Fourteen Day Program Ch. 05

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When her period was finished he shot a video of her shaving her pussy, telling him all the while how good his cock would feel in her cunt. He recorded himself fucking her shaved sex, and got a good shot of her creampie, his cum spilling out down her crack. The next night he had her finger her cum-filled pussy and scoop the cum from her cunt and eat it; she sucked it off her fingers like they were a cock. Then he shoved his softening cock back into her messy hole, pulled it out and told her to clean it off, and she did, sucking his cum from his cock, and licking his balls clean.

On the weekend he took her out, and they went for a drive, and he recorded her blowing him in the car in the secluded area of a parking lot, then had her strip and finger herself to orgasm. She looked around nervously before doing it, but relaxed and gave him a good show, and had a powerful orgasm. The next day they stayed home, and she masturbated with two dildos, cumming hard. Then he got her on all fours, and filmed his cock slipping into her ass. Fuck, that one was hot! At the end he recorded his cum leaking from her tight hole, and she fingered her ass.

Every day, sometimes twice a day, he thought of another thing to do and record. He was amassing an awesome collection of probably the hottest porn he'd ever seen. No faking, no acting, just her horny self doing whatever he asked, willingly. He had defeated her resistance to their silly restriction, and was relishing his big win.

The middle of that week Tom was driving home from work, thinking about what they would do tonight that he could record for his collection. He considered ass to mouth, but felt he should hold off for the weekend for something like that. But he had already planned to take her out this weekend, not let her wear panties of a bra, and wear something revealing. The adventure at the park had whetted his appetite to show her off, do something public and daring, like the Balcony event, maybe flash her pussy in public, or maybe a nice beaver shot under the table at a restaurant. Maybe he could do the ass video Friday night. Then he imagined her switching his cock from her pussy to her mouth, telling him how much she liked the taste, and how she wanted to lick a pussy, and fuck it with her tongue. Yeah, he thought, that was it. Hearing her say how she wanted to lick a wet juicy cunt, while sucking her pussy juice off his cock. Energized, he drove home half hard, imagining the event.

It hadn't occurred to him in the last week and a half that his normal sex life, the regular one they'd shared before Liz's adjustment, had fallen by the wayside, nearly forgotten. Where they had at first had regular relations during the week, and had his 'adventures' on the weekend, the video project had changed his focus, making every session into a hot, nasty event.

Pulling into the driveway, he was not thinking about the unnoticed change in their sex together, or anything else for that matter. All he could think about was pulling his cock from Liz's cunt, and slipping it into her mouth, and her sweet sexy voice saying how much she loved the taste of pussy. When he came into the house, he found his wife at the table, ready for dinner. She usually got home before him, and had prepared some chicken and rice and vegetables. He kissed her, and sat, and they started eating. She chatted about her day, happy as always. Satisfied, he thought, that's what she is. He wolfed his food down, eager to begin the night's event. Liz ate at her usual pace, talking lightly. He almost didn't hear it when she told him.

"I got a call today," she offered, and sat still, awaiting his reaction, expressionless.

In a single disheartening second Tom's plans for the evening and the weekend vanished, leaving an aching hole where his anticipation had been. His heart raced and he felt his stomach tighten, dreading to ask for any additional details, of hearing his fears realized. He'd known this day would come, he'd been told, he knew, but he'd managed to block that knowledge with the distraction of the wonderful new horizons that had opened for him and Liz.

"A call?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice from wavering.

"Yes. From the Organization." She smiled a little. His heart fell as he digested the words, THAT call, the call from THEM. "They called my cell," she added. He looked at her, saw the small smile, felt the agreement in her, the loyalty, and fought to control his breathing. Maybe it's not absolute, maybe there was a way, like there was a way around the videos. Don't panic, he warned himself, don't rage, You knew this was coming, and you know what will happen if you resist. Why hadn't he prepared for this? Had he been so blinded by lust and discovery that he'd thought it would never come?

"When?" he managed to squeak, hating the sound of tension in his clipped speech.

"I leave Friday, after work, and come back Sunday," she said easily, and his brain heard eagerness in her voice, and he railed, silently.

"And you're going?"

