She Loves Me, He Owns Her!

She Loves Me, He Owns Her

I arrive home after a long week. I'm tired and looking forward to the weekend of relaxing and taking things easy at home.

When I arrive, I notice my wife's car is not there. Not unusual, but she didn't tell me she would be out. A spark of apprehension ignites within me. Pulling slowly into the garage, frustration replaces apprehension at having to stop and move the children's toys and bicycles in my path.

After unloading my coat, briefcase and all my frustrations and irritations with the 9-5 workday world I notice a note to me taped to the foyer closet door. The spark of apprehension has changed to a tingle of anticipation. Looking around, I realize the kids haven't rushed up to meet me. The note, written by her owner, said that the kids are at her mother's house for the night, she is at his house, and that I am invited to watch her serve him for a brief time tonight. The anticipation immediately burst into a combination of relief that the kids are OK, sexual excitement, and unexplained fear.

I welcome the walk upstairs to our comfortable bedroom; an oasis and refuge, warm and inviting. The bed was made neatly, and a golf shirt and jeans were laid out waiting for me in advance.

Making my final adjustments in the mirror, it wasn't obvious how nervous I really was. Once I spied the discarded razor, nail polish, and lipstick in the bathroom trash that told me she had groomed herself well for him. I started feeling like I was going to come unglued.

A little background to understand my nervousness:

Ever since I've been married, I've wanted to see my wife with other men. Sexually. It began as a simple voyeurism. There is a deep desire within me to see her respond to her body as another man pleases it, to see her hips meet another man's, to see her mouth close around his cock, and to see her orgasm as he leads her. Like watching a porn movie with someone I know in it.

I mentioned it to her before our marriage, and for a time she accepted and even explored the fantasy with me; I remember the feeling of her getting wetter and wetter as I described how different scenarios would proceed. As the years of marriage continued, the thoughts and emotions for my wife's role as mommy to our children replaced her excitement and fantasies of being shared with other men.

However, my desire to watch her have sex with other men morphed into a tremendous desire to see her submissive to another man. A man that would control her and share her with others. One that would humiliate and degrade her. But one that would make her come back to him for more. To be so enamored by him and his treatment of her, that she couldn't leave, that she willingly obeyed his every request, no matter how debasing yet erotic it was. I found such a man and contacted him without her knowledge.

She was a traditional woman, and in her "Mommy" role, the idea of having sex with a man other than her husband was not of interest. He and I became friends, and, over the months after her introduction to her, he befriended her too. Eventually, he was able to seduce her into having sex with him.

The first time she first came home after giving herself to him, she didn't think I knew. She was aloof and on edge; I could tell something was on her mind. Over the weeks that followed, he had her three more times. As time went on, I let her know it was still ok if she had sex with another man. Eventually she confessed, and at first I feigned anger and disappointment, but made a point not to discourage her or tell her to stop. After a suitable time, I became supportive. I encouraged her to continue. And timidly, very timidly, she did.

With help from me, he was able to move her into being his submissive and eventually into being his property. Her submission to him was in the open between us, and it was accepted and encouraged. She would meet him some days, some evenings, but I always knew when she did.

He would tell me about their encounters and, separately, she would too. Several times I'd come home, knowing she was with him, and her car was gone. The kids would badger me to make dinner, knowing that their mom was out for the evening with her "friends." They knew that going out once or twice a week was a normal thing their mother did. Besides, it gave me a chance to strengthen my relationship with them.

This was the first time the car was gone, and she was with him without my foreknowledge. It was also the first time that he invited me to watch her serve.

Other times I'd watched them just them having sex. I'd hold her afterward and tell her how much I loved her. There were even times when she would come home from being with him, I'd hold her tell her that I loved her, and she'd tell me how he'd had sex with her and brought her many orgasms.

But I hadn't been invited to see her "serve" him with BDSM implied. I knew he thought of her as "property" only from the way he talked about her when he told me how she was used. My mind was racing with ideas of what I would see, what I would smell, hear, and perhaps, taste. It filled with images, both real and imagined of what I might experience.

I was invited to attend at 6PM, arrive on time, and only to speak to him while there. He closed the note with "She says to tell you that she loves you, but I own her." That only fed the flames of excitement within me. He lived about 20 minutes from us, and I arrived and stopped before turning onto his street with plenty of time to spare. I sat in the car for a few minutes, the anticipation was building, I could feel the hormones cursing through my veins. My stomach was churning with butterflies, my hands were shaking. Even in the air still warm from the day, I started to shiver.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat, talking a couple of deep breaths. Starting the car, I drove the last few minutes and pulled into his driveway. The night was cool, the sun beginning to set as the heat from the day retreated. The faint bouncing of a ball and children giggling and laughing reminded me of my neighborhood, a normal neighborhood; asphalt streets lined with mailboxes and homes surrounded by trees, bushes, and flowers. A dog barked in the distance. My kids would be having a fun time at her mom's house, oblivious to the paradox their mother was: on one hand a loving mother and wife, on the other a slut and owned property to be sexually used by another man or sometimes, men.

