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A Couple Brought Together Act 01

By: realvelvetglove



"How little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue."

Jane Austen, 'Pride and Prejudice', 1811

CONTENT WARNING & DISCLAIMER

This is the first of five Acts (Parts) of a novella that is not as romantic as its title might suggest. On the contrary, 'A Couple Brought Together' describes the story of a submissive married couple who risk their lives and happiness through a relationship with an older dominant gentleman. Please don't read further if graphic BDSM content offends you. Future Parts may feature specific Content Warnings. 

'A Couple Brought Together' is itself the first in a trilogy of sequential stories all featuring the same characters. The second novella 'A Couple Chained Apart' will follow, and then a third novella will complete the saga. It is based on actual events that took place from Spring 2012 to early 2014. However, it is a fictionalised account and any individual resemblance to real people or names is coincidental. Copyright is claimed by the author Velvetglove.

*****

ACT I: CONTRACT

DAY ONE

It took me 22 months to find them.

I spent endless evenings advertising, responding, emailing and chatting.

During almost two years I came across many fakes, made several online friendships, and even met up with a few individuals. I joined Fetish Groups for 'submissive couples' and got in contact with a small number, but they never turned out to be the right match. Either they lived abroad and couldn't relocate, or they were just the wrong fit; incorrect chemistry, bad attitude, or we simply didn't trust what each other said.

But I've always been a pretty determined kind of guy. Logic told me that amongst the tens of millions of adults out there, the right couple had to be looking for somebody like me. It was just a matter of patience and resolve.

In the meantime, I snacked on three short relationships with single submissive females, to blunt the edge of my appetite. I almost decided to stick with one of them for the long term, the prettiest of the three, named Charlotte. She was only 19, a college student, and I was seriously tempted. But Charlotte was looking for monogamous slavery, and I didn't want to restrict myself, or allow anything to get in the way of my dedicated search.

It was a submissive m/f couple I wanted. I just wasn't prepared to compromise.

And eventually I located them.

They were perfect. They even lived in the same city as me. They were prepared to relocate to my home. They were looking for the same type of 'live-in, long-term, no-limits' arrangement that I was. They were the ideal age too; 30 and 31, old enough to know what they wanted, but still more than two decades younger than me. And as a bonus, they were cute to look at.

I arranged our first meeting for a busy pub in central London. They lived in a rented flat in a northern suburb and, as I live in the west, it seemed a reasonable half way point, as well as being a crowded, safe venue. We'd already Skyped several times and so I'd seen them both beforehand. But there's nothing to match that first actual 'face-to-face'; you spot details you can't catch on a screen. You can smell their scent, touch their skin, taste their nerves.

A casual onlooker would have just seen a nice looking thirties couple sharing a drink with an older guy, her dad maybe, or his boss? But the three of us were there for an interview. For me to judge them and, more importantly, for them to judge me. Did I seem safe, sane and, equally importantly, could I be the right Master for them?

Obviously there would be no story if we hadn't passed our auditions.

Our second meeting was over the following weekend, including staying overnight. They travelled to my home and I could see they were impressed. I showed them round my house, the gardens and grounds, my cellar. We went for a drive in my Merc, ate lunch at a local restaurant, did a bit of food shopping. All the time, we talked, sometimes just small-talk, but also sharing our vanilla interests. And we flirted. I didn't want them to think that I took Jane's compliance for granted at that stage.

But a few glasses of wine in the early evening eased the tension they were both radiating. Our conversation became more sexual and explicit; why they felt the way they did and what had ultimately led to their decision to move their fantasies into the realm of real life?

They had both built up their imaginations and bedroom whisperings into irrepressible urges that I was now going to exploit. I had done some dinner prep before their arrival; I just gave them instructions and let them finish preparing the meal while I watched. They set the table with me at the head and one of them on either side of me. I placed Jane on my right and Chris on my left. I lit some candles.

As they were sitting down, I asked Chris to wait table for us and plate the food. After he had served, I quietly told him to unbutton and remove Jane's blouse so I could admire her ample bosom while we all ate.

"Undo her bra too."

He unhooked the catch and released her D cups, draping her blouse and bra over the back of the chair.

Jane sat there, topless and blushing, as embarrassment rose and spread across her chest and face in the romantic candlelight.

"Let's eat."

We continued our conversation, with me casually brushing Jane's nipples with my knuckles between mouthfuls. They grew hard with excitement and humiliation. Eating with her tits and tummy on display was turning her on despite her unease.

With my food half finished, I pushed my plate aside and reached under the table.

I drew her knees apart with my right hand while Chris was talking. I pretended to listen to him but fingered Jane's thong aside and slid my thumb into her pussy.

"That's interesting, Chris."

Her neck was mottled with embarrassment. She held her breath.

Chris blushed as well as it dawned on him what I was doing.

"Clear the plates, will you?"

He pushed his chair back and started fumbling with the plates.

I leaned over and kissed Jane's mouth. She tasted of garlic.

"Can you wash the pans too now, please Chris. They'll be harder to clean in the morning."

"Sure."

I smiled at Jane, putting her at her ease. It was clear that her husband wasn't going to stop us. I pulled her hand under the table to let her feel my hardness.

"I love your wife's tits."

Chris didn't turn round from the sink. His back remained stock still. 

Jane's eyes were shut, her lips open.

To lighten the tension a bit, I caressed the underside of her left breast with my spoon, sliding it underneath her curve and hefting it slightly.

"Like trying to juggle grapefruits in teaspoons." I whispered.

She looked at me and we kissed again. It was a long, possessive, tongue-twisting kiss that lasted a couple of minutes.

After dessert, we let Chris clear the table and finish the washing up. It was now totally obvious to all three of us that Jane was going to get fucked and I wanted it to be memorable for both of them. When he was done in the kitchen, I made Chris undress his wife completely and then I guided them up to my bedroom, where I let him stand at the end of the bed and watch us.

I lay Jane down on the covers and spread her thighs. There was no need for foreplay. She was as wet as I was hard. Suddenly Chris's presence didn't matter to either of us. Wordlessly, I paused above her and then plunged in.

It was a pretty vanilla fuck, apart from the fact that her fully clothed husband was at the end of the bed. No SM kink, or fancy positions, just missionary intercourse. Still, she came several times anyway, gasping and shrieking in noisy orgasms. The only manoeuvre I managed was to slide us around 180 degrees on the bed so that our heads were now at the end where Chris was standing. I wanted him to look down at Jane's face when she climaxed.

I'd like to claim it was all down to my brilliant lovemaking technique and my huge cock but, as I was shortly to discover, Jane orgasms easily whenever her fantasies are being realised. In fact, I already knew there wasn't even anything much wrong with her husband's stamina or size. But marital missionary sex just wasn't cutting it for her.

Or for either of them.

Which is where I came in.

It felt brilliant to pump my load into a young, married cunt. I looked straight at Chris hovering at the foot of the bed as I came that first time. I let him see the orgasmic rictus-grin on my face as I flooded his wife. I stared deep into his eyes so he could visualize every spurt of jizz invading his territory.

After I pulled out, I gave Jane my messy cock to suck clean. Her lips curled in distaste but she was so turned on she put them around my smeared shaft. This was already something they'd told me that she'd never once done for Chris.

A few days earlier, they had each separately answered a 200-question survey I compiled especially for them. They hadn't shared their answers with one another. They emailed them privately to me. Some of their answers revealed to me things that neither of them knew about their spouse. The most intimate, embarrassing secrets.

I locked Chris in a guest room overnight and Jane slept with me in my bed. I fucked her again in the morning, this time taking a bit more time to explore her body. She's what I call 'girl-next-door pretty', with curves in the right places. She had turned 30 the previous December and was starting to thicken slightly round her middle. I knew she was self conscious about her weight. Undoubtedly, she needed to lose a few pounds and she'd told me that being kept on a strict diet would be good for her, as well as being one of her fantasies.

I ploughed her cunt and whispered rude words into her ear. She trimmed her bush but I told her I would require it to be bald with laser removal, until every follicle was destroyed. I knew it was actually another fantasy of hers to be kept hairless down there but the words sounded better coming from me. I cupped my hand under her ass and slid my index finger into her anus, until her back arched and she cried out in yet another huge, gut-wrenching orgasm.

Her face was heart-shaped, with shoulder-length brunette hair that was parted in the centre. She wore it flicked away from her forehead but as she tossed her head in orgasm, it flew everywhere. Her eyes were a rich brown like pools of melted chocolate. She had a cute button nose and a gentle jaw line that would sharpen up nicely once she'd lost a few pounds.

But, naked beneath me, her tits were my favourite feature; milky white and plump like pillows, with pink areola and thick raspberry nipples that had stiffened with her excitement. I'm unashamedly a boob man. Youthful, D-cup and married tits are a triple-score in my book.

I could have taken her mouth, or even her asshole, that morning but I shed my load in her tight pussy again. There was no rush to try new things. It was pretty clear to all of us by the time they departed after lunch that Jane and Chris would be returning to me soon.

And this time it would be for good.

They signed a one year contract. Of course, it never was a legal document that would hold up in a Court of Law, but it recorded our mutual understanding and all three of us signed it voluntarily. We haggled a bit over wording but essentially it was a common sense, no-limits agreement based on trust.

With hindsight I think we all rushed into it a bit, and there are things about their first month I would do differently, if I had the time over. But all three of us were gripped by the need to embark on our journey after so long waiting for the opportunity.

They didn't have complicated lives to wrap up. Chris worked freelance and Jane had recently lost her job, so they put their careers on hold. They only had a rented flat so they gave notice on it and moved their possessions into storage. Jane is an only child of separated parents with no family as such. Chris told his own parents that he was being transferred to a new hush-hush job, which was kind of true, I guess. They said similar things to their circle of friends and told people they'd definitely keep in touch.

One Friday evening, March 30th, they moved into my house.

That first evening we ate together again. Although they would both be going on strict diets starting the next morning, I cooked them a steak and shrimp dinner and opened a bottle of champagne. A kind of Last Supper. They both drank alcohol socially and Jane also smoked 5 cigarettes a day, 10 on a bad day.

I allowed her to light one final Marlboro Light to calm her nerves. She went outside to smoke it while Chris and I discussed whether she'd find it easy to give up cigarettes. She had tried several times in the past but always succumbed to temptation and started again.

I was dressed in just my silk paisley dressing gown and velvet slippers. I hadn't even bothered to shave. I wanted to convey a subliminal message by not dressing or grooming myself.

But Jane was wearing a pretty, flowery dress with a plunging neckline that showed off her cleavage, her brunette hair neatly swept back. She was subtly made up with mascara, blush and lipstick. Chris wore a blue jacket, tailored shirt and pressed chinos. They had both made an effort. They'd arrived with a suitcase each containing everything they owned that hadn't been put into storage.

After dinner, I told them both to kiss and undress each other tenderly. Chris slowly unbuttoned and removed Jane's dress, revealing her pale skin, her bra, thong and heels. She stood 5' 4" barefoot. As I said, she had started thickening slightly around the middle. Her hips were carrying a few pounds and a hint of cellulite. Her butt had dimples and just a slight droop. Nevertheless, her waist was narrow and overall she had a sexy hourglass figure, with D-cup breasts that barely sagged at all.

Her naked skin smelt of floral soap and a musky hint of sexual excitement. She was flawless without one single blemish, scar or tattoo. Aside from pierced ears in which she wore tiny diamond studs, her body was a wonderful blank canvas on which I could start work.

In turn, Jane removed her husband's jacket and undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, then fumbled off his shoes, socks and chinos, until he was down to his underpants. Chris was in okay shape for 31 yrs old, like his wife thickening just a little, but without any paunch, with toned arms and legs. His skin was pale and dotted with freckles. Facially he reminded me of that actor who plays Marine Sergeant Brody in 'Homeland'. His hair was strawberry blondish and floppy.

They kissed softly, like a wedding couple, opened mouthed, but without animal fervour. Jane tugged down Chris's waistband and revealed his erection and nest of ginger pubes. In turn, he unfastened her bra and released her boobs. He lowered his face into them and kissed her nipples tenderly, then slid his hand into her thong and tugged it down her bare legs. She wasn't wearing stockings. They were both naked now except for Jane's black 3-inch high heels.

She had previously sported a neat triangle of brown pubic hair but, since their last visit, had twice visited a specialist clinic for permanent laser hair removal procedures and was now totally bald, smooth and welcoming.

During their strip show, I loosened the cord on my dressing gown and sat watching them with my own growing erection sticking up between the silk folds. I beckoned Jane over to my lap and twiddled my index finger at her.

"Turn round."

Still holding and kissing her husband tenderly, she slowly rotated and placed her thighs outside my knees. I guided her fingers down to my dick.

"Now sit on that."

She sunk her pussy down and gasped. Her cunt was as wet and snug as it had been on her first visit. Jane had been sexually active since she was 18 but had slept with only three boys before Chris. I knew every explicit detail of her sexual history, ironically even more than the man who'd married her. I'd forced her to answer the questions Chris had never dared ask.

She stifled a moan into Chris's mouth as I pushed up to meet her. I could see one side of his face over her shoulder. His eyes were closed. There was sweat along his pale hairline. He was lovingly French-kissing his wife while she rode another man's cock. I knew this was a scene he'd imagined for a long time.

"Psst." I caught his attention. "Get down under my chair. Face up."

Jane started bouncing up and down on me. I felt Chris's head burrowing underneath us, his unturned face being slapped by her enthusiastic thighs. My dressing gown was hanging open and I'd already toed both my slippers off. I reached round Jane and cupped her yo-yoing tits, thumbing her hard nipples, squeezing the plump flesh.

"You can cum, tonight." I whispered in her ear. "But make the most of it. I've booked your piercing tomorrow."

She groaned in heat, bouncing with renewed energy. Both of them were into orgasm denial. It was a fetish all three of us shared.

She and I came within seconds of each other. First Jane, with trembling thighs and high heels hanging off her feet, shrieking orgasm-babble at us, every sinew of her legs and toes curling upwards.

I managed to hold off until she'd quietened then followed her with a deep, prehistoric groan. I could feel my load squirting and sloshing inside her, trying to keep my eyes open to savour the moment.

When I'd recovered, I eased Jane off my lap and pushed her to sit down on the dining chair opposite me. She staggered onto it with her thighs hanging open, her ravaged petals gaping like a dying rose. Her face was flushed and her neatly coiffed hair had tumbled forward over her eyes so she had to peer through it. My paw prints had left red scuffs on her pale tits. Her cleavage and neck were blotchy from her arousal and orgasm.

"You're up." I said, peering down at Chris. His watery blue eyes looked up at me. His freckled face was shiny. I pointed him towards Jane and told her.

"Suck your husband's cock."

He stood next to her chair as Jane turned her face and put her lips around his jutting shaft. Weirdly, oral sex hadn't really formed a part of their sex life together. Of course, it had a bit, right at the start, like most young couples, but as they wordlessly accepted their mutual timidity, Jane simply withdrew fellatio from the marital menu. She admitted to me it wasn't a conscious thing. It just kind of happened. Chris never pushed her for oral and any reciprocal cunnilingus from him just faded away too. They withdrew into missionary sex, spiced by their unspoken fantasies.

Jane had revealed to me, early in one of our Skype sessions, that even with her previous boyfriends, she'd never been a keen cocksucker. She'd never been that teenage girl giving head in the back of a car. She was too 'vaginal', too focused on penetration. At best, oral sex had maybe been part of foreplay to her.

It was bizarre for a submissive woman of 30, but incredibly, she'd never performed a single out-and-out blowjob to any of the four partners in her life. And she had never once swallowed cum. She wasn't even a spitter. No cock had ever spurted its load inside Jane's mouth.

I smiled at the expression of ecstasy on Chris's face as Jane's mouth slurped up and down his veined erection, leaving a gloss of her saliva. His cock was standard-issue. Not small, not large. Her throat made occasional gulping noises. She had no oral skills yet but even so, Chris was realising what he'd been missing all those years. I let her hand jerk his shaft while she licked. 

When she had him good and on the edge, I said to her quietly; "stop".

They both turned their heads and looked at me expectantly.

"Now return the favour." I said to Chris. "Lick your wife's pussy."


A Couple Brought Together Act 01



By now, a white slug of my semen had emerged between Jane's labial folds. Her coral pink gash was a messy puddle of our mingled fluids.

This had been a point of pre-negotiation between Chris and me. He wasn't one of those cream pie fantasists. On the contrary, he loathed the idea. But I didn't back down. I told him we might as well forget the whole thing if such a staple ingredient was off limits, which he reluctantly agreed with.

So, this moment was a key sign of acceptance by all three of us of just how things were going to be from now on. I could see a cocktail of nausea, humiliation and resistance in Chris's blue eyes. In contrast, Jane's expression looked undeniably enthusiastic.

There was no distracting music or noise, just the rhythm of their breathing. The smells of our supper and soap, sweat and sex filled the tense silence.

Chris knelt down and used his palms to spread her knees akimbo. His face disappeared between her thighs and I could tell by her far-away gaze that his tongue had entered her. It was a beautiful tableau. Her dangling high heels added a touch of debauchery to what appeared to be a lovingly sexual scene.

I'd always wanted to watch another man guzzle my jizz from his woman's cunt. It had taken me over thirty years to make this moment a reality. Twenty two hard months of hunting my prey. But it was worth the wait. Chris was moving his head now, in small circles, as his lips and tongue mopped up every drop, occasionally sliding over his wife's clit. His mouth made intermittent slurping noises. Jane's mouth opened and closed in little oohs and aahs of pleasure.

