' would be accurate, I think 'having sex' would describe our activity
    today. Now, never being one to force myself on a lovely young wife, I was
    counting on the request coming from you, Barbara. I think 'Please Jack,
    can we fuck?' would be the very thing a dutiful wife would say. I'm
    waiting."

    "I can't ask you to - I can't - I just can't - please, just do it, get it
    over with, but don't make me ask..."

    "Listen closely, Barbara. I'm waiting for a wife to do her duty. Peter's
    waiting for a wife to do her duty. Daddy's waiting for a wife to do her
    duty. Don't disappoint us, Barbara. We're all counting on you to be a
    good wife, to do your very best."

    Farmer smiled at her. He was enjoying this. She realized the longer she
    fought him, the longer she refused, the better he liked it. If she gave
    in to his hideous request, at least he would have his fun and let her go.
    She swallowed hard, tried to steady her nerve, and forced the words from
    between her lips.

    "P-please, Jack - can we have sex?"

    "We can, my dear. We certainly can," he answered, as he began to unbutton
    his shirt. He was a large man, as she had guessed by the size of his
    hands, but she wasn't prepared for the layers of muscle revealed as he
    peeled back the white dress shirt. She stared unconsciously, her eyes
    traveling over his broad shoulders, smooth chest, sinewy arms, and
    finally a flat, rippling stomach that stretched downward below his belt
    as he unfastened his pants. She had never seen a man's body so perfect,
    except on the covers of those trashy romance novels she pretended not to
    notice as she and Peter did the weekly grocery shopping. When she saw his
    thick, meaty penis, already rising to attention before her eyes, she
    turned her head, shocked by both its size and the urgency of its growth
    so close to her face. The flash of admiration was too depraved to
    acknowledge, but still, the image of his body lingered, even with her
    face averted, glimpses of well-muscled skin playing with her senses,
    making her fight to chase them from her mind's eye.

    Then he was between her legs. She went limp, allowing him to spread them.
    He moved closer, until the stony muscles of his thighs opened her wider.
    The desktop was uncomfortably hard under her. She closed her eyes,
    expecting to feel his erection touch her, then penetrate her where only
    her husband had entered her before.

    "A little encouragement would be nice Barbara," Framer chided from the
    end of the desk.

    How could Peter have done this to her - like, like, a common criminal?
    Flashes of Farmer's body continued to haunt her. So hard. So smooth and
    tan and muscular. God, how could she be thinking about his chest, his
    arms, his cock?

    "Do it. Please, just do it. Put it in me." Where had those words come
    from? His heavy biceps flexed behind her closed eyes. How could she? She
    imagined his belly rippling, his penis throbbing and ready, poised to
    thrust forward into her. Then finally, from somewhere deep inside her -
    "Please have sex with me, p-please, p-please..." Her last words were
    convincing, almost pleading. It was plenty for Farmer.
     
  4. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    He entered her slowly, stretching, probing, finally filling her with more
    warm flesh than she had ever known. She kept her head turned, her eyes
    closed, but the fullness in her belly, the even forceful stroking that
    began to make her wet, then breathe with deep gasps, became nagging proof
    of a battle lost, a humiliating defeat. She allowed him to take her,
    refusing to participate, refusing to give him the satisfaction of
    witnessing her body betray her, even if only for a second here, a second
    there, as she fought helplessly to chase away images of her husband's
    boss, naked between her legs. But the images haunted her, invaded her,
    bringing her body to life with a surprising greedy thirst to give in to
    him, to be taken by the wall of muscle that hovered over her.

    Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His body floated over
    her, so hard, so masculine - she didn't dare look down across her belly
    where his cock pistoned slowly in and out of her. As it was, she found
    herself suddenly responding to him, opening up to his invasion. Her hips
    raised off the desk momentarily to meet the next forward thrust, then
    collapsed back onto the desk as he withdrew.

    Her fractured defense reassembled itself in the time it took for her hips
    to leave the table. 'Damn you, Peter! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! This
    is what you get! This is what you deserve!' Her thoughts turned from
    rationalized control to anger, allowing her body to fully betray her. And
    just as quickly, she turned her anger outward, directly at Peter. 'This
    is your fault! Your fault! Not mine! Not mine! Not my fault...not my...'
    As the unexpected warmth rushed through her, she pulled Farmer close and
    cried out, her seemingly endless moan echoing through the room. Surprised
    at her sudden orgasm, but at the same time releasing every shred of bound
    up fear, shame, and anger she continued to come, in an expulsion of
    frenzied clutching and moaning that triggered Farmer's own orgasm only
    seconds later.

    And just seconds after that, Farmer pulled out of her, stuffed his
    immense erection inside his pants, and turned his back. He went to the
    bar, poured himself a scotch, then turned to look at her as he sipped the
    drink. She was sprawled on his desk, panting, glassy-eyed, still stunned
    from the surprising intensity of her orgasm. Farmer knew just what to do
    before she recovered. He went to the door, opened it, and ordered Peter
    back inside.

    "I just came inside your wife, Peter. Just two minutes ago. And you were
    right - she can be very entertaining."

    Peter stared at his wife. She lay naked on the desk, her face a mix of
    bliss and confusion. Her pubic hair was wet and matted, and a thin
    trickle of semen leaked from between her spread legs. Her large, dark
    nipples were still swollen with arousal and her face and chest flushed
    with a heat that refused to leave. Barbara couldn't look at him, but the
    flush lingered on her face, the signs of sex covering her from head to
    toe. He had listened to Farmer's muffled orders through the door of his
    outer office, and even heard the soft sounds of Barbara's quiet replies,
    but imagined his wife fighting his sadistic punishment every step of the
    way. Then, finally, shocked by the moans of her orgasm, sounds that were
    all too familiar and real, he imagined that somehow they too were
    contrived, that Farmer had frightened her to the point of breaking, and
    she had given him the most authentic simulation she could muster. Now,
    the signs of her betrayal were unmistakable, and the crushing weight of
    the naked evidence made him stagger backwards, uttering a quiet moan of
    defeat.

    "She's carrying my semen around inside her flat little belly, aren't you
    Barbara?"

    His voice seemed to bring her to her senses, and she answered suddenly,
    in a nervous whimper, blushing the deepest red she could blush.

    "Yes, Lover," she said, hoping Peter would miss the pet name Farmer now
    insisted on. He didn't, and glared first at her, then Farmer, guessing he
    had made her use the disgusting endearment.

    "I would imagine that my sperm must be on its way down your legs by now.
    Tell us Barbara, is it? Running down your pretty thighs?"

    "Yes, Lover," she answered again, still averting her eyes.

    "Show us Barbara. I don't think your husband believes us," Farmer teased,
    watching Peter's response.

    Now beyond pride or modesty, she sat up and lowered her legs over the
    edge of the desk, finally standing before them, her inner thighs
    glistening and wet, her pubic hair soaked with Farmer's cum.

    Farmer stepped closer to her and stroked her belly, finally trailing his
    finger through the semen pooling over her outer lips. He brought the
    outstretched finger to her mouth, inserted it, and waited for her to suck
    it clean.

    Finally, as Barbara stood naked and trembling before them, Farmer turned
    to Peter, outwardly showing his pleasure with his new toy.

    "Take her home, Peter. I'm sure you'll get used to cleaning up my
    messes."

