Kathy & Me Ch. 6byJigs©
It was the next afternoon when I saw Kathy again. As we sat in her kitchen enjoying our usual cup of coffee I said to her, "Well girl, the big night came. Our boys swapped us, fucked us royally, and the sky didn't fall. Admit it, you enjoyed every moment, even the part where you got your rocks off on my tongue."
"Yeah, maybe so," Kathy grudgingly replied, "but only because Steve has me so addicted to having something in my pussy that I don't care who puts what in there anymore. I wasn't such a tramp before. What has happened to me?"
"We are just exploring what we are, uncovering our inner female selves, that's all," I answered her. "Quit struggling so, Kathy. A man's plaything is what nature meant you to be. Me too."
"Well, maybe, but I can't keep up anymore. My life is becoming more and more complicated. For one thing, Steve tells me that he and I are going to be married."
"God damn, girl," I screamed at her, "Is it a secrete or something? Why didn't you tell me."
"I didn't know myself until an hour ago," Kathy replied. "It wasn't at all the loving proposal a girl dreams of. He didn't ask. He pronounced it as a coming event, like tomorrow's weather. 'By the way Kathy, you and I are getting married.' Boom! Case closed! I know that he owns my cunt, but a girl would like to have some say about who and when she marries. Is he marrying me because he loves me and wants me as his wife? I don't think so! I'm just another concubine, a more permanent one perhaps, a slave legally wed and in servitude till death do us part, as the saying goes..., is that really any better than now? Marge, I do love the bastard, and I'm hooked on the way he fucks me, but do I really want to be his sex toy for the rest of my life?"
I thought a minute before answering. "Well, you once thought you were going to be Stan's wife forever too, but things didn't turn out that way. You can always divorce Steve, just as you did Stan. Steve himself says that your relationship is entirely consensual, and you can end it any time you wish."
"Oh, Marge, all that talk is just more of his bullshit. No way could I walk out on him. He has my head so messed up that I can't think about anything but having his dick in me. I have no free will left, and he knows it damn well. I won't..., I can't..., leave him no matter what he does to me. Anyway, it's a stretch to call what he wants a marriage. He doesn't intend to change anything. He will keep Sheila and Vicky on the side, and he intends to fuck you, or anyone else he chooses, whenever he wants. It's bad enough now. If I'm barely able to share him with other women now, how can I deal with it as his wife?"
"Well then," I answered her and closed the subject, "what are you agonizing over? You are going to marry him, and that's that. By your own admission you can't do otherwise. Anyway, being married to your master is not a bad thing. Take it from me, I like being my husband's slave woman. It has changed my life.
"Marge," Kathy began frowning, "your servitude is still a new thing. You may have less enthusiasm for it the more you see Tim's cock buried deep inside some other woman's cunt."
She was right. That was something that did worry me. We were both quiet for a few moments while I considered how to deal with Tim screwing other women.
"Maybe Tim won't do that, at least not very often," was all I could finally say.
"Oh but he will," Kathy replied, "and you know that as well as I do. Every man will sniff at a strange pussy if given half a chance, and have given him that chance. Sex slaves have no right object whatever our men do. With his reins off, Tim will take full advantage of whatever strange stuff might come his way. Didn't he fuck me in your living room just last night with your legs rubbing up against mine? Do you think the old Tim would have done that?"
I couldn't argue with her. I thought I had better find out a little more about what lay ahead of me. "Well, who else is available for Tim to fuck besides you. To the best of my knowledge, there aren't any women waiting in line for Tim's prick."
"You might be surprised, Marge," Kathy answered. "There are a lot of horny lonely women out there, lots of them. Anyway, Steve will want to fuck you from time to time, so Tim can always trade your little twat for Sheila, or Vicky, or me, or maybe for all three of us in a package. And if we aren't enough, Steve's has this little cabal of close friends. They all have women who will jump on Tim's pecker in a heart beat."
"You haven't met that rat pack yet. They are a half dozen guys that follow Steve around like he was a guru or something. Among them is his younger brother, and the rest are just guys he picked up along the way. Once or twice a month they play cards, go to a ball game, or just hang out together at a bar or somebody's family room to drink, tell jokes, and watch a ball game on TV. It's one of those male bonding things I guess.