"Enough." I ordered him. "Now come here."

Chris reversed on his hands and knees and padded on all fours to my feet.

"Kiss them." I wiggled my toes.

He glanced up at me, then down at my bare, sweaty feet.

This was another key step. Kissing feet has long been a symbol of power and obedience; a vassal pledging homage to his Lord and Master.

I winked reassuringly at Jane, who was watching us. I could see her hand itching to continue the interrupted pleasure between her thighs. I nodded that she could.

It was important for me to sexualise Chris's humiliation. For him and for his wife. Women respond biologically to an alpha male. But I wanted Jane to realise it was also okay for her to indulge the uncommon fetish she'd envisaged in her imagination. Her own male being treated as a beta.

Some men fantasise about their wives submitting to another person. Fewer women fantasise about their husbands doing likewise, but some do.

Jane was one of them.

Chris's tongue danced on my big toe. I pushed it deeper in his mouth, making him gag slightly. Jane was strumming her clitoris like a demented lead guitarist ripping out a solo.

I shut my eyes.

This was how life was going to be.

And it wasn't even the end of Day One.

*****

COMING SOON

ACT TWO: CATALYST



A Couple Brought Together Act 02



ACT II: CATALYST

DAY TWO

In the basement under my home, there are two underground rooms; originally wine cellars with concrete floors, brick alcoves and slate shelving for bottles. The atmosphere is dark, dank and ideal for storing wine.

And for storing people.

A year ago, I converted an end of the basement into a pair of adjacent prison cells. They're small with three brick walls. The front is made of vertical steel bars, like the old fashioned Sheriff's cells you see in a cowboy movie.

The only furniture I put in the cell was a thin camping mattress with a horsehair blanket, and a bucket in the corner. I wired an HDTV screen to a side wall and drilled bolts for leather straps into the rear wall.

The five bolts were arranged into the brickwork in a W shape, measured so that a person could have his wrists, ankles and neck spread-eagled against the back wall.

This cell was to be Chris's home.

I fixed the straps specifically so that they fit his 5' 10" frame with his arms outstretched and ankles spread nice and wide. It was his fantasy. But it was a desire of his that I was genuinely happy to cater to. He wanted to be my incarcerated prisoner while, only a few feet above him, his wife was trained to be my slave.

During our negotiations, Chris told me he seriously doubted that he could just obey me from the outset. He would have too much innate male pride, regardless of his deep submissive streak. He first needed to be 'broken', 'forced', 'trained'. He wanted to suffer the futility of being a prisoner in solitary for as long as it took me to break him. Imprisonment would be the catalyst that turned him from a typical guy into a trained submissive.

His fantasy actually suited my plan. I could initially focus on Jane without the distraction of her husband. I wasn't sure how long he'd spend down here. I'd play that by ear. But I was sure it would be many long hours. I'd keep him locked away until he regretted it. Until he begged me.

We locked him up that first night in the leather straps, his body naked and his cock still flapping semi-erect. The taste of his wife's cunt and odour of my feet were still pungent on his lips. He hadn't had an orgasm and he certainly wasn't going to now. I made Jane buckle his neck, wrists and ankles into the straps one-by-one so that his own wife was part of the process of locking him up. Then I told her to give his cock a few gentle parting strokes until pre-cum oozed again from the tip.

"Kiss him goodbye."

She leaned up and pecked her husband on his cheek.

There were two camera lenses and high quality microphones outside the cell. They beamed visual and sound CCTV up to various monitors upstairs. I could check up on him any time I liked. I could rewind and playback any parts I particularly enjoyed.

As an afterthought, I slid the bucket across the concrete to the spot between Chris's legs.

*** *** ***

I woke the next morning with Jane beside me. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the curtains and particles danced in the rays. I turned and looked at her. A yellow shaft lit her sleeping face. The clock said 06:52.

I let rip a loud, morning fart.

Her eyes opened wide and she looked at me. For a moment, her brown eyes looked alarmed, as if she'd forgotten where she was.

"Morning."

"Good morning ... Sir."

We'd agreed she would call me 'Sir'. I don't personally like the epithet Master. It sounds too contrived, whereas Sir is simply polite and deferential.

"Follow me."

I got up and padded to the bathroom. My bedroom suite is large, with a 4-poster bed at one end, a separate sitting area with sofa, armchairs and a wall-mounted TV at the other. The doorways to my en suite bathroom and a walk-in clothes closet are midway along the wall.

Large windows look out over my garden and fields. Erotic oil paintings and charcoal nudes hang on the walls. I collect art with a SM element to it in particular; drawings of scenes with riding crops and face-sitting, bondage and orgies.

The bathroom contains a marble Jacuzzi bath, a walk-in power shower, two basins and a pedestal toilet. The stone tiled floor is warmed by under-floor heating.

I stood naked at the toilet.

"Hold my dick for me while I piss."

Jane blinked, still sleepy, and rubbed her eye. Day Two was sure going to be a different experience compared with her easy opening night.

She has nice fingers. They're elegant and thin and, with carefully manicured nails. Her jewellery reflects their income; a simple gold wedding band and a nice but small engagement solitaire diamond on her left hand. She also wore a pretty aquamarine everyday ring on her right hand.

I have never had any desire to make a woman remove her marital jewellery. To me, there is nothing sexier than a married woman's rings covered in the cum of other men.

I waited until she was pointing my dick between the toilet seat.

"Mmm." I murmured, as my morning flow streamed into the pan. I reached down and pushed the top of her head firmly. She resisted briefly and then gave in. Her face was only inches from my stream. It was a morning brew; dark gold, heady.

"No limits, right?"

That was our deal. The usual rider about 'no kids or animals', but everything else was in bounds. I mean everything.

E. V. E. R. Y. T. H. I. N. G.

Jane had written her list of fetishes split into three groups for me: what she wanted me to do; the ones she was not so keen on but hoped she could learn to accept; and those she really didn't want to happen but recognised the final decision was mine.

Drinking my piss fell in the second category.

She tilted her head and her trusting chocolate eyes looked up at me. A cute 30 yr old woman eyeing a Dom 23 years her senior. At this early stage, all I had to do was strike the right balance between being strict enough, and frightening the shit out of her.

My flow slowly diminished without me forcing her to drink any. She didn't seem in any rush to try.

"You need to go too?"

She bit her lip. "Yes please, Sir."

I gave her no privacy. I'm a great believer that toilet control is an important psychological training tool. It takes an adult right back to childhood. Being watched helps strip away a person's unnecessary dignity. 

"Don't touch my personal seat. Ever. Just squat over it."

I watched her spread her feet either side of the pedestal and awkwardly lower her hips as far as she could without her inner thighs making any contact with my wooden seat.

Her gash was open, coral-pink and still clammy from our sex the previous night. Without the protection of pubic hair, her orifices were totally exposed to me. A waft of fishy scent tickled my nostrils. I looked her directly in the eyes and smirked.

She has long dark eyelashes. Her eyes are brown and wide, almost innocent. I could read her mind. She was humiliated by the sudden reality of what she was about to do. There was no turning back. She closed her eyes in shame.

"Okay. Piss."

I watched her muscles moving and then a gush of urine came out. I was instantly reminded how women are such messy pissers compared with us neat guys.

I smirked, reaching out to fondle her boobs while she peed. I'd roughly sucked the pale meat under her left breast the previous night. There was now a yellow-brown hickey under her areola to mark the spot.

My hand slid over the slight swell of her stomach and downwards to her spray. I tinkled my fingers in her golden flow. She was looking at me, her neck and cheeks glowing scarlet with an embarrassed rash.

"Do you need to dump too?"

She paused then shook her head. "No, Sir."

I chuckled, lifting my wet fingers to her lips.

"Make no mistake, we start today, now. You must ask me for permission whenever you need to go. Got that?"

She blushed an even brighter shade of cherry-red. "Yes, Sir."

Her lips kissed my fingers and her tongue tasted each one clean in turn.

Eventually, her flow weakened to a trickle, and then stopped.

"You can wipe yourself."

Most guys don't wipe our dicks after a piss but women seem to want to.

I flushed the pan and pointed back to the bedroom. "Bed."

I lay with my head propped on the pillows, flicked a switch, and watched her give her first morning BJ ever. She knelt between my knees and lowered her face to my groin.

"You know how this is going to end?"

"Mmeh." Her mumble was distinguishable as a yes.

I actually enjoyed the fact Jane was so inexperienced in oral sex. Some guys prefer their submissives already trained in essential skills but I don't mind 'L' plates. I'm very specific about what I like, although it varies according to my mood. Personally, I like frequent eye contact. And the best BJs are performed hands-free. I like to see a woman working damn hard to get you off. To me, her fluttering eyelashes, flared nostrils and jaw ache are part of the fun.

"Look at me."

She peered up through her hair but carried on slurping.

Sometimes, I don't mind some hand action to jerk you off down her throat, but whatever, the essential ingredient every time for me, is that a BJ is a one-way street. Period.

A blowjob ends with a guy lightening his load. He dumps his spooge in her mouth, or maybe on her face or tits, wherever, and then she focuses solely on his aftercare. She swallows, cleans up, switches on the TV, fetches him a beer. Unlike a 69 or oral foreplay, a proper blowjob never ends with the woman having an orgasm as well. Her reward is purely cerebral.

I shifted my leg after a while so that my big toe was under her pussy and I pushed it inside her. I let her use her fingers to jerk me off, although I would soon need to train her in the no-hands technique that is my preference.

"Fuck my toe, but don't dare cum you horny slut."

I could tell that she was frustrated, working on my cock without being allowed to pleasure herself. But this was fuck-all compared to what I had planned for her over the coming weeks.

"Don't swallow. Catch it all on your tongue."

I pulled my foot away as I popped my cookies into her mouth.

Nowadays, I can't repeat like I used to when I was Chris's age. But I can still manufacture two good loads a day. I was always a heavy cummer. My semen is white, chewy, abundant and, I'm told, remarkably bitter. Probably too much black coffee!

I could see from Jane's bugging eyes and flared nostrils that she was shocked by the quantity, taste and slimy texture. It's actually easier for a woman to simply relax her throat and gulp it down. It's a lot harder to store it in her mouth so it invades her gums and palate.

Jane turned her cute features up to look at me. Her heart-shaped face was distorted by her puffed out cheeks. Her high, plucked eyebrows exaggerated the size of her eyes and gave her a quizzical look.

"Don't swallow I said. Keep it all in your mouth. Head up."

She puckered her lips, holding it in.

"Now trill it round your mouth. Gargle."

To watch a woman rinsing your jizz like spearmint mouthwash is a beautiful sight. Mostly they won't. If a woman will, she either really loves you or she really needs the cash. But Jane was different. This wasn't about love or cash.

Her head was tilted back, mouth open.

"Gggglllllhhhh." She gargled.

I watched her for ten, twenty, thirty seconds, until every last drop of flavour and bitterness had coated the roof of her palate.

"Okay. Now, swallow."

Her neck tilted right back and she gulped.

"Show me."

Her pink tongue and white teeth were clean.

"Good girl." I congratulated her, patting the pillow beside me. "Now come up here and give me a kiss."

I could smell my scent on her breath. I slid my tongue into her mouth.

"How was that?"

Her eyes stared at me eloquently. "As I expected, Sir."

"As bad as that?" I laughed.

She made a face. "Yes. But in a weirdly ... okay way."

I nodded. "Come on, lazybones, enough verbal banter. It's time to get to work."

*** *** ***

I let her put on an old shirt of mine and showed her round my house. I'd made it clear from the outset that her duties wouldn't be confined to sex. I wanted a housemaid and domestic-slave too and I was going to work Jane fucking hard.

My house is a large detached home on the leafy western edge of London. I have privacy, space and greenery. I used to have a lady in her fifties who came daily to dust and iron but she retired, and anyway the place is really too big for one person to look after to my standards. Only by working double-shifts would Jane be able to keep everything shipshape.

On the ground floor there are four main rooms; a 40-foot open-plan kitchen, leading through double doors to a large south-facing drawing room for entertaining, then a home cinema mostly for watching sport, and finally my private office-library.

Upstairs, there are my master suite and three other guest bedrooms with their own bathrooms. I showed Jane every nook and cranny, also pointing out the walk-in storeroom for sheets and towels, and a door to the upstairs water tanks and fire escape.

The house is Victorian but modernized to a contemporary style, with oak floors, oriental rugs, and loads of big glass windows looking out over my lawn and garden. I showed Jane the kitchen store with tins of polish, dusters, brushes, pans, brooms, mops and cleaning materials.

Finally, I pointed to the heavy door leading to the basement.

"Never even think of going down there without my permission."

She swallowed, then nodded and mumbled "Sir."

I reached out and stroked her pale cheek reassuringly.

"Don't worry. You'll see each other again soon enough."

I led her through to the kitchen and demonstrated just how I like my coffee, my juice, my bran. I drank my coffee while I showed her the list of chores that would rule her life from now on; hourly, daily and weekly tasks, scheduled by time and day of the week. And I told her firmly that she couldn't ever eat anything, drink anything, touch herself, piss, shit, or do anything not on her list of chores without my permission. Understood?

"Yes, Sir." She replied, in an obedient tone that suggested she was one hundred percent clear.

I smiled kindly at her and rearranged my old white shirt on her body. It had only two buttons left. They fastened across her waist and navel. The shirt was skewed open at her cleavage and between her legs. I patted her hip.

"We have a visitor coming." I said. "So get to work."

*** *** ***

Every inch of Chris's body ached. He had no idea of the time. It was pitch dark with the lights off. He couldn't hear or see. He could only use his sense of smell. He had peed twice during the night and the stench of his own urine blended with the sour aroma of his armpits.

He guessed it must be the morning by now. He was thirsty. His mouth tasted like sawdust. For the umpteenth time, he wondered what was going on upstairs. Deep down, he knew that he hadn't been abandoned. He knew he was safe in the sense that he wouldn't come to any long term harm. But that one percent of doubt made his naked body shiver.

He grimaced at the discomfort in his limbs and his anger with himself. Why hadn't he been born with an easier kink? Like adult baby play, or even fucking animals? Why had he been sentenced to a terrible fetish like this instead? He cursed silently in the darkness and tugged his wrists futilely against the buckled straps.

The worst thing was, this kind of imprisonment was exactly what he'd wanted.

*** *** ***

The cellar reeked of urine.

I turned on the bright overhead lights. Chris had emptied his bladder into the bucket between his legs and onto the concrete floor.

He was still standing where I'd left him - naturally - with his ankles, wrists and neck buckled to the rear wall. He was naked. His jaw was fuzzy with gingery stubble and his eyes had sunk a little deeper in their sockets. He was blinking and squinting trying to accustom his eyes to the light.

I was carrying a plastic cup of water. I unlocked his steel-barred cell door with a clank and spoke in my cheeriest voice.

"Morning Chris. Sleep well?"

He looked at me. Not insolently, but with a spark in his eye. I don't think he knew how to reply. To lie? Or state the fucking obvious?

"Well?" I asked.

"Not really."

"Not really, Sir." I corrected.

"Not really, Sir."

I looked down. His shrunken cock had retreated into his carroty pubes. I grinned, reached down and pinched the tip between my thumb and index finger, stretching it. I'm not remotely gay or bi, but I don't have a problem touching a man's dick, especially if he's my sub.

"Come on, Chris. Get this little fella awake now. I want him stiff."

I reached under Chris's scrotum and tickled his balls.

"Get it hard." I snarled. "Picture me and Jane fucking. You've got one minute."

I opened my dressing gown and took my own dick out. I started pissing into his bucket on the floor and casually farted while I did it. He was staring over my shoulder, eyes hazy in contemplation, and his dick was stirring.

I walked outside the cell, found the remote, and turned on his TV screen. In seconds, a high definition colour image of my bedroom appeared, with Jane kneeling between my knees, facing the hidden camera lens. I had recorded her that morning, although she hadn't realized it. Her face was in my groin, bobbing up and down. Her hand was pumping my shaft.

"Fuck my toe, but don't cum you horny slut."

Chris and I both heard my voice clearly through the TV's speakers.

I grinned, looking at him. He appeared half-shocked and half-turned on. I glanced down at his twitching dick and caressed the underside vein with my thumb.

"Don't worry." I whispered. "Jane won't know, but I'm going to film her lots over the coming weeks and I'll even share some of the movies with you. You'll get to watch the action from down here."

"Mmuh ..." he whimpered, as his cock reached half mast.

On the screen, the sights and sounds made it obvious I was cumming in his wife's mouth.

"Don't swallow it. Catch it on your tongue."

I looked deep into his pale blue eyes. He heard my command and watched the woman he'd been married to for seven years swallowing my morning porridge.

He blinked but held my gaze. We were like two gunslingers matching up, right hands poised over our holsters. But we both knew I could outdraw him any time I liked. I held all the aces.

I massaged his little pistol. It was hard now, full size, jutting upwards.

I let him observe Jane trilling my cum round her tongue, enjoying the mesmerised expression on his face, before I clicked the remote and the screen went dark again.

"She's going to make a good slut, isn't she?"

He shut his eyes and screwed up his face, like he was extinguishing an image.

"Isn't she?"

"Yes, Sir, she is yes."

I picked up the plastic cup of water I'd brought down. "Drink?"

He tilted his chin. "Please, Sir."

I held it to his lips. His head went back, mouth open, and I slowly tipped the liquid into his mouth. I wanted him to swallow it all.

"Good?"

"Yes, Sir." He mumbled gratefully.

I smiled and looked down at his erection. I let him see me slowly lower the plastic cup. I arranged it along the length of his shaft.

