Chapter 1 Capture Completed
He was sick of it...just plain sick and tired of it.
He knew his young wife had expensive tastes. And it wasn't like he couldn't afford to indulge them; he was certainly "comfortable" when it came to their financial well-being.
But there was no reason he could possibly fathom for her to continue with her blatant excesses, and no matter how many times he warned her, no matter how many times he threatened to put her on a budget and restrict her access to the credit cards, it never seemed to make an impression.
Seriously, how many pairs of Manolo Blahniks can one woman wear?
He hated what he was about to do...sort of. But he had needs of his own, and they didn't consist of an endless variety of footwear. And though he'd been denying those needs since shortly after meeting his current wife, he was certainly able to afford to indulge his own needs, too.
His associations with a variety of 'shadow' organizations during his time in the military had put him in touch with many interesting groups, with an amazing assortment of specialized skills. He just had never considered contacting them until now, knowing it would forever change the nature of his relationship with his lovely, young bride. And that, at its heart, was the only thing that had kept him from "making the change" right up front, when they were newly married: he loved her, plain and simple.
He loved her as she was, with her bright, bubbly personality, her wit, her intelligence, her unquestioned loyalty and devotion to him, her incredible good looks. If the bedroom scene was a little blasé, it had been more than offset by her other attributes, and he had been more than just content with the trade-off; he had considered himself one lucky son-of-a-bitch to have wooed and won this wonderful woman.
But now, after several years of the same arguments, the same unrepentant behavior, he was just sick of it. And he was going to do something about it. Yes, his sex life was about to take a turn back to the wild side...and so was his beloved bride's, whether she wanted it or not.
* * * *
Andrea was headed home from her latest shopping expedition, overburdened with the fruits of her day's efforts, her overheated credit card still just starting to cool down in her purse, when it happened. She didn't notice the large, white van with the nondescript business name on the side parked next to her Beamer. She never saw the men(?) who grabbed her, never heard the sound of the gun or felt the dart that tranq'ed her. Her only recollection was of stumbling, and going down like a sack of...well, like the sacks of Gucci and Prada she dropped as she put her arms out to break her fall.
When she awoke, shaking her head, she was a little woozy, but in exactly the same location she'd been when she'd 'tripped'. She had no sensation of the passage of time, and she dismissed the missing two hours of her life, only thinking she'd gotten carried away by her shopping...which she often did, to her husband's dismay.
She truly loved him, and admitted to herself she probably had a near-addiction when it came to shopping...because she really wanted to stop making him unhappy with her. (?) But the shoes...and the dresses...and, okay, the jewelry. And it wasn't like she didn't bring in any money of her own; although not nearly what her hubby made, her sizable salary made a significant offset to the cost of her shopping sprees.
Well, okay, so it only offset about one-fourth what she spent, most weeks.
But he really loved the way she looked and her incredible sense of style; he'd told her so, on more than one occasion. He was proud of her good looks and her unerring talent for making herself into the best "arm candy" any successful man could hope for. And dammit, with her natural beauty and tightly-toned curves, that only took money, which he had plenty of.
Suddenly, though, she felt very guilty, and she briefly considered returning the contents of the bags in her arms, as she scooped them up from their scattered locations in the parking lot. She suddenly experienced a warm, tingly sensation in her nether regions, as she thought how that would please her husband...which puzzled her. Why would she get a tingle—specifically a sexual tingle—from that thought? She shook her head again, causing some of her lustrous, blonde locks to fall over her shoulders and down onto her breasts.
'I must have hit my head, or something,' she considered, although a careful probing of her scalp produced no discernible twinges of pain—no dried blood, no obvious damage. Then she became suddenly conscious of the way her hair was teasing her nipples through the silk blouse she was wearing. She smiled as she thought of the way her husband sometimes did that to her intentionally, in bed, and her nipples crinkled immediately to twin jutting points, visible even through her sensible bra. She also experienced another, sharper twinge of warmth in her crotch...and in her ass. (?)
