Acting Out Fantasies Pt. 08

Thank you guys for staying patient with my writing and thank you for all the positive votes. As always, I love the feedback I get from you -- the things you like, the things you don't -- from the storyline to the writing style to what you'd like to see in upcoming chapters. If you are new to the series, you will be well served to go back and read it from the beginning. I think that each part has plenty of erotic content, but to understand the characters, the whole story should be read.

This is the first of two chapters talking about the birthday party. I have found that I enjoy writing about the thoughts and feelings of the characters, almost as much as the action, which means that there are lots of chapters to go till the story gets to Sunday night and Jim's time in charge of Michelle, and there will be lots of jumping off points from the end. I hope that you'll stay with it to the end. I know I will.

"We've got about 10 minutes before we need to head over, honey," Pete said, noting the concern on Michelle's face. He looked out the window of the car, and he understood her concern. They had driven around the block, just to get a look at where they were going. They had seen the house for Clarence's birthday party, a party where Michelle had unconditionally volunteered to be the sex slave for people she had never met before, and who she knew were very "perverted," in one of her master's words.

It was a simple one-level, light-blue clapboard house with white trim that was situated in the middle of a lower middle-class area of town. It looked clean and decently kept, as did the houses around it. It was not on a side street but ran along a secondary street; big enough to have traffic lights on it, but not big enough to warrant four lanes. Still, both Pete and Michelle had noticed that it was pretty busy, considering that it was a Friday nearing the end of rush hour.

What set this house apart from the others was that it was situated toward the back of the lot, away from the street. The neighborhood was old enough that you'd expect older trees and underbrush to give the houses privacy, but not Clarence's house. He had a 3-foot-high chain link fence that went around a large front yard. All they had as they had passed was a quick 3 or 4 second view, but they both had seen a good-sized wooden deck in the front, similar to what you'd see in most backyards. The gait of the fence was open, and on the mailbox was a big poster-board sign that read, "Happy B-day, Clarence!"Oh, Lord, you might as well say, 'Everyone invited! Michelle had thought to herself, a thought also present in Pete's brain.

As they passed the house, they had seen that most of the activity of the birthday party was happening on the front deck and surrounding yard. People were holding beers and other drinks as they milled around, and Pete could see smoke coming from a very large grill.

What had Pete concerned, and certainly Michelle, was that among the people gathered, it was almost entirely men. Michelle had only seen a few women. And most of the men looked slightly unkempt, like workers that had just gotten home from work and had simply changed into shorts and tanktops. Many looked like they were still covered in the sweat and grim of the day. That was all that they had been able to see as they passed the house, but it was enough to give them pause.

Pete had been watching the neighborhood as soon as they got within 5 minutes on their GPS. Once inside that window, he (and he guessed Michelle) had been watching the pedestrians, looking at the houses, and noting the businesses so that they could get a sense for what they were about to do. They had seen a Jamaican restaurant, a Haitian restaurant, and a couple of Hispanic grocery stores along with other fast-food franchises.

Walking along the sidewalks they had seen many African-Americans, some Hispanics, but only a few Caucasians. Most of the houses had appeared well-kept, even though they were dated. Lawns were cut; most houses did not look worn-down; there were folks out and about pulling weeds and such. This part had been a relief to them. It was not a slum or a ghetto, which Pete admitted to himself seemed rather racist as soon as the thought came to the surface. This was Mike's event, and he was the only African-American of the four men Michelle had given herself to, and they had worried that by going to his neighborhood, they might get into a dangerous situation. However, they could tell that these were good people doing good with what life had given them.

Pete and Michelle were parked at the Popeye's that was a block away, as instructed. Michelle took the time they had before getting out to reflect on where they were, and why they were there. This would be the first "event" that Jim had told her about nearly 24 hours ago. Mike would be in charge of her tonight. This was happening, Michelle reminded herself, because instead of starting with a small fantasy when Pete had threatened to divorce her over her frigidity, she had agreed that they would start acting out fantasies, and she had asked to go first. And in a moment, completely out of character, she had gone big with her fantasy. Really big. Like, beyond what she could have imagined big. It was a deeply held secret fantasy, one that she had hidden even from herself. She had "given" her body to four average, run-of-the-mill guys, for them to use for the weekend.

