1 comments/ 14789 views/ 1 favorites Domestic Bliss By: oneiria Norman Plunchnik didn't know why he spent each morning lately lying on his back, with his secretary's thighs wrapped tightly around his cheeks, her juices pouring into his less than eager mouth for what seemed like hours. God knows, a five-minute quickie used to be enough. Once he got his rocks off, he could return to work. But no longer. And Pam had become absolutely insatiable. Right now, his tongue felt as though it had spent the last half hour in a blender, and still Pam rocked back and forth violently on his face, the walls of her cunt contracting around his nose as his obedient tongue lapped furiously at the bud of her clitoris. Her gasps were becoming quicker and quicker now. She grabbed his head and forced Norman's mouth even tighter against her mound. She jerked violently, threw her head back on her shoulders, and let out one of her patented shrieks, as orgasm number twenty-three overcame her. Norman wasn't sure why he bothered counting them. A way to relieve the boredom, he supposed. He only prayed the new soundproofing he had installed in the office was working. Otherwise, the patiently-waiting Ellen Griebstein was getting quite a show out there in the reception area as she waited to see her mysteriously delayed attorney. He wasn't sure why he had begun to indulge in such practices. Certainly, Monica's all too frequent bouts of infidelity had instilled a need for some kind of revenge. And the fact that she had tried to put out a contract on him last year hadn't helped matters. He still couldn't quite bring himself to forgive her for that one. Sure, her lawyers had proved beyond any doubt in court that it had been a clear case of entrapment by the F.B.I. and those bastards on CNN. Were it not for the U.S. justice system's amiable willingness to let any criminal defendant go scot-free if she (or rather Norman) could hire a Dream Team of attorneys to exploit every available legal loophole, Monica would be sitting down in the state prison this minute, right where she belonged, getting buggered alternately by bull dykes and redneck guards, as she deserved. Instead, she was sitting watching Jerry Springer, smoking cigarettes and tossing down whiskey sours back at the house, where she was undoubtedly getting buggered by the pool boy. Monica had never quite been the same since their darling daughter Clara, she of the navel ring, barbed wire tattoo, shaved head and chicest of heroin addictions, had run off with those two bikers. No Harvard Med School for her. Still, that was no excuse for Monica's occasionally successful attempts to screw the lights out of every hapless male that happened to saunter by the front porch of their humble domicile, or for hiring some greaseball to pump five rounds of lead into Norman's admittedly defective brain, for that matter. He wasn't quite sure exactly why it was that he stayed with her. Perhaps it was because he suspected that he was at least partially to blame for her insanity. He could have been a better husband, he thought to himself, as he watched the delightfully bouncing bottoms of Pam's breasts, barely visible now as he peered up at them through her pubic hair. She lowered herself onto him more tightly and grasped his hair. He felt the increased flow of her juices into his still famished mouth and the walls of her cunt beginning to tremble against his chin once again. Here goes number twenty-four, Norman thought, as he sent his enflamed tongue into even more feverish motion. He sincerely hoped that wasn't the beginning of a temporomandibular joint problem he was feeling in his jaw. As Pam began to shriek once more and threatened to pull the few remaining hairs out of Norman's already depilated head, Normal suddenly realized that he had left the briefs for this afternoon's session back at the house. He'd better drive back and get them right after he took care of the always patient Mrs. Griebstein. But first things first. After all, one had to have one's priorities in order. And he would need to finish taking care of Pam before he could get to Griebstein. He redoubled his efforts, feeling the beginnings of number twenty-six on his tongue. If he worked her hard, he could probably induce the next five in rapid succession. Thirty usually did it. Although the way Pam was lately, you never knew. As Norman pulled into his driveway, the first thing he noticed was the mail truck, oddly parked on the street directly across from his house. "Et tu, Cliffy Claven," he muttered to himself as he shut off the engine. Postal workers were known to be a tad testy at times and prone to scattering each other's brains across the mailroom walls with various sorts of automatic weapons. Still, Norman figured it might still be fun to give the two lovebirds a little surprise. He silently opened the door of the house, sneaked through the kitchen and tiptoed up the stairs. As he grasped the handrail, he found it to be covered with a sticky substance having the general consistency of cum. He grimaced, wiped his hand on his shirt and continued to make his way to the top of the stairs. Once there, he noticed a trail of slime on the carpet leading from the stairs to Clara's old room, where Monica had taken to sleeping lately. From beyond the door, there emanated a rapid series of Monica's trademark denials and affirmations. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh no, oh yes, oh no..." she panted in seeming indecision. Norman pushed the door ajar and was instantly greeted by the unseemly spectacle of the mail carrier's undulating ass as he pumped his way in and out of the obliging Mrs. Plunchnik. The courier's bobbing butt seemed surprisingly tanned and well-toned as it completed its appointed rounds, forming a striking contrast to Monica's pasty, alcohol-soaked flesh. Surely the possessor of such an impressive gluteus maximus could find something better to diddle than his present company, Norman thought to himself as he switched on the light. "I must say, you have found a very creative approach to tipping the mailman, Monica," Norman said. He turned to the steroid-enhanced mail carrier. "I came to collect my briefs and I suggest you collect yours," Norman told him, patting him on his well-developed rump. The postman's flesh was strangely oily and surprisingly cool. Norman felt a wave of pleasure come over him the instant he touched the mailman's flesh. He felt himself becoming instantly erect, surprisingly so in view of Pam's recent ministrations back at the office. The postman turned and grinned at Norman, as if aware of Norman's state. The irises of his eyes seemed to spiral. Nonetheless, he proceeded to disengage