"Of course," she said, and then her eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked down at his plate. "Tom, we knew this was coming, you knew from the beginning, please don't-" He stood, too quickly, and she gasped a little, startled by his movement, but he stayed, frozen to the spot. "Oh, Tom," she whispered, "please don't be that way, please." He stared at her, glaring, and sat back down, gripped his fork as if to resume eating, but just looked at his food, not seeing it.

"You're going," he said, not a question, controlling his voice. "You're going. You want to go."

"Yes, I do. Honey, we knew-"

"You want to go," he repeated.

"Yes, of course. Tom, you knew that, it's was part of my treatment. I do what they tell me, like they told me to allow myself to love whatever you want to do, whatever you want me to do."

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth, almost snarling. "Yes, I know. Thank you for reminding me." He was unable to stop the sneering sarcasm in his voice. He saw his hand gripping the fork, and tried to relax it, and failed. His knuckles were white. "What will you do there?"

"I don't know, Tom. They never said." Her voice sounded less eager, and a little dismayed. "Honey please don't be like this, you know what they said, you remember you agreed-"

"YES!" he shouted, slamming the fork onto the table, bouncing the dish. His water glass tipped and spilled, but he ignored it. "Yes! I remember! If you don't go, I break the agreement, and they take you from me!" He was shouting, he knew, and took a few breaths. Probably she would have to tell them how he reacted, and screaming would not be tolerated, he knew. "Yes! I know. But that's all I know. All I know is what they tell me, what they let YOU tell me. I don't know what you'll be doing there, just like I didn't know when you vanished for two weeks." He felt his voice softening as he gave voice to his frustrations. "I found out later you'd had sex with countless men, and women, crazy, wild continuous sex, for two weeks, with strangers, for Christ's sake." He was staring in his dinner plate as he spoke, unable to meet her eyes. "And now they call you, and you go, and I know you have to go, but you WANT to go, and I don't know why they want you there. All I know is what you did last time, and it's all I can imagine."

"Oh, baby," he heard, and looked up to see her face, and she looked to be holding back tears. No, he thought, no crying, no; she would tell them, they would make her tell them. "I thought...," she said in a breathy whisper, "I thought you enjoyed it ... oh, honey please don't let them keep me me." Her eyes opened wide, and a tear slid down one cheek. "Please, I couldn't stand to lose you, baby, please. I love you, I only did it for you, for us, and all this time, I thought you liked..."

He watched her lip tremble, and his hand finally released the fork, and her felt his shoulders lower, and was suddenly aware that he'd had them hunched and tight. The anger and emptiness in his chest filled with longing for her, and his instinctive urge to protect her from harm took charge. He couldn't hurt her, couldn't see her hurt, couldn't allow it. He stood, and she flinched at the movement, but he moved slowly, putting a calming hand on her arm, and dropped to a knee at her chair, turning her to face him.

"I could never lose you," he said, "and I will not let anyone take you away from me."

"Tom, I-"

"I love you, with every part of me; I always will. Nothing that happens will ever change that." Even as he poured out his heart to her, the uncontrolled part of his brain processed images of his wife, doing still unimaginable things, and not with him. He forced his brain to close off that compartment, silencing the distraction. "Everything we've done has been wonderful, everything you've done for me, and I appreciate your desire to be more for me, for us, more than you could know." He took her hands in his own, held them as he spoke. "But you have to understand how I feel." He paused, uncertain himself, swimming in his conflicting feelings for her, for the situation, for the future. "You turn me on, so much," he began, and heard for himself how lame he sounded. "Besides loving you, I'm attracted to you. You're so pretty, so, I don't know, ALIVE, I guess, that it comes out in your face. Everyone sees it; it's why people gravitate to you, you're like a bright, beautiful flame."

She smiled at him, bashful over this silly compliment. He didn't think she could be embarrassed anymore. "Sex has always been wonderful with you, because it was YOU, honey," he said. "Don't get me wrong, I love the way you are now, love what we've done, it's exciting, and different and forbidden and kinky. And I love that you WANT to do all those things with me." He held her hands a little tighter, not noticing the tension creeping back into his voice. "And now they called you and you have to go, I know. And I know I accepted this in advance. It bothers me that I don't know what you will do there, and that all I know is what you did last time you were there. But what really bothers me is that you WANT to go." He looked at her, and she wriggled her hands free, and he realized he'd been squeezing them. "You do want to go, don't you."