"Their wives and/or girlfriends are all either submissive or swingers willing to play along just to get screwed. This isn't a sex club exactly, but all the women are expected to be "good sports" when that is required. We all take turns as serving girls at their little outings, for example. Sometimes the guys may want a little more from us than just beer and sandwiches. Maybe a strip tease during halftime or something, but usually that's about it. When my turn came around, I showed 'em some tit and leg..., and a glimpse of my bare pussy once and a while. Oh, boys will be boys! They grabbed a feel of the merchandise when they could, but that's about all."
"Is that all, ever? Do they sometimes swap women like Tim and Steve did last night?" I asked.
"Sometimes, according to what I've heard, but I don't think very often. Like I said, the guys are into boy things, and women always come in second to the Super Bowl on that agenda. Not that they aren't ready and willing to enjoy a little strange pussy, but their thing is about being buddies. Nothing screws up a friendship quicker than sex, and they know it."
"Still, sometimes the hormones run strong, and what happens, happens. For example, Sheila told me about an evening when she was the serving girl for a poker party. Steve ran short of money, and he put her in the pot as part of his bet. The men were all pretty oiled, and it was just a big joke until Steve lost the hand. Sheila had to pay off Steve's bet by giving the winner a blow job while everyone watched. That little scene set off the male horny for sure. Steve continued to loose, and every time he did, Sheila was back on her knees with a cock in her mouth. Later on, the betting limits were raised. A blow job wasn't enough to cover the IOU anymore. When Steve lost a big hand, Sheila had to fuck the winner to pay off."
Kathy obviously didn't like the thought of being the stakes in a card game. She winced a little, and then continued, "Up to now Steve hasn't included me..., thank goodness..., but Sheila has told me that the men occasionally do hold a preplanned orgy, and their women are invited along to provide the fun. Sheila said that the games at these things vary, but one of their favorites the men call 'slave auction.' Guess what that's about?"
"One by one each woman is made to strip and stand on the coffee table with her hands cuffed behind back and her legs spread. The men examine her breasts and pussy, feeling her up as if evaluating her bed value. They make the 'merchandise' tell them whether she would rather be fucked in the mouth, pussy or ass. Then they bid to "own" the woman until noon the next day. Until then, the woman must service the dick of the man who bought her, and for all I know the dicks of all his friends as well. Sheila said that one of the women refused to play along. For her trouble, the men tied her face down over the coffee table and whipped her ass with a cane until she agreed to cooperate."
"Sheila told me that the women weren't told about any of this before the party began. A mate swapping orgy is one thing, but it must be quite a jolt to unexpectedly find yourself naked on a coffee table while men bid to own your pussy. I guess its a matter of taste tho. Sheila is a born submissive. She tells me that being sold like that turns her on. Vicky is such a little whore, I doubt that she minds it much either."
"I can understand that," I said to Kathy. "Last night while I was trying to go to sleep, I had the most incredible day dream. In my fantasy, in a former life I had been captured after a battle, and marched away to a slave market. It seemed so real that it scared the hell out of me..., but I was every bit as horny as I was scared."
"Steve had you going last night didn't he, honey?" Kathy replied. "You don't think you are the only one who has that nightmare do you? To be sold is both fear and turn on to every submissive woman. In mine, I imagine that I'm traveling to the West Indies to be married when my ship is captured by pirates. They rape me, beat me, and when we reach port, they sell me naked at public auction. Why for God's sake do I think about such things? Can it be that my female genes are imprinted with the misery of women down through the ages? Or, are these recollections from some past life of our own? Or, is this all merely our weakness..., a subconscious desire to be dominated? Whatever..., to stand shackled and naked on a flesh market block is just about the worst fear a female can have. Its even worse when you realize that the very horror of the nightmare turns you on."
Kathy shuddered at the picture in her head, and paused before going on. "Nor is our fear unjustified. God damn them, who knows how far our men will force us to go. Steve makes me fuck other men. He has used Sheila's body to cover his IOU in a card game. He puts on some horrible mock sales in which he and the other 'buyers' play at the game of real slavery."