'What's that about?' she puzzled. 'What's wrong with me, today? It's only been a week since our last bout of sex, and I'm suddenly getting feelings like I've been cloistered with the nuns for a year. I definitely think my darling hubby is gonna get his bones jumped, tonight!!'
'God, I'm sopping! I gotta get home before I start soaking through my pants, and someone thinks I pissed myself!' She finished gathering her items, hopped in her Beamer and headed for home, unconsciously stroking a still-erect nipple with a lock of silky hair as she drove.
* * * *
"How'd everything go, 'Tasha'?"
"Flawlessly, as always. You know our reputation and our methods; we've never had a failure, and we certainly weren't going to start with your precious cargo."
"Excellent. Were you able to preserve most of the original personality?"
"That was an unusual request, and naturally, we've billed you appropriately...but yes, I think you'll be pleased. If not, we'll go back and 'tweak' the results to suit your tastes, no extra cost. Bottom line: 100% customer satisfaction is our guarantee. If we didn't think we could do it to your specifications, we would have told you so, up front."
"Again, excellent. It's always been a pleasure doing business with you folks."
"Likewise. We'll check back with you in a couple of weeks, to see how things are going."
"I look forward to hearing from you...and to sampling your product."
"Bye. Until then..."
* * * *
"Hey, honey! How was your shopping this morning?"
She grins like an idiot and flushes all over at hearing the sound of his voice on the phone. Her damnable nipples, which have been erect for most of the morning, spring to attention again. She'd had to abandon her bra when she got home because of the chafing, but it hadn't helped nearly as much as she'd hoped. And those thrice-damned 'twinges' were becoming more insistent, too! "Hey, sweetie! When are you coming home? I'm suddenly kind of anxious to see you, if you get my meaning..."
"Oh, hey, that's really tempting. But I was just calling to tell you that I'm not going to be home in time for dinner tonight...in fact, I'm going to be very late, and I was just warning you not to wait up for me. Now you tell me that you're 'in the mood' and it just makes me that much more upset."
"What? Working late? Why?"
"'Don't ask me about my business, Kay...'" he jokes, in his best Pacino imitation...which admittedly, is not all that good. "Seriously, though, I do have to finish up a project before I can call it day, and I'm nowhere near done."
"But honey..." she starts to whine, and catches herself. 'What's gotten in to me, today? I'm practically on the edge of begging for sex. MAN, I need it bad!' "Alright, dear, but try to get home as soon as possible. I'll be waiting for you..."
"Seriously, sweetie, I know how you feel, and I'd definitely love to indulge you, but you have to get up tomorrow for work...and I'm not going to be home before you need to get to bed for your full beauty rest. Not to mention it's going to be another long day for me, tomorrow, as well. I'll try not to wake you, 'cause I know it'll be very late."
"Alright. I'll see you in the morning, then." She practically pouts, though she knows he can't see her.
"'Night, lover. I'm really sorry about this..." He hopes she doesn't hear him grinning like a fool through the phone. "But hey, you know that I'd much rather be with you, 'taking advantage of you' right now, than having to do what I'm doing here. I've got about ten minutes before I've got to get back in there with the crew...you want to hear about what I'd be doing to you, right now, if I were there with you?"
"You sure? How about if we pretend it's not really you I'm talking about, but say...someone named Althea. And say, for instance, Althea is a ravishing redhead, with a nice, fresh Brazilian wax job, and..."
"STOP! Right this instant!!!!" She's practically panting, her need is so great. "If I'm not gettin' any, I certainly don't want to hear about some slut named Althea gettin' it, either! And seriously, a redhead? Brazilian? Where do you come up with these things? Something wrong with this furry blonde bush here at home?"
There is definitely something VERY wrong with that untamed blonde bush right this second, and she thrusts her free hand down her shorts, but the angle is wrong and she can't reach the places she needs to, to massage the growing ache in her groin. She knows her pussy is practically drooling into her panties; and she thinks she can even smell herself. She begins fumbling, one-handed, to undo her pants.