Walking to the door my legs were weak. I almost tripped on the step up to the front door. Straightening out my clothes, my hand was shaking as I concentrated on pushing the button to ring the bell. My mind was pounding with excitement and hormones. My limbs were on fire as the muscles were firing in response to the chemicals in my body. I could hear muffled voices and noises behind the door. They stopped for what seemed like 2-3 minutes, but in reality it was more like 30 seconds. Shortly, the door opened.

My wife of 20 years stood before me, naked, save for a shiny wide metal collar around her neck and a leash attached to it that dangled between her breasts. The collar dug into her skin and almost looked as if it was made to keep her head in a slightly extended position. She didn't look at me and didn't look up at all. Her eyes remained down, though her collar kept her head propped up.

I couldn't have uttered a word, even if he hadn't prohibited it. She reached for my hand and led me in. I wasn't sure she knew it was me, there was no acknowledgement in her touch, her body language, or the expression (or lack thereof) on her face, at least the part I could see as she turned and walked down the foyer. I got the strange sense that she would have let ANYONE in. As if she was told to greet whoever was at the door and lead them in, without looking at them, without concern for who it was, despite her nakedness. I could have been a stranger, a delivery boy, or another Dominant that she was told to lead into his home. My mind was racing with questions-had she done this before? How many times? Men? Women? Who else had seen her so obedient to him?

The living room was large with a high ceiling; there was a fireplace in the middle of one wall, and a large flat screen above it. A deep leather sofa lined the wall opposite the fireplace, and a comfortable looking easy chair was at the far end, set off from the sofa but angled slightly toward it.

In the middle of the room sat a sturdy coffee table made of deep brown wood. Some of the smudges on the thick glass insert top appeared to be handprints. In one corner of the room, pushed out of the way, I noticed something like a kneeling bench-with leather straps obviously for the wrists and legs of one who was kneeling. The bench was configured to stretch and support the torso of one strapped into it. Again, my mind was filled with questions-had my wife been strapped into the contraption? How many times? How many had used her in that way? Sensory overload, caused by the images and questions in my mind was fast approaching.

Her Owner sat in the easy chair. He smiled at me and motioned toward the sofa. Still holding my hand, my wife walked in his direction between the sofa and coffee table. She released my hand as she neared the middle of the sofa, he nodded, and I sat down. I fully expected her to sit next to me, but she continued to his chair. My mind was numb as she moved to his side. She stood next to the left arm of his chair, near his outstretched hand that rested on the sofa arm. She never looked at me, never acknowledged me at all.

He and I talked a bit, it was small talk about some common interests, a little about her and how I felt. When it was my turn to speak, the words came out of my mouth weak and broken- I was breathing quickly and the butterflies in my whole body had me shaking.

I tried to focus on his every word while watching my wife. I concentrated on looking for any reaction from her. She never moved or reacted as we spoke, she just stood silently at his side, looking down. When he raised his hand she gazed only at the floor. Our conversation became lively, although much of it on his part, as it was difficult for me to think. The small talk helped, and I started to feel a little more at ease.

Her lipstick and nipples were painted a similar color: bright, deep, "come fuck me" red, the same as her shoes. Her hands were submissively clenched behind her head, but I knew her nails would be a matching bright red. She remained amazingly still.

He beckoned with the fingers on his left hand, the side where my wife was standing. Without missing a beat, she took a small step forward to the chair arm. She parted her legs and moved her pelvis forward so that her cunt was near his fingers. He lifted his hand, parted her labia, inserted a finger or two, and began massaging her cunt. I could see her juices on his fingers as he moved them to produce maximum pleasure.

She still stood motionless, impaled on his fingers, closing her eyes to savor the sensations she was feeling. When her eyes opened, she never looked up, or in my direction or in any other direction but down.

He was a master at keeping the conversation going in the midst of pleasuring my wife. I could sense her breathing deepen. He removed his fingers, commented on how wet her cunt was, ran his fingers under his nose to inhale the musky odor, and held them in the air.

She had obviously been directed to clean his fingers when he did this, and she began licking them. When he removed his hand from her eager mouth and placed it back on the arm of the chair, she resumed the pose: hands behind her head, legs parted, pelvis thrust forward, as if inviting him to fondle her again.

"I'd like a glass of water." He said, not looking at her but watching for my reaction. She withdrew her cunt.

She walked through the room and disappeared down the hall to the kitchen, eyes down, fingers intertwined behind her head, breasts rocking from side to side. With the clink of ice cubes in a glass and faint running water she would return shortly.

Upon her return, she handed it to him and again, her hands went behind her head while her legs parted making her cunt available to his fingers, trained like a puppy dog to always come back to the previous pose. Trained to ignore everything but her Owner's voice and commands. She was oblivious to all else. I could feel my nervous excitement begin to rise again. My body shivered a little. Damn hormones!