    ~*~
     
  5. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    - Chapter 2 -

    The following weeks were filled with tension for Barbara and Peter.
    Barbara harbored a silent resentment for Peter's thoughtlessness and lack
    of character, while fighting a nagging sexual heat that grew day by day.
    Peter watched helplessly as his wife's nipples stiffened beneath her
    clothes, a constant reminder of the penalty for his mistake. He listened
    in bed at night as she moaned in her sleep, her hips rising off the bed
    in frustration. He stood by as she gradually dressed for work more
    provocatively - shorter skirts, an additional button undone on her new
    silk blouses, and a new, shorter, sexier haircut that bared her neck and
    shoulders to all the men who noticed the changes in her. He saw his wife
    burn with an obvious sexual heat that turned her every move into one of
    subtle seduction as he lost all ability to respond physically to her
    teasing.

    "Mmmm, I need sex - can't you try to get hard for me?" she'd ask him in
    bed at night while fingering his flaccid penis. But the drug did its
    work, and she would sigh after a few minutes and give up, rolling away
    from him, sulking, finally thinking of Farmers' thick cock, remembering
    how good it felt inside her. Peter laid awake in the darkness, thinking,
    listening, until he would feel her body shifting gently in their bed, the
    regular rhythm a sign that her hand was between her legs, and that he
    would soon hear her whimper, then fall into a deep sleep.

    Each Friday night over the next four weeks Farmer would pull his car into
    their driveway, give three short taps on the horn, and wait for the
    garage door to open. Once inside, Farmer would wait for the couple to
    appear and watch Peter open the car door so a very naked Barbara could
    slide in beside him. Each Sunday night Peter would hear the same three
    taps from Farmer's horn, open the garage, and watch his wife exit the
    car, again naked, but showing all the signs of Farmer's unquenchable
    sexual appetite. As she walked past Peter, he could see the knots of
    dried semen in her hair, smell the remnants of sweat and semen that
    coated her smooth skin, and watch the dazed look of satisfaction grow in
    her eyes. She would shower, dry herself in full view, parade naked in
    front of him for a while, then go to bed.

    As time passed, Peter saw his wife become more and more preoccupied with
    sex. It seemed to be on her mind constantly, in the mornings when she
    dressed for work, bare breasted beneath the silky tops only partially
    hidden under her smart suit jacket, and at night when she shed her
    wrinkled clothes, showered, and strutted around the house in a brief robe
    that flaunted the freshly-shaven slit between her long, slender legs. She
    no longer asked Peter for sex, but he could see the urgent desire in her
    eyes and her body's tell-tale signs that whatever happened every day at
    work, and during her weekends with Farmer, her thoughts were miles away,
    ignoring Peter as he watched helplessly from the sidelines. Peter took
    his medicine silently, tortured by his impotence and imagination.

    Then, Farmer brought the price Peter was to pay closer to home. Farmer
    announced he was to be their guest one weekend. He appeared at their door
    on a Friday night after outlining what he expected from Barbara the week
    before. Barbara let Peter know just thirty minutes before Farmer's
    arrival.

    "He's coming to spend the weekend. Everything's been arranged."

    Peter stared at her, at first not understanding what she meant. Then came
    the sick sensation in the pit of his gut.

    "Farmer?" he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

    But she didn't answer. Instead, she disappeared into the bedroom and
    closed the door. Peter watched the sway of her hips as she walked away
    from him, the smooth lines of her round ass on display beneath the thin
    material of the dress she had worn to work that day. He had watched her
    clothes become even more revealing lately - breasts swaying freely under
    silky tops, and dresses and slacks fitted to leave no doubt every inch of
    her body was naked against the delicate cottons and silks. Peter wondered
    if she had become a distraction at work, and beyond that, if the men she
    worked with had approached her for sex. 'Would she do it?' he asked
    himself. 'Would she have sex with other men, suck them, let them ravage
    her body?' He shook off the thoughts as soon as they came to him, but his
    doubts remained. She seemed to need sex so often...

    Barbara was still concealed behind their bedroom door when Farmer
    arrived. Peter let him in, feeling more powerless and impotent than ever
    before.

    "Where is she?" Farmer asked as he looked around the room, never once
    making eye contact with Peter. When Peter hesitated, Farmer spoke louder,
    his voice laced with irritation. "I asked where she is! I expect an
    answer, not cowering silence from her traitorous husband!"

    "S-she's in the bedroom," Peter managed with a faltering voice.

    "So, do you want me to go in there and fuck her in your bed, or would you
    rather I bring her out here so you can watch?"

    "I-I g-guess you should go in there," Peter stammered.

    Farmer smiled, enjoying Peter's shame and discomfort. "So, if you want me
    to go in and fuck your wife in your bed, you should ask me, don't you
    think?"

    "I-I don't want you to - but, well, I know it's why you're here. I can't
    stop you, and well, she's um, been waiting for you. So..."

    Farmer's smile widened. "So, does that mean you want me to fuck her in
    your bed? If that's what you want, you have to tell me, Peter. You owe me
    an answer - and you owe your wife something we both know you can't give
    her."

    Peter lowered his eyes and muttered, "In our bed..."

    "I'll grant you your wish eventually Peter, but for now, I'd like you to
    see just what Barbara has become. Go get her."

    Peter froze for a second, battling the urge to attack Farmer, to beat him
    senseless and throw him out. But he knew he was no match. Farmer was six
    inches taller, had fifty pounds on him, and was built like a rock. And of
    course there was the stupid stunt he had pulled that still made him
    Farmer's bitch. Shoulders sagging, Peter turned and went to the bedroom
    door, knocked, and went inside.

    Barbara was on the bed, reading. Her little pink nightshirt clung to her
    body like tissue, the hem barely reaching below her hips. Peter stared
    between her legs where her freshly-shaved slit glistened with moisture.
    Propped against the headboard as she read, she seemed not to notice
    Peter. She seemed - too calm? Too relaxed? Or was it too expectant? When
    Peter compared what he saw to his own turmoil and humiliation, he felt
    his stomach twist and sicken. Was this his wife?

    "Um, I didn't think you were going to bed," he said. "Didn't you remember
    Farmer was coming?"

    Barbara looked up at him from her book and smiled sweetly.

    "Mmmm, is he here?"

    Peter stared into her violet eyes. Her face was beaming. She put the book
    down, pulled her knees up and encircled them with her bare arms.
    Everything about her was screaming for sex - with Farmer.

    "He wants you to come out to see him," Peter stammered.

    "I think I know what he wants," she answered. Barbara climbed off the bed
    and stood beside him. Peter could feel the heat flow from her body and
    could see her nipples straining against the thin cotton of her
    nightshirt. "I want to be sure you understand what's happening, and why,
    Peter. You put us in a terrible mess. Honestly, selling confidential
    information? What were you thinking? Now it isn't just your reputation,
    it's my father's that's at stake. So, because of your foolish greed and
    thoughtlessness, your own wife has become a common whore for your boss.
    Are you proud of yourself? Are you happy now?"
     
  6. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Peter stood there trembling, somehow knowing that someday this speech
    would come, but never expecting it minutes before Farmer took his wife in
    his own home. The guilt and embarrassment rose up to new heights in him,
    paralyzing him as his nearly naked wife stood inches away, the light
    scent of her perfume and shining luster of her freshly shampooed hair
    taunting him as her calm words sliced away at his ego.

