tagLoving WivesCarpe Dieam

Carpe Dieam


**Note to Readers: Please respond with comments! Constructive criticism encouraged! This story was based on true experiences in my life. Names, dates, and locations have been changed to protect the sexually mischievous (ha-ha). Liberal creative interpretation of actual events was used to piece together a period of time. Even though some parts of this story are slightly altered or exaggerated, for story telling purposes, the essence of the tail is intact and comes from a private journal I kept.

At the time the following events unfolded in my life I had just turned 30. Susan, my wife, was 28. She was a naturally beautiful brunette. 5'8" tall and had an extremely athletic body. She had recently begun to compete in Olympic distance triathlons. The training for this kept her body in peak physical shape. Luckily for me she retained her breasts, 34C, even though most triathlon participants loose them. She had beautiful brown eyes and I remember when I first met her a friend of mine compared her looks to the actress Christine Taylor. I agree whole-heartedly, they could have been sisters separated at birth.

I have to admit looking back at the events now I was more open to this type of thing that I was willing to admit. I defiantly had my reservations but the mere thought of such financial gain tied to intense sexual pleasure was too appealing. It was our apple in the Garden of Eden.

To most our Garden of Eden would not have been an "Eden" at all but we were content. Our quaint house on a cul-de-sac in a quite neighborhood was our perfect home. Susan and I had been married for 5 years. We met on a semester break halfway through college and became fast friends. Our relationship started off as most do in college, no strings attached, but over the remaining years of college and through other miserably failed and wasted relationships we always came back to each other. Every time we reunited the confessions of our past lovers was always such a shock to me I didn't know how to deal with it. My "defense mechanism," if you can call it that, was to get turned on. The first time I experienced this emotion was over the phone. We were on again big time since our last summer break but were apart for the semester, which had just begun. This otherwise uneventful evening was the awakening of something in me I didn't know existed. She confessed to me that during our most recent time apart she had been with another guy. I knew this was obviously the case but had never been confronted with the reality before. With my stomach in my throat and my heart beating so hard in my chest it caused me to strain to hear her on the other end of the phone. Panic came over me.

"Really," I sputtered out.

Her voice began to crack and she went into an apology.

"That's not necessary," I said, "I understand, I don't feel any different about you now."

I was lying. My adrenaline was peaked! I could break the 3-minute mile no sweat. I could bench press a house. Holy shit I thought I was going to pass out.

"I thought you'd hate me," she said.

"Seriously, not at all," I responded, "Thank you for telling me. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about it?"

"If you'd like," she responded.

I slowly began asking her when, with who, where, and all the other details. As she began responding to each question I got harder and harder. This rush was overwhelming. Listening to her confess her exploits in such detail. My hands were shaking and I was slowly beginning to stroke myself.

"Well, it was Kevin. The guy you met that night we were out together at that bar. We had hung out before and once had a drunk make out session but nothing more," she said.

"Go on," I tried not to sound like I was begging.

"I went out with Britney that night and two of her friends from school I didn't know. We went to the bar where Kevin worked because it was ladies night," she explained.

"One drink lead to many and before I knew it I was tipsy and in the back of Britney's car with Kevin on our way home. When we arrived to drop him off he asked if I wanted to come in. I said ok and Britney asked if I was sure. I was drunk and my inhibitions were down so I decided to go inside. One thing led to another and we ended up having sex," she finished.

Dang, I need more; I'm about ready to loose my mind I thought.

"Where did you do it," I asked.

"We started in the shower together then finished in his bedroom," she answered.

"What position?"

"We started doggy but finished missionary," she answered.

"Did you wear a condom?"

A brief pause then barely audible sigh, "No," she replied.

BLAM! My head exploded. The visuals of her wet body, her gorgeous long wet hair, the image of her beautiful breasts hanging down and swaying to the rhythm of his hips undulating behind her. I was close! My balls were tight and I was leaking copious amounts of pre-cum now. You could have dropped me into the middle of Times Square, a million eyes suddenly on me, and I wouldn't have noticed. I was transfixed and I was going to cum. My mind was so entranced I swear I could smell her perfume, hear her moans, and feel her wet, hot pussy around my aching cock.

