A Devil's Wage Ch. 02

"Well," she murmured, dipping her face to my chest, and snuggling up against me, "I guess it would be kind of stupid for me to deny it now." We laid like that, wrapped up in each other for a long time, I think I dozed off at some point, and I'm pretty sure she did too, and then we both came awake and decided we might as well clean up and get in bed. All-in-all, it was a great night!!

We continued with the "Punishment Nights" for the next four years or so. We slowly acquired additional punishment equipment. I got a riding crop at one point, much easier to control where I smacked her than with the belt. I also modified two sawhorses that I had in the basement by affixing ring bolts to the legs just above the floor. I got wrist and ankle cuffs and carabiner hooks to attach to the ring bolts. Ellen presented quite a spectacle draped naked over the horse, ass displayed, and legs spread wide. Some fun nights!

Of course, I didn't have it all my own way. Eventually I pissed her off enough that she decided I needed to be punished. After all the fun I had had, I didn't feel I could just unilaterally veto the idea, so I began to be the punished one, and she started acquiring equipment. Inevitably she got a strap on dildo, and I found myself, one stormy night, draped over my own horse and, after a couple of enemas that she enjoyed giving me entirely too much, being enthusiastically fucked in the ass by my wife!

Oddly enough, I found it quite enjoyable. Initially I was put off by the homosexual aspect of it, but Ellen eventually seduced me to the humiliation side. Eventually it became her favorite punishment for me. I found it exciting, dirty, humiliating, and totally wonderful. She would begin by putting a dog collar and leash on me and making me crawl, on all fours into our downstairs bathroom, where she would administer two enemas to ensure I was as clean as possible.

Then we would adjourn to the basement where I would be strapped down over the sawhorse, ass and genitals exposed. After spanking my ass for a while, she would lube me up and start fucking me. At first, I found it painful to start but she eventually got me a butt plug. I would wear this for a couple of days prior to "Punishment Night" and it helped break me in for the adventures with the dildo.

She also got herself a dildo that was very realistic with a plum-like head and veins on the shaft. The initial "Pop" past my sphincter was always a bit of an ordeal but, after a while I found the gliding of the oily "cock" through my asshole was quite enjoyable in a humiliating and taboo way. For the climax she would stroke my erection while plumbing my depths with her chosen dildo. My ejaculations were explosive and incredibly satisfying. To those "he-men" who would condemn me for this, if you ain't tried it, don't knock it!

We finally got it down to a twice per month punishment schedule, alternating turns as the victim. Twice a month was about as often as we could foist the girls off on one of our parental contingents without making the girls feel like orphans and arousing the suspicions of the grandparents as to exactly what we were up to.

This idyllic existence continued as the years rolled along. In pillow talk one night, Ellen told me she had a question to ask me and wanted an honest answer. "If the answer is no, then just forget I ever asked you," she said.

"And if it's, yes?" I queried.

"Then we'll talk about," she said. I nodded my head and looked into her eyes, questioningly.

"You know, a lot of the stuff we've been doing is pretty "out there" as far as humiliation, rough sex, forced intercourse, submission, and many things that I would never have thought I would go for," she said, to which I nodded. "Well, have you ever thought about calling Tony Conte again?" she asked and drew back slightly as if awaiting an explosion. I know my mouth dropped open, because she snickered at it, and I'm sure my face registered my total surprise at her question. "Just answer yes or no," she said.

I closed my mouth and after collecting my thoughts I said, "No."

"Oh, OK," she said (did I detect a hint of disappointment?) "Then, just forget I ever asked."

"However, I would like to talk about it, even though I said no," I remarked, which caused her face to look surprised. "I will say that over the last few years there have been many times when you were draped over the horses in the basement, and I had exhausted my stamina that I felt it was a tremendous waste that there were not a few other guys down there to continue to fuck you. I've thought about that quite often as a matter of fact, how I'd love to see you shagged by a few more cocks after I was done. Why, do you want me to call him?"

"No," she said, hesitantly, "Just something I think we should keep in mind for a while. If I ever get wild enough to really entertain the idea, I'll let you know." We left it at that and went to sleep.