    But Barbara wasn't finished with him. "I've changed, Peter. I don't know
    anymore if it's the drug or something else, but I think about sex more
    than ever - I need it more than ever. At first it was a duty to Farmer.
    At first I hated it, and not long after I didn't care. But Peter, now I
    want him. Sex with him is amazing. He satisfies me, Peter, much more than
    men like you ever have. I want you to understand that this isn't rape or
    blackmail this weekend - I want him here. I want him here to fuck me."

    At first, each of her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Then
    quickly, he found he was numb to them, absorbing her onslaught of brutal
    confessions as though it was his duty, his punishment. He knew he would
    carry them with him, like a heavy weight that would forever haunt him.
    "Yes, yes, I understand," were the only words he could manage.

    "You'll behave yourself tonight, Peter. You'll do as you're told. And
    when he takes me - when he puts his big cock inside me and makes me come
    - you'll stand by and allow it. Because this is what we've become, Peter.
    This is what you've made us."

    With that, Barbara turned her back to him and walked to the door. The
    tiny shirt barely covered the round curves of her ass. Peter stared at
    the long lines of her slim thighs and calves. They were naked and
    inviting, and he couldn't help from imagining them wrapped around
    Farmer's back, straining and pumping, pulling him closer as he fucked
    her.

    He followed Barbara through the door, down the hallway, and out into the
    living room. The accentuated sway of her hips was a slap in the face to
    Peter - he knew she did it intentionally, a suggestive reminder that what
    she had told him was all too true. He stopped when she approached Farmer,
    his feet now refusing to propel him forward. She pressed her body against
    him, raised her hands to caress his face, and kissed him. Farmer's hand
    trailed down her back, then up under her shirt, his fingers working
    patiently between her legs, probing, then penetrating her from behind.
    She broke the kiss suddenly and gasped, looking longingly into his dark
    eyes as if in a trance.

    "Your husband's watching, Barbara," Farmer told her. "Is there anything
    you want to say to him?"

    "No - nothing," she responded without the slightest pause. "Let him
    watch." Her words were meant to show her contempt, and her tone more than
    succeeded.

    Peter watched Farmer slowly raise her nightshirt, exposing at first her
    smooth, round ass, then her slim waist and back. His wife leaned into
    Farmer, pressing her breasts into his broad chest, her pretty young hands
    clutching his shoulders. Within seconds, Peter saw her hips rock gently,
    her bare back arched as she offered her waiting slit to him. Farmer's
    fingers wormed inside her, then withdrew, teasing her by gently pulling
    on her engorged labia, intentionally enlarging and spreading them until
    there was no doubt that Peter could witness his wife's betrayal. At that
    very moment, a reality that was once only unfocused innuendo settled over
    Peter like a descending fog, then condensed into a humiliating blanket of
    defeat. She had put herself completely at Farmer's mercy, clinging to
    him, her sex swollen and wet at his every touch. It was true. Barbara had
    given herself to him completely. He had taken her so easily. But Peter
    couldn't take his eyes away.

    "How long has it been since you've seen your wife come, Peter?" Farmer
    asked. Peter was stunned into silence. How long had it been? He couldn't
    even remember. He could barely remember her body's response to their
    foreplay, or the sounds she made late at night as they made love in their
    bed. He now saw her body respond in new ways, ways that easily told
    anyone watching that she had given up any evidence of decency for a bold
    new craving.

    "Well Peter, if you can't even remember, it must have been a very, very
    long time." Farmer's hand was still busy between her legs. Barbara's
    breathing came in ragged gasps, punctuated by quivering little moans. "If
    it's been that long, Peter, you must be enjoying this - seeing her so
    wet and panting for sex. At least you can watch her get hot and juicy for
    a man, even if it isn't for you. You could even pretend, Peter - pretend
    it's you she's begging for instead of me, pretend her hot little body's
    grinding against your cock instead of mine."

    For a second Peter could see it in his mind, his pretty wife more aroused
    than he had ever seen her, in his arms rather than Farmer's. If she would
    only be like that for him, panting and clutching, moaning and twitching
    as though nothing was more important than coming for him, as though
    there was nothing she would rather do than please him. Peter felt his
    pulse pounding as he watched his wife's sex drip onto Farmer's thick fingers.
    He didn't question why he was soaked with precum, or why watching another
    man take his wife made him feel more excited than he had in years. He
    didn't even think about why he was mindlessly stroking his limp penis
    through his pants, until Farmer noticed.

    "Yes, Peter - now you understand. It's how you pay for your
    transgressions. It's your last hope for your wife's forgiveness. And it's
    really not so bad, is it? If she can bring herself to forgive you, think
    of how she'll have changed. After a year of owning her mind and body,
    think of what you'll get in return. If you show genuine repentance, and
    if you accept, or even embrace the price you must pay, you may find
    she'll understand."

    Acceptance of what he saw before him suddenly became easier than
    accepting his past deeds and the guilt they had brought him. In a way, it
    was a refuge from all the regret, self-loathing, and pain that had
    enveloped him over the past months. Barbara had been distant and cold to
    him, but now, before his very eyes, she was a sexy, exciting woman,
    aroused and beautiful in the arms of a man that controlled their future.
    Mindlessly, as if in a trance, Peter opened his pants and fingered his
    shrunken, lifeless dick.
     
  7. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    "Barbara," Farmer said, in a voice meant for Peter as well, "Do you want
    me to fuck you?"

    "Please - yessss!" she hissed.

    "Your husband is still watching. Do you want to fuck in front of him? Do
    you want him to see you cum when I put my cock in you?"

    There was no pause. "I don't care!" she answered breathlessly. "Just do
    it..." Her words were jarring to Peter. There was contempt in her voice -
    contempt that was surely meant for him. And, at the same time, there was
    a rampant sexual heat, a willing submission to his boss in the way her
    voice softly but urgently pleaded. She gave herself to him with a single
    look, and repeated the words that sank slowly into Peter's heart like a
    knife - "Just do it...make him watch...make me come..."

    Farmer picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. As they
    passed Peter, still glued to his spot, still trying to masturbate to the
    surreal scene before him, Barbara noticed him, and her face lit up in a
    vicious smile. Seconds later she was under Farmer in their bed, eagerly
    grasping his huge cock as she guided it inside her.

    Peter watched by the open door. Farmer was suspended over her, his cock
    deeply imbedded in her belly, his muscular ass clenched tightly as he
    drove his cock in and out. Barbara's eyes were closed, her legs wrapped
    tightly around Farmer's waist. With each of his thrusts, her flat belly
    contracted, and her full breasts jutted upward, nipples reaching out to
    him, offering her body to him with no resistance. Peter winced as he
    listened to his wife beg Farmer for more. She had never said those things
    to Peter, those repeated pleas to Farmer to "Fuck me, oh please, I want
    more...more!". When Farmer increased the speed and depth of his thrusts,
    she moaned. And in between the moans, a smile of satisfaction grew wider
    across her face. And when Barbara came, head back, eyes closed, hands
    clutching Farmer's ass as she thrust her soaking pussy against him, Peter
    fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes, still stroking his shrunken,
    flaccid penis.