"All this just play acting, you say. Just a twist on wife mate swapping, you say? A game played out with the consent of a horny woman, you say. Well, if you think that is so, you are mistaken. Consent? Bull Shit! When did I ever 'consent?' 'Consent' implies that I have free will, but in truth, I haven't any of that left. He does whatever he wants with me. If that means I must stand butt naked on a coffee table while my twat is sold, then that is what I will do, but it isn't because I 'consented'. Is being sold any different than the way Tim fucked me last night? You bet it is. I am humiliated when he lets another man use me, but the idea of being auctioned off brings home the terror of it all. A woman sold to the highest bidder knows what she really is, and what she is good for."
"Tim wouldn't do that to me," I protested.
"Oh yes he will, Marge," Kathy argued. "You are a slave woman, and slave women get sold, and traded, and are otherwise handed from man to man all the time. It goes with the territory, and its going to happen to both of us..., over and over. It happened to you just last night. Get used to it girl, one way or another, Steve's cock is not the only strange meat your husband will arrange for your pussy. You can bet on it!"
Kathy's phone rang then, and while she was taking the call I returned home to think about what Kathy had said. That very evening Tim brought a gentleman I had never met before home for dinner. Mr. Korren was the purchasing agent for an important customer of Tim's employer. He was a very large bald man who reminded me of the professional wrestlers I see on television. He was also as horny as an old tom cat, and as I was to find out, Tim had promised that I would entertain him with my body.
Of course I didn't know that when out of the blue after dinner our guest made a smutty remark about my "big tits". I was stunned, and tried to make the remark into a joke. I was brought up short, however, when Tim interrupted and told me to shut up and open my blouse. "Mr. Korren," he said, " wants to see your breasts."
At first I refused, but Tim insisted. He reminded me that he owned me now. He said if I didn't do as I was told he would strip me, tie me down across the steps of our stairway, and whip my pussy in front of our guest. Korren was quick to interject that he would certainly like to see that. How awful! I could see myself on my back k with my arms and legs spread across our stair steps, screaming in pain while this stranger enjoyed my hurt and humiliation.
Afraid to protest further, I stood and opened my blouse. Tim doesn't let me wear a bra any more so there I was, topless, mortified, and waiting for what I knew would come next. Korren didn't disappoint me. He also stood up, put a hand under each breast and hefted them as if estimating their weight.
"Lovely!" was all he said as he stooped and took my left nipple in his mouth and sucked on it. All the time I was looking daggers at Tim, but he just grinned at my humiliation.
"Strip off your skirt Marge," Tim ordered me, "and help Mr. Korren off with his clothes. Lay down beside him on the sofa, and press your tits against him. Let him enjoy your body. Play with his pecker and let him feel your pussy."
I couldn't believe Tim was doing this to me. I began to cry, but I did as I was told. Tim doesn't allow me to wear panties any more either, so once my skirt was on the floor, I was nude except for stockings and garter belt. Exposed and beet red with shame, I knelt before our guest, took off his shoes and socks, and pulled down his pants and jockey shorts.
He stretched out on the couch and I lay down on top of him pressing my bare flesh to his. I couldn't believe all this was really happening when this total stranger put a finger in my pussy. With his other hand he began squeezing one of my breasts. He didn't need any help getting an erection, but Tim ordered me to take his prick in my mouth anyway.
Sucking a stranger's cock in front of my husband was the ultimate humiliation, but it set me wild with desire. Fully aroused by my own submission, I was enjoying my role of whore. Pussy juice leaked down my leg. The odor of my sex filled the air. As Korren's fingers stroked my clit I became all slut, a sexy blond harem houri, the natural prey of every man with a penis. God, how I wanted Korren to fuck me.
I hated Tim for making me do this with a stranger, but Steve Hamilton was right. A woman is at her erotic best when she is used as a plaything. I began to lust after this new cock even as its owner watched me strip, and the feel of his naked body against mine excited me. He had a big cock and I could feel him harden as he pressed it against my belly. My poor pussy began to ache with need.
I rolled off Korren and the sofa onto my knees. Korren sat up, and as he did, his huge hard-on sprung straight out from his crotch. My mouth watered as I thought of what it could do to me. I pulled myself up between his spread thighs, and frantic with desire, I buried my face in this stranger's crotch..., sucking his balls and licking his thighs.