"Now, Chris, if you want to eat anything at all today, you'd better keep this cup hanging on your dick until I return. I want you hard all morning, thinking nice horny thoughts. Can you do that for me?"

His blue eyes blinked, studying mine. He'd immediately worked out that he'd have to keep his mind on his wife, on me, on his own sexual frustration, just to stay erect.

"I'll try, Sir."

I stroked his fuzzy cheek. I was sure he'd try.

"Good boy."

But he didn't know that the water he'd drunk was laced with a dose of liquid Lactulose, a powerful laxative that would soon give him something else to think about.




A Couple Brought Together Act 02



"See you later. I'll give Jane your love."

*** *** ***

My visitor arrived bang on eleven o'clock.

His name was Jacques, a Frenchman with the acronym 'Circus Ringmaster'. He'd flown over from Paris for the weekend to pierce Jane's labia for me. He was a dominant I'd come across on a social site and he specialised in female chastity.

He was accompanied by his slave Helene. She was pierced with six matching pairs of 8ga steel rings the length of her outer labia. They were locked together with a C-type Lustlock-brand padlock, a bit like a large safety pin. She was pierced from the very top of her labia majora sealing her clitoral hood and locked all the way down almost to her perineum.

It looked very neat and impenetrable. She was not only chaste, she couldn't even rub her clit or cunt with sufficient friction to stimulate herself. Certainly not to orgasm.

Helene had already been living like that for three whole years. Very occasionally, like maybe once a month, Jacques would unlock Helene and fuck her, if she was good, allowing her to cum against his cock. But the rest of the time, she had only her asshole, mouth and hands to pleasure him. And not just him, either.

Helene's was the life that Jane wanted to live as well. Well, she thought she did.

Jacques had told me to prepare white towels, antiseptic wipes, other essentials, while he'd brought the rest of the kit he required; a dermal punch like a hole-puncher and a large tin of shiny steel rings of various thicknesses.

We tied Jane's wrists and waist to the table. Jacques always works without anaesthetic. We strapped her ankles back to her own thighs so her knees were wide open in a v.

"You want to fuck her one last time?" he asked, in his excellent but French-accented English.

"No. Her cunt's still stinky with last night's load."

He fingered Jane open and peered inside. "I may?"

"Sure."

We'd agreed beforehand. It was part of our deal. He'd also shown me a recent STD test. Jacques wanted to ride Jane bareback.

"Help yourself to Helene, if you wish." He offered in return.

I watched him nonchalantly unzip his jeans and lower them to his ankles. He had a big paunch and thick grey hair covering his shoulders and chest. His body smelt of stale cigarettes.

"Eyes open." I said to Jane, looking down at her expression. I wanted her to see the stranger she was fucking so that he'd pierce her labia for free. At 66, he was more than twice her age and was even fifteen years older than her dad!

Jacques casually eased his erection into her splayed cunt and rested his hands on Jane's tits. He slid balls-deep into her sogginess without any effort. I saw him wink down at her.

"Her cunt is rather sloppy, non?"

I shrugged. "You can see why I want it locked up."

Jane blushed scarlet. Her mouth opened in an 'o' as Jacques started accelerating his thrusts. I looked into her eyes, trying to read them, searching for the combination of deep humiliation and masochistic desire I hoped to see. Her nipples didn't lie. They were hard. Her eyeballs rolled into the back of her head.

I checked the camera lenses. The first was mounted on a tripod recording Jane's face throughout. The second was freestanding on a table, videoing a side view. I picked it up and filmed a close up of Jacques from the neck down. He was fucking her dispassionately, like he was simply jerking himself off using her cunt. 

It was an erotic sight.

My first loan of Jane.

You see, when it comes down to it, a dick is a dick is a dick. There aren't really handsome dicks or ugly dicks, kind dicks or unkind dicks, intelligent dicks or charming dicks. They're all really, give-or-take, the same. Yeah, some are slightly larger or smaller, various shades of colour, but otherwise pretty much the same.

It's the bodies and minds they're connected to that make the difference. A normal woman can choose a partner based on his looks, his kindness, his wit, his charm, his wallet, her preferences. She gives herself to him because of who he is, never really because of his dick (well, almost never!).

A normal woman naturally has a strong say in when, where and how often she has sex. She can wait until she's married, or until they've been seeing each other a while, or she can fuck a guy on their first date, whatever she feels comfortable with. She can deny a dick her mouth or her asshole, choose whether to fuck doggy style or cowgirl, in private or in public places, five times a day, or once a week in the dark on a Saturday night.

In short, it's about her right to choose.

But a slave-slut forfeits that right.

I wanted Jane to experience the taboo. Instead of handsome, kind, amusing, generous, nice men of her age and background, I would favour dicks that belonged to the not-so-good, the bad and the downright ugly.

Jane would have zero say in who, when, where, how long, or how often. A vagina can easily be fucked for a couple of hours. Let's face it, if a single guy has the stamina to keep going for two hours, chicks are impressed.

But a woman's cunt itself doesn't actually know whether it's the same dick for two hours or 60 guys fucking it for a couple of minutes each!

Best of all, however, was that it wouldn't even be Jane's pussy taking the brunt of her promiscuity. It would be her asshole and mouth. This session in her cunt with Jacques was just a quick last hurrah before lockdown.

"Come here." I gestured to Helene.

In truth, Jacques' slave was a bit mature for my taste, but I didn't want to seem impolite to him. I was dressed in old corduroys and I pointed to my zipper.

Besides, I wanted Jane to witness another woman sucking me. There were two messages I wanted to give her. First, I offered no fidelity. I'd continue to fuck and suck whoever I liked, when I liked. And secondly, I'd trade her. I'd barter her nubile young body to get myself fresh pussy.

The sounds of fucking and sucking filled my drawing room; slapping flesh and wet orifices, male groans and female moans. There was that distinct fragrance of sweat and sex and stale tobacco around us.

I pointed the video camera down at Jane.

"Having fun?"

"Gnnhg ..." she grunted.

"Say hi to Chris. Blow him a kiss."

"H ... hi." She pouted her lips.

I could tell by Jacques's movements and noises he was about to cum.

"Yesssss!" I encouraged him, panning the camera up from his hairy belly and Jane's hairless mound, up to her flushed face, and down her body again. I pushed Helene's lips away from my cock.

"Beautiful." I added, as Jacques withdrew, and I moved round to film Jane's ravaged pussy and the creamy residue he'd deposited inside her as it dripped onto her thighs.

Now it was time for him to begin the delicate operation.

*** *** ***

Being a bit squeamish, I decided to leave the Ringmaster to his skilled task. I took Helene downstairs to use her dexterous skills on my convict.

Chris was obviously shocked to see me accompanied by a semi-naked, vaginally-pierced stranger in her fifties. I was carrying a leather wash bag.

"Don't ask." I said to his enquiring eyebrow. "It's none of your business."

He was sweating profusely. His forehead was red and he was grimacing. But the plastic cup was still dangling on the end of his erection. 

Helene laughed a little French-accented chuckle.

The bucket between his legs didn't have any shit in it yet. He'd done well not to succumb to the Lactulose.

"Good boy." I said. "This is Helene. She's your reward."

I plucked the cup off his horizontal dick.

"I'm going to leave Helene looking after you."

I pointed to the surveillance camera.

"But don't make him cum." I said to her. "Understood?"

She grinned wickedly. "Bien sur."

I lingered a moment to enjoy the sight of her practised fingers slowly fondling Chris's dick back up to maximum rigidity. She stroked him agonisingly slowly. She had long red nails, almost talons, and wrinkled still elegant fingers. She teased his nipples, stomach and balls, all the time staring longingly into his eyes.

I handed her the wash bag. "Now shave him."

There were barber's scissors, steel tweezers, soap, a lethal cut-throat razor and a bottle of baby oil. 

She quickly chopped the length off his pubic hairs with the scissors; snip-snip, snip-snip, and tufts of red hairs floated down to the concrete floor, some landing in his bucket. In no time, his groin was sporting a raggedy crew cut.

His fear soon softened his erection and she had to give him some encouraging jerks back to full stiffness.

Next, instead of shaving him, she began plucking the remaining hairs out with the tweezers. She lifted his dick and yanked hairs from his scrotum, coiling them round the steel tips like an Italian twirling spaghetti round her fork.

"Ahh ... sss." Chris objected.

I left them to it and went up to check on Jacques' progress.

There was scarlet blood on the white towel below Jane's thighs. He had used a little numbing cream on her to dull the worst of the pain. He was taking his time, peering into her cunt, carefully punching perfect, neat holes in her labia and then inserting steel rings. Each pair was parallel, beautiful and shiny.

He was wearing little half-spectacles and a head torch.

"She is being a good, brave girl." He murmured, without looking at me.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Jane's eyes were full of tears. She was sobbing gently, hissing whenever she felt a sharp jolt of pain. He tapped her hip. It was obviously a sign he'd already taught her. Jane arched her back and spread her thighs to make her cunt even more accessible to him.

He glanced up at me and winked.

"She has good anatomy. Her clit will be totally inaccessible, I think."

"Excellent. I really hope so." I carefully dabbed a tear from Jane's eye with a tissue so she could see my face. "It's vital she can't pleasure herself. Isn't it slut?"

Her reply was half-whisper and half-hiss. "Yes, Sir."

Jacques had reassured us beforehand that if all went well, Jane would be unable to masturbate herself to any sort of vaginal or clitoral orgasm as long as she was padlocked. She should be able to use a narrow pipette to wash her own labia for daily hygiene purposes. Then every few days I'd unlock her for a supervised deep swab.

I looked down into her brimming eyes. She was biting her lower lip.

"Okay?"

She answered me with a tiny brave nod of her head.

I stroked her cheek comfortingly. "Well done."

I glanced over at my laptop. It was broadcasting the scene downstairs. Helene was now removing the final few pubic strands from Chris's groin with the razor. He was as bald and helpless as his wife.

I felt the old familiar stir in my own groin and looked down at Jane's mouth. I was looking forward to another blowjob, this time in the knowledge that her cunt was zipped.

Yes, preparations were coming along nicely.

COMING SOON

ACT THREE: CONFLICT



A Couple Brought Together Act 03



ACT THREE

CONTENT WARNING & DISCLAIMER

This is the third of five Acts of a novella that is not as romantic as its title might suggest. This particular Act contains descriptions of bodily functions and unpleasant foods. If such fetishes are not 'your thing', please scroll straight down to the part labelled 'Section Two' near the bottom of this page.

ACT III: CONFLICT

DAY FIVE

Jane lay in the darkness trying to sleep. She listened to her Master's gentle snoring. She was lying on a narrow mattress at the foot of his double bed. She had massaged him – toe to head, back to front - for a full hour and a half before he told her to switch off the lamps so he could sleep. She could see the digital bedside clock. It was now 02:53.

Her hunger pangs were agony. She had never fasted before. She'd half-heartedly tried numerous diets in the past ten years; every New Year and most summers, trying to shift a few pounds to get into shape. It wasn't that she lacked the willpower so much as life got in the way. There was always some reason to bend the new diet's rules; a glass of wine here, a helping of pasta there, or start again tomorrow.

But this was brutal. Nothing got in the way here. And there was nothing to take her mind off her hunger either. No cigarette or cup of coffee, no finger-induced climax. Not even Chris to talk to.

She pushed her hand down between her thighs and felt the smooth ridges of steel. She touched the padlock and shivered. Why hadn't she been born with an easier kink? She pressed the tip of her little finger in between the rings and felt nothing but tenderness and frustration. Her stomach rumbled and she had to bite her lip not to make a noise as another hunger cramp gutted her.

To try and distract herself, she thought back on how she had reached this point in her life. She'd always thought of herself as a pretty normal girl, really. She started masturbating young, although she didn't climax. She just knew it felt pleasurable between her thighs when she rode along the rim of the wet bathtub at bedtime. When her breasts started budding, she liked the feel of her nipples. She associated sex with 'nice feelings' rather than with 'nice boys'.

She was fourteen when the fantasies started. She would touch her clit and torment herself by not allowing herself to reach a climax. The boys she desired at school were all the evil ones, the nasty kids who treated their girlfriends badly. She imagined the humiliation of fucking them and then being dumped, publicly ridiculed. She learned one-by-one about sordid sex acts and fetishes that secretly aroused her.

When she did finally have a boyfriend, he was a nice guy, of course. He was called Cliff. They were both virgins. Their sex was just as you'd expect. Nice. She tried to piece together the girl she'd been at 18 with the woman now lying at the foot of a dominant strangers's bed. How on earth had that happened?

She saw the last twelve years as a journey, a meandering road, via three ex-boyfriends and one white wedding to this, her story so far. Yes, her Master was old. No, he didn't love her. Yes, he had shared her. No, he didn't permit her sexual release. Yes, he had imprisoned her husband. No, she certainly didn't want anybody she knew to discover where she was.

Yes, it was a long journey and, no, she had no idea how it would end.

*** *** ***

"Coffee!"

I like interrupting Jane with random requests, right when she's in the middle of a chore. She was down on her hands and knees carefully scrubbing the kitchen tiles with a toothbrush, and I barked out my expresso order, even though I was nearer the Nespresso machine than she was.

We'd made good progress in the first few days. It was Tuesday morning, April 3rd. She was dressed in her housemaid's outfit. It was shiny and black; stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, short skirt, tight blouse and a little white apron. Under her skirt, she wore expensive French underwear, what's called an 'ouvert'.

Meaning literally 'open', an ouvert has all the visually erotic advantages of sexy black lace, whilst offering easy access to a woman's orifices without any garments needing to be taken off. It is basically a pair of frilly knickers with a generous slit in the gusset. French mistresses used to wear them for hurried fucking assignations with lovers if their cuckold husbands might be nearby.

When Jane bent over to work, her skirt rode up and her ouvert was visible, flashing me a nice glimpse of the steel within. It would take weeks, a couple of months, before she was fully healed but the operation had gone perfectly. In the meantime, her mouth had been working overtime. I'm a blowjob man at heart. But, today, I planned to say goodbye to her anal virginity.

She brought me a cup of coffee on a tray and placed it within easy reach.

Yesterday she'd done her first full workday; fourteen long hours of domestic chores, from 8 in the morning until 10 at night, interspersed only with short supervised breaks; washing, scrubbing, sweeping, polishing, ironing, cooking, everything. I knew that she'd soon find the drudgery of household tasks harder than the endorphin rush of sex.

I didn't ever say 'thank you' for anything. She placed the coffee down and hurried back to work. I ignored her. I was sat at the kitchen desk, in front of my laptop, corresponding with new friends, developing a whole new social circle.

Jane didn't know it yet, but I was arranging a hectic schedule for her.

On the credenza beside my desk, was a smaller monitor screen that beamed live coverage of Chris standing to attention in his cell. He was staring straight into the lens, his eyes level, back straight, arms down by his sides. He was naked except for the chastity tube encasing his penis. Motion sensor technology sounded a little ping on the screen if he moved much more than just breathing.

Like his wife, Chris was finding the reality of boredom hard to cope with. He had spent three days like this, thinking his own thoughts, silent, motionless, until his exhausted limbs screamed. There was a lining of steel pins inside his new Dictator chastity tube that punished the merest hint of stiffening in his penis, forcing him to ponder only the most mundane topics, hour after hour.

I smiled at Jane working on her knees, furiously scrubbing the tiles. I could see she was uncomfortable. An hour earlier she'd requested a toilet break. I said no. I believe subs should learn to go only at their owner's convenience, restricted to a few opportunities a day.

Half an hour later, I could tell she was right on the edge. She had her head in the under-counter cupboards, removing every pan, cleaning it and restacking them. Her hips twitched occasionally with the effort of controlling her bladder.

"Okay." I sighed. "Go fetch your tray."

She got up, scuttled outside to the shed, and came back with her kitty litter tray. It had already been used, with clumps formed by dried piss, and two dessicated droppings remaining from yesterday.

She spread old newspaper out and then placed the plastic tray in the centre of it.

I came and sat down in a chair opposite her, holding the video camera.

"Remove the ouvert. We don't want to make a mess."

She lowered her pretty underwear and pulled it over her heels, laying the black silk neatly over the corner of a chair.

"Assume the position."

She laced her fingers behind her head and slowly bent her knees, lowering her hips slowly until she was hunkering over the filthy tray. I could see her nakedness framed by her short skirt and fishnet stockings.

"What do you need to do?"

"Both, Sir."

"Both, what?"

"Pee-pee, Sir. And poo-poo."

I nodded condescendingly.

"Okay. You can piss first. But only part of it for now. Stop when you're half way through."

It's hard enough relaxing only your bladder when your bowels are bursting. But stopping her urine mid-flow as well would present an interesting new test. Part of my enjoyment was inventing fresh challenges for her every day.

My interest isn't scatological. I'd reassured Jane of that right from the start. It's about power. There is nothing more fundamental than controlling what goes in one end of somebody's system, and when it comes out the other. 

"Hurry up."

Jane frowned in concentration, bending her knees so she was crouching even closer to the tray. I opened the camera's viewing screen and pressed record. A red light glowed.

"Now!"

A fountain of urine gushed through the shutter of steel rings locking her cunt. It sprayed all over the newspaper and some made it into the tray. She adjusted her angle so she was directing the stream downwards as best she could.

I had started her on a brutal 350-calorie a day fasting plan; for fluids, she drank a pint glass of green antioxidant juice in the morning to cleanse and sustain her. The rest of the day she sipped apple-skin tea (a tisane made with old apple cores and boiled water) and plenty of plain tap water.