    Compared to that moment, the remainder of the night was merely uneasy
    reconciliation for Peter. Barbara and Farmer simply ignored him. They
    behaved as though they were a couple, strolling about the house in the
    nude, playfully fondling each other between snacking, drinking, and
    enjoying Barbara's favorite film chosen from Peter's DVD collection. When
    the pizza arrived, they went to the door together dressed only in his and
    hers robes. As Barbara paid the delivery boy, Farmer opened the front of
    her robe and told him, "She'd like to give you a little something extra."
    The boy stepped inside as Barbara unfastened his pants, went to her
    knees, and took his young, hard cock in her mouth. "You're a lucky guy,"
    Farmer told him. "She doesn't even do this for her husband." Peter looked
    on as the delivery boy glanced up at him and grinned. Seconds later, he
    came in Barbara's mouth, groaning and thrusting as she swallowed all of
    it. Farmer's huge hands caressed her velvety throat as she consumed the
    boy's semen in hungry gulps, excited to near orgasm by Farmer's touch.

    When she finished, Farmer motioned for Peter to come nearer.

    "Well, tip the boy, Peter. What do you think a blowjob from your wife is
    worth these days?"

    Peter turned red as the delivery boy waited, grinning from ear to ear. He
    reached for his wallet, took out a twenty, and handed it to the boy.

    "Peter, Peter, Peter," Farmer chided, shaking his head in disbelief.
    "Twenty dollars is the price of a cheap whore. Is that what you think of
    your wife? That she's a cheap whore?"

    Peter removed a second twenty and placed in the boy's outstretched hand.

    "Can you believe that, Barbara?" Famer told her. She was still on her
    knees, still fondling the boy's cock. "Your husband just called you a
    forty dollar whore." She stood up, moved closer to the boy, and kissed
    him, devouring him with her tongue as his hands explored greedily beneath
    her robe.

    When she broke the kiss, she turned to Peter, her face smeared with the
    boy's semen and saliva, her robe gaping open to show her reddened, juicy
    slit. "He wouldn't know what I'm worth. He couldn't get hard if his life
    depended on it. He hasn't touched me in months. Give him what I'm worth,
    Peter. Give him everything you have. Oh - and thank him. Thank him for
    coming in my mouth."

    Peter took the remaining eighty dollars from his wallet and gave it to
    the boy.

    "Thank you," he muttered. "Thank you for coming in her mouth."

    The boy took the money and left, a bit stunned, but satisfied. Farmer
    walked behind her, put both arms around her, and took her breasts in his
    hands. Her nipples rose within seconds - pink and hard, the way Peter
    remembered them in his own hands so long ago. He couldn't help but stare
    at his wife, her robe open, her body on fire as she responded instantly
    to Farmer's touch.

    "She is a whore now, Peter," Farmer said, grinning at him from just above
    Barbara's silky shoulder. "But from your perspective, I suppose that's
    not the worst of it. She's my whore, and you've delivered her right into
    my hands."

    ~*~
     
  8. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Chapter 3

    "So, did you enjoy last night, honey?"

    Barbara sat on the edge of the tub, her skin still rosy from the hot,
    lavender scented water. She had fastened a towel around her, tucked
    tightly under her arms, coyly hiding her breasts, but intentionally
    exposing her slender back, hips and legs. She rubbed generous amounts of
    moisturizer over her bare legs and smiled slyly at Peter, who stared at
    her from the adjoining bedroom. His hand was busy at the fly of his
    shorts, rubbing harder and harder at the limp flesh that refused to
    respond, despite his nearly naked wife's teasing.

    "You might as well give up on that," she continued. "Jack won't let you
    get hard for an entire year. You understand that, don't you?"

    Peter looked down at his lap and stopped, always hoping for a hint of an
    erection - always frustrated and disappointed. Barbara stood, dropped the
    towel, and walked toward him. She sat beside him on the bed, then slowly
    slipped her hand inside his shorts.

    "Peter - I have to know what it's like. I mean, I'm naked here beside
    you, doing things to your penis that used to drive you wild. There is
    something inside that still wants me, isn't there? I can feel you
    shaking."

    Her eyes were fixed on the front of his shorts, watching with
    fascination while she rolled the soft tail of flesh between her fingers.
    And yet, that smile, that satisfied smirk that rarely left her face in
    his presence these days, told him that her words, laced with false
    sympathy, were meant to mock him.

    Peter burned with embarrassment and anger. "How can you do it, Barbara?
    How can you give me these drugs, make me impotent, strut around naked in
    front of me day after day, and ask me if I still want you? You know damn
    well if I could get hard I'd throw you down on this bed and fuck you
    senseless."

    Giving his limp penis a final little squeeze, she removed her hand and
    stood before him. Utterly naked, her hands slowly massaging her breasts
    and nipples, she canted her hips forward, taunting him with her freshly
    shaved pussy. "Ooooo - big promises from a husband who gives his wife to
    his boss any time he wants me." She stepped forward and straddled him,
    then sat in his lap, grinding against his crotch, her whispers warm against
    his ear.

    "It's OK, darling. I know what it's doing to you. I can see it when you watch
    him grope me. I can see it when we kiss, and I suck his tongue into my
    mouth and pretend it's his cock. I can see it when we fuck in front of you.
    You like it, don't you? It gets you hot, seeing a strong, hung man like him
    take me, own me, make me come. You don't have to say it, if you despise
    what you are. But you could - you could tell me, whisper to me, if there
    is still a sliver of a man left inside you. It'll be our little secret.
    Just an honest confession. Mmmmm, confessions can feel so good, so
    comforting, the relief you've wanted for so long now, the burden of all
    your past sins lifted from your shoulders. Just a few words, from your
    lips to my ear, here in our bedroom."

    She took Peter's head in her hands and pressed his face against her
    chest, softly moving his face, his lips, against her engorged nipples. He
    sucked instinctively, finding an odd comfort in the act. There were no
    memories of having tasted her before, no memories of Farmer doing the
    same. Just the sensation that somehow everything may be better than
    before, that tasting this woman he barely knew was a safe harbor.

    "Tell me, baby - that you love it. That you love giving me up to him. That
    seeing us together is the sexiest thing you've ever seen me do. And it's
    growing on you, isn't it? You can't wait, can you? To see him fuck me
    again with a cock that you envy, that you know makes me
    so - fucking - complete. Just tell me, darling. Mmmmm, my darling.
    Just tell me, and it will all be OK. Everything. Evvverything..."

    "It's - I - yes." Peter never felt the tear form at the corner of his
    eye. Or the second, or third that landed on his wife's firm breasts. "I
    do. I want to watch you with him. You're so beautiful when you're with
    him, so sexy, so wonderful, like I always wanted you to be with me. But I
    never could - not like that. You never made those sounds. You never
    called out, never said such filthy things. And I could never make you
    look so happy after you come, so satisfied, like a fragile angel in his
    arms. You just - you just - glow. I could never make you glow...".

    Months earlier, his confession might have touched Barbara deeply.
    But his traitorous betrayal, the drugs, and Jack's cock had given her
    a thick skin, and reason to savor what she had become.

    "It's OK, baby. It's OK. It's good to hear you say it - I love you for
    saying it. And even though you can't have sex for at least another year,
    I want you to know that if watching me with him is enjoyable for you,
    if it's the only substitute you have to hold on to, I won't deprive you
    of that. It's the least I can do for you. As long as you behave."

    "I - I'll behave, I promise," Peter sobbed.

    "So, do you want to see him slide his big cock in me as soon as possible?
    To listen to me beg him for more? To hear him grunt and groan as he
    spews his sperm in me?"

    "Yes - yes, Barbara. I want that. Really. I do. He can even come in you,
    and I'll watch you. I'll watch you be his angel. His dirty little angel."