himself from Monica and picked up his clothes. His movements were almost preternaturally swift and graceful. He seemed almost to glide out of the room. Monica remained sprawled on the bed, her sagging breasts and potbelly a counterpoint to the postman's perfect flesh. She opened her legs wider, as if to taunt Norman with her splayed sex. "At least somebody around here can still get it up," she informed him, cackling and reaching across the bed for a cigarette. Norman grunted and left the bedroom for the office to retrieve his papers, talking care not to step in the fresh trail of slime that led down the hall. Heavenly shades of night had fallen by the time Norman returned to the house. He liked to postpone his arrival until well after dark these days. That way, there was a ninety-nine percent probability that Monica would be fully into her alcoholic stupor and he would be spared her usual diatribe. Tonight, for instance, he had eaten a sumptuous dinner of twice-cooked pork at the Hunan Pavilion, while trying to ignore the many eyes pitying him for his single-diner status. He had followed that up with a full hour of fascinating browsing at the CVS store next door to the restaurant, checking out the latest paperback releases and becoming intimately familiar with the contents of various brands of toothpaste. Oh well, time to face the music, he thought as he turned off the ignition. As he got out of the Lexus, he noticed a light on in the bedroom of the house next door. He looked up. Sure enough, Helga Anderson was parading around in the buff again, her magnificent rose-nippled Viking breasts displayed to all and sundry with wanton abandon. It was high time he started to get to know his neighbors better, Norman thought. But not tonight. He barely had enough energy to insert his key into the lock as it was. As he crossed the threshold, his nose was assaulted with a strange odor. Perfume. Monica never wore perfume. A red glow emanated from the general direction of the living room, the result of Monica's latest experiments with mood lightning. Reluctantly, Norman entered the living room, poised for yet another confrontation. Improbably, he found Monica both unconscious and alone. But this was a different Monica. She wore the peignoir she had bought at Victoria's Secret during the first year of their marriage. Her breasts jutted firmly. Her stomach was taut. Her limbs were tanned, with superb muscle tone. Gone were the dark bags under her eyes and the nascent wattle on her neck. She looked truly magnificent, the perfect picture of health (and seduction). "I'm sorry about this afternoon," she cooed. "Sometimes, I get so horny. Things haven't been right between us and I miss you, Normy." She gave him a Shirley Templesque pout of the lips and looked up at him with deep, strangely enlarged eyes. As he came closer, Norman noticed the drying trail of slime leading up to the chair she was sitting in. He felt strangely compelled to reach out and touch her. He stroked her hair, and then reached down to cup her left breast, his hands tracing her erect nipple through the thin silk of her nightgown. As he touched her, an electrical charge seemed to surge through his body. He felt a strange tingling in his balls. His penis became not just tumescent, but granite hard. His genitals throbbed with a sweet but urgent pain he had not felt since he passed his eighteenth birthday. He scooped Monica up in his arms and began to carry her to the bedroom. Her skin felt oily and cool, not unlike the postman's this afternoon. Norman's always pesky and troublesome cerebral cortex slowly began to turn off its lights one by one. His brain stem was fully in charge now. Nevertheless, as he passed Clara's old room, some stubborn higher brain center registered the low moaning beyond the door. It was Monica's voice. The other Monica. Norman eagerly tossed the new Monica on the bed. She immediately crawled over to unbuckle his pants and unzip him. She took his impossibly enlarged member in her mouth as she tugged his pants down his thighs. That mouth had depths no human mouth could ever have, Norman thought, as he stepped out of his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. Nevertheless, he allowed her to lay him supine on the sheet, his cock still firmly embedded in her mouth. She crawled on top of him, into full sixty-nine position and she continued suck away at his cock like a calf at its lost mother's teat. He could smell the sweetness of her vagina as it neared his nose, and he began to lap at the bud as the lips of "Monica's" cunt swallowed his nose. The soft walls of her flesh began to squeeze and milk his nose and face, displaying more motion and skill than any human cunt ever could. The Monica-thing's mouth then left his cock to engulf both of his balls at once. The empty air of the bedroom felt cruel against Norman's throbbing cock and Norman longed to be enveloped by her flesh once more. It was not long before his wish was granted. The Monica-thing slid down his chest, her hot cunt pulsating against his enflamed flesh every inch of the way. She plunged Norman's swollen prick deep inside that sweet orifice as she took his balls in her hands and began to squeeze and rotate them as she slowly began to ride his shaft. Her motions became faster and faster, and her superhuman cunt began to pulsate around Norman's member and milk him for all the sperm he was worth. She squeezed his balls tightly when he came, emptying their entire contents into her greedy cunt. As he poured his hot jism into her, Norman suddenly had the sensation of something entering his penis and flowing in the reverse direction down his shaft. He balls tingled and began to pulsate strangely as Monica lowered her soft flesh onto his pelvis and thighs. He fell asleep in seconds. A fullness in his bladder woke him a couple of hours later. As he staggered down the hall on his way back from the bathroom, he cracked open the door to Clara's old room. There was the Monica of old, sleeping in her usual pose. Her flaccid breasts cushioned her like a pair of tires, and the cellulite on her ample rump was clearly visible even in this dim light. She slept the slow, dreamless sleep of the inebriated. Norman closed the door and returned to the master bedroom. He was careful to wipe the slime off his feet before getting under the covers. He looked at the new Monica, the Monica-thing that lay next to him in the bed. Clearly, she could not be human. Norman had watched way too many X Files reruns not to know that. Suddenly, the Monica-thing opened her tremendous, soft brown eyes. The irises in them began to spiral again as she cupped his genitals with her hand. Another electric charge seemed to pass through his body. What the hell, Norman thought. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? In fact, Norman thought he knew the perfect thing to do with this particular gift horse's mouth. He straddled her and grabbed the bedrail with both hands as he prepared himself for the greatest ride of his not-so-young life. Norman awoke to the smell of waffles and strawberries, one of the breakfasts that Monica used to make for him during the early days of their marriage. He pulled on his clothes and walked toward the kitchen. Out of curiosity, he peeked into Clara's room. The old Monica was still lying there, with her pasty butt still turned to the ceiling. Funny, he thought, she was usually up having her breakfast of Pabst Blue Ribbon by now. Norman supposed she must have really tied one on last night. As he entered the kitchen, he found the Monica-thing clad in only a black lace bra and panties, carefully arranging the strawberries around his waffle. She turned to greet him. He stroked her hair and opened up the refrigerator. "I think I'll just start with the other half of this grapefruit," he told her. "I need to wake up my mouth." Monica sat down beside him as he placed the grapefruit on the plate. For some strange reason, the thought of eating his regular morning grapefruit seemed to nauseate him today, but he dug the spoon in anyway. A squirt of grapefruit juice hit the Monica-thing straight in the eye. She let out a shriek. A smoky vapor poured out of her suddenly empty eye socket, and the surrounding flesh on her cheeks seemed to be eaten away, as if by sulfuric acid. "Sorry," Norman said lamely. "It's OK," said the Monica-thing, turning her decomposing face away from him and shielding it with her hand. After a few seconds, she took her hand away. The flesh was somehow miraculously restored. The formerly ruined eye held Norman in its gaze, its iris spiraling wildly. "See, no harm done," she reassured him. Norman looked down at his grapefruit, his appetite suddenly ruined. "I'm not very hungry anymore," he informed her. "I'll be the judge of that," she said, stroking his nipple. Another electric charge went trough his body. Once again, a PET scan of his cranium would have revealed little if any activity in the higher centers of Norman's brain. As Monica took his throbbing cock in her hand, he reluctantly decided to let his brain stem have its way with him once more time. And when he parted the lips of the Monica-thing's vagina and probed it with his tongue, he discovered that Monica was right as usual. He really was hungry after all. On the way to work, just to be on the safe side, Norman bought himself several gallons of grapefruit juice and a Super-Zapper double-pump Uzi water cannon squirt gun. Things sure were fun right now, but it didn't hurt to be careful, he figured. Norman spent an atypically productive day at the office. The only oral attention Pam received from him was his dictation, which she received cheerfully, if somewhat reluctantly. His body and spirit basked in the afterglow of his sessions with the Monica-thing, although he did notice a rather strange sensation in his abdomen from time to time, almost as it worms were crawling around inside his belly. He had been in such a hurry to get home and resume his tryst with the Monica-thing that he almost forgot about the speed trap on Elton Drive. Ticketless nonetheless, he screeched to a halt in his driveway, grabbed the bags containing the grapefruit juice and fully loaded squirt gun, and barreled through the front door. The Monica-thing was waiting for him, looking as enticing as ever in an unfamiliar pink teddy as she lounged on the sofa. The smell of London broil wafted out of the kitchen, and he noticed the lit candles on the dining room table. The Monica-thing shook her lustrous black hair, stretched her fabulous legs and smiled at him. "What's in the bags?" she asked him. "Oh, nothing. Just some wine and stuff for the office party tomorrow. I'll put it away," he told her and then headed upstairs for the bedroom, taking care to avoid the slime trail on the steps. As he passed Clara's room, he peeked in. The old Monica still lay on the bed in an apparent coma. But as he peered more closely, he could see that her eyes were wide open and seemed to be tracking his movements. Pleading with him. But she could not move her mouth to speak. He hastily closed the door, went to his own bedroom and stashed the squirt gun and the grapefruit juice under the bed. He then bounded down the stairs in eager anticipation of another night of wedded bliss. As he arched his back in the most powerful orgasm of his life (numbers three and two had occurred just moments before), Norman collapsed on the Monica-thing's naked torso as she held him tightly inside her, not wanting to relinquish him for a moment. His body throbbed with electric excitement as her fingernails teasingly traced their way down his lacerated back. It was then that he once again felt the sensation of something invading his penis, traveling down its inner passages in the reverse direction. His shaft felt as though it had been burned from the inside, and he had the distinct sensation of something beginning to crawl around inside his balls. That something seemed to penetrate through walls of flesh to gain entrance to his abdominal cavity. There was a searing pain as the thing ate its way through the flesh of Norman's internal organs. He tried to lift his head to tell the Monica-thing about his predicament, but found that he could not move. The Monica-thing seemed to sense his failed attempt at communication. She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Shhh, it is time," she said enigmatically. "The changes will come now." She turned and walked out of the room. Norman caught one last glimpse of her gorgeous ass and silky hair as she walked out the door. Again he tried to raise his head, but found himself quite immobile. His abdomen burned. It convulsed. He lay in the darkness of the bedroom for what seemed like hours. He felt the things inside his body working their way up his intestines, into his stomach. They penetrated his heart, his lungs. He seemed to feel his thoughts altering, becoming more indistinct and confused. He supposed the things were eating his brain now. His abdomen was burning up and the pain was excruciating. Still, he was unable to move. He felt about ready to burst. Finally, he did. Something seemed to pour out of his nostrils. He caught a glimpse of worms wriggling beneath the dot of his nose at the bottom of his visual field. More worms poured from his anus in a soupy diarrhea. He opened his mouth to vomit putrid oceans of worms. He