For lunch each day, I allowed her a bowl containing a heaped mound of lettuce leaves. I teased her that she fucked like a rabbit, so she should eat like one! I used the blandest kind of droopy salad leaf, unseasoned, served with neither dressing nor mayo, salt nor pepper. Just straight, boring leaves. They contain only 40 calories for a filling 200g serving.

Then, at the end of her working day, I treated her to a large bowl of 'waste-broth'. This is a healthy consommé made using kitchen leftovers such as fish skin and chicken carcass and vegetable scraps that are boiled for hours then strained, leaving a watery, low-cal, low-cost supper.

I am a qualified dietician. I planned to increase Jane's intake quickly to a thousand calories, and eventually 1,500 or more. I'd keep her at the perfect weight. But for the first few weeks I was putting her on a savage de-tox regime for her own good.

And to continue her bowel cleansing, for breakfast that morning I'd treated her to an extra 250-calories, in a mash designed to flush any remaining impurities from her system. It contained un-sugared bran, prunes, lentils, castor oil and a branded supplement called Colon Cleanse, all blitzed together in a blender.

Poor thing was so famished she wolfed it all down despite its appearance and taste.

"Look at me."

She was still struggling with the lack of privacy. The indignity of being watched and filmed doing her toilette was still very new. Making her call it pee-pee and poo-poo like a child added to her intense humiliation. She blinked and stared into the lens as she urinated messily.

"What's your name?"

She whimpered in a gasp of humiliation and relief. The pressure on her bladder was starting to subside.

"Jane McKenzie." She replied to the camera, eyes blinking with shame.

Her thighs clenched and she grimaced with concentration. She held her breath. Somehow she managed to turn off her urine tap mid-flow. She hunkered low, slowly getting her breathing under control, awaiting my next command. I waited until there were no more drips.

Then I got up and walked leisurely round my kitchen, opening the fridge to pour myself a glass of grapefruit juice. I took my time, looking out the window at the lawn. It was a dry but grey day, with patches of blue sky breaking through the ominous cloud.

"Hold steady." I called back over to her.

A few days ago she'd have begged, whimpering 'please'. But she was learning that silent obedience is her only acceptable course of action.

I took a few grapes out of the fruit bowl and ate them one by one, studying her.

I farted loudly, like the booming croak of a bullfrog clearing its throat.

I think carelessly breaking wind in the presence of somebody you barely know can make a useful point. It showed Jane what I thought of her. It underlined the inequality in our relationship. I warned her that I expected perfect ladylike etiquette from her at all times, even when she was voiding her bowels, in fact especially when she was voiding her bowels. 

I was free to belch, fart, cuss and be vulgar whenever I felt like it.

But if she so much as hiccupped, mouthed a swear word or leaked gas, she would be held to account.

"Okay. Hold the piss. You can take a little shit now. Nice and controlled. Just one log."

Her face scrunched into a pained expression. Nevertheless, she simply nodded her head obediently at me, indicating she'd try her best. A sheen of sweat glowed on her forehead. Her brunette hair was tied back away from her face and neck with an elastic band. Her hands were still laced behind her head. She was wearing her wedding and engagement rings but I'd confiscated her watch and other trinkets.

A groan escaped her lips, in tandem with an unruly expulsion of gas from below, and the results of that morning's mash. Three soft cowpats tumbled into the litter forming a pyramid.

"Enough." I barked irritably.

"I'm sorry, Sir." She gasped, eyes-wide.

"That had better not be all you filthy piglet."

I sniffed, enjoying her embarrassment. I could see her thighs were starting to tremble with the strain of holding the awkward squat position for so long. We'd barely started on her gymnastic training yet.

I took mercy on her. "Okay. You can finish now. Both ends. Hurry."

Her piss started gushing like I'd turned on a fountain. A couple more loose droppings tumbled onto the steaming pile. I watched her straining to expel absolutely everything which fitted in nicely with my plan.

I let her wipe herself with a piece of kitchen tissue and then she returned the used litter tray to the shed once again. It was important to make her use the same litter for several days in a row. It would be spoiling her to allow Jane even the standard of sanitation we give our cats.

*** *** ***

Then I took Chris down his lunch.

It was a Styrofoam plate of Prison Loaf. I'd made it myself, packed with protein, fat, carbs and calories.

In fact, packed with everything but flavour!

I discovered Prison Loaf on the internet. I purchased most of the ingredients from a supermarket but a couple had to be bought online, since my local store unsurprisingly doesn't stock 'Processed Dairy Blend' or 'Mechanically Separated Poultry'.

Mechanically Separated Poultry is a paste-like slime produced by grinding carcasses after the manual removal of meat from the bones. The slurry is then forced through a sieve under pressure. The resulting puree includes a few scraps of meat on the bone but is mostly marrow, skin, nerves, blood vessels and ground bones.

It can't really be as revolting as it sounds because some cheap hot dogs and bologna sausages are made with it.

I blitzed the poultry paste and processed dairy with boiled carrots, cabbage, potatoes and kidney beans in the blender. The resulting pulp looked like the vomit you throw up after a meal; brown with orange and green bits. The only seasoning I added was a cupful of my salty piss.

Then, as the recipe advises, I shaped it into a nice loaf shape and baked it.

It is hard to describe what the finished product looks and tastes like. Externally, it was a suitably ginger-toned slab that kind of toned with Chris's hair. Inside, imagine something that looks like nut roast but tastes like damp cardboard.

It is edible, but ... inedible!

But if the Loaf is good enough to punish difficult prisoners in some US penitentiaries, it's sure as hell good enough for Chris!

After three days of virtual starvation, he had eaten yesterday's loaf, gagging a few times. Overnight, his stomach had rebelled. His adult diaper was a mess in the morning.

"Hi, Chris." I smiled, waving the Styrofoam container.

He was stood to attention, staring ahead through the steel bars.

"Look what's on the menu. Same as yesterday."

He dry-swallowed, shifting his eyes to the Styrofoam. He looked haggard. His armpits and entire cell stank of body odour. His face was stubbly and his breath reeked. He hadn't washed, shaved, wiped his ass or brushed his teeth since he'd arrived. It was all part of his 'breaking in' period. Soon enough, he'd do whatever I told him just to have a few minutes with soap and toothpaste, or sat on a toilet.

"Please, Sir ..." he started.

"Oh dear, now, Chrissy boy. What did I say about begging? I'm afraid that adds another week to your sentence down here."

He frowned, screwing his eyes shut.

"Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

I smiled at him. "Good. I mean it."

I can't bear slaves pleading. It is actually a sign of resistance, not submission. It plays on a Dom's merciful side. Like most sane players, there is a limit to my sadism. I had to train Chris and Jane to accept every decision of mine without challenge.

"Don't worry, I'm told that your stomach will get used to the loaf. If you're a good boy and eat it all up, I'll gradually introduce some alternative foods. But for now you must learn dietary discipline."

A few days on 'the Loaf' can apparently convert even the most hardened prisoners to docile inmates.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." There were sweet tears in his eyes.

I showed him his disgusting meal.

"Hungry?"

"Er ... yes, Sir."

I nodded in approval. "Good. Take this."

He stood at ease and took the container from me. I fished a plastic spoon out of my pants, where it had been tucked amongst my pubic hairs.

"Now use this and wolf that yummy lunch down."

I gave him the spoon. He tentatively used it to carve a bite off the end.

"No, Chris." I warned. "Eat it fast. Or ..."

I leaned over and drooled a gob of my saliva onto the top of his food.

He hurriedly spooned a large mouthful of the loaf into his mouth and began to chew it. Then he prepared his next spoonful while he forced down the first. He gagged but controlled his reflex.

I chatted to him while he ate.

"Jane's making good progress. But she misses you. So you need to be a good boy or I'll keep you both apart for much longer than I planned. She's working hard now too. Real slave labour. And plenty of sex too, of course."

I reached out and tugged his diaper out from his waist. A pungent odour like ammonia made my nostrils twitch. I slid my fingers in the front and checked his steel cock tube. His dick would require a good wash soon. His eyes watered as he gagged on another mouthful. I could see his lips pursed to utter the 'p' sound of the word 'please'.

"Ssh." I warned him. "No begging. Eat up. And don't worry, Jane's absolutely fine. It's amazing how quickly her cock sucking skills are coming along. It's just a crying shame about all those wasted years. Still, she'll catch up. This afternoon I've got a gang of guys coming round for her first bukkake."

I glanced at my watch.

"Hey, well what do you know? They're due in five."

I stayed while he gulped down his entire meal.

"Catch you later, Chris." I said, locking his cell door. "Get back to attention and be sure to look at the camera. I'll be keeping an eye on you."

*** *** ***

SECTION TWO

Jane knelt in virtual darkness. A sliver of light came through the bottom of the velvet blindfold. She had no idea exactly what was going to happen, only that it would involve her mouth and it would be humiliating.

She had woken the previous morning with a thick, bitter-tasting residue on her tongue, a sign of detoxing. She had suffered several thumping 'withdrawal heachaches' but now her energy levels seemed to be on the rise. Incredibly, the face she saw in the bathroom mirror was becoming leaner, glowing and bright-eyed. The cloud of doubt and depression she'd suffered during the first 48 hours had been replaced by a 'fasting high'. She actually felt ready to face new challenges.

She had only tasted semen once in her first 30 years. She'd licked a little off her thumb maybe a decade earlier. It hadn't seemed to have much taste. But now, in just the past five days she'd already swallowed 9 orgasms. She'd gargled it, gulped it and even gobbled it off a spoon after dredging her vagina. Her Master's semen was revolting. There was no other word to describe it; lumpy, slimy and sour, especially in the mornings just after he awoke.




A Couple Brought Together Act 03



And yet she swallowed it readily, if not exactly happily. Choice had been removed. There was no debate. Just as she'd always made it kind of obvious to Chris, Cliff and her two boyfriends in between that she didn't do that kind of thing, so now it was clear to her that the reverse applied. However lumpy, however tart, however gelatinous, semen was never, ever to be refused.

She heard the doorbell ring.

*** *** ***

I was fibbing to Chris, of course. In fact the guys weren't arriving for an hour.

I allowed Jane to enjoy a nice hot shower, fluffy white towel, soap and shampoo.

"Come here." I said, helping her dry her hair. I kissed her full on the lips, running my hands over her damp skin, admiring her curves. She had already lost five pounds in under four days. I put my fingers between her legs.

Her steel rings were beautiful, like a portcullis guarding a castle gate. Everything was healing perfectly; no infection, no bleeding, no pain beyond a little soreness. Each night we washed her in saline solution and applied antiseptic cream. With the padlock on, she couldn't touch her clit.

She kissed me back and melted into my arms. I handed her the anal douche.

"Go make sure your asshole is super clean."

Afterwards, I watched her prepare herself. She put on new white silk lingerie, a red floral dress she'd brought with her, and high heels. She applied makeup, mascara and waterproof red lipstick.

"I'm proud of you." I told her. "This afternoon is going to be an important step in your sexual evolution. How are you feeling?"

She looked up at me. "Nervous."

I could see anxiety in her eyes. "You'll be fine. Chris would be proud."

She bit her lip. "How is he Sir?"

I smiled to reassure her. "Chris? Yeah, he's fine too. He's living out his fantasy, I can assure you. He wants you to know he'll always love you."

She looked relieved. "Thank you."

"Now, let's put that blindfold over your eyes."

I'd invited a dozen guys. They were all men I'd sourced from personal ads on social sites. I'd spent months gathering suitable contacts in preparation for when I had found my submissive couple. I'd met most of the guys before, for a beer and chat, and at least Skyped online with every one of them.

Even then I figured only half might turn up.

But in fact all twelve of them came. I'd set them to arrive one every five minutes, spread over one hour, from 2 o'clock onwards. It turned out the doorbell kept ringing after I'd barely greeted the previous arrival.

Generally, the guys were a bit shy and embarrassed. For some, it was their first time in a group hook-up like this. I offered them small shots of vodka or bottled beer in order to break the ice and relax the atmosphere.

Jane was kneeling in the middle of the drawing room. She was in her dress, blindfolded, silent, red lips parted. She was facing the glass doors overlooking the garden. She looked pretty as a picture.

One by one, our guests grinned their approval. I'd messaged them Jane's details and her photo from the neck down, but she's one of those women who looks even better in the flesh. Naturally, she would look better still when covered in squirts of gooey cum.

The first guy refused a drink, simply unzipped his jeans and began jerking his dick over Jane's face. It was like he wanted to finish before her 02.05 appointment. I'd placed him first on purpose. He was the youngest, best looking of the roster. He had a nice face, chiselled chest and well-above-average circumcised cock. I'm sure he didn't go short of female attention but, hey, anybody can use a lunch break, right?

His fist pumped and occasionally his finger would knock against Jane's upturned chin. He'd obviously been jerking himself on and off all morning without shooting his load. It was a geyser. Pearly ropes uncoiled impressively into her gaping mouth, across her blindfold, onto her cheeks. He zipped himself up, winked at me and left.

After that, I was so busy answering the door and offering drinks, I'd miss some moments of the action. But I could enjoy it all later. My one condition had been that all the guys allowed themselves to be filmed and signed release forms.

The second bloke was much more my type. He was a builder and he'd dashed over during his lunch break. He was perfect; dirty denim jeans, overhanging beer gut, stained underpants, shaved head, double chin. His discharge wasn't as impressive as the first but at least he managed to miss the blindfold and squirt the whole lot between Jane's parted lips.

In all, her visitors made the perfect Dirty Dozen; young and old, muscled and fat, white and black, brown, hairy and bald and a couple of them, memorably ugly. Their cocks were all shapes and sizes too. The one constant was them shooting their loads over Jane's blindfolded face, neck and cleavage. Her red dress was blotched with darker patches where cum had sprayed. A recent load was still oozing down into the v of her cleavage.

I was pleased that Jane has very good teeth, without a single filling in the back of her mouth. She worked her jaw occasionally to soothe the ache but she did her best not to swallow, breathing through her nose. I wanted the stranger's cum to slide ever so slowly down her gullet. The men did their bit verbally too.

"Shit, look inside the slut's mouth. It's full."

"Keep your head up high. Don't let any spill."

"Man what a load. You been saving that up for weeks?"

"Face is glazed like a fuckin' doughnut."

"Whore was just made for this. Dick after fucking dick."

One of the annoying things about bukkake videos is that they feel the need to make it look as though the dumb girl's enjoying it. They dub all kinds of ridiculous moans onto the soundtrack afterwards as if she's there for the payload and not the pay cheque. I guess a few of the actresses might be humiliation masochists but the vast majority are certainly not thinking wow this slimy stuff is amazing.

I couldn't see Jane's eyes but her body gave her away. Her pokies were hard under her dress. I could tell by her breathing that she was disgustedly excited by what was happening. Not exactly enjoying it as such, but gaining a masochistic kick the way only true submissive sluts can.

At three o'clock we began Round Two. The room already smelt of cum, sweat and beer. I invited the eight guys who'd hung around to have another pop. It was an hour later, almost 4 o'clock, by the time we'd finished. Jane had taken twenty one loads in her face in under two hours. The last guy, a black amateur footballer of just 21, had completed his hat-trick of three impressive volleys before the fulltime whistle.

I had befriended two guys and they stayed behind after everybody else left. Their names were Bert and Dipak. I'd first met Bert over a drink a few weeks earlier. He was seventyish, ex-military, a widower and, more importantly, he seemed like a sane guy I could trust. He didn't live too far away either.

Back then I didn't know how important a role Bert would eventually come to play. He had silver hair that he let grow long above one ear, so that he could side-comb it across his bald dome. His face was leathery but he still had twinkly eyes with a mischievous glint in them. Salt and pepper coloured hairs sprouted from his ears and nostrils.

He was quite a dapper dresser – blazer, bow-tie, polished black shoes – but naked he looked every one of his seven decades. I'd been impressed he'd somehow managed a second load for Jane's face, even if it was meagre and watery.

Meanwhile, Dipak was a Sikh who owned a convenience store in north London, in the area where Chris and Jane used to rent their flat. He was married, with grown up kids and grandkids, and he'd only just started looking online. Jane had been his first gig. He seemed a genuine chap with something to lose if anything got out, so I figured I could trust him too.

We went into my study and I showed them the PC monitor. On it, Chris was broadcast, standing naked, staring dumbly at the screen. Naturally he was totally unaware he was being watched and of what had happened upstairs.

Both men burst out laughing. They knew Jane was married but seeing her husband imprisoned just one floor below us really brought it home to them.

"Fuck." Bert whistled. "Look at the poor bastard."

"Gosh, he looks a bit sorry for himself." Dipak said.

"The world is made up of all kinds of people."

"Can we meet him?"

"More than that." I replied. "I was hoping you'd want to. I'm occasionally going to need a couple of guys I can trust. I thought they might be you two?"

Bert reached out and pumped my hand. "Whenever you want."

Dipak followed suit.

Jane was still kneeling in the fading sunlight, blindfolded. The sun had moved round and her face was cast in half shadow. Her smudged lips were slightly parted.

"Show me."

She opened her mouth. It was empty. Everything had gurgled down her plughole.

I gently undid her blindfold and removed it. She blinked several times, adjusting to the light. Her brown eyes widened when she saw the two men alongside me.

"Say hello to Bert and Dipak."

"H ... hello."

"Hello Sirs."

"Er, hello ... Sirs."