From behind be I could hear Tim tell me "Put him in your mouth, damn it. Suck him you horny bitch, suck him!"
"God Damn him," I thought, "my loving husband is turning me into a whore. But, shit, right now, I just don't care! Tim wants to watch his wife suck off a stranger, does he? Well shit, that's fine with me. I'll give him a blow job he will never forget!" I swallowed the full length of the stranger's rock hard penis, bobbing my head, sucking hard over the knob at the end, just as Tim and Steve had taught me. The more slutty I became, the hotter my pussy burned.
Then I heard Tim's voice again, "On your hands and knees now, Marge, crawl to me" Tim ordered. "Mr. Korren is going dog fuck you from behind while you give me your best trailer tramp blow job."
I am self conscious about my breasts and big butt when I am on my hands and knees. On all fours with my fat ass in the air, and my tits dangling and swaying under me, I always feel both vulnerable and ashamed of spectacle I am making of myself. Yet, I never feel more sexy and wanton than when I must crawl for a taste of Tim's cock. Tim knows all this, and he knew damn well what being made to act like this before Korren would do to me. What I a picture I must have been, on my hands and knees, one penis in my mouth and another deep in my cunt. My humiliation was complete.
Fucked with two cocks, my imagination reopened last evening's fantasy, and I became lost once more in medieval Europe. A suburban New Jersey housewife no longer, I was once again a Christian princess of a thousand years past, captured by the Huns, raped, and carried off to be sold into slavery....
Tim and his guest were far behind me now, but even so, nothing changes to the better. In my fantasy, I remain a helpless naked female on my hands and knees at the mercy of a pair of male tormentors. The only difference is the question of who are the men plundering my holes. I no longer suck Tim. Instead I pleasure the shaft of the bearded Magyar in the Roman toga who bought me at the slave auction. The guest probing my pussy from behind is no longer an overweight furniture buyer from Dayton Ohio, but a muscular barbarian, a warrior ally of the Magyar visiting him from the other side of the Danube.
It all comes back to me now..., how on the last day of my trip from the slave market, the guards took my sister slave and myself from our prison cart, and made us kneel before the Magyar by the side of the road. There he opened his robe and showed us his cock for the first time. It was, as I had hoped, both long and thick. First the other girl, and then myself, were told to demonstrate our loyalty and obedience to our new owner by sucking his penis while his men watched.
We knelt there in abject submission, naked and in chains, alternately tending our new master's cock and balls, while he explained what he expected of us. We were told that in addition to ourselves, there are a dozen or so cunt slaves at the castle manor our Master keeps on hand to entertain himself and his guests. When he is not using us, we may be sent to pleasure his elite troop of soldiers. I did not understand why at the time, but I soon learned that in these uncertain days a comely woman is the bribe most likely to insure the fealty of a praetorian guard. I need not have worried so about having regular sex in my new home. In this manor a slave woman will sometimes be fucked by as many as three different men in a day's time.
Still, slave or free, I could be worse off, and I would not dare to try to run away. This manor has high stone walls and it is defended by a well equipped little army of mercenary soldiers. Here I am protected from the bands of thieves and brigands who roam the countryside, stealing slaves and pressing honest serfs into an even more bitter kind of servitude. Security is important to a woman in these troubled times. I have experienced the terror of capture and rape. I have endured a long march across the mountains chained by my neck in a line of half naked women. I have suffered the cruelty of the slave merchants. I know the shame of being paraded nude on the auction block. I remember well the auctioneer lashing at my legs with his whip to make me dance and flop my tits for the bidders to see. I do not want to repeat any of those horrors.
I am therefore grateful for the safe refuge of this manor. Our treatment is sometimes harsh, but we are well clothed, housed and fed here, and our other needs attended. We are punished for our misdemeanors, but we are not beaten unfairly. We are required to douche with a herbal wash after sex to protect us against pregnancy. If, however, a cunt slave does begin to swell with child she is excused from all sex duty except blow jobs. After she delivers, a woman serf is permanently assigned as a nanny to help raise her baby.