A Story From My Wife

      No Comments on A Story From My Wife

by RickInMD (rickslawmd@verizon.net)

***

This story was written by my wife for me. She is a very
creative and kinky woman. (MF, wife, voy, bi, bd, orgy,
swing)

***

This is Part One from of a story my wife is writing to
me. I think it is one of the most amazing and erotic
stories I have ever read. Send your feedback and I’ll
share it with her. Thanks…

She was hoping he would notice, was afraid he would.
She looked down at the tips of her nipples clearly
protruding through her tight silk shirt, noting the
round circles pushing out of the fabric that fairly
shouted “PIERCING”.

“Good girls don’t get their nipples pierced,” she said
out loud. To herself she thought, “Since when have I
been a good girl?” she mused, when she was thirteen and
slipped her tongue into her best friend’s mouth when
made to kiss her during a sleepover truth-or-dare.

Nor was she an angelic seventeen year old when she was
found her history teacher stroking himself in his car
as she cut school; he was shocked to see her but more
shocked to see her slip off her lace panties and slip
into his car. And that night when, as a freshman in
college, she had been ushered from dorm room to dorm
room at the frat party; the boys so excited to find a
girl so willing to accommodate their plan when drunk
and never realizing she was not nearly as drunk as she
seemed. No, she couldn’t fool herself as she had him
for so long. She was definitely NOT a good girl.

She had had about enough of the “goodie two-shoes”
routine and, if he couldn’t keep up, he could get out.
Playing the virtuous twenty-one year old had been
amusing for the first couple of weeks, but you just
can’t change your true nature. She tossed her hair in
frustration and stared down again at her shirt.

The sight reminded her again of the lingering pain. No
longer forgotten, with the pain came a wave of fresh
pleasure flowing through her. It renewed the dampness
between her legs, a dampness that had been there since
the day before when she had gotten the piercing done.
Her breasts felt like they were being continually
pinched by tiny, tight nipple clamps and the arousal
this caused in her was only heightened by the silky
slide of her legs over her closely shaved pussy as she
walked.

She was roused from her reverie as the front door
banged shut. She started as she realized she had been
stroking the inside of her thigh, hastily shut her
legs, pulled down her miniskirt and glanced in the
mirror.

“I hope this works,” she thought hastily at her
reflection before hurrying in to greet him. He never
let her forget it the few times she missed his “I’m
home” greeting kiss.

As she came into view, she saw him pause in the foyer
and put down a large paper bag he had carried inside.
“I’m home,” he said softly, never once taking his eyes
off of her breasts. Her mind raced as she tried to
analyze whether to read amazement, disgust, or interest
in his face. She gave up; it was unreadable and he was
still simply staring at her breasts, awaiting her next
move.

With resolution, she pulled back her shoulders, which
perceptibly tightened the silk blouse more closely
around her nipples, and slowly walked toward him to
receive his kiss. At the last moment, she thought
wildly, “What if he doesn’t kiss me?” She needn’t have
worried.

She received more than the ritual kiss. As he leaned
into her lips, he pushed her roughly back up against
the banister, which dug into her back as he leaned her
over in a devouring, deep kiss. It caught her
unprepared, shocked her, hurt her. She felt a moist
drip slowly roll down her leg. It had been too long.

This was not the gentle, considerate, conservative man
she knew.

***

He sat at his work desk and considered getting back
onto the Internet. He was restless, not interested in
what he was supposed to do any more than who he was
supposed to be. He had tried the straight and narrow
road and had found it (or maybe, him) unsuitable. He
only knew himself truly in his imagination, when he
took himself to the places he should not be, doing the
things he should not do but that made him feel right,
somehow.

He no longer tried to analyze his feelings, his psyche,
his lusts. From the time spent surfing the web and
cruising the red lit streets at night, he knew there
was a part of him that would only be content when going
beyond the bounds of what was socially acceptable. It
was time to find a new society.

His online searches had shown him things even his
teenage locker room talk hadn’t hint of existing. His
hand strayed to his crotch, despite his office
surroundings, as he thought of the pictures he had seen
and of the websites he had visited. Somewhere out there
were people who enjoyed the things he wanted, needed,
to do.

It wasn’t so much that he needed to pin a lusty sixteen
year old girl’s hands over her head while driving
forcefully into her, or wish he was tied down as he
wondered at the surrender and horniness that had
allowed him to surrender his ass to a hard, thick cock
for fucking. No, it was more the need to abandon the
pretense of conventional sex and allow him to feel true
pleasure and ecstasy. He had no particular obsession,
but convention held him to a girlfriend who fit the
bill for social acceptability. The trouble was, he
could no longer tolerate simply being and having the
“acceptable”.