I could see her brain computing the information. She'd no idea who her visitors had been, what they looked like, even how many there were. The numerous rings on the doorbell had been her only clue. I think seeing Bert and Dipak in the flesh suddenly brought home the reality to her. She had only been introduced to these old men after she had already swallowed their semen.

Bert reached down and tenderly combed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. A few smears of translucent, drying semen caked the edges of her face.

"Yes." Bert looked at me for emphasis. "I shall be bloody happy to help you."

I smiled at all three of them. I told Jane. "Now, get up and make our guests some tea." 

*** *** ***

"This is Bert." I said to Chris.

Dipak had been forced to head home for the day.

Chris stared straight ahead like a soldier on parade. "Hello, Sir."

Like his wife, Chris seemed taken aback by Bert's age and appearance. I could see the flicker of surprise in his pale blue eyes, although his facial expression barely changed.

"Bert has kindly agreed to assist me in the weeks and months ahead. Especially when I'm away travelling, he will act as your prison warden. You are to obey him and respect him, exactly as you do me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Bert will also assist me with your wife. He has already met her."

I emphasised the word 'met'. The innuendo in my words was clear.

"Say thank you to him."

"Th ... thank you, Sir." Chris's voice cracked with emotion and shame.

I picked up the remote and flicked on the screen. On it, Jane was caught kneeling in sunlight, in her red cotton dress, wearing a blindfold, with windows and green lawn in the background. I pressed the fast forward button and gestured for Chris to watch.

Chris hissed an intake of breath as the first guy stood there and pumped his fist manically over Jane's face. With the video playback on fast-forward it looked like some crazy Keystone cops comedy but the young man's nice features, muscled chest and large cock were all visible. We watched his load spurt impressively onto Jane's open mouth, cheeks and blindfold.

If that was a shock for Chris, it was nothing compared to the second one. I slowed it to playback at normal speed so the guy's dirty jeans, T-shirt, overhanging beer gut, shaved head and double chin were all unavoidable.

I froze the action as the third man replaced the second and asked Chris a question.

"What colour was the first gentleman's shirt?"

Chris frowned, thinking. "Er ... blue, Sir?"

"And what colour was the second gentleman's hair?"

"He was bald, Sir."

"What was he wearing on his feet?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't know, Sir."

I reached out and pinched his nipple until he winced. "Whenever I play you film of Jane you make sure you study it fucking closely. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir." He gasped.

"I'm going to leave this movie playing normal speed on continuous loop and tomorrow I'm going to test you on the whole two hour epic. You had better get every fucking answer right or you will be punished. Got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

I pressed the remote and winked at Bert.

We left Chris doing his homework.

*** *** ***

Chris stared at the screen in slack-jawed astonishment. For ages he simply watched as man after man jerked off onto Jane's face. He had no idea of time. His body ached and he felt nauseated but, above all, he felt burning shame.

"Whore was just made for this. Dick after fucking dick."

He listened to the stranger's words. Verbal humiliation doesn't work properly if it's fictitious. To cut really deep it needs to mirror the truth. He could imagine Jane, hooded, hearing those words, cringing at the inescapable reality. It turned out she had indeed been made simply to suck penis after penis.

It was hard to define the complex blend of exhilaration and humiliation he felt, watching his wife treated this way. As far as he knew, most submissive males prefer to be humiliated by their wives. They place them on a throne and want them sexually satisfied by bigger, better men. But shamefully Chris didn't want Jane put on a pedestal. He actually wanted to see the woman he adored down and dirty being mistreated as badly as he was.

And how did that make him feel? Her wretched husband who couldn't even protect his wife from her own sluttish desires. Her own husband whose penis she'd never once sucked like that. Her husband whose own penis was now locked down in a steel tube, pathetically trying to get hard because of what he was being forced to watch.

Anyway, what he was watching onscreen now had already happened. He'd been stuck down here without any fucking clue of what had been going on. It made him wonder what might be going on upstairs right now?

*** *** ***

Bert stayed for a meal of delivered pizza.

I knew that a stranger's presence would heighten Jane's humiliation and arousal as we made her watch a duplicate copy of the recording. Her face turned fifty shades of crimson as the twelve men who'd participated in her bukkake were steadily revealed onscreen one-by-one, like zombies in a horror movie, their rotten tang still bitter on her trembling lips.

I pressed the pause button and told her to strip off her red dress and lingerie.

Bert whistled at her bare pussy and the metal braces.

"Come." I beckoned her with my finger. I pulled the key out of my pocket and unlocked the pin-shaped padlock that sealed her labia closed. I gently fingered her sticky lips open to reveal her swollen vulva and clitoral hood to Bert.

He nodded approvingly, pointing at her moist pinkness.

"Look at her clit. Horny little bitch, ain't she?"

"But we're pretty certain she can't cum when she's locked up. Aren't we my darling?"

Jane looked at me and nodded. "I haven't tried, Sir, but I don't think so."

"What contraceptive is he on?" Bert asked.

"The pill for now. But we'll be using just her ass and mouth and condoms when necessary. So we could probably take her off it soon."

Bert laughed at Jane's discomfort.

I smiled too. At this stage, it was important to mix pleasure with pain, motivation with humiliation.

"Stroke your clit for us."

She knelt, watching the screen, fingering her cunt. Slowly but surely, her mouth opened, her breathing quickened, her raspberry nipples hardened.

The more Bert and I made rude comments, the more excited she became.

"Fuck, look at that load disappearing down the hatch." He exclaimed, as some dude onscreen spewed his pearly necklace into her mouth.

"Well, look. Her tummy's full of it." I replied, pointing at Jane's bare midriff, as she leaned back strumming her clitoris with index and middle fingers.

We were teaching her to associate her disgrace with her urgent need now for orgasmic reward.

"Slow down!" I cautioned her away from the edge.

I opened up the camera and started filming. Were I to ever need a blackmail threat to spice things up, I was recording it now. I framed the shot so that Jane was on her knees masturbating herself and, over her shoulder, the TV screen displaying her own bukkake film was clearly visible. 

"Beg." I whispered. "Beg to be allowed to cum."

"Pleassss ..." her voice croaked. "Let meeee..."

I zoomed right onto her face, until her frantic eyes, flared nostrils and open mouth filled the entire screen.

"What is your daddy's name, Jane?"

She gasped. "G ... George."

"George what?"

"George Austen."

"And your mummy?"

"El ...Elizabeth."

"Is that the Lizzie who now lives with your stepdad in Lambton, Derbyshire?"

I stated her mother's address clearly into the microphone for the record; number, street name, postcode, even her telephone number.

"Yessssss."

"And would mummy and daddy be proud to see you like this, Jane?"

Her fingers were rotating madly around the edge of her pussy, just managing to avoid tipping herself over.

"N ... no, Sir."

"So, take your hand away from your cunt, Jane. Now!"

Her brown eyes flashed with desire and resentment but she obeyed.

"It's a wrap." I joked to Bert, closing the camera.

Half an hour later, I said goodbye to him and we arranged his next visit. He gave Jane a long, sloppy French kiss in her mouth and his wrinkled 70yr old fingers toyed briefly with her frustrated 30 yr old cunt.

After Bert had departed, I sent Jane up to prepare my bed.

"Lie face down on it, ass in the air."

She bit her lip. She had known this moment was coming. Technically, Jane wasn't even an anal virgin. A decade earlier, she'd tried it once with a previous boyfriend. He'd managed to get his dick inside her but had pulled out before he managed to orgasm, so nobody had ever cum inside her. As for Chris, he had never even pushed her hard enough to try, and she'd never invited him.

So I was gentle. I gave her some gel and told her to lube it well, while I switched on the bedroom camera.

"Pull your cheeks open."

She lay with her forehead buried in the sheet. Her fingers dragged her buttocks apart. I winked at the camera lens. I could never own too much video content like this, to watch later, to share with Chris, even to post online.

Her asshole was clean from the shower and douche earlier. It was puckered but I think we were both surprised how ready she was. I lined up my cockhead and held it there a moment, like an army establishing a bridgehead. I slowly applied pressure and managed to ease the first inch through her protective ring of greased sphincter muscle.

"Mmmfffphg."

I chuckled in her ear.

"Pull your ass open even wider."

It was important to make her do it herself. She gasped into the sheet and I felt her hands against my hips. I wedged another inch of my dick into her. I wanted to do it slowly, partly to be gentle, but partly to stretch out the mental anguish. 

"This is it." I murmured. "Your future. The guys you serviced today will all be invited back soon to sample this asshole too. One after the other."

I pushed again, breaching her defences. My helmet bust through her muscle. My shaft slid inside like angry hordes raping a conquered city.

"Aahm." She whimpered, probably half in pain, half in anticipation.

I forced my full length into her, balls deep, and then pulled halfway out again.

"Look at the camera."

She twisted her neck up and looked at the lens.

"Tell Chris you love him."

"I ... lo ... love you, Chr ... Chris."

"But promise him he'll never be able to have your ass like this. Ever. Whatever happens in the future."

I began corn-holing her hard. In and out.

"B ... but y ... you w ... will never do th ... this to me."

"Now reach under yourself and play with your clit."




A Couple Brought Together Act 03



Jane manoeuvred her arm under her waist and gasped. I could tell she really, seriously, needed to climax. There had been three days of intense build up. You can't crush all hope of orgasm or a submissive starts to prepare mentally for that. The idea is to keep it random. Increasingly infrequent but still possible.

"Don't cum until I do." I warned her.

I pulled her head back by her hair and slammed into her butt. I could feel my balls bubbling and I did my best to wink at the camera lens just as I became the first guy to spew his load into Jane's rectum.

She felt my lava too and let out a shriek.

"Aah!" Instantly, her own orgasm hit her, and she yowled like a banshee, her body rippling underneath me, her anal muscles milking me dry. Her head rocked from side to side as she didn't stop climaxing.

We lay like a sandwich for two minutes, gulping air, slowly gathering our breath. I rested my full weight on her, my dick buried to the hilt in her ass.

Eventually, I stretched my arms and uncorked my dick out of her bottom with a wet pop. I clambered off her.

"Time for your first ATM transaction." I said.

Her ass was clean and so was my glistening cock, dripping its creamy residue. She had no reason to object. She didn't even hesitate much. I lay back and she bent her head over it, taking me into her mouth for the camera.

"Don't worry, I will be the only guy who bare-backs your ass." I teased her hair in my fingers, as I spoke. "No risks. Everybody else will use condoms. But we won't waste their jizz." I told her. "You'll swallow the contents."

She moaned at my words, lips vibrating round my shaft. The idea of repeated cum swallowing filled her with deep loathing and fierce lust in equal measure.

That night, she slept beside me. I spooned her, my tired cock resting against her soft buttocks.

COMING SOON

ACT FOUR: CRISIS



A Couple Brought Together Act 04



'CRISIS'

DAY FIFTEEN

'dEr Steph,

SBTA not 2 hav texted U soonR. Bad signal whr we R living nw. Chris & I hav Bin so BY since we muvD. bt we R havN a gr8 tym jst az we hOpD so don't wori bout us. Hs nu job iz goin rly weL. I'm writiN DIS n a real rush. GIV my luv 2 d gang. I'll txt agen s%n. luv Jane xoxo'

Jane looked up at her Master for permission. He nodded.

She pressed the send button with her thumb. In the past ten days, her Master had supervised her sending similar short, reassuring text messages to her mom and to a couple of girlfriends like Steph. He monitored her old Yahoo account and now kept her smart-phone mostly switched off. He had closed her Facebook page too. Already it was a case of out of sight out of mind. She and Chris were receiving less correspondence with each day that passed. Their old social lives were being phased out. Funnily enough, she didn't mind.

*** *** ***

I had to use a scented hanky to cover my nose and mouth.

After two weeks the stench from Chris's cell was overpowering. He looked less like the guy from 'Homeland' and more like Jack Bauer in that episode of '24' when he emerges from a year in a Chinese prison.

Chris had sunken red-rimmed eyes, greasy hair and a straggly ginger beard. He was grimy and naked, except for his steel chastity tube. His groin and thighs were vivid scarlet with diaper rash.

Apart from an old toothbrush and a tiny tube of airline toothpaste for him to brush his teeth, he had nothing. My only concession to hygiene was a cheap, chemical toilet. I'd purchased one from a camping website. I'd had to cut down on the diapers due to sores between his legs. He could piss and shit in his plastic portable lavatory but had nothing to wipe or wash himself with afterwards.

He had no running water, no toilet paper, no soap, no shampoo, no comb and no deodorant.

His diet was nothing but the dreaded Prison Loaf. Day after day. He drank nothing but the grey dishwater Jane had washed my dishes in; greasy and tepid, poured into one of those water containers that cyclists and runners use. He sucked the water up through a plastic straw.

It was a regime designed to crush his resistance. During the long days, he stood and stared for hours into the CCTV lens, feet apart, arms behind his back. At night, he curled up on the thin mattress under a horsehair blanket.

His only human contact were my or sometimes Bert's twice-daily visits to bring down his food and water and to remind him we would be monitoring him via the cameras.

By now, a fortnight had passed since Chris had seen Jane in the flesh. But I'd stuck a half-dozen photos of his wife on his cell wall for him, like most prison inmates have of their loved ones. To remind him of her. They were glossy 10 x 8's, affixed with brown tape. But whereas normal prisoners are denied porn, Chris's photos were hardcore XXX shots.

There was a recent date-stamp embedded in the bottom right corner of each photo. Most of them were freeze frame stills from the videos I'd taken of Jane's training.

In the centre of his wall, there was a full body nude shot of his wife posing, like you'd see on a cheap calendar in an auto-repair shop; she was pouting, hands on hips, thrusting her full tits at the lens, pretty as a topless model. Chris didn't know it but the same photo was the main avatar on her new profile.

To one side of it, there was a close up of her pretty face streaked with pearly juice; on the other, a zoom of her ringed pussy after Jacques had finished piercing her.

On the row below, there were three photos; her stretched asshole oozing my cum; a romantic shot of us fucking in my bed; and then, most shocking of all, a recent photo of Jane's tongue kissing Bert's wrinkled asshole. The six photos were like a whistle-stop tour of her past fortnight.

Chris was curled up on his mattress when I walked in.

"Wakey, wakey, Chrissy-boy. Tenshun!"

He was crying softly. He jerked the horsehair blanket up to cover his head.

"Hey, Chris? You okay?"

His head shook. "I'm not sure I can take this anymore."

"Look at me."

He removed the blanket and turned to face me, sitting on his grubby mattress.

"You had enough?"

His eyes were red-rimmed and wet. "I don't know. Maybe."

I immediately knew I'd gone too far. Fuck! I'd already been regretting the whole prison thing, at least to this extent. But Chris had given me carte blanche and I'd taken it. Besides, the basic fantasy was his.

I had to think fast.

I shrugged. "Well, it's up to you, Chris. Any time you want out, just give me a week's notice."

"What do you mean?"

I knew that, if I apologised now, the spell would be broken. Deep down, we'd both know my authority was no longer absolute. I couldn't afford to let him see any weakness, even though I'd never set out to go too far.

"One week." I said, ignoring the fact he'd forgotten to address me correctly as 'Sir'. I could see in his eyes that he was searching for an answer too.

"You can't just walk out of here." I told him. "You said it was up to me."

He wiped a finger across his moist eye, waiting.

"But you can bargain your way out of here. Like I said, I'd never keep you long term against your will. You just have to pay your dues."

"My dues?"

"Sure. Or you always have a choice."

"Choice, Sir?" His voice was raspy. He was frowning, trying to keep up.

"A choice between staying down here like this or crossing another limit."

I knew Chris's dark fantasies. He gaped at me, slowly licking moisture from his unshaven top lip.

"It's up to you." I told him. "You can stay down here. Or you can prove to me that you're ready to do whatever I say. Then you can start a new life above ground."

"Wh ... what do I have to do Sir?"

I smiled.

"Suck cock."

He stared at me in silence.

"Yes," I continued, "you heard me right." I put my hands on my hips for emphasis. "You can say yes right now, or think about it down here for a week or two longer and then suck a few cocks. It's your call."

I was bluffing. Chris held the winning hand. If he refused, there was actually no way I'd keep him down here much longer. I was holding crap cards but I looked into his eyes, nice and steady, like I was hiding a Full House.

"But ..." his voice trailed off.

I made a pouty face, emphasising it was up to him.

"Hey, look. Take your time. Mull it over for a few more days."

His exhausted eyes searched mine.

"One or the other? You mean it?"

I smiled. My confidence was growing.

"One hundred percent. You agreed it was up to me. I've got to be sure you've really, truly had enough. Suck a cock or two and you'll convince me."

"I'm not gay, Sir."

I laughed. We'd had this discussion briefly during our negotiation. For many heterosexual male subs kissing a dominant's cock is simply a submissive fantasy, not closet homosexuality.

"I know you're not. And sucking a few cocks won't make you gay either. Especially if you hate doing it."

He paused. "Would Jane know, Sir?"

At that moment, I knew I had him. Psychology says that when somebody starts voicing their detailed concerns, the person has already made up their mind.

I sighed. "That depends."

"Sir?"

"Yes, I think it's important that you and Jane have no secrets from each other." I gestured to the photos on his cell wall. "You share in her sexploits, after all, so I think she should share in yours too. But maybe you and I could ... spare her some of the sordid details."

I emphasised the word 'maybe'.

"Is there no other way, Sir?"

I looked into his gaunt, red-rimmed eyes. He wanted me to say no.

I shook my head, sadly. "I don't think so. As I said, the choice is yours. I'd never force you to perform a gay act, so you can stay down here instead. But I'd never force you to stay down here either, so you can suck cock instead. You think about it a while."