went momentarily deaf as a torrent of the slimy creatures burst through his eardrums and flowed out onto the bed. He felt himself grow hard and ejaculated once again, this time discharging a bloody spurt of worm-jism in a painful orgasm that mocked his previous pleasure. Domestic Bliss "Oh, darling," Tony Sanderson said to his wife, shaking his whiskey glass and rattling the ice cubes. "Do refresh my Scotch for me, Mrs. Sanderson." "Only too happy to, Father," she said as she happily bustled about getting things ready for his poker friends to arrive. The Sanderson presented the perfect picture of absolute domestic bliss to all those around them, the very products of American post-war prosperity in the year 1954. Living in a quiet and perfectly maintained suburb in a lovely, sprawling home that literally had a white picket fence out side, the Sandersons seemed to be perfect in all regards. They even had two beautiful young children -- one boy and one girl, of course -- that were as beautiful and intelligent as their parents. Tony was a high-ranking manager in one of the many factories in town that produced the goods this thriving mid-century economy needed to sustain itself. He was tall and powerfully built, his square jaw seemingly even more pronounced due to the lit pipe he always kept clenched in his mouth; he had somehow even mastered the art of sipping his expensive Scotch while keeping the pipe squarely in his mouth. His raven black hair was always slicked back and well maintained, while his face was ever perfectly shaven. The charcoal-grey suits he wore constantly -- even in the evenings after work or on weekends and holidays -- were perfectly pressed; a wrinkle or stain would never be tolerated on a suit worn by Tony Sanderson. His sartorial perfection was seen to by his devoted and loving wife, Leigh. Leigh Sanderson was in many ways the female equivalent of her handsome husband. But while he was powerfully built and ever in a severe business suit, she was blonde, soft, smiling, buxom, and always to be seen in one gorgeous sun dress after another. She would never rise from bed in the morning without first putting on her choker pearl necklace Tony had given her some years earlier, just as she would ever be wearing her apron at home and her lip stick to the grocery store. Together, the Sandersons presented quite an imposing figure. Like so many other husbands did at the time, Tony felt it was entirely his responsibility to manage all the household affairs as well as to make sure his wife performed her duties to his liking. In this era when men were almost always in dominant control of the home, the Sandersons took this cultural norm to a whole new level. Tony would daily make lists for his wife, dictating to her not only what to do but also the manner in which it was to be done. He kept a separate infraction list, one on which he kept track of Leigh's failings and mistakes. These would then lead later to punishments for her. So it was that this perfect mid-century American couple enjoyed a quiet Friday evening with the children at Grandmother's. Tony sat at the dinner table smoking his pipe and reading the business section of the newspaper, while Leigh did all she could to make certain that her house was, first and foremost, pleasing to Tony, and secondly appropriate to entertain their guests. "Hmm," Tony said as he read the paper, speaking around his pipe. "Says here by 1965 the Commies might catch up to us on productive capabilities. I should think not, Mrs. Sanderson!" Ever since the pair was married Tony had called her Mrs. Sanderson. "Oh, my!" she said in horror. "Do you really think we can do better than they, Father? They seem so big and powerful." And likewise, ever since the day of those nuptials she had called him Father. "Mrs. Sanderson," Tony said, looking harshly and speaking sternly to his wife. "Have you ever known me to be wrong about such things before?" "Oh, no, Father...I just...it's..." "Sounds like perhaps Mrs. Sanderson will need some reminding of who the Father here is." Leigh hung her head, yet smiled coyly to herself as she did so. "Yes, Father. I think perhaps I do." At just that moment the door bell rang and the couple knew their poker game guests had arrived. The guests always traveled together and so Tony opened the door to greet each with a powerful handshake and a swift slap on the arm, together with kind words and offers to indulge with him in his finest Scotch. These were men that looked much like he did, with well-managed hair, clean shaven faces, and wearing expensive suits. Two of the men -- Joe and Harry -- were fellow managers with Tony at the factory and played golf with him on a regular basis. Another man named Bill was a regular golf buddy of the other three, and the last man -- named Frank -- was a manager at a competing factory, but served on the Board of Deacons with Tony at their church and so had earned a place on the monthly game of Friday night poker. The men all courteously greeted Leigh, shaking her hand gently and smiling politely as she talked about how mortified she was because her home was still such a wreck. They made small talk about their work and their wives, all the while remaining proper and perfect gentlemen. However, each man followed her movements closely and hungrily with their eyes, peering at her over the rim of their lifted Scotch glasses much the way a lion would peer through the long savannah grass at something tasty upon which it wanted to pounce. As Leigh finished bringing the drinks and snacks down to the basement den where Tony had his poker table set up and getting other things arranged for that night's game, then men stood around the foyer smoking, drinking Scotch, and discussing the issues of the day. "Say, Tony," Frank asked him, lighting a cigarette. "Do you think you might be able to help me get into the country club? I think it might be a good business move for me." "Why, certainly Frank. I'm playing golf with the member committee chair on Wednesday; I'll put in a good word for you then." "So, does anyone think the Giants have a chance against the Indians?" Bill asked the group. "Oh, I doubt it," said Joe. "They haven't won anything since...what was it? Something like '33 or '34?" "I'm fairly certain the Indians are unstoppable, and I'd wager ten bucks on it," said Harry. "Really?" said Bill. "Well, I will bet you --" This thoroughly manly conversation was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Leigh, who said, "Gentlemen, the den is ready for the game." This otherwise innocuous statement was made significant by the fact that Leigh's hair was now in a tight braided pony tail, her pearl choker necklace had