Fifty Hours per Week Ch. 01

The feelings in Helen's pussy grew more intense and seemed to radiate out from her crotch to her whole body. She panted as her face and torso turned almost purple and involuntary twitches pushed her hips forward. They couldn't move far, but the pushing put unbearable pressure against her black intruder. Finally a wave of infinite pleasure shot through the bound woman; she bucked in vain against her ropes and her firmly secured pussy and felt rhythmic contractions there, out of her control, taking over her whole being. She screamed and fell back, her eyes glazed and half-closed. A sheen of sweat glowed on her torso, breasts and belly. The whole region of her crotch was soaked.

"What was that?", she murmured after gaining control again. "I've never felt anything like it, it was amazing and..."

"You just had your first orgasm," Brad interrupted, "but it won't be your last with me. And you forgot to call me sir."

The two men allowed their source of erotic pleasure to rest; slaveboy had to sponge her off, and sop up the fluids that had accumulated in a little depression built into the surfboard. But her session wasn't over.

Harold was commanded to grasp Helen's board at her feet and swing it away, still supported on the opposite armrest, to allow the two men to stand up. Then Brad took the head end to carry the bound woman over to two easy chairs spaced so that each end of the board rested securely on the back of one chair.

"Slaveboy, you are going to help us submit your wife to another erotic experience. Lift up your end and we'll turn the board over."

Helen hung by her tight ropes and the pussy clamp that suddenly took on a completely different feel and function. Head hanging down, she gazed at her naked body. Her biggest surprise, though, was what the suspension did to her breasts. The rope looped around them was tighter than the other ropes on her upper body, so most of her weight pulled on that rope. The loops tightened around her large hanging breasts, squeezing them at the base and leaving large balls of flesh that seemed to hang free of her body. They began to swell and turn red as blood entered them but could not leave.

Brad was pleased with the effect the suspension had on his helpless, humiliated victim. He invited John over to help with slapping and squeezing her breasts in such a wanton display.

Brad remarked dryly, "Since you neglected to call me 'sir' you deserve a little punishment. But here, punishment is sexual, sometimes it's painful but it's arousing to us."

Opening a drawer in an end table Brad produced two clamps with little lead weights attached, fastening one to each of Helen's distended, hanging nipples. They had teeth. Helen winced, but managed not to cry out. Now both men stroked her breasts, slapped them, pulled on the weights to stretch her nipples down, out, even up while reminding her to show respect. She watched horrified and fascinated, her inverted world and her distended breasts giving an unreality to the whole episode.

Concerned, John asked "Does it hurt?"

"Yes, yes."

Brad pressed further, "Shall we take the weights off?"

"Yes sir, no, no leave them on, they're pulling on me, my boobs, sir, oof..."

Swimming in a maze of blood pressure in her hanging head, pain and pleasure shooting through her breasts and her body, Helen seemed hardly conscious. John worked on her pussy again, stretching, squeezing, forcing a finger inside; another orgasm built up, more quickly this time. Helen bucked, let out a long low moan, pulled her head up, shivered, and came again, her whole body vibrating. A gush of fluid shot from her pussy to the floor, onto a towel that Branwyn had thoughtfully spread out there, suspecting that something like this might happen. Helen fell back, exhausted and seemingly only semi-conscious, her body hanging passively against its restraints. John and Brad gently righted her again; Harold was given the task of untying her.

Branwyn had witnessed the whole thing. "Wow, that must have been so awesome. My tits are too small for that - we tried it once, but the loops just pulled right over my boobies. But if you think that was extreme, babe, you've got a long way to go."

Helen staggered to her feet, still exhausted and confused. Brad noted that it was nearly ten, so it was time to dismiss the couple until the next week.

"You did well, both of you," Brad intoned. "I'll expect equal or better obedience next weekend. You're excused."

That was as close as Brad ever got to actual praise. They went upstairs to their little servants' bedroom, found their clothing, and departed without being allowed to clean up and without so much as a goodbye from the others.

The Week

Shaken, Harold and Helen sat in silence for the first ten minutes of their drive home, their heads swimming with a bewildering brew of confusion, submission and astonishment. Harold looked straight ahead, driving, expressionless. Helen looked down at her hands in her lap, almost crying.

Finally Harold broke the silence: "We crossed some sort of boundary back there, dear. They did things to you that no man should do to another man's wife, or to anyone. Brad made you expose your breasts to him, and he fondled them right in front of me. At the pool he pinched your naked tits, I saw you wince, but you didn't stop him, you couldn't. He made you hold his cock. Then the exposure to a stranger, showing them your ass, even your bare pussy, the restraint, that thing in your pussy, the breast torture, you were absolutely helpless. They fingered your pussy. I know this is going to go further. Are you concerned, can you take it?"

After another few minutes of uncomfortable silence Helen answered, "I thought I had limits, but they violated them again and again and I let them. I wasn't responsible, once we signed our agreement it was out of my hands. My breasts are aching from that rope, my pussy is still sore from that big black thing, but Harold, I experienced things I didn't imagine were possible. It was humiliating and demeaning and nasty, but I wouldn't have changed anything, not a thing. Even the worst. I know Brad is going to push me further next time, it's only five days away."