Several months went by after that conversation. November came and we celebrated Brittany's 16^th birthday, she was a sophomore in high school. Amy would be 18 in April. Amy was a junior. Although she was almost two years older than Brittany, she was only one class ahead of her, since we'd held her out of kindergarten until she was six, because she was woefully unprepared for it at the age of five. Although, at the time, this had caused some trepidation about her academic future she had allayed all those fears by being an excellent student. We were making plans to take her on a tour of some selected nearby college campuses during the summer after her junior year to help decide where she wanted to go to college.

Dating had not yet entered our cosey world, but I knew it would. Brittany was growing into a voluptuous and beautiful redhead, and I figured it was only a matter of time before teenage boys were beating a path to my door. Amy had still hardly ever dated. She was blond, much more petit than Brit and, although she had many friends and participated in several activities, concentrated mostly on her studies. She was about 5' 2", and very slender, with a short haircut and nothing like the killer body that her sister possessed.

Brittany was about the same height as Amy but much curvier. She also had flaming red hair. Although I was sure she would attract much more attention than Amy, she had not really dated anyone yet, just a few group excursions to movies and malls and such. This seemed to be a generational thing. She was also less outgoing than Amy, didn't take part in any sports or other school activities and, so far, had pretty much concentrated on school studies.

I was sitting in my office, working one day in late November, when my assistant, Jean, came in and approached my desk. As she came near, I looked up at her, questioningly. Pointing back over her shoulder she said, "There's a man here wanting to talk to you." As she said this, she emphasized the word "man" and did the Groucho Marx thing with her eyebrows. "Does this man have a name," I asked her, raising my own brows at the same time.

Stepping to my desk she handed me a business card and, taking it from her I rapidly perused it.

"Allegheny Technology Services" it said in impressive script.

"Senior Sales Executive"

"Anthony Conte"

I stared at the card for a bit causing Jean, I'm sure, to wonder what was going on. Finally looking up at her, and making sure my voice was as normal as possible, I asked her, "And did Mr. Conte say what he wants?"

"I told him we had all the technology services we needed. He said he just wants to talk to you, that you were friends a few years ago," she said, eyebrows dancing up again.

"Fine, send him in," I told her, and sat down to await his appearance.

Jean walked back to my door, and I saw her wave to the person in the outer office. Tony Conte walked into my office, stopped even with Jean, and turned and thanked her, and then continued to come closer and stand in front of my desk. Jean's eyebrows almost left her forehead to float to the ceiling as his back was presented to her, and, with a final look at me, making her eyes as wide as possible, she walked back into her office, closing the door behind her.

He stood there for a moment as we eyeballed each other. He hadn't changed much in almost ten years. A little grayer in the temples. Still huge, looked to be in great shape, he still towered over me, but as we were on my turf I didn't find, even with his size, that he intimidated me as much as he had at Art Carson's house the last time I'd seen him.

"OK if I sit?" he asked, gesturing toward the chair.

"Certainly," I said, gesturing towards the chair myself. He sat down in the chair and looked around for a moment, taking in the whole office. After sweeping the room with his eyes he finally stopped on the picture behind me on the credenza, Ellen and I and the girls in Disney World five or six years ago.

He studied the picture for a moment and then said, "The girls are certainly bigger. But your wife is still just as beautiful as I remember her."

I started for a moment, remembering that the last time he'd seen Ellen was as Art Carson was putting her in our back seat right after Tony had rammed his cock into her anus. "Well," I responded, "that picture is about six years old, but she still looks just as good to me. The girls are 16 and 17 now."

"Really," he said, squinting at the picture, "You should probably buy a shotgun then, if they're still as good looking as they are in that picture," smiling as he said this.

I regarded him for a moment and then said, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" He shifted in the chair for a bit, as though the question had caused a moment of uneasiness.

"Well, I'm with a new firm, as of the last six months, and I've been made responsible for this part of the state. When I saw where I'd be calling this trip, I remembered it was in your area and Art and I got to talking about you and your lovely bride and about your, uh, visit to us."

"Oh?" I asked.

He shifted again. "Yeah, you know it's been ten years, but we still talk about that day. I've often wondered if you and the Missus were OK after that day."