"Yes, I do. I said I would go."

"But you WANT to."

"Yes, of course I do, Tom; they made me that way, they made me want to go."

He stood then, and shook a little, inside, trying not to let his anger show again. "That's it. That's what I was afraid of. They made you want to go."

"Yes, of course, they-"

"Don't you see? All this time, all the things we've done, I've thought that you were doing those things because YOU wanted to, because you had always wanted to but couldn't allow yourself, that you went to them because you wanted to give yourself permission to enjoy your desires, and now I have to wonder; now I'm not sure. Now I have to think that they MADE you want it, just like they MADE you want to go when they called." He heard his voice rising, and then felt weak, and powerless, and the anger and rage dissipated, leaving him feeling empty, and tired and alone. He turned away from her, unable again to meet her eyes. "How can I know, now? How can I think you want to be with me, sexy and nasty and enthusiastic? How can I not think that it's a manufactured response?" He was talking to the room, softly, defeated. "How can I be certain that you love me? Is that manufactured, too? Are your feelings for me just another part of their creation?"

He looked to her, but she didn't answer. He watched her, waited, and she seemed to struggle, trying to form words. "I can't believe you said that," she finally replied.

"What?"

"That you don't know if I love you. You stupid, ridiculous man, your fragile ego is wounded by my commitment to the people that helped me, helped me be more, for YOU, and you don't know that I love you? That I love you so much it hurts, that to be with you, to stay with you, I will do whatever I have to do? Sure, their training makes me want to go, and sure, I think the same thing you do, that I will fuck and suck all weekend, with men and women, and swallow cum and get my ass fucked and enjoy all sorts of nasty, horny sex." She stood, came to him, tried to take his hand, but he pulled away. "But that's just sex, that's not love, not like I feel it for you." She tried again, and he allowed it, and she took his one hand between hers. "I love you, and sex with you is better BECAUSE it's with you, you silly, wonderful man."

He turned his head toward her, but couldn't look in her eyes. "But you'll enjoy it."

"Yes, just like I enjoyed it when you came to get me, and you enjoyed Darla sucking your cock. Just like you enjoyed fucking her, and I enjoyed licking her pussy. It's sex." She stepped in closer to him, pressing her body against his. "But you are my husband, my man, my only man, the only one I love, will ever love. Please believe me, please understand."

"I don't know if I can. It's a lot for me to take. So much is different, so much has changed."

"Not for me, and not me. I'm still the same, I just got the woman I was on the inside brought out. For you, for us, so we can be happy."

He pulled his hand away from her. "Well, I feel pretty far from happy right now." He scowled at her, and turned and left the room, came back in, and added, "I'm going for a walk. I have to think."

Outside, he started walking aimlessly, just moving, thinking, talking to himself. In his mind he replayed the conversation, over and over, changing it slightly each time, sometimes begging, sometimes screaming, sometimes throwing things. In his mental replays he reacted differently, said different things, was cooler, more calculating and controlled. In the replays she waited for him to finish, she answered meekly, agreeing with him. Each time he felt the conversation go his way, but reality would creep in, turn the conversation, and always they ended the same; her going, wanting to go.

He tried to regain his anger, wanted to be indignant, to gain the moral high ground. Every time he tried to muster up his rage, thinking of Liz, his Liz, going to them, he also recalled the two of them together, enjoying her, fucking like animals. He remembered how good it was, how much he had enjoyed it, lived for it, taken advantage of his good fortune, and the anger fizzled, leaving him ashamed and wounded and lonely. He'd taken all the good her change had to offer, more than he had expected; he'd enjoyed seeing her that day he picked her up, participated willingly. And he had been thrilled at the wild weekend with Liz and Darla. He taken it all, and bathed in the wonder of it. And now the other edge of the sword had appeared, and he chafed at the control they exercised, and the doubts it created in him.

Was it true? Could she love him, want him as she always had, genuinely, and still be compelled to want to obey their call? Then, in a wild moment of imagination, he wondered if maybe NONE of it was true, that there had been no program, no conditioning, that it was all bullshit, and that Liz was really just a faithless slut who fucked whoever and whenever she liked, and had concocted the story with her friends for cover, to mask a two-week debauched sexual bender. And now she was going back for more.