“I would rather,” he shied away from the thought. But
he could not stop the visions he had seen. Women
propped up on bars like dolls, only moaning and
writhing in excitement as one, then another, women
forced their tongues inside of her.

A man, more like a boy, dressed as a slut at a freak’s
club, only he looked GOOD in what he wore and promised
the interested more experience than his sixteen years
belied. A huge-chested petite girl, maybe 20, who ran a
webcam out of her bedroom and did not shy from taking
the large end of a baseball bat. A conservatively
dressed redhead who took a shot of tequila and quickly
acquiesced to be stripped, strapped down over a bench,
and mounted by a large mastiff. Were those screams of
pleasure or pain? Would his be?

***

On his way home, he stopped off at the local adult
bookstore, after carefully observing that no one he
knew was in the vicinity. He laughed at himself for the
need to maintain his “respectability”, and proceeded to
buy each item in the shop that caught his fancy: nylon
rope, several vibrators (he shuddered – excitement or
fear? – at the one nearly as large as that big breasted
chick’s bat), a blindfold and matching ball gag, a
strap on of only slightly excessive size, a lubricator,
a riding crop, and nipple clamps. He grabbed a choking
collar and leash at the last minute.

“Why not?” If the club he found online didn’t work out,
he knew of some areas he could go and, with the hefty
wad in his pocket, make his evening nearly as
adventurous as he wanted. All safely stowed in a brown
paper bag, he hoped in his car and headed home, hoping
his straight-laced girlfriend would accept his escape
lie.

***

The round, tight breasts he remembered had been
decorated by jewels that both surprised him and made
his cock stir between his legs. She held herself
proudly, almost defiantly. The tips of her well-formed
bosom swelled from a shirt obviously chosen for the
purpose. The look she gave him challenged and enticed.
He did not think, merely reacted to the notion the
piercings had set in motion. As he kissed her roughly,
he wondered if she knew just what she had gotten
herself in for. And if he would really take things as
far as he intended to.

The indecision did not last long, however. Her
passionate response to his almost brutal caresses
further revised his previous opinion of her. This was
definitely not the sweet girl he thought he knew; if
she kept this much of herself hidden from him, who
would say what else what other deceptions she had
practiced during their months together?

In this way, he began to justify what he was about to
do to her. The various plans for his own pleasure that
had been running through his head over the course of
the day were further clarified into a plan of action.
What he had really wanted, needed, had been someone
with whom (on whom?) to experiment some of the lustful
desires he had long felt.

“I now have both willing accomplice and victim,” he
mused as her hand went not to his hardening cock, but
up her own short skirt where, obviously, no lingerie
inhibited further progress of her fingers. She began to
moan softly as he allowed her to finger herself while
continuing to press her whole body against the wooden
banister in a fierce kiss.

He spared an additional moment to wonder where she
expected this newfound lovemaking to go, but quickly
dismissed the thought at inconsequential. Any
resistance she might have had would bend before his
will to see his fantasies made real.

***

Having made up his mind on his course of action, he
pulled her roughly into the bedroom and began to strip
her clothes off without ceremony. He paused a moment
when, on pulling off her blouse, he met the newly-
pierced nipples, bright pink, slightly swollen, and
enticing on what had been familiar breasts. He could
not stop himself from running his tongue around the
swollen areola. A slight gasp from her resulted in a
light tug from him on the ring adorning her other
breast. She moaned deeply in reaction; he tugged off
her skirt to reveal a hairless crotch – cunt, he
amended – and slightly open legs inviting his ever-
stiffening cock.

He did not take the bait but, instead, without speaking
yanked her onto and across the bed. Stooping to the
nearly-forgotten brown bag at his feet, he fished out a
length of rope, whipped out his leatherman to slash it
at intervals, and proceeded to bind her tightly to the
posts of their bed. During the whole ordeal, she did
not struggle, only moaned and tried to reach for her
cunt whenever her hands were free. Looking down at the
pink lips of her cunt, at the moisture already visible,
he did not hesitate to pull out his cell phone.

***

He leafed through various co-workers and friends’ names
to get to the contact for his first call. Ralph had
been very open, and perhaps very rude (a blessing,
now), about his admiration for his co-worker’s
girlfriend. Ralph’s openness about what he would do
with such a ripe, potentially vulnerable type of girl
might have been passed off as mere water-cooler talk if
he did not have the established history to back it up.

Ralph did not just talk the talk, he walked the walk.
And the line he walked would make him a prime addition
to tonight’s plan. There was no doubt that he knew an
opportunity when he saw one and, well, if he couldn’t
keep his mouth shut at work on Monday, there was no one
who would agonize over it at this point.

“So what you are telling me is that your church-girl
girlfriend is naked and ready to go for anything, and I
am that anything?” Ralph questioned with some
skepticism (but without trying to conceal his lust –
this girl had been prime jack off bait for months). His
co-worker’s affirmations were so strong that Ralph
began throwing a couple of his own “props” in a bag
before heading out. Not an opportunity to be passed up
and, hell, he didn’t exactly have any dignity to
maintain.