When she had spoken the words to the unsuspecting men and her husband -- the words that had sealed her fate -- she had imagined that it would be a weekend of being fucked, along with maybe one or two risky things that they asked her to do. That, in and of itself, would have been a quantum leap for Michelle. She had truly been frigid in her marriage. She knew it, and had not been able to find a way out of it. But she knew, and had hidden it from Pete, that she had a dark side, a sexual side, and when Pete had threatened to divorce her, she had not thought, she had gone for it.

She had expected that a couple of them would probably back out, and that the whole thing would taper off as they got tired of fucking her, and their dicks had trouble getting up. None of them were spring chickens. Boy had she been surprised.

Instead, the weekend had morphed in surprising ways into something much more intense, starting with the moment that Bob, one of her weekend masters, had ripped her dress off in the hotel lobby. The men had surprised her with how ready they were to dominate her; how well organized they were in their plans; and how well they had understood her, finding the sweet spot with how much to challenge, how much to portray concern, and how much to humiliate.

She had surprised them in turn -- along with herself and her husband -- by how much she was loving all that had happened. She thought back to all that she had done since last night. She had been naked nearly the entire time, including in a hotel lobby (twice), in a diner, an adult toy store, and a bikini shop, and practically everywhere in between.

She had been fucked by probably 15 guys, only one of which she knew before the weekend started (her husband).

She had sucked off many of those same guys, and others.

She had licked asses.

She had drunk the piss of two men, one of them her husband.

She had been spanked to orgasm.

She had squirted for the first time ever, and without being touched.

She had proudly admitted that she was a submissive to perfect strangers, allowing and asking them to give her tasks to do during this weekend.

And she had recorded a slave contract on video to these men, and told them to blackmail her if she didn't comply by posting the video online.

And all of that had happened in less than 20 hours.

And no matter what it was she had done -- nasty, humiliating, or embarrassing -- she had done it willingly. She had not been so grossed out that she had tapped out. It hadn't caused her personality to "snap." It had not created a backlash of regret or anger toward her husband. Or, she noted, from her husband toward her -- something that would have made her crumble.

Instead, it had exhilarated her. It was as if this fantasy and all that it had entailed, from the acts she had done, to the thoughts that accompanied them, to the orgasms she had experienced, was something that she had been waiting for her entire life. She wasn't sure what to make of that, she only knew that it was producing pleasure and emotions and love for her husband and for sex in ways that she had never experienced before.

That afternoon, after picking out her swimsuit for tomorrow's activities which Tommy would be in charge of, she and Pete had found another hotel to check into. They were both desperate to get some rest, having had little the night before; but before they did, they had gone to a pharmacy, and Pete had made Michelle go in and buy the enema Mike had instructed her to buy. Pete had given her an order that if someone, by chance, had asked her why she was buying an enema, that she was to tell them the truth: that she was going to have anal sex for the first time in her life tonight. Nothing had happened and no one had asked any questions, but Michelle had acknowledged that the idea of telling that to a stranger had turned her on.

When they arrived at the new hotel, Michelle had followed Mike's instructions and given herself an enema. It was humiliating to know that what was happening as she expelled the contents of her bowel could be heard in the next room. Pete thought nothing of it, knowing that the reward was on the other side of her cleaning out. When she was done, they had both hopped in the shower and promptly taken good, refreshing naps. While they were sleeping, Pete's phone had buzzed with a text from Mike.

This is Mike. Make sure Michelle is dressed in something like the picture Jim sent me of what she wore to the diner this morning. I want her to be dressed like a slut from the beginning tonight. Send me a picture once she's put it on, and I'll send the rest of the directions.

When they had woken up, Pete shared the message with her, and she had quickly pulled some clothes from the suitcase to work with. It didn't take her long to find something that would work well.