"Why would you think it would be otherwise?" I asked, disingenuously.

"Well, uh, look," he said, "we were pretty rough with her that day. I've often wondered about how it would have gone if we'd taken a different tack with her." I raised my eyebrows at him quizzically.

"I know," he said, "We were animals. That was mostly Art, he really lost control and started off all different than I would have," he said. "I've thought a lot about this over the last ten years. My idea, originally, was that we would just use her submissiveness, which I've always thought was just under the surface. I figured we could just to subtly make her do things, you know, sexy, naughty, humiliating things until we got her really rolling and then we'd be able to just fuck the shit out of her. I thought in that way we could make most of it, make her do stuff that she would remember having done almost on her own, like, just going along with what we suggested. I've always thought that if we had handled it that way you might have brought her back three or four times in the intervening years and we could really have had some fun.

But Art, well, he lost control and just kind of went all caveman on her and I just decided to go along with it and, of course, it was still a lot of fun, for us, but probably not much for you or her. Anyway, I've been thinking about that for ten years and decided to just stop by and get it off my chest."

"How did you find my office?" I asked. He held up an old business card of mine. We talked for another thirty minutes or so. I told him about the problems we'd had and how we resolved them. I told him that Ellen was still upset about the poppers and that she remembered much of it only imperfectly. After a while he looked at his watch and said that he needed to go. As he was walking toward my office door he turned and mentioned that he would be in the area until Friday, leaving that morning to go back home. He asked if maybe Ellen and I would care to meet him for dinner somewhere on Wednesday or Thursday night, on him. "I don't know," I replied, "I'll have to ask Ellen."

"Well," he said," My cell number is on the card, give me a call and let me know, I would like to see her again."

"Just to talk, you understand," I remarked.

He raised both hands, palms towards me, "Just to talk, and eat some good Italian food," he said.

"I'll call Wednesday and let you know what she said," I told him. With that he nodded and went out the door. I sat down and my desk, released the breath that I wasn't aware I was holding, and pondered whether I should actually mention it to Ellen or not.

That evening, as I got home, I was still debating with myself. I could just call Tony back on Wednesday and tell him that Ellen said no to the idea. Of course, that would risk the chance that he would call our house directly, he had our phone number after all, and as part of our reconciliation Ellen and I had vowed that we would never lie to each other.

After we were done with dinner and the girls had gone to their rooms to work on homework, I went into the den where Ellen was watching television. I asked her if she could interrupt that for us to talk about something. She got a rather apprehensive look on her face but turned the TV off and directed her attention at me, gesturing for me to begin.

"Well," I stammered out, "The fact is that I got a visit today from Tony Conte." Her eyes got big, and she sat up straight as though she had received an electric shock.

"What did he want," she asked, with some trepidation it seemed to me.

I explained the entirety of our conversation to her, including his opinion that we were both quite submissive and how much he regretted the way they had handled her on our visit.

"He said he just wants to see you again, to see if you are still as beautiful, he claimed, and that was all." Her face flashed pink when I said that, probably remembering her treatment at the hands of him and Art Carson ten years earlier.

"Do you believe him?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

"Well, I think he'd go as far as he could," I replied. "But I emphasized to him that our daughters will both be there and that there would be nothing going on beyond talk. He agreed to that."

"Let me think about it," she said, pensively, and returned to the TV. I sat there for a few minutes, but she was watching some insipid reality show and I soon had as much as I could take of that.

"How about we talk about it in bed?" I suggested. She nodded, rather absentmindedly, and I went into the living room and resumed reading a book I was working on.

I got absorbed in my book and really thought no more about it until we were getting ready for bed. I had gone up a little earlier and did my bedtime routine and was in bed reading when Ellen came in and went into the bathroom. She emerged, eventually, and got into bed after donning an old nightie and slipped into the bed beside me.

"Any thoughts on the dinner?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yes," she replied, slowly, "Tell him I'd rather do dinner here than go to some restaurant. I don't entirely trust him on his turf. At least, here, I don't think he'll try anything with the girls present."