"Helen, I'm thinking about the birth control that Brad gave you. I think it means that he'll fuck you sooner or later. I'm still not comfortable with that word. You'd be breaking your wedding vows. For me that will be the ultimate submission, letting him do it." An involuntary thrill ran down his spine.

"I've been faithful so far, if you don't count Holy Leader on our wedding night. That couldn't be helped. But if he asks, I have to go through with it, even though I'm your wife. I can't, I won't say no. I'm so ashamed, in a way think I even want it. I'm sorry. It's for the best."

"After all, we have an agreement."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, but Helen felt that tingle again, just talking about it. She wanted it a lot more than she could admit to her loyal husband, or to herself. At home the physically and emotionally exhausted couple fell into bed with no further conversation. The next day they both went to work as though nothing had happened, but after dinner their uneasy conversation resumed.

"Helen, I think you should strip to the waist."

"Right here in our living room?" They had never done anything like that before.

"Yes. We're going to be discussing your body and what will happen to it. And I've discovered how beautiful your naked body is. Do it, please?"

Helen acquiesced, removing her blouse and then her conservative bra. Her body still bore red marks from the onslaught of the two men; a chain of raw welts surrounded each breast from the rope that had distended them. Her nipples were still sore and stretched from the clamps, but she liked her husband looking at them here and not in their bedroom. Gently Harold traced the welts and scratches with his fingers.

"Helen, you're my wife and I'll love you no matter what. But I have a feeling that next weekend our master will go further, he'll use your body as only a husband should, and he may go beyond even that. Do you think you can give him that much?"

He didn't even mention what he thought of this; it wasn't important.

"Well, I have no choice, really. He'll do what he wants with me. But Harold, they're showing me things I didn't know existed, I have to know more and do more even if it hurts, even if I'm humiliated and violated. I'm ashamed to admit it to you, but he's more important than you, I have to submit to him."

"Helen, seeing you sitting there with your scratched-up boobs, telling me these things, I don't know what to say. You're beautiful in spite of your scratches, no, maybe because of them. We have to go on, I feel compelled..."

"It's for the best."

"After all, we have an agreement."

Harold and Helen slept naked and enjoyed each other's bodies as never before. It was like a condemned man's last meal, knowing their bonds of fidelity would be broken. In bed Helen was much more active than she had been before, when the only ladylike thing to do had been to lie there and think of Jesus. She wrapped her hand around her husband's cock and stroked it, pushed her boobs into his face and made him fondle them, and took his erection into her mouth. Still a little stretched out, Helen's cunt didn't offer the usual satisfaction, even though she sat up and pumped as never before. Harold tried to give his wife a climax, but didn't succeed. The next day she started doing pelvic floor exercises to get her cunt back in shape for Brad. She wanted her pussy to be tight for him, to give him satisfaction. She didn't tell Harold.

In the meantime Brad and his wife were having their own discussion. Their marriage had never been exclusive; they both realized that their appetites and predilections wouldn't allow that. Rather, they had established with each other a firm, steady base from which to venture forth on other adventures. It was a deep-down understanding that wasn't, really couldn't, be expressed in formal vows. Brad asked Branwyn what she thought of their new submissive charges.

"Well, the guy just seems like a typical wimp, I didn't get to know him much, but that Helen - wow, she's dying to please you, to try new things, to stretch her boundaries. And that body - she's gorgeous, oozing natural sex. But she's so na•ve, she's starting from way behind."

"I've noticed those things too. Bran, I'm going to fuck her next weekend, and humiliate her wimp husband at the same time. And I'm going to send her to that school for sensual education for a day. There's so much we can do with her. She's desperate to free herself, and to submit to me at the same time."

By Friday night Helen's scratches and sores were mostly healed. Her husband suggested that she wear something simple befitting her subordinate status, but also revealing to emphasize her vulnerability. Perhaps without knowing it, he was becoming a voyeur and his previously prim wife an exhibitionist, eager to display her body to others, even the most private parts. She was just discovering how beautiful she was, and how beautiful other thought she was. Harold chose for her a t-shirt of his that hardly contained her bountiful boobs, and a short wrap-around skirt that fastened with velcro on the side, but Harold fastened it in the back, exposing the crack of her round ass. They had bought it to go over a bathing suit, but she wore nothing underneath - no bra, no panties. Her boobs bounced with every step, giving her a new sensation of self-conscious sexuality. Her nipples made points in the soft knit cloth. Harold pulled the shirt up under her boobs to define them better, leaving a generous patch of naked belly. He couldn't resist bouncing those boobs through the thin fabric - it hid nothing, and he wouldn't get the opportunity later. She would be advertising her submission and her sexual surrender from the first minute of their weekend.

Arriving at the big house, they hesitated for just a second before Helen rang the bell.