been replaced with a thick leather collar that had a silver ring protruding from it, and her apron was the only stitch of clothing covering her soft skin. Acting as the gracious hostess, the group of men was led by Leigh down into the comfortable, finished basement the Sandersons had in their house. The four guests watched her perfect, bare ass sway lusciously as she led them to the den; Leigh was perfectly well aware they did and grew wetter with every step knowing their cocks were even now getting hard in their wool suit pants. The basement was of a standard arrangement, with a single large carpeted room in which there was a poker table waiting, cards and chips at the ready, snacks on tables to the side. The group, however, walked right past the poker table to a room at the end of the basement, one which was obviously a later addition to the house. The door to this room was made of stout, thick wood and was securely locked. Tony removed a key from his pants pocket and unlocked the door. Then, turning to the group of men, he said, "Gentlemen, welcome once again to the den." He opened the door to reveal what appeared to be a combination bedroom and sex dungeon in one. The walls were painted a deep red, and there was a bed with black silk sheets on the far wall. All along the walls were displayed every device and tool made to inflict delightfully pleasurable pain and every implement of control: riding crops, whips, canes of various sizes, paddles, spreader bars, and scourges. There were chains of various thicknesses and lengths securely attached to the walls, eye hooks for various bindings to be attached, and a chain and leather sling in the corner. On one wall was a black Saint Andrew's cross with restraint points at various places and on the opposite wall a space devoted entirely for the special ropes Tony used in his practice of Kinbaku he had learned while stationed in Japan. A strappado arrangement hung near the center of the room, and off the side sat a throne-like chair. In the very center of the room was a table, similar to the type of padded examination table seen in any doctor's office, except this one was covered with black leather and had thick leather restraints attached to it at different places along the sides. It was to this table that Leigh now obediently went as the guests started to get out of their business suits, stripping off layer after layer of clothes to reveal their naked bodies. Tony, however, sat on the throne-like chair as he smoked his pipe and took from his breast pocket a small leather notebook. "Mrs. Sanderson," he said sternly. "According to my list you were asked on Tuesday, September 7th to polish my golf trophies. And yet when I checked I noticed the one from '52 had a very clear smudge on it. A smudge, Mrs. Sanderson? What do you have to say for yourself?" "I have nothing to say, Father. It was an inexcusable mistake." Leigh's voice trembled and she shook slightly as she stood in front of the table, hands clasped before her, head hung low. To an outside and uninformed observer she would have appeared terrified; she was, in fact, thrilled and excited beyond description, and the shaking was from wildly delightful expectation. "Hmm," Tony grunted. In stark contrast to his wife, Tony seemed as cool and in control as ever as he sat there still in his suit, legs crossed at the knee, looking more like he was in a business office than a dungeon. "I believe that is a shameful excuse for letting down your husband, for failing in your household duties. Don't you, Mrs. Sanderson?" "Yes, Father," Leigh now almost whispered, her thrilled excitement choking her voice. Tony referred once again to his notebook. "Ah, yes. And here on Thursday the 16th you were told the walnut walls of the study needed to be waxed. You missed one of the coffers. Mrs. Sanderson -- an entire coffer?!" "I'm sorry, Father, I --" "Silence!" Tony said suddenly with an upraised hand, his voice echoing in the room. It was the first glimpse of any excited feelings at all. "This is not a debate, Mrs. Sanderson. You are merely being informed out of the graciousness of my heart regarding why you are going to be punished. You only need to speak when spoken to. Understand?" "Yes, Father." Leigh's trembling had now increased to the point that she looked like a little girl lost in a winter's wood with no coat. Tony flipped through some pages of his notebook, then closed it and replaced it in his breast pocket as he sighed. "Well, at this point it's irrelevant what other infractions I've noted. You clearly need to be punished and reminded what your duties are, Mrs. Sanderson. Gentlemen," he said, now addressing his guests. "What are your thoughts?" The men that had come that night to play poker had stood there as Tony addressed his wife, each man slowly stroking his cock and growing more and more aroused as the game proceeded. Each man was now fully erect and mad with restrained desire; Leigh glanced up quickly to see these four men almost surrounding her in a semi-circle, their powerful, strong bodies exposed, their thick cocks rigid and ready to provide her pleasure, and she unconsciously licked her lips slightly. Joe was the first to answer Tony's rhetorical question. "I think you need to punish your wife, Tony. She seems to be slacking." "I couldn't agree more," Frank chimed in. "Nothing worse than a disobedient wife, is there?" asked Bill. "No, Bill, I don't believe there is," Tony said as he again removed the notebook from his breast pocket. "But you gentlemen are my guests, and it is only proper that the guests get to enjoy the best the host has to offer first, correct? According to my notes from last month it would seem the order this time is Harry to the front first, Frank to the rear, and then Bill, and Joe." Tony replaced the notebook and then settled himself in comfortably to view the game as his guests did their part. Leigh was gently pushed over the table so her ass was well exposed as Frank secured her ankles with two of the restraints as Harry went around facing her and secured her wrists in a similar fashion. He then slipped a lock through the ring of her collar to an eye hook in the center of the table, keeping her down and utterly stopping her from lifting her head. In this position her soft, round ass was fully exposed as a tempting target to the four men behind her while her face was conveniently at cock level for the man in front of her. The other two men continued to stroke their cocks, watch and impatiently wait their turn. Leigh looked up at Harry and smiled hungrily as he took her braided ponytail and held it tight, slipping his cock deep inside her mouth slowly and tenderly. At the same