Her Owner took a few sips of water and set the glass down. He pointed to the floor at his feet in front of him. My wife walked around to the front of his chair, knelt in front of him so her back was to me. She stopped a moment, awaiting the next command, and I admired her hourglass shape. He nodded and I expected her to begin to suck his cock.

What happened next was a total surprise. Instead of fumbling with his zipper, she gracefully leaned to her right, swung her legs around and positioned herself on her back, on the floor, at his feet.

She pulled her legs up and put her hands between her legs. Sliding to the end of the sofa to gain a better view, I could see her fingers busy holding her labia open. She was at his feet, holding herself open, staring only at the ceiling. Not looking at him or me. Not speaking. But her actions said, "I am your property, waiting to be used." It was as if she was offering her cunt to him. Like a trained animal might, obediently waiting for orders from its owner. She didn't move, didn't waiver. Staring at the ceiling, but begging for him without uttering a single word or moving

He winked at me and continued to talk, ignoring the precious gift that lay before him. I don't know what he was saying or even if it made any sense. It could have been gibberish or an alien language; my mind was filled with emotions and thoughts-I wasn't listening at all.

After a few minutes he stood up and undressed, neatly folding his shirt, pants and even briefs and socks. He stood between her legs and admired the nakedness below him. Her only movement began as he knelt between her legs. In a movement choreographed to perfection she moved her arms, releasing her labia, and moving her hands behind her head again. She gently arched her back and kept her feet on the floor, legs spread with him between them. The arched back caused her tits to stand higher, again, as if offering them to him. She never broke her gaze at the ceiling.

As he mounted and entered her, she closed her eyes. She fought the sensations of pleasure that tried to mold her face. I sat quietly as he induced orgasm after orgasm in her, wondering what she was thinking. Her eyes closed with each climax but reopened afterward and retook their gaze at the ceiling. She never looked my way.

When he came inside her, and he was sure that he had deposited all his semen inside her, he withdrew from her and stood next to her. A few drops of his semen mixed with her juices dripped from his cock onto her belly.

He looked at me and smiled and got dressed. She resumed the last pose she was in, as he must have trained her. Her gaze fixed on some invisible spot on the ceiling, hands between her legs, holding her labia open. When he sat back down she was still silently offering her cunt to him. She lay there for several minutes as he and I talked a little more.

Without warning, he announced it was time for me to leave and stood up. I stood and he beckoned me to walk around her as he led me out. I expected her to lead me out-I would take the opportunity to speak or force her to look at me. She never moved, and I could see his semen leaking from her cunt.

After a silent walk to the door, he bade me farewell. I stumbled on the first step again, turned to wave back at him or catch a glimpse of her but only saw the last bit of light as the door closed. I walked to my car not sure of the events I'd just witnessed. The clock in the car said 6:27.

I pulled onto his street and realized I was too preoccupied to drive. I pulled back off and parked along the street just a few yards from his driveway. It was an erotic dream, one from the deepest parts of my mind. I needed to make sense of my feelings and the events I'd seen. As I sat there a few minutes and a car drove up and parked in his driveway. Out of the vehicle stepped a well-dressed man and a woman dressed in an evening gown. They walked to my wife's Owner's home. It was 6:30.

I wasn't sure, but in the growing darkness and dim light from the house, I could almost make out my wife greeting them at the door as she greeted me. Time passed slowly. Another car parked in front of home and two men, impeccably dressed exited the car. They walked to his door and the shadow of my wife greeted them.

I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and forced myself to focus. I checked for traffic, facing forward. Somehow, I calmed down and drove home. Every car I passed on the streets was suspect. Were they going to his house to be greeted by my naked wife?

Once home and settled, the wait for her was excruciating. I didn't know when she would be home or even if she would be home that night. Every car I heard passing by should have been her pulling in the driveway. Every sound the house made should have been her opening the door. Eventually, I could no longer hold out and sleep rescued me from the torment.

I woke up early the next morning, expecting and hoping to find her in the bed next to me. But the pillows and bedding lay undisturbed. Sleep helped with my angst from the night before, and I tried not to imagine what happened or think about her at all as I went through my morning routine: showering, dressing, etc. I couldn't eat breakfast but downed coffee like it was going out of style, peeking out the window, hopeful that her car would magically appear. The television droned on and on and I tried to keep myself busy. Minutes stretched into hours.

I expected her mother to arrive and drop the kids off around 10AM. At exactly 10AM, her car pulled into the driveway and a wave of relief washed over me. It was quickly replaced by the anticipation that the kids would be home shortly and the concern that her mother and the kids would see her just arriving home from a long and I'm sure physically draining night.

She looked tired and disheveled, almost stumbling as she came into the house. I asked her how it went, but before she could answer I heard the unmistakable sound of her mother's car arriving. Sheepishly, she looked at me through exhausted but satisfied eyes. She said there was a party at her Owner's house, and she was the entertainment. With no more explanation or comment, she went to bed and fell promptly to sleep as the kids bounded in the door. Her mother followed them and almost at once, the asked, "Where is mom?"