Once Ralph’s presence was assured, her boyfriend dug in
his hind pocket for a folded printout from work. The
number heralded it as a local dominatrix, “Villia,”
whose professional attributes her website called,
“unusual, arousing and brutal”.

Among the things he had learned from the online
grapevine about her were a generous flexibility in
suiting her clients’ tastes coupled with a commanding,
dramatic enjoyment in taking total control of each
event. He reached a throaty female voice on the end of
the line, presented his plan, and was rewarded with a
quick and enthusiastic approval. He made plans to meet
her at a motel a short distance from his apartment.

Ralph arrived at the door to the apartment out of
breath, either from his rush to arrive or his lust to
get the girl in his clutches. Firmly gripping a bulging
bag, he demanded, “Is this for real? You really want me
just to strut in here and fuck your sweet-assed
girlfriend?”

“And more than that,” her boyfriend replied. “Keep her
busy, from what I have heard, you know how. I’ll be
back in a couple of hours.”

“But what can I…” Ralph began, talking to his
coworkers back as he strode to the door.

“Use your imagination,” he replied. “But leave plenty
for me. I have plans for her tonight.”

Ralph wanted to confirm that she was on board with the
plan, would not press charges like she had… His
thoughts and indecision trailed off as he heard a low,
guttural moan from the nearby bedroom. She did not
sound like someone in need of convincing. Who would
have thought she had it in her, Ralph wondered and then
chuckled. Well, she doesn’t have anything in her yet,
but that will change. His thoughts took an even more
wicked turn.

***

He was surprised at what he saw when he slipped into
the bedroom. Sprawled on the massive, four-postered bed
was the “sweet” girl whose guttural moans had been
getting him harder by the minute. She was spread eagle,
strapped to the bed by ropes strapped around three of
the four posters. He had seen the scene a thousand
times – well, a few, he admitted – but this was
different.

Not only did he have to get over the shock of seeing
such a nice girl so obviously enjoying such a torment,
but his eyes were immediately drawn to the tantalizing
nipples, erect and recently tortured with silvery
rings. Her rounded breasts protruded out from her slim,
tight body as she arched up – arched up in an erotic,
desperate effort to touch herself with the slender
fingers on a hand tightly bound high on a poster near
her feet.

She was writhing, straining against the ropes that
bound her hand just a bit too high. When she arched her
back, straining upwards, she could get the lightest of
touches on her cunt. She seemed almost mad with
frustration, yet wild with desire to be stroked. Ralph
could see the moisture glistening between her legs and
rolling down to the tips of her tight, upraised
buttocks. He smiled a slow, nasty smile in response.

***

Once Ralph was in place, her boyfriend maneuvered his
car purposely through the dark streets to a nearby
hotel. He felt excitement, tinged with a little fear,
at the thought of how he would surrender himself
tonight. He pushed back thoughts of the girlfriend he
had left hastily-bound at home and prepared himself for
the coming encounter by familiarizing himself with
using the phrase, “Yes, Mistress.”

Pulling up at the motel, he parked near the door she
had indicated and noted that lights were already ablaze
from within. He pulled a flask from under his seat,
took two swigs of whiskey, and braced himself to meet
Mistress Villia. He willed himself into complete
submission and surrender, such as he had never done
before. The tightening of his loins at the prospect
made it easier to give up his need for control. He
wanted this, even the accompanying pain, humiliation,
and debasement. Complete submission had been a buried
need for so long but, once he faced it, it no longer
shamed but excited him. He quickened his steps to the
door.

The door opened before he had the chance to knock. He
was silently greeted by a woman, swathed in a dark
cloak, standing imperiously at the door and bending her
gaze condescendingly down on him. Surprised at the
reception, and in finding her taller than his height,
he quickly stepped over the threshold, withdrew the
agreed upon sum from his coat, and handed the cash,
equally quietly, over to her. Mistress Villia smiled
broadly, her wide, red lips reflecting the lamplight.
Closing the door and drawing off her cloak in efficient
motions, she established herself as the one in charge.

Not that he one moment forgot that fact. From the
moment he caught a glimpse of what was beneath her dark
drape, he knew that he had met his match, and more so.
She was dressed in flawless, shining patent leather,
but only over her waist and torso. Mistress Villia
reveled in the lust she produced by leaving her ample
breasts and shaven pussy bare.

She was corseted in the shiny leather, her breasts
lifted majestically by the erotic ensemble. She
completed the outfit by a pair of tall, high spiked
boots, gartered black stockings, and an accumulation of
“tools-of-her-trade” on a low-riding, wide, spiked
belt. She knew that men were impressed by her height,
athletic build, and overly-large breasts, but their
sight of the toys she kept around her belt was what put
the initial alarm in them. He was no exception.