time, Frank began to methodically spank her firm ass with his bare hand. Every time he smacked her ass he would leave an angry red mark on her and would connect with a loud crack, and every time Leigh would moan slightly even with Harry's cock shoved in her mouth. This quickly developed into a reciprocal in which Leigh's increased moaning and lustiness from getting spanked made her suck Harry's cock more aggressively, which made Harry fuck her face with ever more force, which in turn caused Frank to spank her more harshly and more frequently. The triad became a self-satisfy group in which the actions of one affected the pleasure of all. Under these circumstances Harry -- who had not had sex with his own wife for nearly three weeks by that point -- could not long last, and he was now pulling on Leigh's pony tail hard as he slammed his cock deeply into her mouth. He soon unleashed a torrent of cum that had been building up for several weeks, shooting stream after thick creamy stream of hot cum deep down Leigh's throat, all of which she greedily swallowed. Having satisfied himself, Harry now staggered to the end of line behind Leigh, and all of the men moved forward one place so that now Frank had the pleasure of face fucking Leigh while Bill spanked her reddened ass. Frank's cock was much larger than Harry's both in terms of length and girth, so as he crammed his cock into Leigh's mouth she choked and struggled with the size. This, however, was a tremendous turn on for Leigh, and with her ass now stinging in delightful pain she moaned loudly and squirmed in her restraints. Tony noted this, and said, "Bill, it would appear my wife is starting to learn her lesson. Would you kindly give her some oral assistance?" Bill immediately stopped spanking and smiled widely to his selfless host. "I certainly will, Tony." The delicious fruity flavor of Leigh's pussy was renowned among the poker game group, and so the first man each month to taste her was considered the luckiest one of the four. Bill knelt behind her licking her pussy from behind, licking her with long wet swipes that started at her clit and worked upwards towards her ass. As he slid his tongue along her pussy lips he would often allow his tongue to slip deeply into her pussy, eliciting a loud but cock-muffled moan. Bill licked her like this several times from clit to ass in long, luxurious strokes, then took advantage of his position to rim her ass properly, flicking his tongue around her ass and allowing it to plunge in slightly several times. All this while Frank was himself getting closer and closer to shooting his cum deep down Leigh's throat and so his motions started to become frenetic, he pulling on her pony tail just as Harry had before him. Leigh was sexually enraged from the face fucking, throat filling, and pussy licking and desperately needed to cum. Sensing this, Bill stopped licking her ass and focused only on her clit, now sucking it nearly as hard as she was sucking Frank's cock. This quickly had the desired results as Leigh now literally screamed out in orgasmic delight despite Frank's cock being buried deep in her throat, a thrill that in turn made Frank shoot yet another gigantic load of cum straight into Leigh's throat which she happily swallowed. The men again changed positions, and it was now Bill's turn to get his cock sucked by Leigh and Joe's turn to spank. Leigh smiled happily at Bill as he took hold her ponytail and whispered, "Thanks for the orgasm, Bill. Can I return the favor?" "Mmm...you certainly can, Leigh." By this point Bill had been stroking himself hard for nearly half an hour and had licked Leigh's delicious pussy so he was amazingly sensitive and ready to cum. He immediately slid his cock deep into her mouth and used her ponytail as a handle then fucked her wildly, pumping her face like his cock was a piston. He was unable to maintain this pace for long and even before Joe had gotten into any real kind of spanking rhythm Bill was filling Leigh's mouth with his sticky cum. Shifting positions Joe was now finally able to get the blow job he's seen the others receive while Harry at last was able to spank Leigh's ass, which by now was an angry, sensitive red and a little swollen. Yet despite the pain, Leigh wanted more. Especially the spanking she knew she would receive from Tony once their guests were done. Joe had always been the patient, thoughtful type, and his actions were completely keeping in character even now. Whereas some of the other men had shoved their cocks in Leigh's mouth and pumped like they were some kind of machine, Joe preferred to slowly tease his cock into her mouth and savor every delicious second of having her work his cock over so well. Joe also know Leigh was the finest cocksucker he had ever enjoyed -- indeed, if cock sucking were an Olympic event she would always win a gold medal -- and so by going a bit more slowly he was able to enjoy her impressive talents. Leigh did not disappoint. Holding her hair tightly, Joe slowly and teasingly slid his cock in and out of her mouth, which allowed her to suck back with all the suction she could create. This gave Joe an intense pleasure as he felt like Leigh's mouth was trying to get his cock back into its soft, warm caress. He also took his cock out of her mouth from time to time in order to intentionally slow down and to allow her to lick the shaft from top to bottom, a delight he always enjoyed tremendously. Joe even lifted his cock so Leigh could lick and suck his balls, something she did lustily and happily. Meanwhile, Harry had stopped spanking Leigh at Tony's direction and instead now licked her as Bill had earlier, which again led to her moaning loudly and squirming her little ass as her orgasm built up. Joe found watching her face melt toward a growing orgasmic explosion to be immensely satisfying, especially as his cock we well lodged in her mouth and her eyes lifted towards his. All of this in turn made him pump her face with even more force, the sexual energy growing and becoming ever more intense. Leigh's eyes widened suddenly as her moans turned to cock-muffled shrieks as another orgasm washed over her body and it was also at the exact moment that Joe shot off his load of cum in her mouth, squirting it all the way to the back of her throat. She hungrily swallowed up every drop as it splashed back there, ever so happy to be fed such a tasty treat. Leigh's ass was battered and bruised, her body shook now due to being in this awkward position for so long, her pony tail had been pulled wildly out of place, her make up smeared across her face, and there were several trails of the men's cum dribbling down from her mouth. And yet still Tony sat in his quasi throne, apparently impassive. Domestic Bliss "Gentlemen, you have certainly taught Mrs. Sanderson quite a lesson..." he said as he placed his pipe on a side table and now stood, slowly and carefully taking off his tie; once it was off he folded it and carefully laid it on the back of the chair. "Indeed, I do believe she will never forget the discipline you have given to her tonight..." Tony continued, taking off his jacket and also carefully putting it on the back of the chair. "However, Mrs. Sanderson, I am not convinced that you have fully learned your lesson..." he said, removing his shoes followed by the pants, folded in a likewise fashion. Before folding his pants Tony had removed the thick leather belt from the loops, which he now rolled and carefully laid atop the folded pants. "In fact, we've been here before; we're here every month, and yet every month you still somehow seem to need to be reminded of your duties..." and now off came his boxers, folded neatly and placed on the chair. "Do I not remind you of them daily? Do I not reinforce it nightly in here with spankings, whippings, Kinbaku?" Tony said, and his undershirt, his last piece of clothing, was removed and folded neatly. Tony Sanderson nude certainly did create quite a visually stunning specimen. Not only was he very muscular and powerfully built -- daily exercise a habit inoculated into him during his combat service in the War and during his many years of occupation service stationed in Japan -- but his cock was by far the largest of the group assembled here, perhaps the largest in any given group of men. It was long, to be sure, but it was also far thicker than the average man's, studded with rippling, throbbing veins and topped with a full, round head Leigh loved to gently kiss when sucking it. Leigh had, in fact, felt worshipful devotion towards it since their first date. It was on that night, in his car at the drive in, that Leigh first greedily sucked his massive cock and found how intoxicating his cum was to her. But Tony's physical attributes were not, in fact, the first thing that struck someone lucky enough to see him naked. While stationed in Japan Tony became immersed in Japanese history and culture, which is where he started to explore the long and delicious practice of binding, dominance, and sexual satisfaction through the scientific application of pain. The Japanese had long ago elevated all of that to an art, and Tony was an immediate and dedicated devotee. It was because of this exploration that Tony felt like he was finally discovering his true self, so it was also while in Japan that Tony began to have bondage and other sexually-related tattoos applied to his body in the traditional Irezumi-style; his body was now literally covered in one large suit of sexual tattoos. There was not one inch of flesh on his legs, arms, trunk, or back that had not been decorated by this amazingly intricate tattoo. Tony felt somewhat plagued by his desires and knowledge in such a society and in his line of work. This is why he remained always in his suit and why he was typically so disciplined and apparently cold; it was the only restraint he could manage to keep his wildly sexual nature under control in this repressed society. Yet he had always told Leigh that he only felt like his true self when he shed the woolen, outward suit and allowed his natural suit to be seen. And so it was now that, freed of his wooly societal constraints, that the true sexual beast that was Tony came free. "And yet...," he now concluded with an intensity not heard in his voice before, "and yet, you seem to fail in your duties, over and over again, Mrs. Sanderson. So, you leave me with little option. Gentlemen, would you kindly secure my wife in the strappado?" His guests immediately did as he asked, unbuckling Leigh from the table and moving her over to where the strappado hung from the ceiling. Harry grabbed the spreader bar and attached it to her ankles, forcing her legs wide apart. Frank and Joe first secured her wrists together, and then gently pulled them upwards towards the chain hanging from the ceiling. This, of course, forced Leigh into a highly vulnerable, bent over position, one from which she could not possibly escape. As his guests did this Tony approached the wall on which he had his collection of whips and spanking implements. Tony removed a paddle from the wall, slapping his hand with it to gauge the sting, and then replaced it. He considered a riding crop for a while, but dismissed the thought. He stood there for some time in front of the wall considering his many options, but none of them seemed to satisfy him. Tony then returned to his neatly folded collection of clothes and took his belt, his thick, stiff leather belt which he had only just removed and buckled it together, then wrapped the excess around his wrist and clutched the remaining part, leaving perhaps a foot of long, stiff, unforgiving whip. "Yes," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "This is will do very nicely." All this while Leigh had waited there patiently; her head hanging downwards she could only gauge Tony's movements from the sound of his walking, and her excitement and heart rate grew with every passing second. Once she was secured their guests now began to replace their business suits, lighting cigarettes and settling in for the last part of the game. Tony cut the air a few times with the belt whip which made a low ripping sound and slapped his own palm, pleasantly impressed with the sting even that slight swing caused. He now approached his wife from behind, her ass forced to protrude deliciously as a result of the cruel strappado. She looked so edible like this and Tony couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation of what was about to happen. His thick, massive cock stood almost straight out from his tattooed body. Tony approached his wife's succulent-looking ass. It had long ago passed the red of a well-spanked bottom and was now taking on the purplish hue of one that has taken quite a beating. He rubbed it gently, lovingly, making Leigh moan slightly and flinch at his touch. To Tony her bruised ass and the excitement he knew she felt for even more pain was intoxicating, and his rock hard cock stood as obvious testament as to how arousing he found it. For Leigh, being bound and spanked was not humiliation but rather the fullest expression of love a man could make towards his woman. She never felt as free as when she was bound, nor did she ever feel as loved as when this elaborate game played itself out. Leigh was only too aware of other women's boring, vanilla sex lives and she knew all of this was a tremendous effort for