She first chose a pink yoga shirt, popular at any community gym. It was purposefully thin and see through, with the expectation that the wearer would have a sports bra underneath. Michelle wouldn't. It had no sleeves, and the armholes were so deep that you could practically see the entire side of her torso. In big black letters on the front were the words, "Play hard," and under it were the words, "Work hard". The back was held together by strips of the shirt material that spanned the gap from one side of the shirt to the other.

She had gotten her scissors out and gone to work on the shirt. She took off a length from the bottom, so that it gave her some underboob. The shortening meant that there weren't armholes anymore, just hanging material on either side, from her armpits down. It also meant that "Work hard" was no longer on the shirt.I'm going to definitely Play Hard, she thought. Then in back, she had cut all the strings off, so that there was nothing holding the sides together in the back. Finally, she had cut out the front near the neck, and had changed it from a standard collar to a v-neck; a deep v-neck. Pete looked on in admiration of her work. She saw it, and with a smile asked, "Can you think of anything to make it sluttier?"

"You've pretty much done it all," was all Pete could say. He was already slack jawed at how revealing the shirt was.

"I know what to do!" she said with a look of inspiration. Then she took the scissors and cut out flaps, two inches in diameter, just above her nipples. "This will give them easier access." She winked at him.

"Sounds like someone is back in slut mode?" Pete asked.

"I was never out of it," she responded. "It's just hard to keep the sexual energy up when you are starting from where I was yesterday at this time. And I really needed that nap."

"Well, look at you now!" Pete said. "Trying to outdo the sexiest outfit I've ever seen in public before, which was only this morning." She smiled. Pete then asked, "What are you going to do for bottoms?"

She dug in the suitcase and pulled out a light blue coverup skirt. It was lightweight, but not as much as the chiffon skirt from the diner. It was about 12 inches long, and didn't have any material on one side, except for the shoestring that tied it together. Just like the yoga shirt, the designer had designed it with the assumption that the wearer would have something underneath; in this case, swim bottoms. Again, not Michelle.

Michelle got the scissors once more and got to work. She cut out a patch of material on the other side of the skirt so that there was a gap of the same size as what was missing on the other side. This meant that she essentially only had a front portion and a back portion to the skirt, each about 9 inches wide. You could see both of her hips, which meant that, coupled with the yoga shirt, anyone who saw her could essentially see from her ankles to her armpits and tell that there was nothing under her very, very skimpy outfit whatsoever. Then, just to add a final slutty touch, she shortened the two patches that remained so that they were only 9 inches long from top to bottom. The result was that the front came down and covered her pussy by a half inch, and the back covered only about 3/4 of her ass.

"Jesus!" was all Peter could say.

"I'm not sure Jesus would approve," Michelle responded with a laugh.

Pete took a picture and sent it to Mike. It didn't take long to get a response.

Perfect! She is one hot slut! Make sure that she wears that and some tennis shoes to the party. No other clothes. The house address is 520 Addison Street, but we want you to park at the Popeye's a block away to the north. It is also on Addison. Let me know when you park because I want to bring her to the party on the leash. Here are the instructions:

1. She should have the ankle and wrist cuffs on her, along with the collar.

2. Make sure her ass is cleaned out!

3. She is not to be drunk or high. I want her to experience everything and remember everything.

4. Make sure she is ready to be dominated and humiliated.

5. See you there!

Pete read it to Michelle.

"Holy Shit!" she said. "I thought I was only wearing this at the party! But Mike wants to parade me around the neighborhood in just this outfit, while being pulled on a leash???"

"Looks like it," answered Pete. He looked at her and could tell that there was a battle going on within. This was not the first time he's seen that look in the last day.

He was right about the battle. In Michelle's head, Old Michelle was screaming that this was absolutely inappropriate, even for the party, but to have to walk a block to the party like this!No way! You might get called names. You might be seen by someone who shouldn't see you. This is all beneath you!

