SWIB 03: The Truth

She was still just standing there. I showed her the mouse under my eye. Told her the ass hole, I pointed to her husband, hit me first. She seemed to understand.

They arrested me. Claimed I nearly killed the guy. Hell, I think I only hit him one time. I got a good lawyer.

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Well, I say he's a good lawyer, so far, he ain't done shit.

While I was waiting trial, the lawyer told me to keep to myself and not talk to her. Like shit! I found out hubby was pissed and living with his mommy. That would work to my favor. I got my $500 and was planning a room for Mr. Abbott.

I called her and sweet talked her, yeah, I know, a big mistake, but I was facing jail. Told her I missed her, and we needed to meet, just once. No funny business, just meet.

She told me no. She said she remembered what I'd told her. I could count on her. Damned if she didn't come through.

How'd I get so lucky, I thought. A slut who looked out for me. She was the best yet!

Then some pin head shows up and testifies my black eye was from my fender. How on earth can they know these things? My lawyer did a good job makin' it look like he was guessing. I felt good. Then.

A video! A damn cell phone video. Far away, but you could see who it was. I was fucked.

This was not my fault! Damn slut, decided to get up there and lie. That wasn't on me. She'd testified. Her helpless husband testified. The video showed everything was just like he said. He didn't even make anything up. I was fucked 'cause the whore lied. I'd get her.

I told my lawyer that Molly wanted me to kill him. Hell, I figured in some one of her orgasmic confessions I'd probably made her say she did. But it was thin.

During the fight, she stood there. She didn't even ask me to stop. But she didn't look the part of someone out to kill her husband. I told my lawyer he had the big reputation; he'd better sell her as the master mind or mistress mind, or whatever. He tried to warn me I was upping the stakes. I intimidated him into going to the DA. This was my ass on the line, he'd do what I say, or I'd kick the shit out of him, too.

This was her scheme, she lied, I was a victim.

The lawyer came back and said the DA was intrigued.

Intrigued? What the fuck does that mean?

He wants to punish Mrs. Smith. She lied and he wants her bad. I asked, what's in it for me? "If you'll testify to a conspiracy to harm Mr. Smith, he'll go 10 years."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "Worst case, what do I get for a simple assault?" He told me probably 3 to 5 years. "Why would I get in this conspiracy shit?"

He said, "You made me go sell it. Don't blame me!"

Guess he was telling me time for dancing around was over. I was pissed. This wasn't my fault, because Molly lied my chance at just a crime of passion was gone away. Bitch! And my big-deal attorney fucked me, too. What's he doing listening to me?

They gave me until Monday to decide.

Saturday, I got a phone call. Greg Atherton wanted to talk to me. He found a spot where we'd not be seen, and we sat down. He told me he'd pay me a hundred large per year in jail to make my testimony against her right.

I wanted more. More money and less time.

He told me she also wanted me to settle somewhere else after I got out. She was afraid of what I'd do to her. Well, she was right about that. I told him 200 a year and 500 for a relocation. In five years, I'd make a million and a half. We cut the deal.

Atherton had to be very careful. Witness tampering would get him the cell beside me. We agreed on how payment would go.

I called my lawyer and told him I had fucked up. Molly babbled while we fucked, but she never seriously asked me to hurt her husband. He tried to tell me I could not change my story. I convinced him that facing jail, I lost my head. His job was to get me out of it.

My lawyer went to the DA on Monday and said basically I lost my head. The guy threatened me. You couldn't hear anything on the video, so I looked bad. But the threat made me hit him. Then, the lady, who has a screw loose, testified, what she believed to be for me.

She said some crazy stuff during sex. But I didn't want to say she wanted me to kill him. He finally agreed to five to seven years. I'd probably just get the nickel. But I'd have to testify to what she said.

I was makin' about 70 a year pushing paint. I'd make over three times that sitting in a little cell. But I'd be fuckin' less and instead, fighting not to be fucked.

Molly Smith

I am sitting in a court room beside my attorney. We have been told the jury has reached a verdict. My dad always told me you never want to be in a position in which you must count on the kindness of strangers and yet, twelve of them have decided whether I belong in prison. How did I get here?