Tony. He could just as easily fuck her, roll over and go to sleep; instead, he invested hour upon hour honing his skills, keeping track of her "infractions" and living the game for her benefit. While to the other country club wives this might be torture and perversion, she saw only love. And while others might find a bruised and beaten ass to be disconcerting at best, Leigh found the sensation to be exhilarating. She did not have the happiest of childhoods and was often tormented by depressing thoughts and memories; it was only as a result of the application of pain, the delightful stinging of a well-spanked ass or the burning of a nipple in a clamp, that her mind cleared and she could have that elusive sense of wonderful lightness, of floating away from her past. Tony was the only man that seemed to understand that, and this is why she loved him with such devotion. Tony continued to gently rub his wife's ass, thrilling her at his touch yet building up tension for the inevitable strike to an almost unbearable point. At last he suddenly swung his arm back and whipped the belt down on Leigh's ass with all his considerable force, making her suddenly cry out then grit her teeth as the pain exploded out through her ass. Her eyes teared up, and she thought the pain was utterly delicious. Tony was careful not to inflict too much of a beating to her, especially because her ass had already been so beaten. He wanted to give her that painful release she so desired, he did not want to cause real damage to his beloved wife. He slowly, methodically struck her ass hard with his belt, making her wince and cry out every time he did so, then gently rubbed the aggrieved area as he spoke to her. "Mmm...," he now almost growled, his carefully cultured image of the proper business man totally dispensed with. "You are a dirty little cum slut, aren't you Mrs. Sanderson?" "Yes, Father, yes I am!" Tony reached his arm back and again struck his wife's ass with all his force. She now cried out in pain loudly, the tears streaming down her face. "What can I do with a little slut like you, huh?' Tony asked, again sounding more like an articulate growl. "You've sucked four men off already, Mrs. Sanderson? What the fuck else can I do with you a dirty little slut like you?!" Again he struck her, and again she cried out in pain. "Fuck me, Father!!" she screamed now through gritted teeth. "Fuck me hard!!" Grunting to himself now Tony struck her ass several more times making her cry out in delighted agony each time, and then suddenly threw the belt to the floor. Grabbing a bit of lube that was handy he slathered some all over his cock, then in one fluid movement slid his cock all the way into his wife's beaten and battered ass. As his cock steadily slid deeper and deeper into Leigh's ass she sucked air with a wide-eyed look on her face that could either have been intense joy or unbearable pain. She then let out a long, loud moan that would have informed even the most unaware observer that she was clearly feeling pleasure. Tony waited not a whit but instead grabbed his wife's hips and immediately started to pound her ass as hard as her could, loving the access her position in the strappado afforded him. Tony fucked her ass as hard as he could and reached around her slight frame to play with her massive tits as they swayed with every forceful thrust. Leigh's moan became more of a long, low sigh as she enjoyed yet another orgasm for the night. When Tony began his journey into various sexual practices while in Japan one of the things he took great pains to study was how to control his orgasms, and as such he could will himself to last longer than most any other untrained man. As such he stood there, butt fucking his bound wife far longer than seemed reasonable, long enough for to her enjoy fully the pleasures of his cock and to feel wonderfully full. At a time of his choosing, Tony began to pump even harder and his face took on a wild, animal-like grimace to it, his carefully manicured hair now untamed and feral. With every thrust a groan that started deep inside his chest grew louder and louder, until it was finally unleashed in a scream of pure orgasmic delight, shot after shot of thick creamy cum squirting into his wife's ass, who was herself being wracked by yet another orgasm. Tony's cock squirted and squirted copious amounts of cum into Leigh's ass, until it finally overflowed and started to ooze down her leg. Tony stood there, every muscle in his body tensing, his tattoos seeming almost to glow as a result of this thin sheen of slick sweat covering his body. His orgasmic scream trailed off into growls, and then finally naught but low, happy groans. Tony stood there a moment after he was done, breathing heavily, eyes closed. He then slowly removed his cum-slicked cock from Leigh's ass and stumbled away, saying to his guests through heavy breaths, "Gentlemen...would you...please?" His friends happily complied, releasing Leigh from the strappado and assisting her in standing normally after being bent over for so long, then supported her as she left the den. As they did, Tony seemed to be struggling with his inner self, his real self, like a man wrestling a wild beast that may yet one day overtake him...but for now, the man wins, and Tony again adopted the cold, calm covering in which he normally went through life. He slowly and carefully put his suit back on, knotting his tie carefully and smoothing out his hair. Finally, once he appeared as he would normally and it seemed as if the sexual beast was once again in its cave, Tony clenched the pipe tightly in his mouth and relit the tobacco. "Gentlemen," he said like his normally controlled self. "Shall we play some poker?" "Sure," joked Harry. "First poke her then poker." This final stage was for Tony and Leigh in some respects the most delicious aspect of the entire game, that sense of returning to an appearance of normalcy after having allowed their true selves to fly free, even if only for a short while. The men all sat at the poker table wearing their suits, drinking Scotch, smoking, and playing as if nothing untoward had happened at all. After some time Leigh reappeared, her hair returned to its normal appearance, her dress now on again under her apron, and save for a strange, belabored walk she seemed to be completely the same. Another visitor could have arrived at that moment and not think anything was at all unusual about what was happening. And yet every time Leigh would arrive to see if the men needed their drinks refreshed or new snacks, Tony would catch her eye and she his, and they would smile. It was the secret smile of a man and woman who truly knew the meaning of domestic bliss.