    Barbara hid her wide smile behind a gentle hug as the humiliating
    confession poured out of him.

    "If you really want all that, darling, Jack's at the door. Why don't you
    let him in and tell him?"

    ~*~
     
  9. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Chapter 4

    Farmer eyed Peter suspiciously from outside the front door of the
    couple's home. Peter tried to smile, but failed miserably. It was more of
    a grimace, that of a servant laced with equal amounts of pain and fear.
    Farmer simply marched past him and walked to the bedroom, leaving Peter
    questioning what his next move should be. Whatever it was, he knew he
    must "behave", as his wife had put it just minutes ago. He traced
    Farmer's steps quietly, stopping outside the bedroom door.

    Barbara was on her knees, her hands working gently at Farmer's balls
    while she sucked the head of his cock. All was quiet, except for the
    obscene slurping sounds Barbara made as she serviced him. Her freshly
    ironed blouse lay on the bed behind her, and Peter stared as her bare
    breasts bobbed in rhythm to the noises she made. He got some comfort from
    the expression on her face, the cool, earnest look of a lovely, decent
    woman just doing her duty, a look he recognized all too well. But as
    Farmer began to grunt and thrust harder, Peter saw her supple neck arch
    toward Farmer, her throat pulsing as she devoured the jets of semen he
    must be feeding her. Suddenly the reality of their predicament
    crystallized again. Farmer was taking her from him. In a year, who knows
    what she'd be? 'It's my fault,' he thought. 'I did it to her. I gave her
    to him. It's what Barbara thinks too - only now she's enjoying it.'

    "You're getting very good at this, Barbara," Farmer told her as she wiped
    the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood quietly,
    awkwardly trying to swallow the rest of his semen, the thick, sticky
    portion that was always the last to go down. 'I'd better get good at it,'
    she told herself. 'Every time I blow him it's one less chance of getting
    pregnant. I despise what Peter did, but I couldn't put him through having
    another man's baby. As much as he deserves to be punished, he doesn't
    deserve that. And neither do I.'

    She saw Peter standing at the door, and Farmer followed her eyes to him.
    "Peter!" Farmer bellowed. "Well, I don't remember telling you you could
    spy on us, but I suppose a man in your condition needs a little
    excitement now and then, right?" Peter nodded, unable to keep his eyes
    off his wife, naked except for the little pair of white summer shorts,
    unzipped to show the velvety skin of her lower belly. More than anything,
    he wanted to touch her there, to feel her twitch as he ran his fingers over
    her most private, sensitive spots, to go lower and slide his finger into
    her wetness.

    "Barbara, tell me, is he still our little eunuch? Is that limp dick of
    his getting tinier every day?" Farmer was enjoying every second of
    discomfort he inflicted on Peter, and on both of them as a couple.

    "He still can't get hard, Lover," she answered, using the pet name he
    insisted on. "I don't know if he's getting smaller - it's hard to tell
    now that I'm with you so much."

    Her words stung Peter. He knew everything she said was true, but calling
    Farmer "Lover" wounded him each and every time. He wondered if she meant
    it, or was at least growing more comfortable using it. It seemed to roll
    off her tongue so easily these days.

    "Well, Peter - no harm done. Have a little peek now and then. But it must
    seem strange to you - watching her suck cock like that. She's just so
    damned greedy about it these days. Tell me, has she ever been like that
    with you, ever, during your entire marriage? Or do you think she's
    discovering talents she never knew she had, now that she's with a real
    man? Hmmm? What do you think?"

    Peter lowered his head and fought for the right words. He remembered
    Barbara's lecture - "behave". "S-She was never like that - with me," he
    confessed.

    "But Peter, surely she must have given you blow jobs now and then?
    Right?"

    "Um, I guess - now and then. But she wasn't, um, like she is with you."

    "So Barbara, is that right? You did suck your dear husband's cock now and
    then, didn't you? At least for his birthday, or maybe when he asked you
    nicely?"

    Barbara looked straight into Peter's eyes, feeling at once the pain he
    had caused her, the potential harm to her family name, and the
    opportunity to punish him for his thoughtless greed.

    "Sometimes I did, Lover. But only because he wanted it. I never liked it
    - the taste of his sweaty little penis, or that little spurt of bitter
    come. I just did what I thought a wife should do, and I was always
    relieved when it was over. I did it for him - and look what he did to
    me..."

    Peter turned and walked away. It was too much, an overload of humiliation
    laced with anger and derision. He felt his ego emptying, as though he had
    lost another sliver of who he was. But was it true? Had she been a wife
    who saw sex with him as her duty, and not something to be enjoyed,
    something to look forward to? Was he, is he, so much less than a man that
    an arrogant blackmailer like Farmer was able to make his wife crave what
    she couldn't do with him? Or is it the drugs? Or that he's forcing her?
    But she looked, sounded, acted, like a woman who has discovered sex with
    a real man is infinitely better than sex with her husband. The longer he
    fought, the longer he ruminated, the less tangible reality became. He had
    lost the ability to distinguish truth from Farmer's truth, to determine
    whether it was hatred, or payment to Farmer, in his wife's eyes. He
    could have, no, should have done better - at his job, and in bed with
    Barbara. 'I should have fucked her like Farmer fucks her...' he decided,
    just before Farmer's voice intruded again.

    "Oh, come on, don't be such a wuss, Peter. It's not so bad. Your wife's
    happy now. She loves sucking cock. And well, in your case, sex isn't
    everything. Some guys just aren't naturally good at it. They find other
    things to do in its place, and other men to keep their wives happy. I do
    that for you, no charge. And, if you watch me fuck Barbara often enough,
    maybe you can pick up some pointers. So your life isn't so bad, is it? I
    haven't fired you, have I? In fact, you'll find a generous raise in your
    next paycheck. Oh, there will be longer hours at the office, nights,
    weekends, and some extended travel involved, but I just know you're up to
    it. Because Peter, you're the guy who finds other things to do, in place
    of fucking your beautiful wife, Barbara. Isn't that right?"

    Farmer followed him through the house as he gave his pep-talk, patting
    Peter on the shoulder, joking now and then, at times sounding genuinely
    sympathetic. And in time, even Peter began to consider that maybe Farmer
    wasn't all bad. Peter needed a handhold, a narrow but secure ledge where
    he might rest and regain his grasp on reality.

    'A raise? Keep Barbara happy? Pick up some pointers? Maybe Barbara knows
    what's best - maybe I should just "behave"...'

    It was just easier to give in.

    ~*~
     
  10. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Chapter 5

    Unexpectedly, Farmer had big plans for the rest of the day. "I'm taking
    you both shopping," he announced. The three of them sat at the kitchen
    table, finishing the club sandwiches Barbara had made during Farmer's
    talk with Peter. Farmer had just finished his second beer, and crushed
    the can suddenly as he spoke. "It's time we dressed your wife like a real
    woman, Peter, not like some boring house frau. Barbara, get me another
    beer, and bring one along for yourself. Peter, you're driving."

    To Barbara's relief, Farmer's taste in clothing ran toward the elite, for
    himself, and surprisingly for women's fashion as well. They spent two
    hours in an exclusive boutique where all the saleswomen seemed to know
    Farmer. He and Peter sat on a long, curved divan as the women dressed
    Barbara in outfit after outfit, guiding her along a short runway as she
    modeled dresses, skirts, tops, and shoes with price tags that would have
    made Peter shudder, had he seen them. All the clothes were classic
    designs, made of the finest materials, but, as Peter began to notice,
    they all had one feature in common. In every case, each bared just enough
    of the female anatomy to be daringly short of scandalous. Dresses and
    skirts were cleverly slit almost to the waist, opening only when Barbara
    turned in a certain way, or stretched a leg through the opening at the
    right angle. Many of the tops were transparent in a certain light, or had
    tasteful slits or openings that revealed tantalizing glimpses of bare
    breast as Barbara posed in various positions. Others were made of the
    finest silk, but thin enough to outline every detail of her nipples and
    breasts as they collapsed over her like a second skin. Barbara was in
    heaven, overwhelmed by Farmer's generosity, unaware of what the chic
    fashions revealed.

    For hours the women dressed her, undressed her, pampered her,
    complimented her, and paraded her in front of Farmer and Peter in a most
    private showing. It served Peter right, she thought, to watch while a man
    of money and power bought her things he could never afford, purchases his
    shiny pieces of silver from the Chinese couldn't have sustained for long.

    "Um, where is she going to wear stuff like this?" Peter whispered to
    Farmer as another outfit revealed the shape of her firm breasts as though
    she was topless. Farmer smiled. "This "stuff", as you put it, costs more
    than you make in two years, Peter. And where she wears it is my business.
    I'll take her places you can't imagine; have her meet people who would
    frighten you. Making her part of my world goes with our arrangement. I
    think she'll fit nicely, Peter. She's not like you at all."

    Farmer bought everything Barbara modeled, and she was ecstatic. She
    gushed incessantly as Peter drove to their next stop, watching in the
    rear view mirror as she sat close to him, holding his hand, thanking and
    nuzzling him every few minutes. Farmer just smiled. "We've just begun,
    Barbara."

    Their next stop was a combination spa and beauty salon in the city
    center. Barbara and Farmer entered, hand-in-hand, while Peter found a
    parking garage, then trudged back to find them inside. Farmer was sitting
    in the waiting area, sipping his 3:00 Glen Livet, tapping away on his
    cell. Peter sat beside him and looked longingly at the beads of sweat
    forming on the side of the scotch glass. It was ninety degrees outside,
    and it had been a long walk from the garage. Farmer finally noticed, and
    motioned to the woman behind the front desk. She arrived with a wide
    smile.

    "Yes, Mr. Farmer?"

    "Lizzie, Barbara's husband is parched. Bring him one of these, please?"

    "Right away, Mr. Farmer."

    The woman was a tall, striking blond in four-inch heels. Her name tag
    said "Elizabeth" in ornate, gold, cursive lettering. Peter looked up when
    she brought his drink, peered into her open blouse, and was stunned by
    the firmest, ripest set of breasts he had ever seen.

    "Here you are. I'm sure you'll enjoy this. It's Mr. Farmer's favorite,
    and he knows his scotch, among other things..."

    She gave Farmer a subtle wink and went back to her desk, but not before
    allowing Peter to have a long, satisfying look at her cleavage.

    "Welcome to my world, Peter," Farmer boasted casually, still texting on
    his cell. "Have a good look through the fence. It's the closest you'll
    ever get."

    The hours crawled by for Peter. Farmer's cell kept him occupied, but
    Peter had to pass the time with a small collection of bridal, fashion,
    and beauty magazines. And there was Lizzie, always smiling at him from
    behind her desk as she answered the phone, took appointments, and
    mothered over Farmer in a perversely sexual way that was much too close
    to father-daughter appearances for Peter's taste.

    Eventually, Peter dozed off, only to be awakened later by the sound of
    Lizzie's voice once again. A second woman stood beside her, as
    breathtaking in every way. Cropped, shining golden hair followed her
    jawline, framing full, red lips and stunning, wide eyes that mimicked
    Lizzie's. A closer, second look revealed her to be Barbara. Gone was the
    long, auburn hair he had fallen in love with when they first met, the
    dark cascade that fell softly over his face when they used to make love.
    With the haircut, makeup, and fresh, white, open-buttoned blouse, she
    could have been Lizzie's sister.

    Grinning from ear to ear, Barbara twirled with her arms stretched wide.
    "Well, guys, how do I look?" Peter saw the baby-blue skater skirt, a new
    purchase by Farmer earlier that day, lift as she twirled. She was naked
    beneath it, and her pussy shaved bare as a newborn baby girl.

    "Um - but - she's not wearing panties - I mean, anything, under that
    short little dress," Peter stammered, turning pale at the sight of what
    Barbara had become.

    "Ohhh - shhhh..." Lizzie interrupted. "For one thing, it's not a dress.
    And panties? Well, we don't do that here. Don't hurt your wife's feelings
    - doesn't she look nice?"

    Farmer stared and grinned. "You look good enough to eat, Barbara. And as
    for Peter here? Well, your husband just has to learn to appreciate the
    finer things in life. Isn't that right, Lizzie?"

    Lizzie twirled as Barbara had, her identical baby-blue skirt showing the
    same luscious, smoothly shaved slit. "He knows your wife's tastes," she
    said coyly, her big eyes fixed on Peter, "among other things..."

    ~*~
     
  11. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Chapter 6

    The very next day Barbara packed up all her old clothes and took them to
    the local thrift shop. She filled her closet and half of Peter's with the
    new wardrobe. Peter cringed each time she dressed for work in one of
    Farmer's new outfits. As a manager in a respected accounting firm, she
    had always dressed the part, that is, until Farmer began feeding her his
    special "medicine", those little pink pills that created a relentless
    hunger for sex. Peter had seen her abandon both bras and panties for some
    time, and had grown used to the extra button undone on her blouse, or
    skirts that showed more and more of her stunning long legs. But these new
    clothes were much different. At first sight, the classic lines and exotic
    fabrics were almost too stunning for a woman in her position. Longer,
    more lingering stares rewarded onlookers with glimpses of bare breasts
    and nipples, flashes of her diamond-studded belly-ring, and even a second
    or two now and then of an unashamed, brazen display of the delicately
    shaved and pampered slit between her legs. Peter couldn't imagine how she
    held her job.

    Now and then Peter showed concern and asked Barbara if the men in her
    office noticed, or if her clients complained. Her answer was always swift
    and insulting. "You can't stand that Jack bought me these clothes, can
    you? You can't stand that he buys me things you could never afford. And
    honestly, I couldn't care less if the people I work with like them of
    not. In fact, Mr. Fashion Expert, I've had nothing but compliments,
    especially from the men. At least those with functioning penises. But
    then, you wouldn't know about that, would you?" So Peter stopped asking.
    Maybe he just had poor taste in clothes.

    Peter's job weighed more heavily on him. His access to much of the
    company's systems was rescinded, and he was given more and more tedious
    assignments. As his duties became more secretarial in nature, the hours
    required to complete them grew with each passing day. He rarely had a
    free lunch hour, and never got home before early evening. Once home, he'd
    find Barbara relaxing in one of her expensive nightgowns, or in bed with
    Farmer humping away on top of her. On the many nights that Farmer stayed
    over, Peter would leave for work the next day long before Farmer and
    Barbara would wake. He'd peek in on them, his wife's naked body draped
    over Farmer's fat cock, the smell of sweat and semen thicker than the fog
    he drove through on his way to work long before the sun edged over the
    horizon.

    And then there were the weekends. On Saturday and Sunday mornings Barbara
    dressed in one of the five baby-blue skirts, matching heels and gleaming
    white blouses Farmer had supplied. She fastened the small name tag just
    above her right breast, her new nickname written in delicate gold script
    on the baby-blue background. Peter stared as she lingered in front of the
    mirror to apply her makeup, bent forward slightly at the waist, the tiny
    skirt rising to show the curve of her perfect bare ass. Then, without a
    word, she slid her hand down his pants to find his wilted penis, placed
    the pill on his tongue, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek after he
    swallowed.

    He watched through the window each weekend, as she strolled to
    her new baby-blue Miata convertible, rolling her hips as a slight breeze
    lifted the skirt, teasing every neighborhood man or boy who had now
    memorized her schedule. Finally, as she drove away, there was always the
    practiced wave to him, her arm stretched high, wiggling her fingers in
    the girly way she had learned from Lizzie. The license plate was the
    final insult - BABS-LUVS-U. He couldn't quite remember when she had
    become "Babs", but always suspected the seductive message wasn't only for
    Farmer as she drove into the city, her open blouse and tousled hair a
    second invitation to the men who passed her on the freeway. Peter was
    left with the nagging worry that, just maybe, every man in the city was
    fucking Barbara except him.

    It was that same nagging worry that eventually led Peter to drive by the
    Perfect 10, circling the block over and over, trying to get a look
    through the wide glass window that spanned the entire entrance to the
    spa. At times he could just catch sight of Barbara at the front desk,
    greeting one of the many slim, tanned young women that seemed to be the
    only type of client the spa attracted. At other times, one of Barbara's
    doubles took her place, always dressed in the same powder blue skirt, the
    translucent white blouse open halfway down the front, and identical
    gleaming, golden hair style. He began to wonder whether Farmer only hired
    women who met his strict physical requirements, or whether he seduced and
    remade other men's wives as he had Barbara.

    Soon the drive-bys weren't enough for Peter. He began lurking in the
    neighborhood, slowly walking by the Perfect 10 while staring inside. No
    one seemed to notice, and every time he watched Barbara at work he felt
    more relieved that the job and the business were legitimate. But what
    could "accountant Barbara" find so thrilling about catering to wealthy
    women as "bimbo Babs" on her weekends? Did pleasing Farmer mean that much
    to her?

    One Sunday morning he slipped into a rental car he had parked across the
    street and followed Barbara to work. Farmer had promoted her to manager a
    month ago, and she arrived early now to open the spa. It was a crisp fall
    day and he watched the steady breeze lift Barbara's skirt as she unlocked
    the front door. He stared at her long, tanned legs, the muscles of her
    calves so beautifully defined atop the ice-blue heels. He knew she was
    naked under the skirt, but the sudden sight of the shaved cleft of her
    sex from behind as she leaned to unlock the door left him breathless for
    a second. It seemed like a lifetime since he had felt the warm, wet fist
    of her sex around his penis, a lifetime since he ran his hands over her
    perfect ass, a lifetime since his fingers circled and pulled gently at
    her nipples. But after a short time his desire faded to resignation.
    Maybe she was too good for him. Maybe she deserved Farmer instead. His
    wealth. His body. His cock.

    When she entered the spa, Peter noticed she had forgotten to lock the
    door behind her. He strolled to the door and pushed - it opened easily,
    and he went inside. The lobby was empty and the lights were off - it was
    still two hours before opening. He circled the front desk and passed
    through an arched doorway in back of the main counter.

    The room contained a small table, fridge, and coffeemaker. A small
    monitor high on the facing wall glowed with an image of the empty lobby.
    Below it was an array of eight by ten glossy color photos of each
    employee. Barbara's sat at the top with a pyramid of other head shots
    below, each one hand-signed in flowery script, all clones of Farmer's
    perfect woman.

    Peter looked down at the monitor and keyboard on a shelf below the
    photos. Barbara's smiling face looked back at him from the screen, a
    duplicate of her wall photo. Below it were "In' and "Out" fields for her
    work hours. She had logged in only minutes before and left the "Out"
    field blank. He saw a hint of more text at the bottom of the screen, and
    scrolled down to read it. At first it showed her full name, address, age,
    marital status, phone number, social security number, position and hire
    date. At the very bottom of the screen, "Update In Progress" flashed
    repeatedly in bright red text. He couldn't resist placing his finger on
    the "Enter" key and pressing it.
     
  12. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Immediately multiple screens of data scrolled by too quickly to read, then
    finally stopped on a new page. A message at the top read:

    "Forgery or falsehood will be grounds for dismissal. Updates must be
    completed in full on the date due. *Verification by coworker required
    where necessary. All medical exams, testing, and prescription renewals to
    be performed by Drs. Kazinski & Colby - no exceptions."

    Barbara had completed most of personal information, except for her weight
    and measurements. These had an asterisk to one side and option for a
    coworker's initials. Further down, things got more personal. Peter stared
    at fields for "Menstrual Cycle", "Contraception Method/prescription due
    date", "HIV/STD Cert", "Pelvic/Breast Exam", and "Prescribed
    Medications". Barbara had updated all the remaining fields recently -
    Farmer knew more about her medical status than he did.

    But there was more. The next page was titled "Sexual History and
    Preferences". Under "Sexual History" Barbara had listed each by name and
    date. Peter was almost afraid to look. There were six names listed before
    his with dates early enough to be high school or college crushes. Barbara
    had never told him about them, but he had never asked. The name after
    Peter's shocked him. He knew the man, but only by reputation. He was the
    son of one of her father's best friends, a wealthy Senator known for
    being a player himself. Even more shocking was the date, beginning a year
    after he and Barbara were married, and the "End Date" left blank. Only a
    year? Could he have been that inept in bed, that unable to satisfy her
    that she had taken a lover so soon and kept seeing him all this time?
    After that, with some small relief, Farmer's name was last, again with an
    open end date.

    Peter almost hoped there wouldn't be more, but one last screen titled
    "Sexual Preferences" scrolled into view. These fields were large open
    blocks filled with text - Barbara's text.

    Preferred Sexual Acts: "Oral and anal. Love the taste of semen -
    swallowing every drop. Very large penis a must for straight sex -
    sometimes riding it, sometimes just being impaled and stretched."

    Sexual Frequency: "Multiple times a day, with the right man. Always
    excited, wet, and ready, day and night."

    Sexual Partners: "Men, men, men - big muscles, big cocks, confident,
    powerful, even rough at times, must be able to own me. Mr. Farmer -
    perfect. Husband could never satisfy, but kind and useful to keep
    around."

    Fantasies: "Sex slave to powerful men. Sex in public. Forced sex with
    biker gangs. Torturing weak men. Making husband watch worthy men fuck me.
    Anything Mr. Farmer wants - no limits."

    Obsessions: "Being taken and OWNED by alpha males with outrageously huge
    cocks. Revenge on husband for years of clumsy sex and final unforgivable
    cowardly act - humiliating him, torturing him, ruining him for all other
    women, forever."

    Favorite Recent Fuck: "Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer. My body is
    yours, Lover, 24x7."

    Finally, there was a constant swirling icon. Just below it, Peter watched
    a pulsing progress bar that read "20% completed" crawl slowly across the
    screen. He looked up at Barbara's picture on the wall above him. She was
    gloriously beautiful - it was those big, sparkling eyes and wide,
    intoxicating smile he had first fallen madly in love with. But her smile
    hid something else now - a hunger for sex, and the pleasure that seemed
    to fill her when she sucked his manhood from him. Peter could no longer
    tell whether she got more pleasure from his humiliation and destruction,
    or from Farmer's huge cock. Maybe she no longer drew a line between the
    two. Perhaps they had coalesced into the one and only obsession that kept
    her "always excited, wet, and ready, day and night".