He nodded. "Th ... thank you, Sir. I will."

I smiled inwardly as I walked up the cellar steps. The first part of our game was nearly over. He and I were both ready for the next level.

*** *** ***

By now, my PC was humming with activity.

I posted regularly to my own profile, mostly neck-down or photo-shopped pics of Jane's ongoing training. Photos that kept all our personal identities hidden. I wrote a mini-blog about her progress too. A couple of flamers but mostly positive feedback.

I was also busy answering the numerous private messages that kept hitting my inbox. Once you start getting talked about online and people know you're genuine, you get a tsunami of requests. I was living my dream, something I'd searched and waited for so long. But Jane's slut training was the best part of all.

I set up a separate profile for her. It wasn't visibly linked to mine. This one showed her face, using the harmless avatar of her posing nude. I named her 'Cunt Lottery' and wrote on her behalf that she was a married hotwife in the London area seeking NSA sex.

I added a small collection of scanned photos including a ten year old snapshot of Jane whilst she was at college. I blurred the faces of the two girls either side of her but left Jane's innocent smile nice and clear. I put up a sweet wedding photo of Jane and Chris cutting their cake, dressed in their finery.

To contrast with them, I uploaded recent close-ups of Jane sucking cocks. The date stamps and different penises made it obvious that she was genuine.

But once men contacted 'her', I took over and replied on Jane's behalf, as her Master, explaining the real situation. Some obviously didn't believe it and never contacted me again. It was their loss. I made it clear that pretty much anybody who applied could have a free crack at Jane.

Well, obviously, I filtered out the real weirdos. But everybody else I made pick a number between 1 and 100, like a lottery ticket. The only difference was that there was only one losing number.

Provided you didn't message me '69', you had a winning ticket. So everybody had a 99 per cent chance!

With her popularity and her face showing, it was probably only a question of time before somebody from her past life stumbled across her profile, but as far as I knew, nobody had so far. That amusing moment was yet to come.

Within a week, I had numerous bookings from all sorts of guys; ranging from the dirty dozen who'd launched her bukkake career, to young and old, single men and pairs. My spreadsheet was flexible but I tried to get Jane a mid-morning visitor and then several afternoon and evening ones. Pretty much every day.

Her first individual booking was a nice looking, middle class student, eight years younger than Jane. He had a vanilla girlfriend but was exploring his dominant side. Jane later told me that she was relieved I'd chosen a beginner as her first trick. But he had an unusual, curved cock. I sat quietly in the corner and watched her suck him on her knees, until he unloaded in her mouth. He was intrigued by her pierced labia. I said he was welcome to return another time to sample her ass.

Later the same day, her next booking was a ripped black guy, heavily into the white cuckold scene. I let him enjoy the CCTV monitor feed of Chris while Jane licked his balls, rimmed his ass and then blew him. I invited him to revisit as well. I was in a rush to build up an address book of suitable anal-fuck buddies for her.

But my favourites were the mature guys, around my age or older. A lot of them weren't experienced doms. They were simply lonely 'Daddies' in need of much younger play partners. Sadly, there are nowhere near enough 'Janes' out there to go round us all, even single, unmarried ones. The one advantage of that mismatch is that there is massive lopsided demand for the few Janes that do exist. I felt it was my duty to be generous.

Naturally, she struggled mentally at times. Her own fantasies were her own; she certainly wanted a caring but cruel Master, and had pictured vivid scenes in her mind. She'd imagined things, knew the kinky stuff that turned her on. And being forced by her Master to do stuff she didn't like was all part of it for her. But that still didn't make certain things easy, especially at the start.

Swallowing cum was one of those things. Jane had never done it out of choice. Some women seem to like the stuff, its taste and texture, just like some people appreciate sashimi, or anchovies, but others don't. Jane realised that submissive sluts must consume jizz. Nevertheless, that didn't make it pleasant for her to learn to do it.

My rule was simple. Any man, every single orgasm, goes down the hatch. If a guy comes in her mouth, she must never spit or waste a drop. None of that porn star trick of letting it dribble out with her saliva as she pretends to clean his cock. Whenever I tell Jane, she must gargle it first and then let it slide slowly down her throat. It's only by treating semen like a precious wine that you can really taste the nuances of each guy's grapes and terroir.

If a man comes on her face or body instead, she must scoop or lap it up. And if he comes inside a condom, she must drink the contents afterwards. This way, Jane has been steadily trained never to be fussy about who or when she'll swallow. She knows that, however he shoots his load, she will politely consume the gift of every single visitor.

So, in those early days, whenever a random guy turned up and he obviously wasn't her type physically or mentally, Jane would know regardless that she'd be drinking his juice before long. No negotiation. She had nothing against ethnic guys, or old guys, but it was hard not to be put off by some of them. She'd look dolefully at me sometimes, her brown eyes seeking mercy, and she'd gag or retch on a particularly large cock or load, but she never refused, understanding that my strict policy was ultimately for her own benefit.

Very soon I'd received enough applications from London-area-based guys that I was able to start insisting that they send me photos beforehand if they didn't already have one on their profiles.

"Oh boy, look at this one."

Jane's head was between my legs. She was under my desk while I was sat in my dressing gown. Her tongue was rimming my asshole, nose nuzzling my sweaty balls.

I passed down the I-pad so she could see her latest fan mail.

"He can make this afternoon."

Her lips curled in quiet distaste when she saw his image. But she never verbally resisted. The decision was mine, and mine alone.

I tapped a reply on the keyboard. I work jointly with a laptop and I-pad. She stayed diligently tonguing the clammy creases between my thighs, no doubt thinking her own private thoughts.

At 4.25 p.m. the same day, the same guy rang to say he was in his car only five minutes away. I gave him final directions. I beckoned to Jane through the veranda doors when the doorbell rang. She was doing yard-work outside.

There were only two words to describe him; 'geek' and 'nerd'. It wasn't that he was totally ugly. He had thick spectacles, a pale complexion and a narrow, oblong face. He was quite tall, but thin and in my youth was called bit of a 'weakling'. In a rom-com movie, he'd have been cast as the harmless hanger-on who never gets a girl. Well, leastways, not unless her name was Jane.

She was wearing dungaree overalls, gloves and boots, heavy lifting in the rear garden. Her face was shiny with perspiration.

"This is Kevin." I told her. "From this morning. He's managed to pop by for a quick blowjob, after all. Hurry."

I motioned for him to relax outside on an Adirondack chair in the unseasonably warm Spring sunshine.

Jane removed her gloves, wiped her forehead and smiled weakly.

Kevin sat down, giggled at me, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were the kind that distorted his eyes. In the sunlight, I could see bad acne scars on his forehead and jaw line. Jane unbuckled his belt and jeans.

This guy definitely wasn't at the front of the queue when God handed out good looks. His body was scrawny. Most noticeably, his dick was on the tiny side.

But Jane lowered her perspiring face into his lap and put her lips round his thin cock, sliding her mouth up and down it.

I winked at him and made myself scarce. Kevin obviously didn't have much experience and certainly not at performing in public. So I left the happy couple to it.

A few minutes later, it was all over. I heard him cry out obscenities as he came. I walked over and watched Jane tilt her head back to gulp down his load.

Another six calories.

"Well done." I said. "Now get back to work."

"Mmm." Kevin groaned, as Jane dutifully rose and put her gloves back on. "Fuck, that was amazing." He said to me.

I shrugged. "Nah. It was nothing." I looked at my watch. It was only 4.42 p.m. "Thanks for dropping by. You should do it again some time."

He blinked. "Really?"

I caught Jane's eye as she recommenced digging the flower bed.

"Sure. It gives her a nice drinks break from gardening. Just drop me a message whenever you fancy."

"Er ... tomorrow?"

I grinned at him. Greedy sod.

"Yeah, fine. Why not? Same time tomorrow?"

The average male orgasm contains between five and ten calories, although I'd seen Jane gulping much larger helpings. Generally, younger guys on a protein diet who have saved up can provide double that.

By comparison, a tiny mouthful of milk chocolate or just a few sips of frothy Latte each contain about ten calories. That's not a good use of your daily allowance. So by giving up the likes of chocolate and coffee, Jane was able to consume much more suitable produce.

By now, I had steadily increased her daily calorie allowance to 1,000 calories. Her body had been in full blown ketosis and had already burned away the fatty acids it had been storing before we met. Her hips, buttocks and face had shed the cellulite and unhealthy excess she'd arrived with. Now I was sculpting her new figure with lean foods, strict exercise and plentiful sex. Her hunger pangs had declined and she had adapted to her svelte shape and new diet.

And on a busy 'Bukkake Day', semen could account for over 5 per cent of her daily energy source!

DAY TWENTY THREE

Jane was writhing in the shower tray.

I was using the shower nozzle to wash her cunt. I'd unlocked her padlock and allowed her to take a nice hot shower. Now I was rinsing blood from her soapy cunt with a warm jet.

"Aaa ..." she wheezed.

"Don't you dare cum, young lady." I warned. Her clit was a livid nubbin of arousal; red, stiff and proud. It had been two and a half weeks since she'd had her last orgasm. She was also having her first menstrual period after her arrival. In front of me, she was needlessly embarrassed by her own bodily functions.

When she was dried off and creamed with antiseptic, I padlocked her pussy shut and then gave her a sanitary pad to put over it. Afterwards, she lubricated her asshole.

She had lost 11 lbs in twenty two days, an average of half a pound a day since her arrival. More importantly than how much weight she'd lost, was from where she'd lost it. Remarkably, her tits were unaffected and they looked even fuller compared to her slender hips and ribcage. She worked out on my cross trainer, did stomach crunches and other reps daily. But it was long days of sweaty domestic and garden toil that had toned her shape most.

She hadn't had any red meat, chocolate, caffeine, alcohol or cigarettes since her first evening. Withdrawal had been tough but she was over the worst. She served me my own steaks, dessert, coffee, wine and cigars without visible resentment. She'd learned instead to savour her portions of undressed greens, raw vegetables, smoked fish, tofu, berries.

I pulled her nude body to me and kissed her soft mouth. Her skin glowed with good health. Whatever I might be doing to dent her ego, her body was unquestionably benefitting. 




A Couple Brought Together Act 04



"I'm proud of you."

She blushed. "Thank you, Sir."

I stroked her breast and nipple. It was hard with excitement.

"How much do you want to cum?"

Her brown eyes gazed at mine, wondering if it was a trick question.

"The truth, Sir?"

"The truth."

"More than I think I've ever physically wanted anything in my life."

I laughed. "Funnily enough, that's exactly how Chris put it."

We rarely spoke about her husband. I had forbidden her to ask about him. I hardly mentioned him to her. I'd simply told her to accept that no news was good news.

"Tell me, if I were to allow one of you to have an orgasm today, who would you want me to choose? You? Or Chris?"

I could see her dilemma; her desire and frustration balanced by self-sacrifice and love, resulting in confusion. It was important to realise nothing that had happened over the past few weeks had made Jane love Chris any the less. He and I met different needs of hers; physical, biological, emotional.

She licked her lower lip, thinking.

"It's been over three weeks for him." I told her. "But then, he wanted to know what ball aching frustration felt like, didn't he? You should see his scrotum! Blue balls don't begin to describe how they look."

"Him." She whispered magnanimously. "Chris."

"You haven't heard all of the question yet. What about if I told you that after one of you has an orgasm, that neither of you can have one for another whole month?"

He eyes widened as she absorbed my words.

"So you would still have a month more to go without one. Are you really sure you could manage that? Are you really sure you'd choose him to have one now, instead of you?"

She scrunched up her face, eyes closed.

"It's up to you." I whispered. "Him? Or you?"

"I don't know."

*** *** ***

Chris stood under the shower for ten minutes.

Slowly the hot jets soaked the scum away from his body. He rubbed the soap vigorously over every inch and crevice. He carefully washed the steel cage and cleaned his penis as best he could.

Better still, he let the water cleanse his mind. He'd realised what the dreadful shock treatment had been for. Until a few weeks ago, he would have described himself as submissive. But it was a sexual thing. His submission turned him on; thoughts of dominance and slavery, people who took charge, men who whipped his ass and fucked his wife.

Now it wasn't sexual. At least, it wasn't just sexual. It went much deeper than that. It was total. He had been broken, tamed, as completely as any trained horse, or prisoner on a rack. All he wanted to do now was serve. To prove himself obedient and useful, on his Master's terms, not on his own.

He glanced down at his soapy body and the steel encasing his cock. It had always been about his cock, his balls, his next jerk-off. He'd masturbated many times more in his life than he'd made love. Even after he married Jane, it was probably a ratio of ten private wanks to one proper sex session with her. Was it any wonder that she secretly wanted a different kind of man?

He'd probably never gone more than 48 hours without cumming since he reached puberty. Maybe when he'd been really ill? Mostly he had one, often two orgasms, a day. They'd been like junk food. Meaningless. He realised that now. 

Imprisonment and chastity had taught him that. Just like Prison Loaf had taught him to appreciate real food.

When he was finally allowed to cum, it would be the most incredible feeling in the world. He corrected himself. IF.

If he was finally allowed to cum.

*** *** ****

Chris scrubbed up well, after his first hot shower, shampoo and shave.

His hair had grown fast. I trimmed his strawberry blonde fringe at the front and sides into the start of a pudding bowl bob.

Then I took my barber's electric clippers and did a buzz cut up all the way up the back of his head until the hair was shaved to level with his fringe at the front. It's my favourite 'punishment haircut' style.

Finally, I took the clippers and carved him a nice round male baldness patch on the top of his head. He looked at me in shock. But I wasn't finished. I pulled on a rubber glove and spread two fingers-full of Revitol cream onto the new bald patch and just into the surrounding edges of his hair.

It was a steep price Chris had agreed to pay.

Revitol seeps into hair follicles. It break ups and softens the hair shafts. This, of course, causes the hair shafts to fall out after a few days. After a couple of months of using the cream, the shafts gradually become thinner and thinner until hair growth completely stops.

I took some photos for his own Profile.

The first cock Chris ever took in his mouth was mine. Like him, I'm not remotely gay, and I'd never had a man's lips round my shaft before. It felt disgusting. But I felt it was an important sacrifice to make. It was a statement of our relationship. My dick was still slick with Jane's juices, mingled with my own, as I'd come straight down to Chris's cell after fucking his wife.

I got him to kneel and lick me clean. He looked up humbly and put his mouth round my cock. It wasn't sexual. It was respectful. He sucked my damp pubic hair and kissed my balls. Finally, he licked the hairy entrance to my ass crack. 

He'd have done it, but I couldn't bring myself to have him actually suck me off.

Fortunately, Bert had no such qualms.

By now, Bert had already visited us about seven or eight times. He was already well acquainted with Jane's mouth. He had also fucked her ass. He had basically become her Deputy Master. So it was entirely appropriate that Chris should perform his first BJ on the old widower.

"Suck that cock." He ordered in his brusque military manner, running his leathery fingers through Chris's new hairstyle. Bert had spent a career giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed.

"It's not hard." Bert continued. "Just imagine what you'd like to feel round your own dick, then do it to mine. That's it. As deep as you can, into your throat."

I had the video camera secretly running, hidden on a shelf; it was recording a silhouette of Bert's chest and belly only from the neck down. However, the side-shot of Chris's lips slurping up and down clearly revealed the younger man's face.

"Okay, you can use your fingers." Bert said. "Jerk me off into your mouth."

Chris raised his right hand and began pumping while he continued to lick Bert's helmet.

"Not bad." Bert winked at me, speaking towards the camera. "A bit more tongue action. You'll get as good at this as your missus with a little practice. Oh, boyyhhhmmm!"

Chris's forehead creased in disgust. His Adam's apple bobbed as Bert squirted his watery juice. I watched in fascination. I can't deny I felt a surge of power.

"Mmmmmm." Bert exhaled in satisfaction.

I leaned down to murmur in Chris's ear.

"Swallow it all." I could tell he was struggling to finish the job. "And don't gag."

Bert pulled out, leaving a long strand of saliva that hung from the tip of his dick to Chris's lower lip. Later, I used a freeze frame of that particular image to make a cover for my souvenir DVD.

DAY THIRTY TWO

You wait ages for one bus and then two come along in quick succession!

It was a normal Monday morning. April 30th, a date forever fixed in my mind. I fired up my PC and there, in amongst the usual messages, was one from another submissive couple.

The interesting thing was they seemed genuine. They'd attached three photos, written two concise paragraphs and provided one phone number at the end.

I dialed the 11-digit cell number. A guy murmured in reply. His name was Patrick. He sounded educated but busy. We exchanged a few words.

"Is Simone there?"

"Not now. I'm at work."

"What's her number? I don't talk to couples unless I've spoken to the woman first. Too many fakes."

He hesitantly gave me a landline number.

His wife was real alright.

Over the next few days, I reeled in Simone and Patrick like a big-game fisherman playing a marlin. They had avidly followed my blog, photos and contributions to the Sub Couples groups. Unfortunately they weren't interested in a live-in arrangement because they had two college-age kids and Patrick ran his own company. However, they did want to submit to my 24/7 control.

To be honest, I wasn't sure at first. I hadn't planned on owning two couples and I was obviously pretty occupied with Jane and Chris. And I didn't know that I could enjoy my kind of TPE control over a live-out couple, especially when they had two kids. But when I saw Simone in the flesh, I couldn't resist having a pop.

Simone was the ultimate MILF. She was 41 yrs old with grey-blonde streaked hair, vivacious green eyes and a toothpaste-ad smile. She was originally English but had grown up in the States and been an actual cheerleader at a mid-western college. She'd met Patrick during her junior year back over in Dublin and married him aged just 21.