My name is Molly Smith, at least for a while. Whether I end up in prison or not, I don't see any way my sweet, sweet husband will have me much longer. I suspect he has not filed for divorce and has attended my trial to help as he could, though we have not spoken nor shared a residence since my arrest.

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I was a quiet, studious high school student. I always had a fascination for how things worked. I was a top student in math and science and decided I wanted to be an engineer. I got a full scholarship to UCLA.

I kept up as a good student but started learning to be more of a social being. I learned I loved sex. All kinds of sex, but particularly rough, uninhibited rutting.

Engineering school was demanding enough that I didn't indulge all that often, but when I had a chance, I loved it.

My roommate kept warning me that sometimes the bad boys I craved weren't fun they were just bad. One of them was sure to hurt me, or worse. So, I was careful, in my fashion.

I started separating my activities between college men, I potentially wanted to marry, and bad boys in bars in poor neighborhoods. At the time, I really thought what I loved was rough and maybe illicit sex.

I dated hoping to find someone to love and to love me. When I found the right guy, we'd be lovers. None lasted too long, I couldn't say why. I never dated any of the guys I went to class with, they all seemed like such solid citizens, not what I was looking for. Besides, all of them were panting after me like love-sick puppies. Well, all but one, Dave Smith. He was an enigma.

My senior year I decided I wanted to change. I needed to settle down. I approached Dave and asked him why he'd never pursued me. That ended in a date. He was so sweet I wanted to take him back to my room.

He shocked me! He said, no.

Soon, I found I could have the love and the wild sex I craved with Dave Smith. I loved him enough to trust him with my need for rough sex. Our love led to our meeting each other's parents.

When we traveled to Rivertown, we not only met Dave's family, but I was introduced to Greg Atherton and the Atherton Products Company. I found my dream job. They sell specialty vans which are outfitted to carry the varied products for their many clients.

They outfitted vans to deliver hot pizzas, cold beer, heavy welding supplies, light party supplies and everything in between. Some trucks were used in multiple ways and had to be easily reconfigured by the owner. I got a full-day tour from the owner/president, Greg Atherton and by the end of the day had negotiated a job and starting salary. When I met Dave after the tour, I was so excited I announced we'd be living there after we married. He hadn't proposed, yet.

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One of my first assignments was to develop a clamp. The Atherton vans were configured with poles fixed to the top and bottom of the inside of the van. On the multiuse vans sometimes, there were hooks on the poles, other times shelves, and the owner needed to switch quickly.

It took over three years, but I invented, and Atherton patented, the Atherton clamp. It was simple, but very effective. The clamp was designed specifically for the poles in the vans. It was spring loaded with a trigger, like a bear trap, which snapped the clamp shut.

The spring was not strong, it would not hurt someone if it snapped on them. What held the clamp closed was it twisted slightly as it closed, locking it in place. But a simple twist in the other direction and it came unclamped.

I worked hard on getting it just right. I made a couple of prototypes and got them working perfectly. The clamps would close and lock on a one-inch pipe. The outside of the clamp had a stainless-steel ring attached. Many of our standard products attached to such rings.

The clamps enabled an endless variety of setups of the inside of the van. It could be equipped for large, heavy objects and converted to shelving for hundreds of small, light-weight products in a matter of minutes. Our customers could quickly adapt their vans to each individual client, when required.

Then it was my big moment. I took the two prototypes to Mr. Atherton. His first comment was swallowed. He lit up and said, "These would be perfect ...", he stopped himself and blushed.

I had no idea what he was blushing about, but it made me uneasy, too. He fumbled with some words and regained his composure. I later found out, quite by coincidence that he thought the use might be for self-bondage. I had never heard of self-bondage, and so never even thought about such a concept.

My curiosity was sparked.

The spark grew and grew. My fantasies soon were all about being helplessly tied and ravaged. That led to trying it at home. I was naked on the bed ready to be bound. I had a one-inch pipe secured on each side of the headboard. Each pipe had an open Atherton clamp secured to it by the attached ring. On each knee was an 18-inch loop of satin rope. I had practiced this many times. I knew I had around a minute to get ready.