"Alright then, but if Althea shows up here, around, say, 10:30 tonight, I'm sure I'll be able to find a half-hour to squeeze HER into my schedule...and my cock into both her hot little holes! Sorry you'll be home...alone...in a troubled sleep...unsatisfied... tossing and turning in your lonely little bed...poor, neglected pu..." She interrupts him halfway through his sentence, as he begins seriously warming to his story.
"I said, 'STOP!' buster, and I meant it! And if I find this Althea bitch, I'm gonna strangle her! You be careful and bring those goodies home tonight, as soon you can—and if I find a single drop of Althea's skanky, bald pussy juice on that equipment, I'm going to mount them on the wall, so I can keep them out of future trouble!"
He's still grinning like a loon; he can hear her pants hit the ground, as she drops them to her ankles. More importantly, he can see them hit the floor from three angles on his computer screen, choosing those views from among the dozens of high-definition security web cameras installed throughout his house today, while his wife was 'out'. He zooms one of the bedroom cams in on the wet spot in the front of her panties, and he gets a close-up of her hand fishing around behind the flimsy cotton.
She's also grinning with him...in between grimaces and near grunts, as she continues to fight with her clothing, one-handed. The "mounting on the wall" threat is an old joke between them, and they both chuckle—until her sudden intake of breath, as she finally worms her hand in and hits the right spot.
Although they have never joked about someone named "Althea" before; though she didn't even know what a 'Brazilian wax job' was before today; despite the fact that she has never uttered the words 'skanky, bald pussy' in her entire life, she's a little too distracted to wonder where those changes came from.
"Are you okay, honey?" His voice drips with insincere concern.
'Ah, that's better! God, I need this,' she screams inside. Out loud, all she says is, "Oh, mmmmm...yeah, I'm fine. I, uh...I just stubbed my toe. No permanent damage done, though. Look, I'm gonna go, let you get back to it, so you can maybe get home a little earlier than you're planning. Okay? Love you! Bye, bye, bye..."
She doesn't wait for his reply and she practically slams the phone down as she thrusts her second hand into her panties...and then finding even the thin elastic band still too restrictive, peels the soaked cotton briefs over her ass and quickly and tosses them into a corner in her haste to get both hands working on her overheated sex.
She closes her eyes and her mind starts filling with lurid images...unlike any she's ever had before. She imagines her husband, naked, cock erect, walking slowly toward her, prick bobbing as he approaches, dripping and glistening with...pre-cum? Saliva? Pussy juice? Some other lubricating substance? All of the above?
She begins unconsciously drooling as she works her hands faster in her swampy hole, squeezing and rubbing, sliding the tips of her fingers in and out, up and down her slick entrance. She redirects one hand to begin massaging her aching breasts, tweaking and teasing her nipples, cupping and squeezing her full, sensitive mounds.
Now she sees other cocks...lots of cocks! Large ones, huge ones, circumcised ones with big heads, uncircumcised ones with the heads completely hidden, cocks with hairy balls and cocks with neatly groomed pubes. Then, suddenly she sees pussies. Close-cropped pussies, pussies with landing strips, completely smooth pussies(!), pussies with heart-shaped pubes, pussies with tattoos, rings, jewels, bells, LOCKS! She gasps as she sees the women these pussies belong to, in collars, with pierced nipples, wearing restrictive harnesses, hair bound up and away so you can see their faces as they slobber and lick and suck at their masters' cocks, while other cocks pound away in their pussies...and asses! Then, some of the collared women are sitting on the faces of other submissive women, while slurping and licking the pussies of stern-looking, dominant women, women who guide the efforts of their lapping tongues and press and grind their furry crotches forcefully into the faces and mouths of the women licking them.
Her hands are in a frenzy now, blurring as she nears a desperately-needed cum...closer...drawing right up to the edge...then, her hands tiring, her breath coming in gasps, she begins to lose concentration. The images fade away, and she sees her husband again...now with another woman. An incredibly hot woman. A redhead, dressed entirely in slinky lingerie—slutwear, she's always called it, but now that doesn't seem like a completely negative term.