    Peter began to notice a faint voice in another part of the spa. Each time
    he tried to listen, it went silent again. It seemed to be leaking through
    the overhead ceiling panels, and sure enough, when he reached up and
    raised one of them a bit the voice was there, but still indistinct. He
    stood on a chair and poked his head through the opening, only to find a
    low, dark utility corridor stretching back through the expanse of the
    spa.

    Certain that none of the other employees had come in yet, and knowing the
    spa wouldn't open for at least another hour and a half, Peter returned to
    the lobby and found the entrance to the main spa unlocked. The hallway
    lead to the darkened locker room and showers, but light spilled from a
    second open door just to his left. Peering quietly into the room, he saw
    Barbara sitting at a computer screen, her back to him, listening
    intently. Sudden bursts of light exploded from the screen, followed by a
    flickering series of brightly colored images. As the images continued to
    race and flicker across the screen, Farmer's voice spoke to her from an
    overhead speaker. She sat there, frozen before the monitor, and answered
    in a dull, disembodied voice Peter never would have recognized as
    Barbara's.
     
  13. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    "What do you live for, Barbara?"

    She sat motionless, except for a slight tremor - two short sideways jerks
    of her head that reminded Peter of a broken toy.

    "What do you live for, Barbara?"

    "F-Father - fam-i-ly - work - love..."

    It was as if she had to dig to find the words, then regurgitate them with
    maximum effort.

    "No, Barbara."

    She twitched again. "No?"

    "You live for sex, Barbara."

    Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded slowly, just once.

    "Sexxxx...Yessss"

    "And whom do you most want to have sex with, Barbara?"

    "Mmmmm...you...mmmmm."

    "And why is that, Barbara?"

    She took a sudden, deep breath, then let it out slowly as she would a
    long, silent moan.

    "Good sexxxx...penis is so big...feels sooo good..."

    "But that's not the only reason, is it, Barbara? What is it you've
    wanted, even as a young girl? What kind of man makes you wet - made you
    wet, even back then?"

    She relaxed even more and seemed to shrink in her seat, her head bowed,
    her hands now clasped in her lap. When she answered, it was in a much
    younger girl's voice - higher pitched, bashful, but innocently honest.

    "A man who makes me safe, buys me pretty things - a man like Daddy."

    "Did Daddy protect you from all the other boys, Barbara? Bad boys who
    might do nasty things to you, boys who might hurt you?"

    "He made them go away when they tried to do things to me - when they
    tried to kiss me - when they put their hands on my boobs and under my
    dress. He protected me. Chased all of them away. Because they just wanted
    sex."

    "So, did you marry a man like your Daddy, Barbara?"

    Her back straightened a bit, and she unclasped her hands and folded them
    into the crease between her thighs. The voice of many years ago was gone,
    replaced with the familiar voice Peter knew. The change filled him with
    both sentiment and fear.

    "Dad said he was, but he wasn't. He couldn't buy me things I wanted. He
    couldn't protect me. He couldn't even chase the other men away."

    "But the other men satisfy you now, don't they Barbara? They give you
    much better sex than he does, don't they?"

    Barbara's hands pushed deeper between her legs, prying them apart, palms
    opening and moving against her inner thighs until her dress was hiked to
    her waist. Peter stared as her hands slowly circled and probed between
    her legs and her hips began to thrust forward in the chair.

    "I like sex with them - not him. He can't chase them away, and he can't
    give me sex I like. His penis isn't even big like other men. You protect
    me like Dad did. And you buy me things I want, like he did, like I'm your
    princess. Dad would like you. So I suck you and fuck you. You and your
    big cock."

    "So, is that what you live for, Barbara?"

    Her voice changed again, more abruptly than before. Now it was laced with
    fierceness, her s'es sizzling as though they were a warning of potential
    venomous intent.

    "When you own me - my pussy, my ass, my tits, everything I am, everything
    you want me to be - that's what I live for. Nothing else. It's fucking
    everything. Nothing else matters."

    Farmer's interrogation stopped, but Barbara continued to watch the
    dancing images on the screen in front of her. Finally, her head dropped
    back as though she was staring at the ceiling, the chair trembled and
    creaked, and her voice rose from an unworldly moan to a desperate howl.
    The sounds of her climax still echoed through the building as Peter
    bolted through the front door and ran for the car.


    ~*~

    Monday was always the same old grind for Peter. There were piles of work
    to be done, and often updated software to learn and use. He'd put in his
    ear buds and listen to Farmer's latest PowerPoint training session
    describing some new ridiculous office policy, often warning about sexual
    harassment in the workplace or dress codes for employees. Not
    surprisingly, men received the brunt of the bad news, while the women
    seemed to be encouraged to dress for and participate in any form of sex
    they desired, as long as they OKed things with Farmer first.

    Farmer always summoned Peter to his office after his morning staff
    meeting to gloat about what a sweet fuck Barbara was. There were the
    lurid details about the new depraved acts he had her perform, sometimes
    in front of an audience of his friends and other CEOs. He'd stop now and
    then to get Peter's approval, and to hear Peter acknowledge what a slut
    his wife had become for Farmer.

    It had become easier for Peter to accept Farmer's ownership of Barbara,
    so agreeing with Farmer was almost automated. In fact, it became
    strangely exciting for Peter to hear what Farmer had persuaded her to do.
    He had to admit that after some time, the more perverted and degrading
    the act, the more aroused he became. Sometimes his own fantasies filled
    his head, always with Barbara being fucked with a cock too impossibly big
    to fit inside her while Peter stood by, his little prick jerking and
    spurting as some giant alpha male brought her to orgasm again and again.
    A year ago, he would never have imagined now when he was made to
    thank Farmer for fucking Barbara, that he sincerely meant it much of the
    time.

    He had even asked Farmer why he didn't have Barbara divorce him and marry
    her himself. Farmer had laughed for a full minute before telling
    Peter it was his job to take care of her when Farmer wasn't using her as
    his "submissive little cum-bucket", and that actually marrying her would
    lower Farmer to Peter's pathetic level. Afterwards, Peter fought the
    temptation to agree with Farmer. But disagreeing with Farmer was too
    difficult and tiring these days, and Peter was beginning to see that
    Farmer was almost always right. Even so, he still loved Barbara, but in a
    way that gave him pleasure to see her perfect body owned and used by
    Farmer. And if he gave her pleasure as well, so much the better.

    This Monday was no different than any other. Peter sat before his
    monitor, plugged in his ear buds, and opened the file Farmer had sent
    him. A sudden burst of light almost blinded Peter. Sequences of brightly
    colored images raced across the screen in a blur between repeating bursts
    of light that fixed his eyes to the monitor. Then, through the earbuds
    came Farmer's voice, cold and commanding, yet strangely arousing.

    "What do you live for, Peter?"
     
  14. DeannaHouston

    DeannaHouston Well-Known Member

    Excellent story Don, you are a very good writer. Deanna
     
    don_jetman likes this.
  15. don_jetman

    don_jetman Well-Known Member Founding Member

    Thanks for reading, Deanna. Glad you enjoyed it.

    Don
     
    christinebitg likes this.

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