***

The whispering rub of cheap polyester pierced through
her torment, causing her to glance at the illuminated
doorway. She saw a blackened silhouette, shorter,
thicker and somehow more menacing than that which would
have heralded the return of her boyfriend. Her thighs
tightened in response, as she unwilling gave in to her
lust to be touched, stroked, thrust into. She
recognized him as he came nearer and, rather than the
disgust that had shadowed their few previous
introductions, the repulsiveness that charged through
her only heightened her desire and her willingness to
submit.

As Ralph turned halfway into the light, he quirked a
lewd half-grin and reached into his bag to pull out
several nondescript items. Placing them on the bedside
table, he leaned against the side of the bed and draped
his rough hand on her thigh. A spasm of fear and lust
coursed up her body; she arched her back a fraction
higher in response.

His smiled widened as he swiftly drew a riding crop
from the side table and harshly slashed her inner thigh
in an unanticipated strike. She shrieked; he had drawn
blood. He hastily grabbed a balled up sock from the
laundry-strewn floor and stuffed it into her still
gasping mouth. He could have no more of that, and he
was only getting started.

***

In a quiet, deep tone of command, Mistress Villia
commanded him to strip off his clothing and step into
the dirty motel shower. Her quiet words were partially
obscured by the roar of a motorcycle revving up in the
nearby parking lot, and he began, “Mistress, did you
ask me to…”

She lashed out with an astonishingly strong backhand
across his face, her gothic, metal rings cutting a gash
from cheekbone to the corner of his lip. Surprised and
stung, and not wishing further displeasure, he striped
down and stepped into the small bathroom, glancing at
her to confirm he had correctly guessed her imperfectly
heard wishes.

With her small nod, he moved into the mildewed shower,
already feeling aroused by her demands and the
uncleanliness that surrounded the encounter. Although
he and his girlfriend kept their apartment a mess, it
did not have the same feel of filth and misuse that
rendered the motel room a perfect place for a sordid
rendezvous.

Mistress Villia stepped her spiked boot up on the
closed toilet lid and regarded him scornfully. His
arousal quickly changed to embarrassment as he
considered what a foolish sight he likely made,
standing naked in the shower stall of an unkempt
Brown’s Motel bathroom. He did not permit himself a
mocking smile, however, as the Mistress unfastened a
leather cord from her belt with one hand while bending
to fondle his balls with another.

He stiffed suddenly, embarrassment bled away, and he
once again pledged to give himself over to the moment
and to her. Her one-handed caresses produced a massive
erection, as did the sight of her cleanly shaven pussy
nearly touching the heel of her black leather boot as
she leaned towards him. He noticed the darkness of her
nipples and yearned to take one in his mouth, unsure of
what her reaction would be.

He remained motionless and lustful as she began to wind
the leather thong around the base of his hard penis. A
bit too tight, it bit into his flesh and nearly
diminished his erection. He had not expected pain
there, but pushed thoughts of the torment aside as she
stepped into the stall.

He was surprised to hear her voice husky with lust as
she crisply ordered, “Kneel before me, with your chest
to your knees, and look up into my eyes.” He did as she
commanded without hesitation but with some wonder as to
what would come next. When he looked up, her slit eyes
were condescending and scornful.

“This will teach you that you are mine to use. And you
are useless. Worthless. Only here for my pleasure, and
whatever pleasure you take is because I allow it to be
so. The only response you may now utter is, ‘Yes,
Mistress.’ Is that clear?”

Though he had rehearsed it a dozen times, his “Yes,
Mistress” sounded awkward to his ears. The pain between
his thighs continued. He was amazed that he remained to
hardly erect, and disturbed by his eager anticipation
for what would come next. She step forward, put he
still-booted leg up on an unseen soap rack. He fastened
his eyes on her cunt, surprised to see, professional
though she was, she was as excited by the encounter as
he was.

He caught her glare and quickly looked down, and not a
moment to soon as her golden shower adorned his head.
She pissed on him slowly at first, giving him the
opportunity to examine his reaction to the humiliating
situation in which he had placed himself. As she free
her piss harder on his head and it streamed down the
sides of his face, he stopped trying to think and
surrendered himself to her right to do this to him.
After all, he was only worth what he could do for his
Mistress/

***

She gazed at Ralph with hatred and, to his surprise,
nonetheless tried to hoist her straining hips to rub
her clit on the riding crops he now carelessly dangled
between her legs. She surprised him and pleased him
more and more. His pants bulged with his response to
her shamelessness and desire.

This is only part One. Let me know what you think. I
think my wife is really a good writer… I can’t wait
for the rest…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *