This is a somewhat involved fantasy, one invented and reinvented by me and my wife, toward the extreme of cuckolding – my wife and I have shared, as well as privately role-played many parts of it. Some of it we’ve used in fantasy realizations with encounter partners. Be forewarned, this is long, complicated, and in three parts. Once again, if cuckolding is not your thing, best to hit the “back” button and move on.
Prologue
The scenario starts as a normal day at the office. In the early afternoon, a courier shows up, with a signature-only delivery for me – the receptionist calls me from my office to sign for it, which I handle business as usual.
The delivery is an oversized envelope, heavy in feel, with no markings other than “Confidential,” and a security seal. I take it back to my office, and take a seat at my desk to open the envelope.
Breaking the security tape with scissors, I lift the flap of the outer envelope. Inside are several slightly smaller envelopes. I take one out, open the clasp, and find a series of 8″x10″ photographs. My breath becomes shallow and rapid, when I see the subject of the photographs.
After a stunned pause, I realize the photographs are of my wife, engaged in various sex acts with numerous black males. I set the photographs face down on my desk, call my administrative assistant and tell her to hold my calls, then I go and lock my office door.
When I return to my desk, I pick up the photographs, and browse through them, one by one. The images are clear, high quality, professionally acquired, but they are not posed, and my wife seems unaware that she is being photographed – it is clear that she is enjoying the pleasure of several men, ministering to their big, hard cocks. The background scene is some sort of club or party room, and although not in sharp focus, there are many other people, men, and women in the room, in varied states of undress, and engaged in sex acts.
I make another pass over the photos, spending a moment looking at each of them, my cock growing hard in my boxers as I look at my lusty, blissed out wife sucking, being touched, and fucking these strange men in an apparently semi-public place.
One photo captures my attention more than the rest; an image of my wife, mounted atop one black male, with a second mounting her from behind, and a third, his huge, erect cock in my wife’s mouth – she is being double-fucked and air-tight. In profile, her facial expression is one of utter pleasure.
After examining each photograph again, I slide them back into the envelope one at a time. Relishing “Little Miss Air-tight” last, I close the flap, and fasten the clasp, setting that packet of photographs aside.
I take the next envelope from the package, and undo the clasp – this is a different set of photos, a different venue, which is some sort of dungeon – the lighting is poor, but again, my wife is clearly the central subject, dressed in black leather, a corset, fishnet stockings, boots, and gloves.
She is tormenting a young-looking man, who is affixed to a large x-shaped frame by his waist, wrists, and ankles. The series of photographs progresses from her teasing his hard, erect cock, which juts out, curving up from his pubis – she is blowing on his penis, her lips pursed.
The next few photos show my wife stroking his cock with her gloved hand, sucking it, spanking it with a crop, then finally backed up against him, his penis buried either in her pussy or ass – she is looking at something, or someone, off-angle, not quite directly into the camera.
This series of images nearly makes me ejaculate, blowing my load hands-free into my boxers, but I manage to stay just on the edge. I have to take a series of long breaths to remain in control, replacing each photo in the envelope. When it is resealed, I take the third envelope from the package, and unfasten the clasp.
Inside, there is a single photograph, paper-clipped to a single page letter. I remove the clip to separate the pages – the photograph is astonishing, breathtaking – again, the subject is my wife, naked except for a pair of platform pumps, squatting down on top of a strange male, with an enormous cock. He is on his back, erect, his bulbous cock-head touching her labia, just at the moment of penetration.
My wife is open, gaping, clearly aroused and wet, her nipples erect, her breasts hanging, pendulous, and she is looking almost directly into the camera. I stare at the photograph for minutes, my head pounding, my cock so hard it feels like it is going to tear through my pants.
I set the photograph aside, face down, and pick up the letter. It reads:
“Your wife’s indiscretions have finally caught up with her, and unless you follow instructions exactly, this information will become highly public 24-hours from the time our courier delivered this material to your office.
View the enclosed DVD, which contains the instructions you must follow to prevent disclosure of this information. Failure to follow instructions will result in the release and distribution of copies of these photographs, and videos to your wife’s business associates, your business associates, your neighbors, your children, and your extended family members. You will receive a telephone call within the next 90-minutes.
You should take this matter seriously – we are not making idle threats. View the DVD, and take discrete notes as you feel necessary to comply with our instructions.
Good Day.”
I feel my hands shake, and my heart pound. I remove the last smaller envelope from the package, unseal it, and find inside a DVD in a sleeve. I take the DVD and place it into the slot in my computer. The video player starts up, and the DVD begins to play.
The video opens with a montage of images and short video clips, some of them the scenes which I’ve already seen in the photographs, some new, all of them involving my wife in sexual encounters with one or more strange men.
In one clipped scene, she is on her knees, the bukake servant to seven men, her face and tits covered in cum.
In another, she is leaning against what appears to be a stripper pole, on a stage, pissing on the face of a blindfolded male who lies prone underneath her.
The video clip of her engaged with the group of black males is even hotter than the photographs – she is clearly the center of a gang-bang, in some sort of sex or dance club, in a highly public setting. I have to turn the sound off, to silence the sounds of my wife’s moaning, which is distinct over the background music.
The video clips and still photos fade out to black, then a series of text blocks begins to appear on the screen. They instruct me that I am to appear at a specific location, on a Friday evening one week from now, with my wife.
We are to bring nothing with us, and the instructions say that our car will be taken to a secure location. We are to prepare to be gone from Friday evening though Tuesday evening, and provided with a cover story, an impromptu cruise, and cover number for emergency contact.
I jot down the time and address, along with a phone number to contact the mysterious blackmailer if there are problems, and the phone and contact information for the “cruise” cover story.
Just as I finish the note, and the DVD pauses, my assistant buzzes in, telling me that it is my wife on the line, with an emergency call. Shaken, I have my assistant put the call through.
KK, my wife is on the line, her voice unsteady, and sounds as though she is both panicked and has been crying. She proceeds to tell me about a strange courier delivery to her, at her home office, and in broken sobs, about pictures, the video, and the threats. I am unable to get a word in edge wise, but I finally tell her that I am leaving the office, and on my way home.
I hang up, bundle all the materials back into the package, compose myself, and head out the office, stopping tell my admin that I have to leave due to a family need, but that everything will be alright.
In the twenty minutes it takes to get home, my mind races, and my cock refuses to calm down, instead waves of erection come and go as I visualize my wife in those erotic settings, and what must be going through her mind.
When I arrive home, I don’t park in the garage, instead I just park in the drive, almost forgetting to turn off the ignition in my rush to get inside.
Inside, I find KK, shaken, clearly upset. I set the package down on the dining room table, and return to lock the front door.
Back in the dining room, I feel that I am on autopilot. Instead of saying anything, I take my wife into my arms, and begin to kiss her passionately, and deeply, finally turning her around, and pressing her face down onto the table.
She is at first reluctant, resistant, trying to fend off my advance. I lift her skirt, and spread her legs, unzipping my slacks, undoing my belt and button, and let them fall to my knees. I push my cock into her, and just start fucking her, trying only to satisfy my intense lust, and within minutes, I blow my load in her, leaving her dripping and unsatisfied.
When I release her, she turns to me, steely eyed, angry, and says, “Well then. I guess you’re done? I guess our little problem is inconsequential to your need to get your rocks off? What the Hell? You think I’m a “whore” too? Is that it? You think you can just bend me over and fuck me like some kind of little whore? I’m not a fucking whore!” I stare at the floor, and whimper, “I’m sorry – I’m just overwhelmed. I see you got a package as well?”
I pull my slacks up, and we gather ourselves, sitting caddy-corner to one another at the table.
I say, “May I see your package? Here’s what I got at the office…” and I push the package over to my wife.
She reciprocates, and with few exceptions, our packages contain identical material – only the letter is different. The tone of KK’s letter is much more degrading, humiliating, and threatening than the one I received.
The letter calls her a “slut,” a “whore,” a “dirty fuck-pig,” an “adulteress,” and makes specific references to what her mother, or her father might think about certain of the photographs, along with her colleagues and our kids, “imagine what your innocent daughter might think, seeing her dear mother taking a black man’s cock up her mommy’s ass?”
That night, we are both unnerved, unable to eat. We drink a couple of bottles of wine, in discussion, back and forth, trying to decide how to respond. Finally in the early morning hours, exhausted, we mutually conclude that we have no real choices, other than being exposed publicly, or compliance with the blackmailer’s instructions.
The next couple of days involve making excuses, canceling appointments, and steeling ourselves for the Friday deadline. Neither of us are able to focus on work or other tasks, and we both end up taking Thursday off, using the excuse that we needed to get the house ready, pack, etc. before our cruise.
KK and I spend the whole of Thursday engaged in drinking, and “stress relief sex,” fucking each other’s brains out, until we are both exhausted, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve cum, finally so spent that my last orgasm is dry, not even a droplet of pre-cum or dot of jizz. KK’s pussy is pink-red, fucked, licked and fingered nearly raw from our coupling.
Day I – Resort “Guests”
We sleep late, recovering from sexual exhaustion, into mid-day Friday. The afternoon crawls by, and we depart the house, as instructed, with only what we’re wearing and my house and car keys.
We drive to the appointed location, a parking garage, and proceed to the third level. There is a limousine in the travel lane at the far end of the garage.
I park, and a nondescript man gets out of the passenger side front of the limo.
He walks towards me, and asks for the keys, saying only, “I will take care of your car, and return it to you when this is over. Make sure that you leave everything, wallets, cell phones, everything in the car – take nothing with you except what you are wearing.”
After handing the keys over, I walk around and help KK out of the car.
She tries insisting that she has changed her mind – the gentleman with our keys says, “I urge you to reconsider, and cooperate – the alternative for not doing so will be very unpleasant. My associates will follow through with their promise of exposing your indiscretions, far and wide.”
I take my wife’s hand, and tell her it will all be OK, then lead her, still reluctant to the limo. I open the rear door for her, and she slides in, then I follow suit.
The windows are heavily tinted, so dark that it is impossible to see outside. There is a similarly tinted barrier window in the interior, between the driver’s front seat and the passenger compartment.
A voice comes over a speaker, informing us that we will arrive at our first destination within 45-minutes, and that a bottle of chilled champagne is in the beverage center.
Sitting close to my wife, I reassure her, or at least try, then take the bottle of champagne from the cooler. There are two glasses in a little rack, and the bottle has thoughtfully been uncorked, ready to pour.
I pour two glasses, one for each of us. KK nervously downs hers in two gulps. She grabs my glass before I even have a sip, and downs it as well.
KK hands me the glass, saying, “I want to get fucking drunk!”
I refill her glass, and she empties it in a few gulps.
Soon the champagne is gone, and KK is woozy, more so than normal, which makes me wonder if the champagne has been doped. We feel the limo come to a stop, and the door is opened, by a man who appears to be in uniform.
He speaks, saying, “Help your wife out, and board the aircraft. We have a schedule to keep.”
I take KK’s hand, and extricate her from the limo – it seems she’s a little drunk, and a little sleepy.
The uniformed man, who I now infer is part of an air crew says, “She’ll be fine – they always need a little something to help them relax.”
It is an odd statement. I help her walk the short distance across the concrete apron, and steady her as we climb a boarding stair on a small private jet.
Inside, we each take a seat on the plush leather, and the uniformed crewman soon is aboard, retracting the boarding stairs and securing the door.
He informs us that we will have three hours to our destination after wheels-up, and then instructs us to buckle in for departure.
The next sounds are the engines spooling up, and a few minutes later the aircraft is on the taxiway. Minutes later we are airborne, and the distinctive “thunk” of the landing gear stowing can be felt and heard.
KK has been gripping my hand the whole time, and I give her a reassuring kiss. Within fifteen minutes, she is asleep. Like the limo, the aircraft windows are heavily tinted, obscuring the view. It is eery, not being able to obtain a visual reference, or heading, to our unknown destination.
With no watch, or phone to keep the time, the flight seems interminable. I am incongruently horny, aroused, and fighting off the temptation to gratify myself with my wife’s limp, relaxed body somehow – she is wearing a simple dress, stockings, heels, bra, and panties, as her instruction DVD specified.
I touch her nylon covered thigh, resisting the urge to let my fingers travel to her crotch. Eventually desire and lust wins out, and I allow my fingers to press against her labia, through the thin nylon of her panties.
As I finger her, she stirs, purring like a kitten, but does not awaken. I occupy myself that way for the remainder of the flight, until the landing indicator illuminates, and I hear and feel the gear deploy.
On landing, I wake KK gently, and after a little nudging, she reluctantly comes back to awareness.
She looks worried, and asks, “What’s happening?”
I tell her that we just landed “wherever,” and that she should be ready for whatever was happening at arrival.
We taxi for a short while, then the aircraft stops. A few minutes later, the cabin door opens, and we are greeted by an Asian woman, ethnicity unknown, and asked to disembark.
There is a golf cart a few yards away, which our attendant points to, saying, “Please take a seat in the cart.”
We do as instructed. It is quite dark out, and other than the dimly illuminated path from the cart’s headlights, it is impossible to tell where we are.
The cart stops at an entry/exit gate, and our attendant speaks with the person manning the booth. She is handed what appears to be a medium-size shopping bag, and the gate person scans something she is holding with a bar code reader.
The attendant turns, handing my wife the shopping bag, and said, “This is for you, your resort ID and other items. You’ll need them later.”
We ride in the cart a short while, and enter a building through an open garage door in its side. The interior is carpeted, and we are in a hallway, about two carts or so wide.
The interior is lit, and it appears to be like the corridor of a hotel, with pairs of room doors along both sides of the corridor.
We stop at a pair of doors marked “A-1-105A” and “A-1-105B,” and the attendant hands us each a small sleeve, containing a magnetic card key.
She says, “These are your quarters during your stay this cycle. Madam is in Suite A, and Sir is in Room B, adjacent. Please make yourself comfortable, and you’ll receive your hosts instructions after you’ve had some rest. You’ll find everything you need inside, and if not, please dial guest services on the room phone. Madam, please enter your suite first, and when you’re inside, Sir will be able to enter his assigned room.”
KK was again reluctant, hesitating.
The attendant said, “Madam, please. It is important that you comply, and follow instructions.”
I looked at my wife, and tilted my head, mouthing, “Better go in…”
My wife used the key card, and placing it near the reader, the door clicked and opened. She enters the doorway, hesitating again, holding the shopping bag and looking at me.
I again mouth, “Go inside…”, and the attendant says, “Madam, if you please…”
KK finally enters, and the door closes, clicking behind her. I hear her try to open the door from the inside, shaking it a couple of times.
The attendant said, “All will be well Sir, please go inside, and have a restful night.”
I enter my room, and the door shuts behind me.
The room is more or less like a standard hotel room – a king bed, a couple of night stands, a phone on one, a chair in one corner, and a small bathroom on one side, partly separated by a 3/4-wall from the sleeping area. There is a TV on the chest of drawers opposite the bed.
I need to piss, so I take an opportunity to relieve myself.
There is is a folio on the bathroom counter. Inside is a typed letter:
“You’ll find appropriate attire in the drawers of the chest. Breakfast will be served in your room at 7:30am. You are Guest A-1-105B. Please use this identifier, in lieu of your name when speaking with staff or Guest Services. You will find an ID bracelet in the top right drawer of the chest. Please wear the bracelet while you are a guest.
Your host will make contact with you at 8:30am with additional information and instructions. Enjoy your stay.”
I close the folio, and return to the main part of the room. I open the top right drawer of the chest, and there is a small square box, black velvet wrapped, like a jewelry box. I open it it, and find the ID bracelet referenced in the folio letter. I put the bracelet on my left wrist, as the small note in the box instructed.
In the top left drawer, I find two stacks of red, and black silk boxer shorts, all of which appeared to be my size. There is a stack of black silk T-shirts, and a type-written note that instructs me to remove my street clothing, place it on the hangers marked Guest Services in the closet, shower, and change into the provided clothing, and that housekeeping would remove, have cleaned, and return my street clothing before the end of my stay.
I follow the instructions, taking a hot shower and trying to relax, wondering about KK. I am still semi-erect, thinking about her, and all that had led to this latest experience, but I resist the urge to stroke and cum.
After drying off, I put on a pair of the black boxers and a T-shirt. The silk feels exotic against my turgid, semi-erect cock and the skin of my balls.
There is an unusual remote on the nightstand, labeled “Monitor” – it has a single red button for Power, apparently On, or Off, and no volume or channel control.
I pick it up, and press the button. The TV screen glows, and comes to life. The first view on the screen is of me, standing in front of the TV. I look around the room for obvious signs of a camera, but don’t see anything other than the usual smoke alarm – I stare at it, to see if that would help me determine if in fact it was the camera, but it is not – the view changes several times, from different vantage points in the room, but I can’t not figure out where the cameras are.
Then the view changes – I see KK on the monitor, close up, from the shoulders up. She is wearing what appears to be a choker-style necklace that I don’t recognize.
I barely make out an engraved, etched number, “A-1-105A” on a small gold, rectangular plate on the front of the necklace, at her throat.
The view zooms and pans out. My wife is naked, except for a pair of black platform pumps, what KK calls “stripper shoes,” or what I usually call “fuck me pumps.”
She has a similar gold chain and slightly larger placard around her waist, just below her belly, and a matching anklet on her left ankle.
KK is looking around the suite, the camera angle changes, more or less following her movement around the space.
Her room is a much, much larger, and more luxuriously appointed suite, with a dining area, a huge, oversize bed, a sitting area, and a bathroom, separated from the suite by a wall of alternating clear and frosted glass blocks, arranged in columns, almost deliberately to avoid privacy – the shower is on one end, faced by a column of clear blocks, followed by a bidet, a toilet, and a sink and make-up table – each “work section” fronted by clear glass block, with the frosted sections in the “dead space.” It is intriguing.
The view on the monitor abruptly changes, and the scene it now shows is both curious, and terrifying.
The view is of a brightly lit room, containing a half dozen of what look like some kind of strange laboratory tables.
On three of the tables, there are men, bound, and fixed to the table on their knees, legs spread, ankles strapped down, and their arms are strapped together, bound to large steel eyes on the head end of table.
Each of the men is wearing a ball-gag, and a blindfold. The camera angle is changing on its own, showing the men strapped securely to the table-top, on their knees and forearms.
One of the men appears to have some peculiar genital defect – on closer look, it is obvious that his balls are swollen, a deep purple, almost black, and he appears to be writhing in pain.
The other two men are erect, balls dangling, their cocks jutting down, curving away from their gut. They are clearly stimulated into erection, but there is nothing obvious about how, or why.
A door in the wall of the room opens, and four women enter – one dressed similar to our attendant, her hair tied back in a pony-tail.
The attendant is wearing long, purple gloves, which appear to be some sort of nitrile surgical glove. She is carrying a small leather looking bag in one hand.
The three other women are beauties, each of them similarly attired to what I’d seen KK wearing – a gold choker, waist chain, and anklet, all wearing identical platform pumps, otherwise nude.
They are all three shaved smooth, their hair looked to have been professionally coifed, and they are nicely made up, almost like dolls.
The attendant goes to one corner of the room, and places her bag on a small rolling cart, laden with bottles, a medical dispenser containing sponges, and a metal surgical tray.
I see in the monitor that she is opening the bag, and preparing items on the cart.
Then she rolls it over to the table, where the male with the “problem genitals” is bound.
The attendant gestures to all three of the women, to approach the cart.
She then takes another pair of the purple gloves from the cart, and gestures to one of the women, who extends her arms and hands.
The attendant places the gloves on the woman, snapping them into place. She then turns back to the cart, and lifts something from it, which she inspects – it is a pair of stainless steel surgical shears, with a compound handle.
I watch this, transfixed – as the attendant demonstrates the action of the shears and operation of the handle to the gloved woman, a tall blond, who I estimate is in her mid to late forties.
There is some obvious conversation, and one of the other two women looks a little stressed, sort of like she might become ill and throw up.
The attendant places the metal surgical tray under the man’s bound, swollen, discolored balls.
There is more conversation between the women, and the distraught woman turns very pale.
The other two bound men are clearly struggling against their bonds as the camera pulls back.
It is a very strange scene.
The camera angle changes, and the gloved blond now has the surgical shears in her right hand. She takes the bound male’s discolored, swollen scrotum and balls in her left hand, and the attendant shines a pen-light at the man’s scrotum, at what appears to be a small black line between his balls and his body.
The attendant clips a surgical sponge into a pair of forceps, dips it into one of the opened bottles, and swabs the man’s genital area with a brownish, thin liquid.
The blond opens the blades of the shears, and places the curved lower jaw under the male’s stretched scrotal sack, and in a blur, clamps the handles together.
One of the two women, the one who looked a bit wobbly, faints as the male’s balls fall into the little metal surgical tray.
The bound male jerks, and then sort of collapses onto his chest, still bound to the table.
The attendant uses some sort of tool to cauterize the area where the man’s testicles once were!
The attendant then uses a little packet of what I guess are smelling salts to revive the dark-haired woman who’d fainted, then does a cursory examination to make sure that she isn’t injured.
While the dark-haired woman steadies herself on the table, the attendant administers a couple of injections to the now neutered male.
She then rolls the cart over to one of the two remaining males, who was very clearly struggling against his bonds.
The attendant took another item off the cart – it was something I recognized – something I’d only seen as a young man, when working on my uncle’s ranch – a banding gun!
She affixed a banding ring to the fingers of the tool, demonstrated the expansion of the banding ring to the sort of red-blond, petite woman, who had a nervous smile.
It was clear that they were conversing about something, and then the petite beauty took the banding gun from the attendant, examined it while squeezing and releasing the handles, and then abruptly turned to the bound male.
She grabbed his testicles, pulling them back – the man’s cock was obscenely and incongruously hard, especially given what was about to transpire.
The attendant assisted the woman, who applied the band to the man’s scrotum. He collapsed down on the table, writhing in pain from the application of the band.
The monitor view abruptly changed at that point, and the view was “traveling” down what appeared to be a long hallway, similar to the one we’d traveled to our quarters.
The cart passed one large hallway, above which a sign was mounted, which read “Equine Suites.” As the cart traveled further, it slowly passed another hallway entry, for which the signage read, “Canine Suites.” The next opening in the corridor had a sign over it which read, “Herpetarium & Exotica.”
The monitor view changed again, to a scene which appeared to be some sort of auditorium. Without audio it was difficult to initially ascertain what was happening.
There was activity on the stage area, which appeared to be the clearing away of a stage set, and an empty podium at stage right.
The camera angle was wide, and the auditorium was mostly dark except for the stage, but it was clearly occupied by some number of people.
Within a minute or so, what appeared to be an award platform was placed at the front center of the stage – the type used in awarding medals, with a high center platform/step, and two lower platforms on either side.
A woman, nondescript, other than that she was wearing a formal business suit, her hair pulled back in a tight bun appeared at the podium. Concurrent with her arrival at the podium, a large LCD screen lit up, with four rows, and two columns, reading:
ID Bid
A-2-210A 0
A-1-141A 0
B-3-221A 0
A moment later, a male, wearing black boxers and T-shirt similar to mine, led a female out, attired similarly to KK – she had on the gold choker, belly chain, and anklet, wearing identical black platform pumps.
She was being led, her wrists shackled together, by a chain lead the male was holding.
She was led to the center platform, and the male helped her step onto the top of it.
As she stepped up, the row of the LCD screen labeled A-1-141A changed from white to red.
The woman’s facial expression was strange – doll-like, her eyes sort of vacant and glassy, a slight, but unnatural smile on her face.
The make-up, including bright red lipstick made her appear even more doll-like.
In turn, two additional couples came from the rear of the stage, the women were placed atop of the platform, until all three were presented to the anonymous audience.
Each woman’s lead was released, then affixed to a clip at the front of the platform, where her associated male secured it, then he left the stage.
I inferred that these men, similarly attired to what I was wearing, were the women’s husbands or partners.
All three women were beautiful – one a tall, fit red-head, slender, with pale, porcelain-like skin, and long flowing hair.
One was an Asian woman, by my guess Japanese, or possibly Korean, and the third, a stunning Latina, with lovely dark skin, short, coal-black hair, and huge brown eyes.
All three were shaved, looked healthy and pampered, and each exhibited an occasional slight tremble, either from anxiety or the temperature. Their nipples were erect, showing signs of arousal, or possibly a response to the temperature.
The woman at the podium raised, then dropped her hand, and all three rows of identifiers went from red to green.
The bid numbers periodically changed, and at random intervals, individuals from the audience would appear at one end of the stage, ascend to the top of the steps, then go to examine the women closely.
The individuals from the audience were all male, all masked, and all nicely dressed, in business suits.
Their examination of the women, which they were clearly bidding on, was in some cases thorough, with the bidder probing the woman’s vagina, taking in the scent from his fingers, examining her ass, or tits.
In other cases the examination was tenuous, hands-off, look but no touch.
Eventually, as the bid column values changed, a row would turn from green to yellow, then to white again, at which stage the bid for that woman had apparently ended.
The beautiful Latina generated a bid value of 750,000, the red-head 500,000, and the Asian woman, 550,000.
It was not apparent what the figures meant – dollars, or some other currency, or some other symbol of value.
When all three rows had gone white again, the attendant at the podium raised, then lowered her hand, stepped away from the podium, and each of the males that had originally led the women onto the stage returned, and unchained their wive’s lead from the platform. They were led away, backstage.
The camera view changed again, this time to a strange view, one that appeared to be partitioned with an odd-looking glass wall.
There were lots of reflections in the glass, but it was mostly transparent, looking into a view through, and beyond the glass to the other section of the room, on the opposite side of the wall – a nondescript room with brick walls, brightly lit, and with a bed which appeared to be immediately adjacent to the glass partition.
There was a doorway leading off the right hand side of the room partition on the other side of the glass, and after a few moments, a male, again wearing similar attire to my own, red boxers and a black T-shirt, led a woman into the room – her attire the female “uniform,” black platform pumps, gold choker, belly chain, and anklet.
The woman was medium height, attractive, with a nice figure – sort of the average suburban housewife, like women I often see in the grocery store.
Her appearance was remarkable only in how beautiful she looked, naked, in heels, adorned by the gold chains, and undergoing this strange experience.
She was placed on the edge of the bed, which had only pillows and the top fitted sheet.
The male, her husband, turned and left her there, and went back out the door. A few seconds later, in the peripheral view of the camera, he appeared on the opposite side of the glass partition, below the camera itself, wherever it was in the room.
A short while later, two nude men entered the room opposite the glass partition, and joined the woman on the bed. It was unusual, in that the two men looked like they were identical twins.
The two men proceeded to take her, at first kissing and fondling her, but rapidly progressing from foreplay to full use of her, penetrating her mouth, pussy, and ass, in a near blur of continual sexual acts.
At one point, the male I assumed to be the woman’s husband was pressed against the glass wall, madly stroking his relatively small cock, watching his wife impaled by the two well-hung men on the other side of the partition.
It was obvious when he ejaculated, the camera view showed his spray of cum on the glass, which ran down in little rivulets, while he continued pressing himself against the glass, close, but separated, unable to touch, or participate as his wife was being fucked senseless.
The monitor went blank momentarily, then the view switched back to a suite, KK’s suite, which showed her lying in bed, naked, her shoes kicked off, apparently asleep.
I stood in front of the monitor, stroking my cock, looking at my nude, sleeping wife, until I blew a load of cum into my hand.
The monitor blanked out at that point, providing no more entertainment. It was late, so I decided that breakfast would be early enough, and I climbed into bed, wiping the cum onto my chest, and decided to try and sleep.
End of Day I
Day II – Revelations
I was awakened by the sound of a door bell. I went to the door of the room, which I was unable to open, and said, “Yes, I’m awake, please come in.”
The door clicked open, and another nondescript female attendant was there with a cart.
She said, “Your breakfast Sir – please let Guest Services know if you need anything else.”
She rolled the cart in past the door, then left, as the door closed behind her.
I went for a quick piss, then came back to find the cart loaded with breakfast items, coffee, tea, and juice.
I was starving, and did my best to fill up.
There was a note on the cart that said, “Your host will meet with you at 8:30am.”
I finished eating, pretty much drained the coffee pot of all but one cup, then went for a wake-up shower.
I put on fresh boxers and a T-shirt, which was all the clothing that had been provided, and went to put the stuff I’d just worn into the closet hamper – I noticed that my street clothes had been removed sometime overnight, which was curious, and I spent a minute or two looking to see if the closet had an obvious hidden door, but couldn’t see how it operated, if it was there.
The door bell rang, and I went to let my “host” in – again, I couldn’t open the door from the inside, but I bid them to enter.
My “host” was a woman, similar in appearance to the auctioneer I’d seen in last nights “entertainment” on the monitor. She had a slight accent, perhaps Australian or British, it was hard to say.
She handed me a folio, and said:
“Sir, as you may be aware, the lifestyle you and your wife have chosen is not without risks.
Your wife’s indiscretions have escalated to a level that has not gone without notice. Our organization meets the unique needs, of a certain class of unique clients – we have a network of observers, and associates who look for opportunities. Adulteresses like your wife fill a needed role, and can be profitably marketed to our clients.
We find a range of adulteresses similar to your wife, worldwide, some more willing, so to speak, than others, some submissive, some dominant, some able to switch roles freely, some with cooperative, and apparently supportive husbands, like yourself, some less supportive, or objecting.
Many, in fact most of our clients thrive on the notion of taking another man’s wife, and the power-play that is involved. An adulteress like your wife is an ideal object for both our client’s needs, and the profit of our organization.
Because of your wife’s indiscretions, the two of you are now novitiates in our unique organization, as guests, and as service providers to our clients. The two of you will cycle in twice annually for four day stays with us, until your novice status has ended, primarily gated by your wife’s ability to please our guests, and generate significant profits for our organization. We currently have four tiers of guest-providers, A, the novice, B, intermediate, C, advanced, and a more rare, and thinly populated D, expert. At the the D-tier, as an expert, your wife would become eligible to share in a percentage of our profits, in return for her service.
So long as she is healthy, marketable to our clients, and generates profit for us with her services, the two of you will remain as guest-providers in our organization – with conditions.
The folio contains detailed written instructions, and our code of conduct, so to speak, about what’s expected of you between noon today and your scheduled departure Tuesday afternoon. You’re to comply strictly with these instructions – they are not suggestions, they are what’s required of you, and your wife. She is receiving similar guidance now.
In summary, you are to prepare her for the main event – her first auction. She will be awarded to the three highest bidders following the auction event, in a negotiated order. The buyers may elect to share her, they may elect to take her individually, and they will use her for the period of time from the end of the auction this evening, Saturday, until the morning of your departure Tuesday.
The buyers, our customers, may elect to allow you to watch, or they may not, but you will not be allowed to participate directly. We have venues designed for watching, should her buyers decide to allow you to view their use of her.
In terms of preparing her, you are to pamper her, including bathing her, shaving her, assisting her in having her hair and make-up done in our salon, and you will present her, at the auction, and to her buyers when she is going to be used. That is your primary role.
Your secondary role is to deal with her emotions, her potential reluctance, or objections, and to make sure that she satisfies our customers, elite men and possibly women, who purchase her for their use. You are to provide her reassurance, affirmation, comfort her, and encourage her to remain compliant.
Your tertiary role is to make sure that the both of you are committed to this process, as you will be our guests twice a year, until we decide otherwise.
If you object, the outcome is harsh. We may elect to expose you, your wife, and your lifestyle to the public if you are not compliant. You were also shown one of the many perhaps harsh, negative outcomes, which applies to husbands who are not cooperative – we find that most wives, given their existing predilections easily and eagerly adapt to our process, but from time to time there are resistant husbands. We have a way to overcome that resistance, permanently if necessary. Last night’s demonstration is one of those methods.
Do you have any questions?”
I was more or less speechless, and after a long pause, uttered, “Um, no, it all seems very clear.”
With that, she turned and said, “You will be allowed to see your wife shortly, to begin preparing her. One of our attendants will assist you. Remember to wear your ID bracelet at all times. Good day.”
I sat for a while, stunned, reeling from the flood of disclosure by my “host.”
I lost track of time, returning to normal awareness at the chime of the door bell.
I said, “Please come in,” having decided that the door lock was controlled by our hosts and attendants.
The door clicked and opened, and a female attendant entered the room.
She said, “It is time. Please make sure you have your ID bracelet on, and follow me.”
A few feet down the corridor, I saw one of the golf carts, with KK already seated in the back. She was wearing only a thin, translucent nylon kimono, otherwise nude, the ubiquitous black platform pumps, and the issued choker, belly chain, and anklet.
I got into the cart beside my wife, and the attendant took the driver’s seat. As the cart traveled down the corridor, we passed through an exit in the building, under a covered drive of some sort, with tall hedges on both sides, which largely blocked the view of our surroundings.
The air was much warmer outside, but it was clearly a bright and sunny day. The cart made a right turn, then a left, and we entered another opening in a building, traveled down a relatively short corridor, and then down another – the signage over the entry read, “Salon & Clinic.”
The cart stopped at a door labeled “Suite 4,” our attendant rose from the seat, and used a card-key to open the door.
She instructed us to enter, parting with, “Good day Madam, Sir.”
As the door clicked closed behind us, KK and I found ourselves inside a large space, partitioned with low half, and three-quarter height walls.
Each of the partitioned areas in the larger space appeared to be functional areas, one a hair salon, another a nail salon.
A couple of areas I didn’t recognize, they had a sort of distressing aspect, in one case a large industrial looking table that sort of reminded me of something I’d seen in morgue scenes on TV and in movies. One space was an area clearly set up as a medical examination room, complete with gynecology chair. There was an area that was apparently a large, open shower and bath, with a toilet, and bidet – all exposed, with no real privacy afforded.
A door in the far corner opened, and two female attendants entered the space.
One went into a small kitchenette area, and retrieved a rolling cart from a large cooler.
She rolled the cart overt to a small dinette table, and said, “Please come, let’s start with some refreshments.”
The cart had a variety of fruits, some familiar, some exotic, two carafes of juice, a pitcher of green tea, and a bottle of sparkling water.
I asked, “Would you like to try some juice? I think I will have some water…”
KK didn’t say anything, other than giving me an affirmative nod.
I poured her a glass of juice from one of the carafes.
She took an initial sip, said, “This is delicious!” and then finished the glass off in a few swallows.
KK said, “May I try the other flavor dear?”
I took a fresh glass, and poured it for her.
As we sat, enjoying the fresh fruit and juices, the attendants were busy in the suite, moving towels about, preparing for their tasks.
The preparation started with a manicure and pedicure for KK.
The attendants lavished attention on her, mostly silent, other than the necessary queries and conversations about the services they performed on my wife.
They stopped at the stage where I think nail polish would normally be applied, and then said, “Madam, please follow us for examination.”
They led her to the area equipped as a medical exam room, and one of the attendants removed the kimono KK was wearing, the other helped to remove her pumps, then seated her in the gynecology exam chair, placing her feet in the stirrups.
My naked wife was spread-eagle in the chair, as the attendants began examining her, one palpating her breasts, examining her nipples, the other busy, probing her vagina with gloved fingers.
One of the attendants picked up a plastic speculum from a cart, and lubricated it, then handed it to her partner.
The attendant parted KK’s labia, and I watched her insert the speculum into my wife, then squeeze the handles until they latched.
The other attendant rolled a cart next to one stirrup, and handed a endoscopy probe to her partner.
She inserted it into the opening of the spectrum, and examined the interior of my wife’s vagina, and her cervix.
The other attendant handed her a long swab, which was then used to probe her – I could see on the monitor the swab wiping against her cervix, which made KK squirm a bit in the stirrups.
The attendant withdrew the swab, handed it to her partner, and she inserted it into a sample tube, while the other attendant withdrew the speculum from my wife’s vagina.
The final element of the examination was a digital rectal exam – KK wasn’t completely relaxed, and it took a little coaxing – the attendant used one of her gloved hands to stimulate KK’s pussy and clit for a few minutes, and when she was distracted sufficiently, slid her other gloved fingers into KK’s rectum.
My cock had involuntarily responded to all this, creating a rock-hard, and somewhat embarrassing erection in the silk boxers, which added to my suffering – the friction from the silk against my hard cock was almost too much, and I was fighting off the urge to cum.
The attendants wiped KK clean, then helped her up out of the exam chair.
As they led her from the exam area, one of them spoke to me, saying “You will help next Sir.”
They led us over to the creepy, sort of eerie thing that reminded me of a morgue.
There was a large “bench” or table, that had raised edges, shiny and cold-looking stainless steel.
The top had a pronounced slope, and there were several openings in the surface, some smaller, some larger, and one near the end of the table that appeared to be drains.
There were hose arms near one end, and similar pairs of hose arms near the middle of the table.
One of the attendants rolled a small step stool to the foot of the bench, and they assisted KK onto the table.
I said, “Is it cold baby? It looks cold…” KK said, “No dear – its actually a little warm.”
I reached out and touched the surface, and found it slightly warm to the touch, surprising given its appearance.
One of the attendants said, “You will clean her. Inside.”
She had rolled a small cart over, upon which lay a variety of nozzle attachments.
The attendant picked up an enema nozzle, and said, “Works this way.”
She attached the nozzle to one of the hoses, and depressed a lever on the valve at the end of the hose, squiring a jet of water into the large drain near KK’s feet.
She said, “Squeeze more for pressure, squeeze less for gentle. Please proceed Sir. Clean thoroughly.”
I looked at KK and said, “Are you ready for this?”
Before KK could respond, the attendant said, “Please Sir, Madam, no talking.”
Then she turned and walked off.
I looked at my wife, searching for her consent to proceed, and she finally nodded after a few seconds.
I picked up another nozzle from the cart, a douche nozzle, and attached it to the hose assembly that was next to me.
I gave it a squirt to see how hard the flow was, and how controllable, and once I had the feel of it, I parted my wife’s legs.
There were a pair of small “U-shaped” pillows on the cart’s lower shelf. I took the small one, and lifted KK’s head to use it to support her neck. I took the larger pillow, and worked it under the small of her back, to elevate her pelvis upward.
Once she was comfortable, I used the douche nozzle, showering her labia with it as a starting point, then inserting it gently into her, allowing the flow of water into her vagina to gradually increase.
I regularly douche her, and provide enemas for her as part of our usual pre-encounter ritual, so this process was already familiar to me, as well as erotically intense – my cock was hard as steel, and I was subconsciously stimulating KK’s clit with the fingers of one hand.
One of the attendants interrupted, and said, “Not allowed Sir. Please.”
I stopped fingering my wife’s clit, and tried to focus on just the process of administering the douche. I did manage ultimately to give her an orgasm by using the douche nozzle at full flow and pressure on her clit, with the finger of one hand over her lips trying to silence the sounds of her orgasm.
After that part of the “cleaning” was over, I switched to the enema nozzle on the other hose.
I administered the first round enema, with my hand on KK’s belly, to feel her take the water, as her bowel filled.
As my wife squirmed, feeling filled, I withdrew the nozzle, and used one hand to squeeze her ass-cheeks together, a suggestion to hold the enema.
As KK felt the increasing, intense pressure to release, I removed my hand from her ass-cheeks, and gently pressed on her tummy, as she relaxed her sphincter and allowed the enema to release.
I repeated this process five times, until the fluids were completely clear, and my wife’s bowel was entirely voided.
I used a hand-sprayer attachment to rinse her, and the table, then I used some liquid soap from the cart to wash her pubic area and buttocks gently, followed by a final rinse.
At that point one of the attendants was there with a small tray, which contained a couple of razors, a variety of small containers of shaving lubricant, and some post-shave cream.
The attendant said, “Sir please make her very smooth. If needed I help.”
I thought about it for a nano-second, and said, “Yes, I would like some assistance.”
My thoughts were somewhat selfish, in that I normally shave KK, but it always includes giving her several orgasms during the process – I wouldn’t be able to help myself, and I also thought it would be hugely sexy to have this young woman’s fingers on my wife’s vagina, and have her assistance in shaving KK.
The two of us spent the next half hour, thoroughly shaving KK’s pussy and pubic region, until there was not a sign of a stray hair, stubble, or any imperfection.
The finished result was smooth skin, bare pussy lips, and a pretty pink pussy, and velvet “brown eye.”
My cock was beginning to leave a noticeable wet stain, as pre-cum was beginning to drip from it, from the intensity of the experience.
Seeing KK try to get finger-fucked by the female attendant was so hot, and she appeared to be deliberately teasing my wife, almost deliberate torment, using her fingertips to spread my wife’s labia, pinching her clitoral hood, and keep her skin lubricated as I manipulated the razor.
KK had to be quieted, her squirming about making the process difficult.
Once the shaving was completed, I washed and rinsed her a final time.
My wife was now manicured, pedicured, examined, cleaned out completely, shaved, and ready for the next preparation steps.
The other attendant came over, and said, “Next you will bathe her in the shower area.”
The attendant removed KK’s choker, belly chain, and knelt down and removed her anklet, saying, “I will replace these after you’ve bathed her.”
She led us to the open shower and bath, said, “Towels are there. Soaps and shampoo there. Please wash her hair also. Fresh clothes for you there.”
She pointed to the spreading wet spot on my boxers, and I turned red.
“Please just wash her. No sex.”
With that final instruction, she walked away. I turned on the shower, and then stripped out of my T-shirt and boxers.
I took KK under the shower heads, large water-fall units, and wet her down. I used the opportunity to lather her up with shower gel, washing and massaging her from her neck to her ankles.
Then I washed her hair, and gave her a scalp massage. I had to fight off the urge to push her onto the floor of the shower and fuck her.
My cock never stopped being hard, and as it brushed against her wet skin, I kept thinking I was going to blow my load.
I used an exfoliating rub on her body, a final lathering pass, and then throughly rinsed her, and myself to complete the shower.
I noticed the attendants were both very busy in the salon area, and deciding they were out of ear-shot, whispered, “Are you doing OK baby?”
KK sort of half grimaced, half sneered at me, and whispered back, “You fucking bastard! Are you doing OK? Are you having a nice time? You can’t even control yourself, you drooling, dripping pervert! What the hell? They are going to “auction me off” to the highest bidders, and you’re asking me if I’m fucking OK? Did you fucking set this up you fucking pervert? Are you trying to get even with me or something fucked up like that?”
Pretty much out of nowhere, the more stern of the two attendants appeared, and said, “Please Madam, Sir, no talking!”
KK looked furious, trying to stare the attendant down, which had no impact, and then she turned her glare to me, snarling her lips, and mouthed “Later…”
The attendant then led us to the salon area, asked me to have a seat, and pointed to several stacks of magazines.
The less stern attendant left, and was replaced by a different woman, apparently the hair stylist.
She proceeded to consult my wife about her hair, asking about color, and other trivia, which I mostly tuned out, shuffling through some of the magazines.
An hour later, the stylist had finished KK’s hair, having trimmed, touched up, and refreshing her cut, leaving KK’s hair just above her shoulders, with bangs, sort of a “Betty Page” thing, which actually looked quite pleasing and sexy on my wife.
They asked us to have some refreshments, after setting out a fresh tray, and then to join them in the manicure salon area when we were ready.
KK was really fond of the dark pink juice, whatever it was, and ended up consuming the whole carafe.
The light refreshments of fruit, cheese and savory meats seemed to satisfy her, and after about twenty minutes, we went to the salon area.
The stylist and the other attendant helped KK with a selection of nail colors, and of course she picked the brightest red there was, and the two women applied the polish to her nails.
After that was done, they led KK to a make-up area, mirrored and brightly lit.
Before seating her, the two women examined my wife from head to toe, and finding everything to their satisfaction, asked her to have a seat on a tall stool.
The two attendants worked on KK, applying foundation, color and perfecting her make-up.
They used a puff to apply some sort of powder to her breasts and neck, which left a very light, but discernible sparkle as the light changed, and they added some color, sort of like lipstick, to her nipples and areola, in a dark shade, but in the same range as the polish on her nails – it was a very exotic effect I’ve never seen before.
With her hair and make-up done, the stylist asked KK to stand, while the other attendant helped her back into her black platform pumps, and replaced the choker, belly chain, and her anklet.
My wife looked stunning – perfect, desirable, and incredibly sexy.
I could not control my erection, which had pushed past the waist band of my boxers, and almost like an angry python, throbbed with the desire to take my wife then and there.
The stylist said, “One last step, then it will be time.”
They led us to the far corner of the room, the only partitioned area that had full, floor-to-ceiling walls. Inside, the room was equipped like a small portraiture studio.
I was asked to sit on a folding chair in one corner, while the two attendants posed, then photographed my wife in a variety of postures.
Sitting, standing, one foot placed on a bench, seated on a plush stool, her legs spread wide apart, exposing her smoothly shaved pussy, on a large bench, displayed on her hands and knees, and from behind, her cheeks and thighs spread apart. Many, many photographs, from every angle and view. The photo session took about 45-minutes!
After the attendants completed their work, one brought out a fresh tray of snacks, and more juice, and said, “There will be about 15-minutes for you to enjoy your snack, and then your hosts will join you here. And remember, please – no talking.”
The stylist left, and the “stern” attendant went about the business of tidying up. KK had more of the pink juice, which seemed to satisfy her, along with a little more food, small finger sandwiches and fruit. I joined her, having coffee first, then sparkling water.
The interior door to the suite opened, and our “hosts,” one of whom I’d met earlier, a second, presumably the one who’d provided guidance to KK, joined us.
The one unfamiliar to me said, “Everything appears to be in order. The auction will start in 15-minutes.”
She pointed at me, and spoke, while the other “host” handed me a sort of flat wooden box, which felt heavy, “You will bind her wrists, and lead her to the auction block when your ID number appears on the rear stage screen. Help her into position, clip the lead down to the front of the block, as you saw in last night’s demonstration, then exit the stage. Remain back stage until your ID appears on the screen again, then go and remove the lead from the auction block, and take your wife back stage. You will receive additional instructions then.”
Turning to my wife, our “host” said, “You will allow our clients to inspect you as they see fit. Stand straight on the auction block, smile if you wish, but do not speak. If the auction is successful, our clients will work out how they plan to use you, and we will facilitate their needs – you will participate, and facilitate their needs. Do you understand?”
KK shot back a glare at the woman, and said, “Yes. I understand.”
Our “host” said, “Please enjoy, and finish your refreshments. When the attendant instructs you to do so, please place A-1-105A in her shackles, and lead her to the cart, where’ll she’ll be taken for auction.”
With that, both “hosts” turned and made their exit through the interior door.
KK had time to finish off the remaining juice in the carafe, and said, “I need a pee…”
The attendant pointed to the open bath and shower area, and KK glared at her for a moment, then went to the bidet to relieve herself.
I took the shackles and chain lead from the wooden box, looking at the mechanism to see how they worked, and by the time KK had finished relieving herself, it was time to go.
The attendant looked us both over, scanned my ID bracelet, then scanned KK’s choker, belly chain, and anklet with her little “wand,” and said, “Place the shackles and lead on Madam, if you please Sir.”
I cuffed my wife’s wrists, as she grimaced and glared, clearly resenting the act of submission.
The attendant said, “Please exit the salon Madam, and Sir, and take a seat in the cart.”
The salon’s exterior door clicked open, and we made our way to the cart, with me leading KK by the chain shackled to her wrists. I could hear her heels click on the tile floor as she followed.
I helped my wife into the cart, naked, sexy, and vulnerable, and took a seat next to her.
The attendant driving the cart turned, looked to make sure we were seated, then said, “We depart for the auction house. Short trip, three minutes. Please relax.”
And with that, the cart accelerated down the long corridor.
Within three minutes or so, after navigating a series of corridors and connecting ramps, we entered another building, and the cart stopped in front of a doorway marked “Auction Hall – Rear Stage Entry 2.”
The attendant got out of the cart, used her key card to open the door, and said, “Please relax and enjoy the experience. Good evening, Madam, Sir.” then she gestured us inside.
It was initially very black, dark, and it took time for my eyes to adjust. We were standing inside an entry foyer, between two locked doors. I could clearly make out my wife’s glare, a fiery stare, but she did not speak. We stood, waiting.
After what seemed a near eternity standing in the dark foyer, the interior door clicked open.
Another uniformed attendant ushered us into the room, to an upholstered bench.
She said, “Please Madam, Sir, take a seat. There are refreshments for you, and watch the monitor for your ID number, A-1-105A to appear in Blue. When you see it, the door below the monitor will open, then please proceed to the auction block as you were instructed.”
She turned and left.
The small cart had more of the juice, in two carafes that KK seemed so fond of, along with a small assortment of chocolates.
I poured KK a glass of the pink juice, and helped her, given that her shackled wrists impaired her ability to do so on her own.
After a minute or so, the monitor came to life. We both were caught off guard, as a series of still images, and some text captions started to display.
The first still image was one of the blackmail photos, which had KK on her hands and knees, riding one black man’s cock, another in her ass, and a third in her mouth.
The image faded to a video clip, one from the afternoon’s preparation session, of KK squatting on the bidet, peeing.
That video faded to another still image, this one of KK lowering herself onto a huge, erect penis, just before the moment of penetration – a similar photo to one I’d seen in the blackmail packet.
That faded to another video clip, this one I’d not seen, of my wife madly bouncing up and down on a stranger’s cock – she was fucking him, not the other way around, her head thrown back in orgasmic delight.
That video faded to a series of still images that were captured in the afternoon’s photo session, some full body shots of my wife from different angles, some close up, of her pussy, nipples, ass, her face, and even her pretty painted toes.
It ended with a screen of white text on black background, “A-1-105A, Minimum bid: 200,000 – Novice”
KK tried to get up, saying “I have to get out of here!”
I tried to calm her, “It will be OK baby. It will be OK. Just relax.”
I poured her another glass of juice, and encouraged her to drink it down. She seemed to be relaxing after the second glass, even a little happy.
Her eyes had developed an odd sparkle, her lids slightly relaxed, along with a slight smile.
I’ve seen a similar reaction a few times before, after KK had taken MDMA. It was odd, and I began to wonder if the juice had been spiked. I recalled the woman from last night’s auction, her odd, vacant, doll-like expression.
About that time, a countdown timer appeared on the monitor, counting down from 2:00.00 – two minutes.
I said, “Two minute warning, I guess?”
KK was staring at the monitor. After the timer counted to 0:00.00, the text ‘A-1-105A’ in blue flashed on the screen.
I said, “It’s time baby. Let me help you.”
KK seemed a little unsteady on her feet as she stood, and wobbled a little on her platform pumps as I led her to the doorway, which had slid open, to a glare, the brightly lit stage.
I led her on the chain out over the surface of the stage. I could see ‘A-1-105A’ on a small LED panel at the center rear of the auction block, and helped my wife step onto it.
I went to the front of the block, nearly blinded by the stage lighting, which obscured the audience from view. I clipped the chain lead to the eye at the bottom of the auction block, tugged it once, then exited from the stage as instructed.
I went back to the open door through which we entered the stage, and took a seat on the bench – the door slid closed.
A few minutes later, the monitor came back to life. I could see KK standing on the center platform where I’d left her, chained and exposed.
There were two other women, the one to my wife’s left was a short blond, with a round, bubble butt, and short hair. The one to her right was a very tall dark-haired woman.
The intensity of the stage lighting made it difficult to see her true hair color, which seemed to shimmer between dark black, and a bluish tint – her hair was very long, down to the middle of her back, and her skin was very dark. Her legs were amazing, beautifully muscled and toned, and her ass was small, tight, and shapely.
The auction proceeded as I’d seen on the monitor the prior night.
Several, in fact many, many audience members approached and entered the stage, inspecting all three women.
One of the masked men, fingered my wife’s pussy, and her ass, for at least a minute, apparently trying to gauge her reaction.
The camera’s view was only from the rear, but I suspect KK had an orgasm, based on seeing her knees buckle slightly. Another audience member turned her 180-degrees, then bent her over, and spread her legs, apparently gaping her pussy open to view it up close.
One of the men inserted his fingers into the tall, dark-skinned woman, then tasted them. Another man ran his hands all over her legs and butt.
Less attention was paid to the short-haired blond, although a man removed one of her shoes, and examined, then licked her toes.
The monitor went blank. It flashed to life again after a few minutes, white text on black background:
ID Bid
A-1-105A 500,000
C-2-367A 1,000,000
B-2-401A 300,000
On the basis of deduction, knowing that KK is A-1-105A, I assumed that the tall dark-haired woman was likely C-2-367A, “advanced” and highly sought after, and the short-hair blond, a “novice,” or “intermediate.” I could have easily been wrong, but it was interesting to contemplate.
KK had made 2.5X her “minimum bid,” which I assumed was a good thing.
The monitor went blank, then flashed ‘A-1-105A’ again in blue, my signal to go and retrieve my wife. I stood as the door slid open, then went back out onto the stage – the lights seemed even more glaring, and I went around to the front of the auction block, and unclipped the chain. I helped KK get down from the block, and led her back to our “holding area” off stage.
When we returned, I found a folio on the bench, with a short type-written note:
“An attendant will return you to your quarters, where a light meal has been prepared for you. After sufficient time, at approximately 8:00pm, an attendant will escort you to A-1-105A’s first client service. The attendant will have any additional instructions or information that applies.”
As we waited, KK said, “What the fuck just happened? A guy fingered my pussy and my ass in front of God and everybody! Fuck! I couldn’t help myself, he made me cum in just seconds… Oh my fucking God what is happening?”
I said, “You fetched 500,000 at auction, whatever that means…”
KK said, “Fuck you. I am not some whore that gets sold for a stack of money!”
At that point the exit door opened, and we were asked to board the cart – KK’s wrists still shackled to the chain lead.
She shook her arms and wrists angrily, and whispered, “You bunch of fucking perverts!”
I managed to lead her to the cart and get her seated without a scene, but I could tell that she was simmering mad at the whole situation – my wife hates to be in a submissive situation, unless it is her idea, of course. The whole controlled nature of this experience was clearly stressful for her.
The cart dropped us at our quarters, and the attendant instructed KK to enter her suite first – apparently we were going to dine separately.
I entered my room, and the door clicked closed behind me. It felt late – the inability to track time with a watch or mobile phone was disorienting.
My dinner was already in the room, on a cart, steak, potatoes, greens, a salad, and a carafe of red wine, tasting like cabernet.
I ate, deep in thought, then heard the attendant ring the door chime.
I asked her to enter, and after seeing that I was finished with dinner, she said, “It is time to collect A-1-105A and depart for her client. You will need the shackles and lead.”
I picked them up off the foot of the bed, and we exited my room.
I met KK at her door – she seemed more relaxed, and her eyes even a bit glassy – again I wondered if she was being drugged. I affixed the shackles to her wrists, and led her to the cart.
We drove in silence, the maze of corridors mostly a blur, and parked in front of a door labeled “Wardrobe & Costuming.”
The attendant opened the door, and asked us to step inside.
We did so, and found ourselves in a space filled with racks of clothing, shelves of shoes, and other items, in the center of which was a make-up area similar to where KK had been prepared.
From the back of the space, two attendants approached us. One took the chain lead from me, and ushered KK toward the mirrored make-up area.
They took the shackles off my wife’s wrists, removed her belly chain, and anklet, and seated her on the tall stool.
They refreshed her hair, and her make-up, then stood her up from the chair.
The two attendants removed articles of clothing from a cart; white, lace-top stockings, which they placed on my wife’s legs, a lace garter, then a white lace bustier.
One of the attendants replaced her belly chain after the bustier was in place. They made numerous adjustments, a tug here, a pull there, until her lingerie was in place – it reminded me of her wedding night set.
That was a foretelling moment, as the attendants then removed a wedding gown from a hanger on a nearby garment rack, then assisted my wife in donning the lacy white gown.
Again, more tugging, adjusting, and fitting, then one of the attendants gathered a pair of white heels from a cart, and placed them on my wife’s feet.
The attendant replaced her anklet, then they led her to a tri-fold mirror. The final touch was a wedding veil, which they put in place and pinned to my wife’s hair.
She was indeed lovely, a vision, not too dissimilar in appearance from our own wedding night – even the dress was somehow familiar.
The two attendants had worked rapidly, and efficiently – they made a final “inspection pass,” then replaced the shackles on her wrists, and handed me the lead.
One of them said, “Please make exit, and meet your driver outside.”
With that, the exterior door clicked open, and I led my wife toward it.
I turned to look at her, and again, she was frowning, mouthing, “What The Fuck!” with an icy glare in her eyes.
I helped her into the cart, and once again we were underway.
A short while later, the cart stopped in front of a doorway, signed, “Honeymoon Suite Three.”
The attendant turned toward me, and said, “You will present her to the client, once the doorway opens – no speaking, no words. The client has granted permission for you to watch portions of the encounter remotely. Understood?”
I said simply, “Yes.”
I helped KK from the cart – she was reluctant, hesitant, just short of resistant.
Again, whispering, “What the fucking hell is happening here?”
We approached the door, and it opened. A fairly short, masked male, wearing a terry-cloth robe appeared at the door. His hair was dark, and his skin was dark, possibly Latino or Arab, it was hard to tell. I handed him the chain lead, and he tugged KK inside, at which point the door closed.
The attendant driver said, “Sir, please – we return to your quarters. All will be well.”
I was lost in thought during the cart ride, and ended up in front of the door to my room. It opened, and I entered.
Admittedly, it all seemed so surreal – I felt the urge to piss, and went into the bathroom to relive myself. I did my business, and upon turning toward the counter, noticed a folio. Inside, the usual, terse type-written page:
“Your wife will entertain our client this evening. The client has granted us permission to allow you to remotely view portions of the encounter on the monitor in your suite. Breakfast will be served at 9:00am tomorrow morning. After breakfast, you will assist in preparing your wife for her next client encounter. An attendant will call for you at 10:00am.
Your suite monitor will periodically activate for the portions of the client encounter available to you. Enjoy the remainder of your evening.”
There was a carafe of wine, some cheese, and other snacks on a tray near the chest. I poured a glass, and tried to relax. The monitor was blank.
A while later, the monitor flashed to life. It startled me somewhat, and as I began watching the unfolding scene, my cock sprung to life.
My wife, in her “wedding attire,” was standing in the middle of a plush, lavishly appointed room. She was standing on a pedestal, her arms raised straight over her head, the chain connected to her wrist shackles vertical, attached to a hook at the end of a cable emanating from the ceiling of the room.
The top of KK’s shoulder-less wedding gown was peeled down below her bust line, exposing the lace bustier, and her boobs protruded over the cups, nipples bare.
Most interesting, a pair of fit, athletic black males were kissing her, feeling her, pinching my wife’s erect nipples, and running their large hands all over her. I noticed that she was blindfolded, a white silk scarf tied over her eyes.
Off to one side, a nude, masked male, the one I’d “handed off” my wife to, sat in a chair, stroking his penis – I use the word penis, based on my wife’s nomenclature of a man’s organ – he was maybe four to four and a half inches. He was watching the scene, jacking his little dick.
The two black males proceeded to seduce my blindfolded, bound and helpless wife, slowly stripping off the wedding gown, with her standing atop the pedestal, her bare ass and pussy exposed, the cups of the bustier folded down, her pendulous breasts hanging, and her legs spread – she was allowing them to feel her, to explore her bare exposed pussy.
One of the men began to finger her, and turned her toward the seated, masked man. I spurted a load of cum involuntarily at that point, and the monitor went blank.
Maybe twenty minutes later, the monitor came to life again. My wife was astride one of the black males, who was seated on a padded bench. She was riding his cock, which was buried deep inside her.
As she fucked his big cock, my wife was sucking the masked male, who stood in front of her, his little penis dripping with her saliva.
The blindfold was off, and her eyes had a far off, distant look.
A few minutes later, the masked male stepped back, and the other black man took his place, feeding my wife his big cock.
The masked male began to stroke again, and a few moments later, his cum spurted onto my wife’s face, and the black male’s cock. Then the monitor went blank again.
Over the next couple of hours, the monitor came to life, displaying scenes of my wife being ravaged by the two black males, and in two, sucking the masked man’s little penis.
I masturbated while watching these scenes, stroking my own cock, trying to take in every detail.
The final scene offered by the monitor was of my wife, squatting over the masked man’s face, gobs of cum dripping from her gaping pussy, into his mouth.
I was spent after that scene. I waited for probably another hour, but the monitor offered nothing more. I drank the remainder of the wine, and jacked off once again, almost a dry cum, then finally fell asleep.
End of Day II
Day III – Submission to Routine
An alarm chime woke me the following morning. Shortly after, the monitor lit up, and the scene was of my naked wife, lying on the bed of her suite, sound asleep.
I watched for a few minutes, stroking my semi-erect morning wood, until the monitor went blank, then I went and showered, brushed my teeth, and put on fresh boxers and a T-shirt.
At what must’ve been 9:00am, the door chime rang, and I bid the attendant to enter with a cart containing breakfast.
The remainder that time passed slowly, when the monitor came to life again. This time, it was displaying a series of still images, fading in and out from one to another, of my wife’s encounter with last night’s three men.
I was erect, fascinated by the scenes, her pussy and ass full of big hard cock, the masked male jerking his penis, while watching her being spit roasted by the two men, the look of lust on her face while her body was explored and groped by their large hands.
The door chime rang again, and I called “Please come in.”
This time, the attendant was in her cart in front of the open door, and said, “Please Sir, we will go to the salon to join your wife now.”
I made my way out the door, with my still hard cock making a tent in my boxers. I was a little embarrassed, and the young woman driving the cart had a slight smile on her face, as she watched my awkward walk to the cart.
A few minutes later, we were stopped in front of another door, signed, “Salon & Therapy.” I got out of the cart, and the attendant opened the door for me. I went in, to find KK inside a smaller variant of the spa and salon we’d visited the prior day. She was already in the gynecologist’s exam chair, her heels in the stirrups, legs spread, being examined by two attendants. A speculum was inside her vagina, and the two attendants were probing her, and palpating her.
I watched the process from a few steps away, my cock hard and twitching.
As they finished, one of the attendants unclamped the speculum and withdrew it, and the other directed me, “You will clean her now. Please, no talking, no sex.”
They helped KK out of the exam chair, and led the two of us to the steel enema table. They helped KK onto it, and I positioned the support pillows under her head and neck, and placed the larger one under the small of her back.
I could see the remnant bite marks around my wife’s nipples, and as I looked down to examine her vagina and ass, it was obvious that she had been thoroughly fucked in both holes.
One of the attendants brought over a small pump bottle filled with some clear gel looking substance, and said, “You will please liberally use this, it will help with soreness.”
KK was laying there, even more glassy-eyed that before, with a slight smile on her face. She seemed distant, and was physically responsive to my touch, but not resistant.
I pumped some of the gel onto my fingers, and applied it first to her puffy labia, then some to her pink nipples, massaging it in with my fingers.
Interestingly, her nipples became very erect, turgid – I wanted to suck them, but remembered the “no sex” directive.
I applied some more of the gel, several pumps of it, around her rosebud, then used the index and middle fingers of my left hand, inserting them simultaneously into her anus and vagina, using the gel as lubricant. My fingers slid into her effortlessly, and as I tried to discretely finger her, her smile intensified.
I fingered her for a few seconds, then withdrew, and began the process of administering the douche and enema. The first cycle of douche produced what I gathered was a mix of the gel, KK’s own clotted lubricant mixed with cum, washed out of her by the warm water.
I allowed the water to flow out of her until it ran clear. The enema produced much the same, and I ran six cycles of cleansing water out of her bowel, filling her each time, and assisting with the expulsion by gentle presses and massage of her belly.
After the douche and enema process was complete, it was time to bathe KK. One of the attendants assisted, stripping her belly chain, choker, and anklet, and I took her into the shower, repeating the process of washing my wife’s hair, and soaping, scrubbing and washing her from head to toe.
During the shower, I discretely tried to slide my hard cock in between her wet ass cheeks – however the always observant attendant came to the edge of the shower, and sternly said, “Sir, Please! No sex!”
When the shower and bathing activities were complete, the procedure changed a bit. One of the attendants led us back to the exam table, and seated KK on the chair, her heels in the stirrups.
She said, “You will examine her with me, then we will shave her smooth again.”
The attendant took a pump bottle of the same gel I used earlier, and handed it to me.
She then donned a pair of nitrile gloves, and extended her fingers toward me, saying, “Apply gel please.”
I pumped several squirts of the gel onto the attendants fingers, and she proceeded to massage it onto my wife, starting with her labia, her rectum, and eventually inserting first one finger, then two into each hole.
She said, “More gel please.”
I squirted several more pumps onto my wife’s labia, the attendant’s fingers, and she continued to stimulate my wife’s pussy and ass.
While the attendant fingered my wife’s pussy and ass, my cock was straining against the fabric of my boxers, and beginning to leak.
I could feel, and see an embarrassing wet spot beginning to form, and I wanted to either jerk myself, or tear off the boxers and fuck my wife’s opened pussy.
The attendant said, “This is soothing for her, and it will make her ready for her next client.”
My wife was responding to the attendant’s stimulation, wiggling her pelvis, and trying to press her clit into the attendant’s fingers.
A few minutes later, as KK appeared to be building to a wave of orgasm, the attendant withdrew her fingers, and opened my wife up.
She said, “Look inside, see now – she is all better from this treatment.”
Then the attendant got a fresh razor off the cart, and together we gently ran it over my wife’s labia and anus.
The attendant inspected her, saying, “Good! Nice and smooth. You will wash her up quickly, so we can do her hair, nails, and make-up.”
I led KK back to the enema table, and rinsed her throughly. The other attendant helped her off the table, and we paused for refreshments. KK enjoyed most of a carafe of the pink juice she’d become fond of.
Over the remainder of the afternoon, the two attendants prepared my wife, and I assisted as requested – by the end of the preparation, my cock was throbbing, and the boxers I was wearing were a mess with pre-cum, which had been leaking from my cock throughout the day.
After KK was prepared and ready, the attendants separated us, and said, “You will have dinner, and Sir, please clean up and put on fresh clothing.”
She pointed to the stain which had spread over the front of my boxers.
I was met at the door by another attendant, and taken back to my room, where I found dinner waiting.
Some time later, the door chime rang, and I said the now rote “Come in please.”
The attendant met me at the door, and said, “Please bring A-1-105A’s cuffs and lead, and you will present her to the client shortly. Again, no talking.”
I met KK at her door. Looking at her, I was convinced that she was under the influence of some sort of drug, or perhaps drugs, that far away, glassy-eyed look suggested it.
I cuffed her, and led her to the cart – she was nude, other than her black platform heels, the choker, belly chain, and anklet.
We rode for a short while, and the cart stopped in front of a door signed, “Suite 100.” I helped KK from the cart, and took her to the door, which opened. A tall male, wearing a mask was there, wearing just a terry cloth robe. I handed him the lead attached to my wife’s wrist shackles, turned, and went back to the cart.
Within a minute or so, we were parked in front of another door.
The attendant said, “Our client has requested that you be allowed to watch. This is a viewing suite. Please do not touch the glass or attempt to communicate with A-1-105A during the encounter.”
She pointed toward the door, labeled “Viewing – Suite 100.” I got out, and the door opened, and I entered.
The room was dimly lit, and after my eyes adjusted, I could see it was similar to something I’d seen on the monitor our first night.
There was a long glass wall – maybe twenty or so feet – it seemed somehow like the glazing one sees at a drive through banking facility – thick, heavy, sort of tinted.
There were several chairs lined up in front of the glass partition, and one long sofa. On the other side of the partition was what appeared to be a large iron-framed poster bed, the headboard close to, or perhaps touching the other side of the partition.