I heard Dave come in and call my name. I put a ball gag in my mouth and fastened it, I put my left arm through the loop on my left knee, reached up and clamped my left wrist to the pipe. I got my arm and right leg in their loop, put on the blindfold, and clamped my right hand to the headboard.

Trust me, it takes a lot of practice to hit that pipe blind-folded, but where there's a will, there's a way. Dave would have no way of knowing if I'd been like that for a minute or an hour.

He came in and went crazy. He was on me in about ten seconds. I would describe him as frantic. Well, it's not like I was calm. Wet and ready, I didn't need much to get off. As excited as he was, he didn't have much. It was over in a white-hot flash.

When he finished, he wanted to untie me and I shook my head, no. I hoped he would force himself on me and take my up-turned ass. There was lube on both sides of me. In his defense, I guess when you look at a woman trussed as I was it is easy to believe he'd miss a barrel of oil, let alone a tube or two of lube.

He just made love to me, again. Then he untied me and wanted to know how I could possibly do that, get tied up like that. I said, I'd never tell.

The more I thought about it, it left me a little flat. I was so vulnerable he could have done anything. But he didn't go wild, he just made love to me and had to be encouraged to go for the second time. The gentle sex didn't quell my need, it heightened it. There was so much more which could be done. You don't get trussed up like that to make love.

It suddenly struck me the man I loved and wanted to cherish and respect me was not a man who could also use and abuse me. It was a comforting thought, in a way. I needed the love, support, and affection. It was wrong to also expect such opposite behaviors from the same person. I was lucky to have such a loving husband.

I decided to put away my kinky self, in all its forms. Dave was loving and faithful to me. I would be faithful to him. I didn't want him to force himself on me, so, I'd have to do without. That solution was logical, just like engineering school taught me, but it didn't calm the emotional fires burning in me.

The scuttlebutt was that Greg Atherton had driven his wife away, due to his need for kinky sex, bondage, and he had been alone since. I loved Mr. Atherton, not romantic love, but he was my teacher, my mentor, and suddenly a man with a weakness which I increasingly understood.

My logical mind started telling me faithful to Dave meant not loving anyone else. Fucking my submissive boss was hardly that.

I got more and more aggressive with Greg Atherton at work. Each time I did he'd get more submissive. One day I just told him he needed a good fucking, and I was going to give it to him. I told him to get a room at the truck stop near the fabrication plant, leave a key to the room in his car, call me with the room number, get himself naked and bound face down on the bed and wait.

He out-did himself. I found him naked, bound (with Atherton clamps), blindfolded, and gagged. We both loved it. It became our routine and filled my need.

Then, it didn't.

The problem was, I needed to be the one tied to that bed.

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Atherton asked me to work with the head of manufacturing, Sue Dobson. The first few weeks we talked about Atherton Products and how to change to enable high quality and much more production.

We didn't talk much about our homes or families. I did know, like me, she was married with no children. Whenever I'd start to talk about Dave it seemed like she'd change the subject back to how to get another shelf in this model or that.

One day I mentioned my love of hard or harsh sex. She said she was just the opposite. She feared she was too staid. We were about to get into personal details, which we had always avoided. Suddenly, she suggested we get together with our hubbys. I loved the idea, and we planned a dinner at the country club.

When we met Sue and Dave just lit up. It seems they were childhood friends. It was a great evening, and we all became close.

After that, Sue and I talked about everything. She was worried about her marriage. She just wasn't willing to stretch her horizons, as she put it, with her husband. I told her I was just the opposite and had to reel myself in. I confided in her that left to my own devices I'd end up someone's sex slave. I just couldn't force that kind of behavior out of my sweet, loving husband.

Sue laughed and said she wished she could be like me. She got a serious look on her face and said I'd better watch myself around Ray Harrison, our paint supplier. He was in to dominating married women. He'd even approached her a couple of times. I assured her I would be cautious.

Another seed was planted and began rapidly growing.

I didn't have anything to do with paint. Greg Atherton took care of initial specifications and purchasing maintained proper supplies. I had seen Ray, though and he was beautiful. Tall, muscular, gruff looking, and irresistible. The seed became an obsession. I was driven to his reputation of pushing ladies' boundaries.

I decided I had to seduce him. I went to my favorite lingerie shop and bought a sexy lingerie ensemble: bra, panties, and garter belt. Black lace and very sheer. I wanted to make sure he was impressed. He always came to the offices on Tuesday morning. Sometimes I bumped into him, most days I didn't.

We had seen each other before, but I wasn't ready. Now, I was dressed from skin out just as I wanted. I walked casually by him and said hi. He looked at me and I don't know what it was, but he saw right through me.

He told me to go into my office and wait at the door. I did. He came in walked past me, turned, and closed the door.

"Hike up your skirt. Let's see whatchu got." His dom persona was all street talk, totally unlike his sales persona.

I hiked up my skirt to show him the stockings and sheer panties I'd worn just for him.

"Draws! Sluts don't wear draws. Next time I see you, you better not be wearin' no draws." He walked past me, opened the door, while I was scrambling to get my skirt back in place, and left.

If I'd had the sense I was born with that would have been it. But I was now fixated on meeting his demands. It began my undoing.

After he left, I found his business card in my file and called him. He didn't answer. I left a message explaining this was a little rough for me and I'd like to find some ground which we'd both enjoy. He didn't return the call. He was back on Thursday and saw me in the engineering lab. I was alone. He came in and told me to hike up my skirt.

"First, I'd like to set some boundaries." I offered as though it would make a difference.

"You really are a stupid slut. Why the fuck would I care if you want boundaries?" Again, he turned left the lab and I didn't see him until Friday morning.

By that time, I was fidgety, anxious, and down-right horny. He came into my office, closed the door, and stared at me. You done fucked this week up. You dress like a schoolteacher and act like one, too. I ain't interested in a teacher. I'm lookin' for a slut. You a slut?"

I sat at my desk and thought of what I wanted to say. I knew if I said a word of it, he'd be gone, again. So, instead, "Yes." I uttered timidly.

He sat in one of my guest chairs, unzipped, then unbuckled his pants and belt, pulled out his penis and said, "It ain't gonna suck itself."

I jumped out of my chair and started around my desk. He put his hand out palm first.

"Crawl."

Four days into my time with him and I was crawling to give him a blow job. I was doing my very best to please him. I was so horny I reached one hand under my skirt, to give some relief to my pantyless pussy.

He pushed my head back. Slapped my face, hard enough to get my attention and said, "who said anything about you pleasurin' yourself? This is about me.

What kinda slut are you?"

I looked up at him like the proverbial deer in the headlights. I had no idea what to say.

"You stupid slut! You gonna suck the dick, or what?"

I got back to my new role in life. When he'd finished, in my mouth, he looked at me and said, "You need some punishment. No dick and no orgasms for you 'til I see you Tuesday."

He stared at me or through me, I think through me. I just nodded my head, accepting his order.

Rare, maybe unheard of for me, I put Dave off that weekend. He asked me what was wrong, and I said I just didn't feel well. I had never used that as an excuse, so I guess he believed me. I got more anxious and was so horny by Tuesday I thought I'd burst.

He came into my office about 11 and said we were going to lunch. I just nodded. We got in his car and drove to the Holiday Inn. He already had a room.

Quickly we were in the room, and he told me to "be naked". In a heartbeat, I was. He told me to get his clothes off. My hands were trembling enough I had trouble unbuttoning his shirt.

He had me get on my knees and started peppering me with questions. Had I cum? Was I a slut? Was I his slut? Did I want him to fuck me?

I don't know how long it went, but by the time he took me from behind on the bed I was fully compliant with anything he said. I was totally broken.

The orgasm I had as he entered me was the strongest, I'd ever had. I know I passed out for a while. Like any addict I needed to chase that first fleeting rush.

Dave was such a considerate lover. He always made sure I had an orgasm or several before we finished any love making. Ray used my orgasms as a weapon against me.

He'd tease me and get me so excited, then make me beg. He'd make me say good things about him and bad things about Dave. 'He was a great lover; Dave couldn't measure up'. I don't think there was really much difference in size or skill between them, but it was the game we played.

Unfortunately, you behave submissively for someone and in not too long you are submissive to them.