"So...." Trying not to give away the fact that I was Nano-seconds away from coming.

I asked, "So, did he cum in you?"

"No, he pulled out and came on my stomach," she whispered.

That was all I needed to hear. I couldn't take one second more and I erupted. I came harder than I had ever cum before. It was like experiencing an orgasm for the first time and thinking "YEAH! FUCK YEAH! THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME!!"

"Nick, are you there? Hello? Hello," she questioned.

The second hello pulled me back into reality and slapped me in the face. SHIT! Idiot! You're still on the phone and she is going to know something is up! Answer her!

"Yes, yes, I'm here," I stuttered.

"Are you OK," she inquired.

"Yes, sorry, I was just processing everything." In reality I was slowly beginning to make my descent from such a high.

We talked for about another hour or so and I felt incredibly attracted to her. More than I ever had in the past. Some sort of weird, unexplainable sexual energy I had never experienced before. We ended our conversation on a very happy note, happier than she realized of course, and said our goodnights. This happened a few more times throughout my college years. After graduation I landed a job in Texas. As the fates would have it Susan did too. This undoubtedly led to a wonderful relationship for one year, our subsequent engagement, and then our marriage.

Before our marriage we did some intensive couples counseling. We are both "planners" and wanted to start off right. During these counseling sessions we would receive homework. We would each get a question, write our answer, and then read our answer to each other.

The topics ranged from finances, to children, to in-laws, to health problems. What happens if you become pregnant and the child has Down syndrome? Who will handle the money? How involved will each of your parents be in your lives and your future children's lives? I had never thought about answers to such questions before. I was delighted when sharing my answers with my wife I found we could have written each other's. All but one that is.

What are your sexual fantasies? During this I confided in Susan about the times I would pleasure myself to her past sexual exploits. She was extremely loving and understanding as she always is. It didn't seem to even shock her as I thought it might have. She said she totally understood the turn-on for me. However she didn't share the fantasy and I soon found out she didn't care to even role-play it in the bedroom much.

Fast-forward 5 years. Still married. Still incredibly happy, no children and my career had progressed nicely. My salary had allowed my wife to switch careers and start over in another field. We were more financially secured then anyone I know, that is our age, and living very comfortably. However, in our social circle we see those who have what I call "fuck you" money. Some have enough money that they do not have to worry about anything, ever. Not taxes, not market crashes, not anything. "Fuck you money." We often talk about how nice it would be to one day be in the same financial position as some around us.

"It is interest over time baby," my standard response.

"Sock as much away as you can stand now, live debt free, and watch it grow." One day we will have "fuck you money." Or at least that was our plan.

Enter Ms. Dana Wright. Dana lives on the opposite side of the neighborhood as us, on a gorgeous lake, in a gorgeous home. Home is not the appropriate noun, mansion, with a capital M. Her late husband was an incredibly successful entrepreneur. (I could divulge the way he made his fortune but since this story is based on actual events in my life it would certainly give too much away.) Dana was 15 years Mr. Wright's junior. He died in a tragic accident and left her everything.

My wife and Dana became great friends over the five years since we married and moved in to the neighborhood. I always though there was something about Dana but could never put my finger on it, my wife who is way more intuitive than I felt the same way and on June 7, 2010 we found out what it was.

It was an evening like any other. Actually, it was gorgeous out. It was the perfect temperature. I had just finished cooking up some salmon on the grill and whilst enjoying an adult beverage when my wife arrived home. I had arrived home from work a few hours before her so I thought I'd be a loving husband and get dinner ready. I'll never forget the look on her face when she walked in the door. At first it startled me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You are never going to believe what happened to me today!"

I briskly walked over to her very concerned, "What? What happened? Are you ok?"

"Oh I'm fine. At least I think I'm fine," she stated.

"Look at this," she insisted.

In her outstretched hand was a manila envelope. Inside there was a large stack of papers, probably 50 pages or so. On the top it had an attorneys letterhead, Michaels and Dowe.

"What is this?" I asked as I started leafing through the pages.

"It's a contract," she replied.

"A contract for what?"

"For 8 million dollars," She exclaimed in a loud and drawn out tone leaving her mouth hanging open in a look of disbelief.

"What? What are you talking about? 8 million dollars for what?" I inquired.

"For sex," she said with I tone I did not quite recognize.

"What do you mean for sex?"

I was confused but my adrenaline started flowing. My senses were peaking.

"It's from Dana. It is a contract for 8 million dollars, for sex," she said shaking her head in disbelief.

"Time out!" I exclaimed, "Start at the beginning and tell me everything."

Over the next hour and a half she proceeded to tell a story that would eventually take us a full week to process.

She had spent the day with Dana shopping. They were ending the afternoon together poolside at Danas house overlooking the calm waters of the lake she lives on.

"We were just having a normal conversation when all of a sudden she dropped a bomb on me," Susan began to explain.

"She excused herself and went inside then returned a short moment later with a folder containing this envelope. Before she handed it to me she made me swear that what was inside would not change our friendship. I don't like making such promises but I obliged her. She opened the envelope and said 'here is a contract for 8 million dollars to be paid to you over the next 12 months.' Before I could say anything she nervously jumped into her spiel.

"I want to hire you and your husband. Mostly just you but I know how devoted you two are to each other so after giving it some thought I want to include him for your sake. I want to hire you and pay you 8 million dollars over the next 12 months during which time I will own you. You will be 100% my property. An indentured servant if you will. Starting the first month, if you accepting this proposal, a deposit will be made in the checking account of your choosing. This will continue to happen every consecutive month for 12 months until your debt is paid off. Afterwards you are free to return to your normal life," my wife took a pause to allow me to process.

Susan continued her narrative, "To be as blunt as I possibly can- I want you to be my sexual slave. I will be your mistress, if you will, and I will be in complete control of you sexually. I will also dictate how much your husband is allowed to participate each month with you. It doesn't concern me what he does on his own time."

"I interrupted her," Susan said, "I was completely shocked, and asked her 'why are you asking me to do such a thing?'"

"You see Susan," she began to explain, "It gets me off to watch others get off. I cum the hardest when I know I have helped someone achieve the maximum limits of pleasure. In fact I pretty much can't cum unless I know my servant is reaching heights they never knew existed. I choose to almost exclusively only get off in this fashion. I am fortunate enough that the universe has placed me in a situation where I have the financial means to make my desires come true. The irony of the situation is I need someone else I can control to fulfill my desires. You have been a dear friend to me for the past 5 years and I know I am risking our friendship right now with this proposition. I honestly feel if I didn't ask then I would wonder for the rest of my life if you would of accepted. I am also aware of you and your husband's own financial goals. No doubt 8 million will most defiantly get you into a personal financial situation you both are striving and working so hard to achieve. I hope you choose yes. If not, I would sincerely want to maintain our friendship as it is but understand how I have changed things and possibly made it impossible for that to be. I won't say anything more. The contract must be responded to within 1 week. After the time has expired the contract is void and I only make the offer just this once. You either accept and fully commit, or respectfully decline and that's it. I trust you can see yourself out. Hopefully, I will talk to you soon."

"Then she stood up and walked into the house. I sat there for a moment trying to process what I had just heard," Susan said.

"Have you read all this yet?" I asked referring to the stack of papers in my hand.

"I have," she answered, "I sat in my car outside her house and read it completely through."

"Well what does it say?" I asked.

Mostly it is just legalese regarding how we will get paid, the time and date we will get paid, there is a confidentiality clause, and a bunch of other stuff regarding benefits I will receive while being in her "employ."

"Like what kind of benefits?" I asked.

"Well, I get a car, a new phone, she will buy all my clothes, take care of any doctors bills or visits I may need or have in the next 12 months, pay for niceties such as hair cuts and "mani-pedis." The list goes on an on. It also stipulates that this is in conjunction with my monthly salary. Well I guess technically 'our' monthly salary."

"That's it? Nothing specific about what you have to do sexually," I asked.

"Well yes, that is all there too. Basically all you need to know is on page 4," She remarked

I quickly turned to page 4, narrowly avoiding a paper cut I was so hasty. It was a list of rules. They were exceptionally clear and brief.

1.I own you sexually.

2.You will be an open, willing, and exuberant participate in all of the sexual exploits I ask of you.

3.You will provide me with an exhaustive list of all sexual experiences in detail submitted prior to your employ.

4.You will vow to take great strides to fully immerse yourself in what I ask of you.

5.You will be sexually open to any and all ideas you are presented with

6.You will cum and you will enjoy it.

"Holy shit are we in the movie indecent proposal?!?! WHAT THE FUCK!! I knew there was something about this chick," I yelled.

My wife just starred back at me. After the hour and a half of conversation about this unique situation we were both speechless, and hungry. We decide to go out and grab a quick bite. During dinner neither of us said a word to the other. Both of our minds were swirling. Weighing the pros and cons. Then simultaneously at the end of dinner we both resounded-


We stopped, starred at each other, and shared a quick giggle.

I started first, "I mean 8 million dollars but c'mon, there's no way. I mean right? There's no way," I repeated.

"I agree," Susan said, "I'm not interested. I mean what kind of a person just throws something like that out there? I have known her for five years and I never would have guessed. I guess you just never truly know someone."

We drove home and both confirmed how crazy it all seemed. We laughed at its insanity. We mocked the proposal and specific lines in the contract. We arrived back home, joked some more, and then got ready for bed.

"Well, I'm exhausted!" Susan said.

"HA! I bet!" I replied with a half laugh.

"I love you baby," she said and I responded in kind.

We fell asleep. I was in a pitch-dark deep sleep when I was ripped out of it. Something was pulling on my arm and shaking me. As I shook the fog from my head my eyes in the darkness could barley make out the silhouette of my wife awake sitting up, tugging me to rouse.

"What is it?" I asked.

She responded with only just one word that sent my whole world careening out of control.



It was the deadline. Susan and I were sitting across from our kitchen table together staring at each other. Each of us was running through our decision for the last time.

"We have 15 minutes to reply," Susan said.

"I know, but we are on the same page right? We are not going through with this," Which came out of my mouth more as a question than a statement.

Susan still staring at me had a look of uncertainty about her. Over the past seven days our lives had been consumed by this topic only. It was the one and only thing we spoke about. It was the only thing we thought about. Four days after we were presented with the contract I decided to take a couple of vacation days form work. It was consuming our lives so much I, nor Susan, could concentrate on anything else.

We had run the full gamut of emotions. We laughed about its absurdity, we took it serious, we grew concerned; it caused more than one heated argument. It made us answer questions neither of us ever though about before. Every logical argument pro or con was evaluated. We came up with every justification we could then we would immediately change our minds. Neither of us knew what to do.

"10 minutes now," I announced.

We were still staring at each other. Neither of us knew what decision to make and neither person felt they had the right to make the decision.

"5 minutes," I said, "This is awful and I'm over it," I proclaimed with emotional and sexual frustration.

I stood up and walked to the refrigerator, grabbed a Corona and using an opener ripped the top off. After I took a big swig. I looked up at the clock again.

"2 minutes," I said.

I was in the process of taking a long contemplative stare into the suds of my beer when Susan informed me of our impending deadline.

"1 minute left."

"Well I guess that settles it." I said, "Fucking 8 million dollars!"

I put my beer down on the counter and begin to walk out of the room. I had just turned the corner when I heard the phone dialing. My heart skipped a beat. I did an immediate about face and briskly walk back into the kitchen. As I crossed the threshold I heard a voice on the other end pick up.

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