But New Michelle was hardly containing herself.Another chance to expose myself...just like last night and this morning! No control over who will see me, what they'll say! You'll be helpless to control how they react to what they see. She made up her mind right then, for like the fifth time already that weekend, that she was going to silence Old Michelle. She was a prude. She was no fun! She'd deal with her and her concerns after the weekend was over. This weekend was for throwing caution to the wind. And besides, they were in a different town. No one would know her here.

"You OK?" Pete asked.

"Yes," said Michelle. "This is what I have to get used to. I love the humiliation and showing off, but I still have to get over my hang-ups. This will be good. I won't be in control, and these are people that I don't know. Mike promised me nothing illegal would happen. I have to trust that."

"Ok, then," said Pete, still amazed that this version of Michelle actually existed. "Let's finish getting ready."

In the next 20 minutes, Michelle gave herself another enema, rinsed off in the shower, and put on some light make-up, anticipating that it might get messed up through the evening. Then she put on her outfit. Pete, who had been waiting, had changed into a black t-shirt, nice jeans, and some comfortable shoes.

Michelle looked at Pete briefly, a thoughtful look on her face.

"This is it. I am going to be fucked tonight. Neither you or I will have any control over what happens for the next few hours."

"Yes, that's right," Pete said. "Are you OK?"

"This is all so surreal. Have you ever had a fantasy of seeing me gangbanged before?"

"Lots of times."

"How did it happen?"

"That's for me to arrange in the future," Pete said with a mysterious smile. He was still coming to grips with the reality that some of his own fantasies were now in play, and they seemed a little bit tame considering what Michelle's fantasy had opened up."

"Hmmm. Can't wait." Michelle made a move to grab her little hoodie that she always brought when she knew she would be cold, but she held back.

"This is what I was told to wear, so this is all I'm bringing," she said.

"Are you excited?"

"Yes...and nervous," was her reply. "I have a feeling I will not be returning with this," she said, gesturing toward her "outfit."

He took her hand, and they walked to the car. On the way, they did not see anyone, so there were no comments or looks to process, only their thoughts. For Michelle, part of what made this moment surreal was that it was different from last night. Last night had been organic as it had evolved. She had been gangbanged, but it had all flowed naturally, as naturally as a gangbang can flow. It had been cathartic to release herself that way and throw caution to the wind, caught up in the spur of the moment. And everything that had happened since had either been unavoidable fallout from last night, or had been an organic adventure with her husband.

This, however, was a planned event. She had a little bit of a feeling of a pig being led to the slaughter, only she was willingly giving the leash to the one who held the knife. She wasn't sure what to think of herself, that she was still driving toward the location of the "slaughter." She was going to be fucked by lots of people that she had not built any sort of connection with. This would be purely about the sex, and lots and lots of it, as far as she knew.

And then she thought about Pete. She had already told him that he was in charge. He was her dom. How would he work out the dynamic with these four guys who she had also told were in charge for the weekend? Pete had always been a good husband; he was good looking and athletic. He had a fire in his belly that was contagious. But she had chosen him to be her husband because he was mostly "milk toast;" vanilla; predictable. Those characteristics had been as important to her as his looks and personality.

But she wanted him to be more, she had realized since last night. She wanted him to be her dom; to have the edge that she had begun to see. D from the adult toy store had said he would be good at it, but she wasn't sure. She knew Pete, and his tenderness. Was it possible that inside of him was lurking a different, darker side to his personality that she didn't know about?

But then she reminded herself about his career. A team leader for a fairly successful engineering firm did not get that way by being a push-over. It required having some leadership qualities. It required having a vision and making it a reality. It required creativity. And it required being bossy sometimes. She then realized that she needed to trust that the journey to him becoming the dom she realized she needed was a process. Even as she had to get used to silencing the prude side of her, and giving permission to the submissive, slutty slide to flourish, Pete was going to get used to being in charge of her sexually. And if he did it with the same creativity and vision he brought to his career, and applied it to their life together, she was in for quite a fun ride.