I gave her a wry smile at that, "Afraid he'll have somebody hide a gun behind the toilet in the men's room?" I asked amazed at my own wit. She stared blankly at me as the "Godfather" reference I had so wittily inserted zoomed over her head.

"Tell him to come Thursday night and I'll make lasagna but, reiterate that it's just a social visit."

"OK," I responded, and giving her a kiss, we retired to our respective sides of the bed, and she was soon asleep.

I laid there awake a while longer, thinking about Tony Conte coming into our home and seeing him interact with Ellen. I was waiting for the old jealousy, anger, and hate to resurface but was, instead, surprised to realize that the main emotions I felt were a rather disturbing combination of excitement, arousal, shame, guilt, fear, and a raging erection. I finally managed to calm myself by silently reciting the mantra that this was just for talk and nothing inappropriate would happen.

On Wednesday I called Conte's number, and he answered on the first ring. "Hello, Frank," he boomed out, "What's up?"

"I talked with Ellen," I told him, "And we can make it tomorrow night, at our house, 6:00 for a dinner of her lasagna, and she wanted me to remind you that this is just for visiting and talk."

"Well," he answered, "I will be somewhat conflicted having lasagna not made by my mother, you understand, but it's a date. I'll bring the wine and I'll see you at 6:00 pm sharp."

"Just to 'talk,' remember," I said.

"Frank," he replied, earnestly, "I guarantee you that nothing will happen unless both you and Ellen want it to happen."

"You know," I said, "That's a bit different than your original proposition that this was just about a social visit to talk."

"Frank," He replied, "Let me be totally honest with you. If Ellen is still as alluring as she was ten years ago, and I have no reason to believe that she isn't, there is every possibility the I will try to make it about more than talking, given the cautionary fact that your girls will be there. If you and her both agree to move beyond talking, I definitely will, assuming it can be done discreetly.

However, I can guarantee that there will be no coercion, no rough stuff, and no strongarming. I may ask for something way beyond talking. But if either of you says 'No', then 'No' it will be. That's the basis on which I will be coming to visit. If that isn't OK with you say so now, and we will forget about it, no hard feelings."

My mind reeled! He was definitely going to try something, if he could somehow get the girls out of the way. Of course, it was a school night so they would be doing homework after dinner, but they would be right upstairs. I had the same tsunami of emotions I'd had last night, including the iron-hard cock. I hesitated for a moment while these emotions flowed over me. Finally, after what felt like hours, I cleared my throat and managed to croak out an "OK."

"See you at six," he said, quickly and the line went dead.

That night, again in bed, I told Ellen what he'd said. She pondered this for a while before she quietly asked me, "Do you think both of us would agree to more, if we knew the girls wouldn't be aware?"

After pondering this for a moment, I answered her, "I think we've come a million miles, sexually in the last few years. I know I would not react as I did then if he fucked you. I believe we've reached the point where I could watch you do just about anything with him, or watch him do about anything to you, as long as he wasn't harming you, of course, without getting judgmental.

Plus, if he wanted to involve me, I'm sure I could go along with it. My only limits are the girls not being aware of anything and if whatever is happening is OK with you. You need to think through whatever he suggests, if anything, and say "No" if you don't want to do it. If you don't want to be the bad guy, we can work out a way for you to signal me that you're not good with it and I will be the one to say 'No''"

She thought about it for a while and we finally agreed that if he went somewhere that she was not good with, she would use the phrase, "I don't know about that," and that would be the signal for me to call everything off. Hoping that we'd covered all the bases, we kissed and went to sleep. I slept surprisingly well and fell to sleep quite easily seeing what we had facing us.

Thursday evening arrived and Ellen was bustling about the kitchen preparing her lasagna which, I will say outright, is second to none. It was an old recipe of her mother's, instead of using ground meat she used cut up Italian sausage, and it was beyond delicious, in my estimation. At precisely six o'clock the doorbell rang, and I went and opened it. Tony Conte was standing on the porch, dressed in a suit, no overcoat, (it was almost Thanksgiving but an unseasonably warm night) and holding 3 bottles of wine and a plastic grocery bag rather precariously. He said "Hello" and waited for me to invite him in.