The sofa on my side was aligned with the headboard, centered with the bed. To the right, I could see an odd reflection, like a mirror within a mirror – I went and stood in front of it, and it appeared to be a large mirror, mounted on the floor on the other side of the partition.
Reflected in that mirror, I could see the other side of the partition, and it dawned on me I was looking at a huge one-way mirror – the floor mirror was reflecting the wall’s mirrored surface!
Seconds later, my wife entered the room on the other side of the glass partition. She was as I’d left her, naked, save for her pumps, and jewelry.
She wandered around the room for a bit, stopping frequently to look at herself in the mirrored wall. It was very, very erotic to see her evaluating her appearance in the mirror.
She abruptly looked up toward the ceiling, as if something startled her, and I could see her mouth moving, as if she was speaking to someone. There was no sound, or audio, so I had no way of hearing what might be happening.
My wife was carrying on some sort of conversation, apparently with an individual who wasn’t in the room with her.
She walked to one corner of the room, and lifted a sheet or some sort of covering off of a cart that was in the corner.
I couldn’t easily see what she was doing, but after a few moments, she turned. In my wife’s right hand was a large, rabbit vibrator. In her other was a pump bottle of what I gathered was lubricant.
She walked over to the mirror on the floor, squatted down, facing the mirrored wall, and proceeded to coat the shaft and head of the vibrator with pumps of lube from the bottle.
I was standing opposite her, on the other side of the mirror, watching. I finally pulled one of the small chairs as close as I could to the glass, without touching, and sat. I took off my boxers to allow easy access to my throbbing hard cock.
My wife put her left hand out, spreading her fingers, and placed her palm against the wall to steady herself, and pressed the button on the rabbit vibe with the fingers of her other hand. I could see it start to twist and vibrate. Then she slowly slid it into her open pussy, and started fucking herself with the toy.
In context, my wife loves mirrors, and I do too. We often use them in our sex play, and during encounters. She loves masturbating in front of a mirror, or watching herself fucking, or being fucked in front of a mirror.
KK was looking directly into the mirrored wall, and mouthed, “I know you’re watching me. I know you can see me.” “You rat-bastard fuck!”
With that, my wife started fucking herself with the rabbit vibrator.
I watched her, unseen from the opposite side, relentlessly fucking herself with the rabbit, her pussy dripping, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, until the inevitable – a massive squirting orgasm. My wife gushed juices everywhere, explosive, shattering, and she finally fell back on her ass, trembling from the intense experience.
Moments later, the masked man I’d handed my wife off to walked into the room.
He was completely naked, save for his mask. His erection was the next thing I noticed – hard, curving up, firm looking, and I estimated he was at least seven inches, very thick – he was circumcised, and smooth, just like my wife prefers, fit and muscular, maybe mid-thirties.
He helped KK off the floor, and led her to the edge of the bed, where he sat her down.
Standing in front of my wife, the man guided her head to his erect cock, and she started to lick and suck him. Her hands went to his shaft and balls, and she went to town on the man’s hard cock, sucking, licking, fondling, doing her best to drive him wild.
I sat at one end of the sofa, stroking and watching her, while she sucked his cock. I sensed he was near orgasm, based on his nut sack tightening up, and he pulled away from her, stopping short of cumming in her mouth.
The man knelt down between her legs, and started to kiss and lick my wife’s pussy. He spent several minutes orally servicing her, until I saw her fall back on the bed, having an orgasm.
KK was rearranging herself on the bed, and flipped around on her hands and knees, then grabbed the iron rail at the head the bed.
She was looking directly into the mirror, her big tits hanging down, and I could see her mouth make out the command, “Fuck me!”
The male got onto the bed behind her, and rammed his cock into my wife, grabbed her hips, and started pumping her with his big cock.
I moved over directly across from her, as close as I could get, and looked through the glass, into her eyes. They were opening, then closing, and she was clearly experiencing intense pleasure as the man fucked her.
My wife’s facial expressions were intensely erotic, and the fucking continued a good fifteen minutes – I’m certain KK experienced at least two orgasms on the man’s cock, before he finally unloaded in her, bucking against her, causing her tits to sway and jiggle.
My wife collapsed down onto the bed, on her belly, with the masked male on top of her, I assumed with his cock still inside her, based on the motions the couple was making.
A short while later, he rose up, his cock glistening wet, dripping with cum and pussy juice.
He got off the bed, and moved near the mirror-wall. KK sat up, on the edge of the bed, and gently licked his cock clean.
After she cleaned off his cock, he turned and left the room, leaving KK alone on the edge of the bed.
In one corner of the room was a small bathroom area, with a bidet, toilet, and sink. After a few moments, KK went and used the bidet, and washed herself up.
Time passed, and the masked male returned. There was some small amount of conversation, and an attendant entered the room.
She affixed a series of what appeared to be straps, or grabs of some sort to the upper section of the iron bed railing, along with a sort of sling-looking contraption, which mounted on a heavy swivel to the center ‘X’ that crossed between the bed posts.
There was more conversation, and some gesturing on the part of the attendant, and together, they helped KK onto the bed.
I watched as the masked male and attendant helped my wife into the sling, which I began to grasp was some sort of sex chair or appliance.
KK ended up positioned in the sling, her feet in two of the longer stirrups, with the rest of the assemblage of straps supporting her, more or less in a squatting position, her knees apart, exposing her gaping pussy.
There were a pair of shorter straps that she was holding, using them to stabilize her position.
The attendant took one of her hands, and demonstrated some motions that would cause her to twist, maybe 90-degrees in either direction, as well as alter her forward/backward tilt in the rig.
Then the masked male, now completely erect, his curving cock jutting up, got onto the bed, positioned himself so that his cock was aligned with KK’s pelvis.
The attendant make a few more adjustments, mouthed something I could not make out, then turned and left them on the bed.
For maybe the next hour or more, my wife, suspended in the sling assembly, fucked, and got fucked by the masked male.
The sling allowed her to torment and fuck him, less hindered by gravity, including things like slowly turning on his erect cock, while using her legs and thighs to raise and lower herself, sort of spinning on, and up and down on the man’s erection.
He was able to thrust as well, and the two of them enjoyed a long, erotic fuck session.
I watched KK have several orgasms, until his “finale,” jerking and spasming with his big cock deep inside my wife as she twisted back and forth on him.
I was able to watch as he pulled out, leaving her pussy gaping wide, dripping cum onto the bed.
A short while later, an attendant entered my side of the partition, and said, “The viewing session is over. You will return to your room until tomorrow.”
She showed me the door, and I awkwardly pulled up my boxers, and made my exit.
During the remainder of the evening, my monitor periodically came to life, with various camera angles of the evening’s session, some split screen, of KK and her masked lover on one half, with me madly stroking my cock on the other, watching them.
There were other scenes of them fucking, at least two snippets which had apparently transpired after I had been asked to leave, one showing the two of them in a sixty-nine oral coupling, the other of the masked male fucking my wife’s ass with a big dildo.
I fell asleep after the monitor went blank.
End of Day III
Day IV – Acceptance?
The next morning’s ritual was similar to what we’d experienced during the prior day – me preparing my wife for one more night of sex with a stranger, before our scheduled departure.
The final encounter was interesting, in that KK’s role was apparently to act as dominatrix for her encounter partner.
I was allowed to watch my wife’s activities from a small room, with a very large flat screen monitor – which seemed almost life-size.
She was wearing a leather strap outfit that exposed her breasts, pussy, and ass, sort of like the straps of a leather bikini, but without the cups or crotch.
The masked man in this case was strapped most of the time on a large X-frame against one wall of a very stylized dungeon.
There was no actual penetrating sex in this session – KK spent most of it tormenting the man’s cock in one way or another, edging him, teasing him with stockings and panties, spanking his bound balls with a little crop, and masturbating in front of him with her fingers, and a collection of toys while he was bound and able only to watch.
The session ended with the male jacking himself off into her open pussy, followed by KK squatting over his face, forcing him to clean her, and smothering him, until he struggled for breath.
My wife definitely seemed to enjoy this session, smiling and laughing on and off throughout the encounter.
The morning after the encounter, I was visited by one of the “hosts,” this time a different female, one with a very stern, no-nonsense outward demeanor.
She was providing follow-up, making sure that I understood that we would make a return visit, approximately six months later, and thereafter twice annually, to be scheduled at our “mutual convenience.”
She made it clear that cooperation was a key factor in all things, and that we were to make no disclosure of these events, or the organization to anyone, for any reason.
She reminded me that in addition to their initial dossier, that in case it was unclear, all of our activities had been recorded during our visit.
She emphasized the word “all,” and suggested that it would behoove us to be discreet.
The final part of the conversation was that my wife had done quite well, and could be easily groomed for more profitable use.
My host said, “There are many aspects of the facility you’ve not seen, representing just a few of the experiences we provide our clients – we have more exotic, and unusual requests, and the means of satisfying them using the right female guest.
Your wife may have some of those unique talents, which we’ll explore on your next visit with us. Please change back into your own clothing, and an attendant will be along to collect you shortly.”
I got changed, and within a few minutes, an attendant showed up at my door. KK wasn’t in the cart, and the attendant didn’t wait – instead she drove me in silence out of the facility.
I met KK on the taxi way, next to the aircraft that would take us home. This time, I was certain that she’d been drugged, as she required assistance by the attendants to board the aircraft. I was told that she’d fully recover by landing time.
End of Day IV
Epilogue
My wife and I have role-played many aspects of this fantasy, both in one-on-one bedroom play, and with a third partner, in many variations over the last decade.
While it is not something we are ever likely to fully realize, at least not as written, there are some extraordinarily erotic aspects to it for both of us, and when we find an encounter partner that enjoys role-play, we act out elements of it, like the use of mirrors, domination, toys, the use of masks, and anonymity during sex.