Simone was undeniably pretty but, more than that, physically she was exactly my type; facial symmetry, angular cheekbones, full lips. She exercised, looked after herself, and had a good peachy complexion. Her stomach was almost flat except for that slight curvature that all mothers retain after two pregnancies. Her tits weren't large but they were a decent handful that still clung high to her chest. Her ass and toned legs were in better shape than Jane's had been, and Jane was 11 years younger than her.

"What do you want out of this?" I asked, when she and I met alone for the first time without Patrick present.

"I've always felt ... sexually submissive. It's just it never happened. I met Pat so young. We had our children. You know ... life." She shrugged.

"You never submitted to him?"

"We role played a bit. That's all. I guess it was about ten years ago. Trying to, you know, put a bit of oomph into our lives. But it never really worked. It was too halfhearted. Pat's just not cut out to take charge in the bedroom."

"Did you ever try dominating him?"

Her cheeks blushed red. "Not really. Well, once. I tied him up. It was ... fun. But we never repeated it."

"Why not?"

"I think it felt like," she searched for the right words, "... well, sort of right, but wrong too. In a way, if I'd pushed him, we might have gotten into that more. You know, occasionally. But I didn't. And we didn't."

Her eyes were sensational; like emeralds, with flecks of light in her iris, extending from her pupils like a sunburst. They were the opposite of a poker player's eyes. I could read every single dirty thought in Simone's middle class, middle aged mind.

"So how would you describe your sex life now?"

"Okay. I mean, it's been twenty years. One man. You know, it gets pretty routine. But I don't think we're any worse than average."

I already knew she'd only had one partner before Patrick. An American boy she dated for three years. He'd taken her virginity at 17. And that was it. Just two.

Interestingly, Patrick was far from your cliché wimp. He was an entrepreneur who owned a chain of clothing stores. He employed 500 staff and in a good year made 6-figures. By all accounts, he was an alpha in the boardroom. The mistake people make who criticize cuckolds, or stories involving cuckolding, is that they don't understand the complex personalities and dynamics.

"How many times have you and Patrick fucked?"

She raised her eyebrows then did a quick calculation in her head.

"Maybe a couple of thousand?"

"Humans need security but they also need adventure. After a while, that's a hard combination to get out of one relationship. Security and adventure."

I wanted her to understand that I wasn't condemning her relationship or her husband. She couldn't be blamed for wanting marriage but needing a little excitement as well. Nor, in his own way, could Patrick.

"So, as I said, what do you ... want out of this?"

I stressed the word 'you'.

She looked down and jiggled her empty wine glass.

"Pat and I started discussing this two years ago. Fantasies. Making them reality. Then he saw your blog. We decided to, you know, before it's too late."

I reached across and touched her hand. "It's never too late."

She looked up. "I'm frightened."

"It was him who saw my blog first and told you about it. He wants you to do this, doesn't he?

I gave her my most winning smile.

"But you ... need to do this."

She dry-swallowed.

"I ... I know."

*** *** ***

When I got home that night, Bert was babysitting Jane and Chris.

He was sat on the sofa with a much younger man watching Monday Night Football on TV. I'd never seen the other guy before. He looked military; sharp-featured, narrow-eyed, firm jaw. His head and body were tanned, lean and rectangular. His hair was crew-cut.

He jumped up and held out his hand. I saw he was tall, over six feet.

"My grand-nephew." Bert said proudly. "Jim. Back from Afghanistan."

The young man's grip was like steel. I gestured for him to sit back down. I guessed he was early-twenties. Bert had never talked much about his family.

The place was immaculate. Apparently, Jane had served the two men beers, burgers and fries, and ice cream, on trays. She'd refilled their glasses, cleared the trays and rubbish, washed up and dried. Now they were smoking cigarettes, watching the soccer.

Behind the sofa they were both sat on, Chris was stood at the ironing board. He was wearing a new, bright pink, latex tracksuit. Bert had turned up earlier with a plastic bin liner full of dirty laundry. He gave them to Chris to hand-wash and iron during the evening. There were now neat piles of Bert's freshly ironed underpants, wife-beaters and socks on the table.

I raised an eyebrow at Chris, chucking my car keys down.

"Beer."

He scuttled off to the kitchen to fetch me a cold lager.

"Score?"

"One each. Ten minutes left." Bert replied, stubbing out his Marlboro. He was meant to have given up but there were already several cigarette butts in the ashtray.

"Jane?"

Bert jerked his chin over his shoulder at the doorway.

"I sent her to pretty herself up."

I sat down in an armchair and started watching the match. Chris returned with an open beer bottle and placed it carefully on the shelf beside me. I bought his pink tracksuit online. It's a skin-tight one-piece, with a zip all the way up the back. One of those you put on the pants first then shuck yourself into the top half. Every detail of his chastity tube was visible under the taut latex.

Bert's grand-nephew Jim was watching us. I caught his eye.

"I assume Bert's told you all about Chris and Jane."

Jim nodded, stubbing out his cigarette.

We made small talk for a while, half watching the game. Chris was finishing up Bert's ironing and preparing the piles neatly for inspection.

"You married?" I asked Jim.

"No."

"How long you home for?"

"Seventy two hours leave." He replied. "Then I've got to fly somewhere."

At that moment, a vision in white appeared in the doorway. When they saw my grin, Bert and Jim turned their heads too.

Jane was dressed in an outfit I'd purchased from a fancy dress website; tagged a 'sexy wedding passion night bridal costume'.

It was cheap, tacky stuff, made in China. But she looked great. She had a white veil on her head, a frilly one-piece white babydoll, white stockings and garters, and cream high heels. I glanced over at Chris who was gawping at his wife.

"Fuck me." Bert whistled.

Jane blushed under her veil. But she was posed, hands on hips, provocatively.

"Leave the fucking ironing and go to her, Chris." I barked.

He propped the iron in its stand and walked over to Jane.

"Bring her here and introduce her."

Chris took the tips of Jane's fingers and guided her round the sofa to us. She walked perilously in the high stilettos. He presented her to Bert first.

"Now to Jim." I said.

"S ... Sir." Chris stammered. "May I present my wife Jane?"

Jim didn't smile or even nod. He simply stood ramrod straight. Jane curtseyed.

"Jim has been serving his country, risking his life. He deserves recognition, doesn't he?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Civilians like you should offer your women to soldiers like Jim, shouldn't they?"

Chris's throat made a rasping noise. "Y ... yes, Sir." He lowered his head and looked at Jim's chest as he spoke. "Please, Sir. I should like to offer you use of my wife, Sir. If she pleases you?"

Bert beamed in approval. Jim still barely moved a muscle.

"Are you staying with Bert?" I asked.

"No. I have my own one-bed place not far away. Not much but it's mine."

"Then it could probably use a woman's touch?"

Jim's hard eyes glinted, getting my drift. Chris blanched.

"In that case, you need a proper wife for three days while you're here on leave. Somebody to cook, clean, as well as look after your sexual needs. Isn't that right, Chris?"

"Yes, Sir."

I reached behind Jane and pushed her towards Jim.

"You're dressed very appropriately, aren't you my slut? Ready to go. I can cope without you for 72 hours. Besides, I've just been meeting a new submissive who's a whole lot sexier than you are."

Jane flashed me a look before Jim jerked her roughly into him.

Bert winked. "Just a reminder, Jim lad. No cunt action. No orgasms for her. But you can do what you like otherwise. Treat her like those Asian hookers you are so partial to."

We watched Jim wrap Jane in his iron grip. He reached under her veil and tugged her head back by her hair. Her mouth opened in a gasp and he kissed her.

I grinned at Chris.

"Hold on a sec. I have a suggestion."

Jim broke away from Jane's mouth. They all looked at me.

"Chris should at least have a chance to save his wife's honor, right? He should be able to fight Jim and beat him up for assaulting her."

After a second's silence, Bert and Jim laughed.

"Of course, it may turn out that Jim beats Chris up instead?"

I stared at Chris, waiting for his decision. Jane's veil had fallen off. She was wiping her lips on the back of her hand. Her nails were freshly varnished bright red.

"Come on Chris, show the bastard!" I teased.

The two men sized each other up. One, a 32 yr old, 5' 10" civilian. The other, a decade younger, highly trained 6' 2" professional soldier.

I could see the battle in Chris's eyes.

"Don't Chris." Jane whispered.

"If you're not going to fight him, then kneel down and apologize to him."

Chris grimaced, shut his eyes and clenched his fists. Then he bent his leg and dropped onto one knee in front of Jim. I glanced at Jane. There was a battle raging in her eyes too. I realized that Jim's macho power secretly excited her.

"I'm sorry Sir." Chris mumbled.

I twisted the bayonet.

"And my wife is yours."

"And m ... my wife ... is y ... yours."

COMING SOON

ACT FIVE: CATHARSIS



A Couple Brought Together Act 05



This is the final Act of 'A Couple Brought Together'. However, the story will continue soon in 'A Couple Chained Apart', the second novella in the trilogy. Everything is based on actual events that took place between spring 2012 and early 2014. However, what follows is a fictionalised account and any resemblance to actual people or names is entirely coincidental.

The previous Acts in the dramatic arc of Chris and Jane's submission are: (I) 'Contract' (II) 'Catalyst' (III) 'Conflict' and (IV) 'Crisis'.

*****

ACT V: CATHARSIS

DAY THIRTY FIVE

Jane slid out of the window and started running. There was a full moon. It lit up the pathway like a stadium floodlight. She was barefoot, running naked through the night, escaping at last.

A window slammed open behind her and she heard loud voices, glass shattering.

"It's up to you! Him? Or you?" Her Master's voice shouted.

"Jane, help!"

It was Chris crying out. She ignored him and kept running. The winding path seemed endless, like a computer game. But real brambles cut her feet.

Suddenly something whistled past her ear. She heard a gunshot ricochet. It was a bullet, smacking into the gravel ahead. She had to keep running. She zigzagged, right, left, right.

Another gunshot. Her legs buckled. She fell over in slow motion. The bullet had ripped open her back. A great big hole, weeping crimson blood and creamy pus. She lay helpless, face down, hearing footsteps walking slowly up the path behind her.

She saw him standing above her in the moonlight. 

Her Master was smiling.

"Them? Or you?"

Suddenly another couple appeared, a man and woman, standing next to him.

The woman was holding a pistol. She pointed it downwards.

"No!" Jane tried to scream.

She woke up in the pitch black, gasping for breath.

Her body and face were covered in sweat. The digital clock on the bedside table said 03:10. 

Her heart was thumping.

She felt his gentle breathing on the back of her neck. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware of her nightmare. His stomach pressed lightly against her spine, his knee against her leg. He didn't always allow her to sleep in his bed. When he did it somehow felt special.

She took a few calm breaths, shut her eyes, and tried to go back to sleep.

*** *** ***

By now, Chris was spending his daylight hours above ground and he was only locked back in his cell overnight. Like Jane, he slaved hard from dawn to dusk, doing 14-hour days of household and garden chores. Due to the time of year, there was a lot to do outdoors; cutting, trimming, mowing, planting, moving debris, endless heavy tasks.

But I knew Chris was grateful for his promotion from living fulltime in the basement. I had warned him before we began that only I would decide when his prison fantasy would end. And, even now, I could decide to lock him back down in his cell any time I wanted during the remainder of his one-year contract.

I'd even stopped feeding him Prison Loaf. Like Jane, he now lived on healthy greens, raw vegetables, lean fish and tofu. His body was already leaner, wiry, pounds lighter.

And today he was getting his ultimate reward. His first orgasms in 35 days.

That's right. Orgasmssssss. Plural.

Chris and I carried the sturdy x-frame up from my basement onto the patio outside. It's a wooden crucifix that's screwed onto a rigid base of strong aluminum struts. I carefully strapped his wrists, ankles and waist into the leather straps, then tilted the x-frame back slightly so he was comfortably stretched out in the sunshine.

Earlier, Chris and Jane had set my outdoor dining table for lunch under the hot blue sky. I rolled the crucifix on its castors so that Chris was splayed at the head of the table, facing the sun, with a total of six places laid, three either side, for me and my guests. Finally I moved the large cream sun-umbrella and angled it so that our table was shaded but Chris remained in the hot sun.

My five male guests that day were Jacques, Dipak, Bert, his grand-nephew Jim, and a new buddy named Joshua. Jacques was also accompanied by his own slave Helene. He had come to pierce Jane's nipples for me.

Jim had returned Jane in good order. I'd been pleased to hear that she'd been a good wife to him during his leave. She'd 'looked after him' in the full sense of the phrase; home-cooked meals, washing and ironing, spring cleaning his place, and draining his balls.

While the men sipped our pre-lunch pink champagne, Helene made great ceremony of unscrewing Chris's steel Dictator chastity-tube. She had been the last female to touch his genitals, five weeks earlier. She released his equipment and 'ooo-d' and 'aaa-d' at his swollen balls and minor chafe marks, quickly bringing his freed cock up to full erection. His diaper rash was now fully healed.

Naturally, my guests all laughed and jeered, pointing our champagne glasses at his already sweating face and stretched out naked body. Helene was a skilled tease, running her red fingernails down Chris's bare chest, licking his nipples, kissing his earlobes. She touched his cock occasionally but mostly just caressed his body.

Our macho conversation was crudely explicit, all about Chris and Jane. We compared notes within Chris's earshot; Jacques was the only one who had fucked her bareback, the day he pierced her labia, and he recounted how sloppy her cunt had been.

Then Bert and Dipak relived Jane's first Bukkake. Everybody laughed as they described the shock on her face when her blindfold was finally taken off.

Jim gave us a few words about the past couple of days. He'd treated her nicely, taken her to pubs, introduced her to locals near where he lived. 

She'd worn tight tops and short skirts that showed off her cleavage and legs. Naturally, he'd used her mouth and anus numerous times but he had been gruffly appreciative.

The fifth male was an extraordinary black guy I'd found recently on a sex contact site. His name was Joshua, although his nickname was 'Jumbo'. He was softly spoken, incredibly good looking, ebony black and six feet six tall. He was one of those men who pulled women effortlessly. The only reason he was looking on the internet was his penchant for kinky sex.

Joshua had the most beautiful, oversized cock to go with his handsome looks and ripped muscles. On his first casual visit to meet me, I'd interrupted Jane's household cleaning duties, so she could blow him while he and I chatted to get to know each other a little. I've read enough about 'big cocks' over the years to make me yawn, but Josh's was without doubt the largest I've ever seen. A true, Jumbo-sized trunk. Erect, it was over nine inches long and as thick as a wrist, almost purple, deeply veined and circumcised.

On that first meeting, Jane managed to get his plum helmet in her mouth and jerked him off with both her little hands. It only took her a couple of minutes but his orgasm was incredible. Jane was gulping for over ten seconds, trying to swallow it all as I'd trained her, but she couldn't cope and choked, retching his excess all over her skirt, stockings and my Persian rug. It was impressive young man's sperm; white, chunky, almost like breakfast porridge.

So now, a few days later, Josh and the others drank pink champagne and watched ringside with me as Helene built Chris's own erection up to frustrated fever pitch. Sunlight gleamed off his lean, pale body and beads of perspiration dripped down his face and chest. The new bald patch on top of his head reflected the sun's rays. His forearms and leg muscles clenched and unclenched as he lay strapped taut against the x-frame.

"And how iz the darling Jane?" Jacques asked. "Horny, of course?"

Everybody laughed. Jane was confined to the kitchen preparing our food.

"Of course." I replied. "But she's been learning self control."

"I had to pull out several times to prevent her from coming." Jim volunteered. "I'm talking ass and mouth. Trust me, eventually she'll learn to cum from anal."

"Not if I can help it." Bert muttered.

"I have bought some nice nipple rings for both of them. Matching."

We enjoyed a leisurely and delicious lunch; cold salmon, fresh asparagus, new potatoes, various salads, a magnum of chilled rose wine.

We discussed a wide range of topics too, not just sex. Jacques talked about wine making and his passion for Bordeaux. Joshua explained the rules of basketball to us. I chatted with Bert and Jim about Winston Churchill and his book 'The Second World War' that I was reading.

Meanwhile, throughout lunch, Helene used baby oil to moisten Chris's body until he shimmered with grease and sweat. She lubed his dick until it swayed with urgent, 35 day-old need.

"Are you intending to let him cum today?"

"Maybe." I sipped my wine. "We'll vote on it."

Despite the warm sunshine and unseasonal humidity, Bert was dressed impeccably in a blue blazer, silk bow tie and black shoes polished by Chris to military standards. He pointed his fork at Chris's midriff to make his point.

"I vote we let him have one today but then keep him waiting another ten weeks until the next."

Helene was using a feather now. She danced its tip along the underside of Chris's erection as if she was conducting an orchestra, teasing the swollen vein, as it jerked and bobbed like a branch in the breeze. She slid the feather under his balls and tickled the cleft of his buttocks until he gasped with desire. We all snickered.

"I should like to empty my own balls before he does." Jacques said, pushing his plate away and lighting a Gitanes cigarette. He exhaled a grey plume of tobacco smoke.

"Of course, my friend. In the kitchen."

Jacques got up and disappeared into the house, while the rest of us finished eating, chatting, idly watching Helene tormenting Chris.

"I vote we keep the boy waiting another week." Dipak announced.

Less than five minutes later, Jacques reappeared, zipping up his jeans, the last inch of his Gitanes still stuck to his lower lip. He patted Chris on his shoulder as he walked past him.

"Your wife is a good vide couilles, mon ami."

Chris blinked at him, not understanding.

A 'vide couilles' literally means 'empty balls' and it's a French term for a 'cumbucket'. Something you literally empty your balls into. Jacques had simply nipped into the kitchen and dumped his load down Jane's throat. In contrast, Jane's own husband was still no nearer to actually relieving his balls than he was an hour earlier.

"My congratulations." Jacques said to me. "Jane looks much better than she did a month ago. Not only thinner and healthier, but er, how do you say in English, she seems happier in herself. More content."

"It's been fucking hard work for us." Bert replied on my behalf, without a hint of sarcasm. "You have to train their minds as well as their bodies. But I agree she's definitely better now than she was as the start."

"So that she can attract a much better standard of man. For example, like me!" Dipak joked.

We cast our ballots: Jacques and Dipak both voted against Chris being allowed to have an orgasm but Joshua, Jim and Bert all cast their votes in favour. So, the final decision was up to me as their chairman.

I needed to empty my bladder while I considered my position. Winking at them, I turned my back from the table and unzipped my slacks. Mmm. A good piss when you need one can match an orgasm when you don't. My glass was a large wine goblet. I watched it froth and fill up, almost to the brim.

"Do women shake the nozzle of the fuel pump when filling up, or is it just a guy thing?" Bert cackled at his own joke.

Pink champagne had turned into golden nectar. I zipped up, turned and placed the glass down on the table.

"Ahh, slave's champagne!" Jacques said, leaning over to sniff the bouquet. "I'm getting berries ... with asparagus notes."

I pushed the glass carefully towards Helene.

"Let's see how much he wants to cum?"

I had been saving this challenge up for a public moment such as this. So the final decision about whether he got an orgasm would be down to Chris.

His pale blue eyes had glazed over. Sweat dripped down his face. He slowly tried to focus on our amused faces.

Helene lifted the brimming glass to his lips and smiled seductively. 

"He doesn't want to cum." Dipak crowed.

I opened my palms in a shrug-gesture. "Well, it's his choice."

Chris eyeballed Helene. She tilted the glass and poured a small taster into his mouth. He grimaced but managed to choke the bitterness down.

"Magnifique!" Jacques exclaimed.

"Fuck me." Josh muttered, in his deep baritone.

Chris's gaze sought me out, seeking mercy. I held up my wristwatch.

"One minute."

He opened his mouth. 

Helene tipped the glass and slowly emptied the bubbly, greenish-yellow contents down his throat, stopping occasionally to allow him to gasp, gag and gulp. It took several minutes. He tasted every drop.

We all cheered and jeered, as his eyes watered and he struggled for breath.

"Good boy." I applauded as he drained the final dregs.

Helene put the glass back down on the table and looked at me for permission.

"There's no rush." I said to her, winking at my guests seated round the table.

While we refilled our glasses with nice, cool wine, chatted, and nibbled on French cheese, Helene set to work on Chris's cock yet again. It had softened while he was drinking my piss. She brought him back up to rock hardness. With studied indifference, she would give him a few languid strokes, then she'd release it and run a red fingernail agonizingly slowly up the underside vein.

"Suck him." Jacques called out.

She pouted at Jacques, but dropped to her knees and mischievously put her lips to Chris's erection, licking the translucent pre-cum seeping from the tip. Helene had sucked a lot of dicks since Jacques had enslaved her and she was a highly skilled fellatrice.

Chris's face crumpled in sweet agony. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack, dribbling. He was making little thrusting movements on the x-frame.

"Okay." I murmured at Helene.

She stood up and began giving his cock gentle slaps from side to side, interspersed with occasional lethargic tweaks. A couple more minutes passed.

Suddenly, Chris gave out a visceral groan and hissed out just one word.

"Yesss."

Helene looked down at his cock, gave his balls one crisp spank, then turned to us and smiled. She gave a little curtsey. "Eh, voila."

Chris was shuddering, gasping, his cock twitching up and down.

"Aaaagghhmmm."

It was absolutely perfect. One single, fat globule of semen oozed out of his cockhead. It didn't even spurt. It seemed barely to have the energy to claw its way up his urethra and dribble out.

Thirty five days and Helene had timed it perfectly.

We all laughed loudly:

"Look at that! What a pathetic load."

"Ah, poor Chris."

Then Helene leaned forward and this time flicked Chris's balls aggressively with her index finger.

He grunted in ruined sweet-agony.

The first blob of semen dripped onto her waiting palm and now a bit more appeared, in a random trickle. She held her hand up to his mouth and, when he didn't immediately lick it clean, she slapped his face.

Chris's erection had ceased jerking. It stuck up like an empty flagpole. 

"Oh, look!"

After a while, he started to soften and she twisted his cock southwards, bending it so it drooped. She began manipulating him slowly, just enough to extract his juice, like a milkmaid draining a cow's teat.

We sat a while, enjoying the show then I stood up from my chair.

"Gentlemen, I think it's time for a break."

We left Chris cooking in the sunshine and went indoors to visit his wife.

*** *** ***

Jacques had brought his piercing kit. He dabbed on a little cream, pierced Jane's nipples and inserted small silver rings in them. She bit her lip at the pain but managed not to cry out. Bert, Dipak and Joshua hefted her pierced breasts in their palms like shoppers judging grapefruit.

Then, Jacques produced a pair of heavy hoops made of solid steel. They were like African tribal charms the size of wrist bracelets. By pressing a clip, he could open and attach the heavy hoops to the smaller silver rings, making an impressive jewelry statement. Jane's nipples sagged under the weight.

"Wow, watch them bounce."

To show her gratitude to Jacques for his generous present, I gestured to Jane to bend over. She blushed and revealed a thick anal plug she'd been wearing all morning. It had a curly pink screw like a pig's tail sticking out of her ass.

Laughing, Jacques asked Jane a few blunt questions about her vaginal chastity. He inspected her cunt and pronounced that her steel rings were healing nicely. Then he uncorked the plug from her anus and announced that her bottom was nice and clean and expanding satisfactorily.

Jane had used a glycerin suppository and saline enema in the morning to cleanse herself, then lubed her ass with KY jelly. People's sphincters comprise the internal muscle which is smooth and involuntary, and the external muscle which is fibrous and voluntary. It's the external muscle which can be trained to accept regular anal sex and larger and frequent penetrations.

Without any foreplay, Jacques slid on a ribbed condom and casually inserted his dick in her back door. She accepted him with just a grunt.

It was quite something, considering the 66 yr old Frenchman had filled her mouth not long before. Jane didn't need to undress. She was topless in just her skirt and stockings without any underwear. Her big hooped tits swung like wind chimes underneath her. She mumbled in synch with his thrusts.

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you ... Sir, Thank you ngh ... Sirmmm."

To save time, Dipak undid his pants and simultaneously fed his brown cock to Jane's mouth. His belly jiggled in her face. As soon as Jacques had cum into his condom, Dipak replaced him behind her ass. Then Josh stepped up into the spit-roast position at Jane's head. The scene was like a carousel.

Everybody stared at Josh's magnificent skewer. The purple veins were like river tributaries, bulging with blood. Jane opened her jaws as wide as she could and pushed out her tongue. Josh slowly laid his helmet between her lips and took a grip of her ears. 

I perched down and caught my slave's attention. I grinned at her bugging eyes and bulging cheeks. Her nostrils were flared as she struggled for breath in Josh's wiry black pubes. He pumped in and out, deeper with each thrust. 

"I hope you're not going to cum young lady?"

She winced, her eyes indicating that she certainly wasn't going to. Despite Jim's claims, Jane and I had already experimented and established that she was a woman who couldn't climax from anal or oral sex. Never once so far, anyway. She could only cum via clitoral stimulation. Any pleasure she got from being anally and orally spit-roasted was purely masochistic and mental.

"But I will have a treat for you tonight." I whispered into her ear.

*** *** ***

Later, much later, after every one of our satisfied guests had departed, I supervised Jane and Chris's first physical intimacy together in five weeks.

Poor Chris had suffered a total of eight intense climaxes in the past four hours. First, Helene had manually drained him three times, each orgasm ruined, designed to extract his juice excruciatingly. After her wrist and arm were finally too tired to continue, she connected his dick up to my blowjob robot. It's an artificial skin sleeve with a motor that plugs into a wall socket.

Helene set the speed and intensity to work Chris's dick through two hours of simulated hand-job extracting five more wracking orgasms from him, until he was dry. His dick was left scarlet, sore, his balls pitifully shrunken like peas.

We didn't even need to lock Chris's Steelwerks back on. But, before leaving, Jacques pierced Chris's nipples with small silver rings like Jane's. Then he hung two tiny bells from them that tinkled when Chris moved.




A Couple Brought Together Act 05



I watched Jane and Chris embrace, look into each other's eyes, and nuzzle each other's cheeks. They were hesitant, timid, after the trauma of the past weeks and hours. Jane examined Chris's nipples and smiled shyly as the bells jingled. He stroked her bare skin, from her breasts down to her bald sex.

He looked at me tentatively and checked out Jane's pierced labia, running a finger along the steel ridges.

"Turn around."

She reluctantly turned until she had her back to Chris. There were blotchy red pawmarks on her shoulders and hips. He ran a finger lovingly down her spine until it rested on the crevice of her buttocks.

"You can fuck your wife's ass."

He blinked at me. He couldn't resist glancing down at his flaccid cock.

"Now! Do it! While her ass is loose. Get down both of you."

Jane dropped to her knees and took up the classic butt-in-the-air position. Her rosebud was still stretched and gaping after its busy afternoon. She shut her eyes and pressed her forehead to the floor.

Chris got down behind her and clutched her hips. With his pubic hair all shaved off, he looked like a little kid. His shriveled dick didn't flicker. I watched a while but it was obvious he couldn't get his dick hard enough to penetrate her. The bells on his nipples made it sound like Christmas.

I chuckled, thinking back to the time, four weeks earlier, when I'd made Jane promise Chris he'd never, ever be able to have her ass. Even when he was offered it. 

She pushed back against him like a bitch on heat and moaned in exasperation. Chris scowled and hissed as his tender dick impotently nudged her anal cleft.

I crouched down and patted his thinning dome like an indulgent dad.

"Come on, Chris. Do your marital duty. Your wife wants you."

"I can't ... Sir."

"You hear that, Jane? He can't."

"Yes, Sir."

"What a pair you two make. Smile!"

I took a photo of them together trying. 

"Kiss her ass then instead."

Chris shifted position and began to tongue-fuck his wife's shitter. The guys had all used condoms. She stank of latex and lube.

I squatted down, lifted her chin with my finger and looked into her eyes. They shone like chocolate M&Ms. Her brain was in deep subspace. Her thighs and nipples throbbed with sensory overload. It had been so long since she'd climaxed; so much humiliation, so much stimulation, so much desire.

"Do you want ME to fuck your cunt instead?"

Her pretty lips curled in a grimace.

"Yesssss."

"Not HIM. Me."

Her head nodded, a string of saliva hanging from her lip. "Yes ... Sir. Please."

I poked Chris in his ribs with my foot. "Hear that? Unlock her."

He grabbed the key from me and hurriedly removed the padlock from her labial rings.

"Prepare her."

She stayed bent over, thrusting her hips back, knees wide. I watched his head slither between her thighs. Her locked cunt was already damp. His tongue opened up her lips and she uttered a small squeal of ecstasy.

"Out of my way."

I got down between her knees and rammed my erection inside her pussy with one smooth thrust, like carving butter with a hot sword. I squeezed one of her boobs and tugged on its heavy hoop. Chris had moved and was kneeling by his wife's head.

"Kiss her for me."

I watched my couple kissing each other's mouths for the first time since our dinner together on Day One. That time, they had kissed gently, like a shy wedding couple, without any animal passion. Now it was full of animal lust. Chris's hungry tongue sought out Jane's throat and she moaned into his open mouth.

"This. IS. How. It's. Going. TO. Be." I emphasized.

I ploughed her with deep thrusts. It was how I'd always wanted things to be. A nice triangular tableau. Me fucking a wife. Her husband in attendance. Them swapping their saliva. But with only me shooting my load.

"Go and kiss my ass now."

His blue eyes widened at my command but Chris obeyed. I soon felt his face above my bucking buttocks. His tongue slipped wetly in and out of my ass as I fucked.

Jane was rolling her head from side to side. She suddenly looked at me.

"Don't cum." I snarled.

"Pl ... ss ... I ..."

"Don't you dare."

I reached the point of no return and sighed, forcing my eyes to stay open. I was able to enjoy my own orgasm almost in slow motion as I studied Jane's facial expression. She was desperately concentrating on withholding her climax. Chris's tongue lapped my ass as I hosed jet after warm jet of jizz. Eventually, sated, I rolled off her, bushed.

"You want to cum now?" I wheezed.

"Yes. Please, Sir."

I jerked my chin at Chris. "Ask him then."

They both understood my gesture.

"Please, Chris. I really need to." She whined. "Seriously."

He looked at her, then at me. I smiled at Jane's ravaged, oozing cunt and pointed at a drawer.

"Look in there."

She crawled over, opened the drawer and took out a packaged sex toy I'd purchased a few weeks earlier.

It was a black plastic strap-on dildo mounted on a crotchless rubber harness. Her mouth widened into an 'o' of surprise, then anticipation. She ripped open the plastic wrapping.

There was a bullet vibrator already loaded with a battery. I pointed out a pouch in the harness to her and she slipped the vibrator into it. I waved my hand, showing her the remote control.

"It's time to take your bitch husband's anal virginity."

She held out the chunky fake cock and balls. They were realistic-sized. Not too big for a virgin. She examined the adjustable side straps. 

"Ask me nicely." I told Chris.

"Please, Sir." He gulped. "May she?"

"What?"

"May she ... fuck me in the ass?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not?" I grinned nonchalantly. "Help her lube it."

Chris pushed the firm rubber cock into Jane's sodden pussy. Its six inches of insertable length slid in easily. When he took it out, the ridged rubber came out slick with my cum.

"Kiss it."

His lips and tongue slobbered over the cockhead. Then he helped Jane adjust the straps to her slender waist and buckle it on, with the bullet vibrator against the top of her pussy. The cock jutted out from her hips like a real man's erection.

"Face up." I instructed Chris.

I helped Jane arrange her husband in the baby diaper position, on his back, with his knees above his face, wide apart. I wanted her to ream his ass with the couple staring into each other's eyes, well and truly united by their submission.

"Okay." I squatted down by them. "Let's do it."

Jane used her hand to guide the slick cockhead into Chris's cleft. She lined it up with his sphincter and gently pushed. He grunted.

"Be brave." I encouraged, speaking to both of them.

Jane thrust. Both of them winced. She pulled back and adjusted her angle. This time she plunged hard and the first couple of inches punctured her husband's protective muscle.

"Nnggghhhhmmmmm."

I shushed him, smacking Jane on the butt to encourage her.

She picked up the pace, grinding deeper with each lunge. I flicked the switch on the vibrator-remote in my hand. Her eyes widened and she hissed. 

I pushed my face in between theirs until we formed a close triangle. Their breathing, gasps and grunts filled the sex-scented air around us.

I held up my phone and took a Selfie, smiling, thinking of all the fun I could still enjoy with this couple, while I also explored Simone and Patrick.

Jane's eyes rolled into the top of her head. She was cumming. At last.

This time there was no stopping her.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhmmmmmssssssss."

It is impossible to do justice to the guttural noise she made. Like something out of a horror movie. Her body convulsed. Foam bubbled onto her lower lip.

At first the noise came from her throat, shrill and loud, then it moved to her chest, deep and rumbling, like the last breaths of a dying person.

She seemed to spasm in multiple climaxes for a full minute, maybe even longer. Chris and I both caressed her gently as she slowly emerged from her orgasm.

*** *** ***

Half an hour later, the three of us sat together on my bed, our heads propped on the pillows. We snacked on leftover salads and cheese from lunch, sipping cognac. I had put on my dressing gown while Jane was wrapped in a cashmere blanket. Chris was bare-chested with one of my bathroom towels tied round his waist.

"At times, I really, truly didn't think I could make it." He continued, staring into space.

"I cried a lot at night during the first week or two." Jane added.

"But now?"

We had talked frankly for fifteen minutes. Now, there was a long, thoughtful silence.

Eventually Chris spoke.

"It has been the most incredible five weeks. It was actually nothing like I imagined. Much more intense, much harder. Much less self indulgent than my own fantasies were. But that made it all the more ... thrilling, I guess. I wanted to experience something like true slavery and that's what I got."

We both looked sideways at Jane.

"Yes." She said. "I couldn't have done it without being forced. The hunger, the hurt, the humiliation. Everything. But now that I'm through that stage, I want ..."

She blushed nervously.

"... a bit more".

I smiled, leaned over and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek.

"You both realize that this was just the beginning? It might get even harder from here."

They looked at me, then at each other, and slowly broke into uneasy smiles.

"Yes ... Sir."

"And what about each other?" I asked. "Has it brought you closer together?"

They both exchanged self-conscious looks.

"Ironically, yes." Chris said. "In a weird way it has."

Jane reached out and touched her husband's cheek. "I think so."

"Okay, that's enough." I interrupted their cathartic love-in before it took hold. "Tomorrow we'll continue our journey."

I couldn't help thinking of that quote by Winston Churchill, after the crucial battle of El Alamein had been won; we had reached the end of the beginning.

Yes, Jane and Chris had been brought closer together.

But they still had even further to travel.

THE END

"This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end.

But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

Winston Churchill, 1942