The redhead is fondling her husband, and rubbing against him, and the bastard is responding to her caresses! She sees there are openings in the slutwear—cutouts for the nipples, a slit in the panties—and she catches glimpses of the crinkly breast buds when they're not dragging across her husband's chest. She clearly sees the woman's completely bare pussy and the naked lips parting when she squats to drag her husband's pants and underwear down, freeing his cock so she can lave it with her tongue.
Andrea begins to growl with frustration, and anger, and jealousy and...something else, a longing, a desire unlike any she's ever had before. She finds she wants to take that fictitious woman's place, push her out of the way, reclaim her man, and she somehow knows she can't do it continuing like she is today.
She wants to rub sensuously against her husband like that hussy is doing, pressing her face into his chest, sliding over his body like a cat in heat, fondling his cock and sucking his nipples. She wants to be the one on her knees in front of him with her husband's cock sliding into her throat. She wants to be the one taking it doggie style, her face buried in the pillow while her husband plunges into her from behind. She wants to feel his tongue—or any tongue!—on her completely smooth pussy, and to squirt joyously, with abandon, into that someone's mouth.
As the images of her own submission come faster and stronger, as her mind's eye displays her body decorated with jewelry and artwork, shows her becoming ever more debased and subservient, as her husband plunders her ass and binds her in leather and gives her to other men—and women(!)—once again she begins to near the peak. And she gets much closer...she's panting like a steam engine...and she's nearing the peak...she's so close she sinks to her knees and then onto her back...and her hands never stop their groping and plunging and slipping and sliding and squeezing, rubbing her folds, pinching her clit and nips and then, as she's sure she's heading over the edge...
Once again she loses concentration and it slips from her grasp.
She screams in frustration and pounds her hands and feet on the floor and tosses her luscious blonde mane until it's a wild nest of tangles, as the images fade slowly from her fevered brain.
* * * *
Her husband, watching the whole scene from the computer in his office, laughs out loud; he's ecstatic with the show she's putting on, and he's sooo happy he's now got the entire episode on his hard drive. He knows she won't be able to cum until he's there to assist or allow her to do so, and he has no intention of permitting her release any time soon. He knows the kind of images filling her brain because he had them put there, and he reinforced them with his little chat a few minutes ago.
He glances at the clock; it's now only a little after one, and he knows his darling dearest is in for a long day and evening of frustration. It will be longer still if she doesn't listen to her urges and come crawling to him later tonight, begging for release, but he really doesn't expect that until at least the second day...more likely the third. He wonders how much she's already changed, and just how many more changes will occur today, and what form they will take. Since they kept her old, prudish, vanilla-sex personality intact as much as possible, he was going to relish every moment of her internal struggles and her outward embarrassment and her ultimate defeat as she succumbs to the programming he ordered.
He loves his wife...but he was definitely getting the feeling he was going to love his new, improved wife so much more. He began to wonder why he had waited so long to take this step.
* * * *
Chapter 2 'Meanwhile, back at the ranch...'
Andrea, for her part, is awhirl with conflicting emotions. Where did those bizarre images come from? She's never even seen such pictures anywhere, much less encountered that many actual naked people in her entire life. She had no idea what an uncircumcised cock looked like before today and would never have dreamed that pussies came in so many shapes and colors, and with such bizarre pubestyles...and with such (cute) decorations! (?)
But more important than the possibility that she's losing her sanity, where did she stash that damned vibrator her husband bought her, but which she's never used? Does she have any batteries to fit? Her pussy is on fire, and she suddenly realizes she's sitting naked in a small puddle of her own juices on the hardwood floor, and leaking more (delicious) pussy juice by the second. (?) She doesn't even remember taking off her blouse, but there it is, tossed over the bedside lamp and certainly no one else could be to blame for the haphazard display.
She scrambles up and, uncharacteristically ignoring her nudity, begins a frantic search in her mind for the 'ridiculous' rabbit vibe her husband brought home for a 'joke'...ha, ha. She thinks she may have stashed it in the under-bed storage area of her waterbed's Captain's frame. She falls to her knees next to the bed and begins pawing through the first of the many storage drawers. There are dozens of items down there that haven't seen the light of day in years; maybe the "funny bunny" will be among them.