The idea was too fantastic, to extreme for his poor, tortured mind to consider seriously. No, it wasn't her that bothered him.

It was them. Them, and their invasive control. Control over Liz, and himself; control given to them, willingly. But where at first he had been irritated by the leash, and later restrained by it, it now tormented him.

And he stopped walking. And remembered the night he introduced the video camera, and had nearly been stopped by the long reach of the Organization's rule.

It was dark now; he was in the middle of a residential block, not unlike his own; peaceful, serene and quiet. And he smiled a little, remembering his victory over the video barrier; how he had been clever enough to bypass her blockage. He hadn't overcome it, but he'd gotten around it. He turned, and began walking back, re-examining his situation. There was no way he could prevent her from going, he knew that, surely; not without bringing the promised outcome of losing Liz. And the images of what she might do there troubled him still, even as he admitted to himself that he'd been thrilled to see her do those things, thrilled to participate in her release performance.

But in overcoming the video resistance, he had found a way to continue to enjoy her gift to him, to find new, dirty and wonderful nasty activities, and all he'd done is compensate slightly for their restrictions. As he walked, he resurrected his plan to take her out, video her exposing herself. She might have taken issue with that, held back, or even resisted if there were people around who might know her. But what if he took her away, far from home, for a day or two? He had some time coming to him, and she did, too. Maybe delaying his gratification would give him the opportunity to push her further, see what she would do somewhere she knew she wouldn't be recognized.

He pondered his plans as he walked home. It wasn't a victory, but it wasn't a defeat, either, and in a contest like this, he rationalized, staying in the game was as good as winning. He could continue his pursuit of his wife's delightful new charms, see where their path would lead. It would bother him that she was going away, of course, but he had hope now, and felt less powerless.

She was in bed when he got back, and he didn't wake her. He spent some time on the computer, researching location ideas, investigating hotels and attractions, narrowing his choices down to three places, all in about three hours' drive. He tried watching some of the videos, but they didn't excite him now, her news was still too fresh, and he turned it off, and went to bed. He didn't wake her.

The next two days passed in uneasy silence for the most part. They spoke perfunctorily, although Liz tried to start conversations in a variety of ways. But Tom would have none of that, no; in his twisted reasoning of resistance and defiance of the organization, he felt that would be playing into their hands, dancing to the Master's Tune. Not him, not this time. He ignored her, answering in grunts, or keeping his answers polite and short when he had to speak, even as it pained him to ignore her. She became frustrated, and stopped trying, and as much as he wanted to avoid her, it hurt more when she stopped talking to him.

Friday came, and the morning held the same silence he had created as he left for work, but as her departure time loomed closed he weakened, and in a rash decision he left work early, after lunch, to see her off. He wanted to resist, scolded himself for being weak, for playing into their hands. He knew it would hurt to see her leave, but he had always been the one to talk their problems through; she was the one to stew and internalize. He knew he'd regret it if he let her leave without telling her he loved her. No matter what.

She was in the living room when he came in. She had just placed an overnight bag near the hallway, and she turned at the sound of the door opening. Tom's eyes drank in the image of her, her head turning, hair fanning out, the surprised look that changed instantly to wonder and then welcome. Her body following her head, turning to him, standing. She wore a light summer dress that spun lazily above her knee as she finished the turn, and she looked at him, still now, only her breasts still moving, unrestrained inside her dress. He felt his heart mend itself, then split again, and rapidly heal, all in seconds. She was so beautiful, and he loved her so much it ached.

She was surprised to see him come in, but as their eyes met her tension seemed to melt and she smiled, and he approached her tentatively and she welcomed him into her arms, slipping hers easily under his to reach his shoulders. They held each other silently, each feeling the solid comfort of the other's familiar form. Tom listened to himself breathing, aware of his racing heart, his bitter anxiety and frustration, but above all, his love for this woman, the one who was crazy enough to love him back, despite his flaws and shortcoming, just like he loved her. She burrowed her head under his chin, pressing it into his chest, and pulled him tighter, as if she had been rescued. He returned the embrace, smelling her hair, her skin, the clean scent of her, inhaling her; a memory to hold for the weekend.