The Mask of Submission Ch. 03

As we had discussed, Simon and I had a very long and very frank talk about the night we had shared and the language I had used.

It seems so odd to imagine that a couple who had been together as long as Simon and I could be so nervous to talk openly about sex, but just the same we put off discussing what had occurred for a few days. I think both of us were trying to collect our thoughts and examine some things about ourselves that we had never taken the time to consider.

For Simon, I had no doubt that his main concern was propriety and politics, but not simply as it affected his career. We had both always known that as an interracial couple we had something of an example to set for the world. It was important to us both that we be regarded as normal and healthy people in a normal and healthy relationship, and that desire manifested itself in every aspect of our lives.

It informed the way that we had raised our three children and it informed the way we presented ourselves in public together, just as it affected the way that we presented ourselves in our separate work lives. It was always important to us that our relationship not be seen as one primarily driven by sexuality. I remember how angry Simon had become when we first started dating in college, when some of his white friends joked with him about having jungle fever. It had always annoyed me when my black friends used my marriage to a white man to lament the absence of good black men in America, had always tried to point out that our marriage was not based upon convenience or lust or lack of options. It was not any sort of fetish for either of us, it was a marriage.

It had always been important to us, and we both felt that it was worth the price that we sometimes paid for such a stance. I think that we had always come across as a little uptight, we were not an easy couple to joke around. When it came to matters of race I think that people of all colors tended to avoid the subject in our presence as though suspecting we might be inclined to lecture. In some ways it had lead to ours seeming like a marriage of politics or something we had done as a social statement, which was not the case at all. Simon and I loved each other, had since we first met at Georgetown, and politics and society had never entered into it at all.

But all the same it was fair to say that our choices and beliefs had an impact on the way we lived our lives. Certainly it had always affected our sexuality.

Simon loved my body, I never had any cause to doubt that, but when we were in public together he was always careful where he put his hands. He would never put his hand on my waist in public, he would certainly never have let it fall to my ample rear. He was so careful that I not be seen in a salacious light, in most of the public photographs that had ever been taken of us at his political functions the most intimate moment captured was us lightly holding hands.

In private of course things were different. Simon loved to fondle my firm round ass and my full breasts, he loved to compliment the beauty he found in the color of my skin and the tight curls of my hair...he loved that I was a woman of color but did not love me because I was a woman of color.

I loved Simon's body in turn, there was not a request he could have made of me that I wouldn't have considered at least, bu we had never really pushed those boundaries. We had always been happy with the way that things were, regular missionary sex, usually once or twice a week but never patterned or planned always an act of spontaneous love. I would suck Simon off on his birthday, but in all the years of our marriage he had never gone down on me, it would have been strange, I thought, if I were to ask him to. He almost certainly would have done so, it only seemed to me like a transgression of the delicate and proper lines that we had drawn for ourselves.

So it would never have dawned on Simon on his own to throw me on a bed and take me doggy style. It would never have occurred to him to slap my ass as hard as he could or to pound my wet pussy until it was sore. I had never imagined that I would ask him to call me a bitch or a whore, certainly not a black bitch or a black whore. It had never crossed my mind to use the word slave during our lovemaking.

But then, in one moment of passion, I had. We had gone further together than we had ever gone before, and we had said things, done things, that we had no place for in our ordered world. As embarrassing as it seemed to be, it was not something that we could just ignore. That is not the way our marriage worked.

Of course I also had concerns that were all my own. Simon must have imagined that my behavior was simply born of desire, that it came from nowhere and was simply something that had manifested itself quite unexpectedly. How could I tell my husband that I was going through something incredibly strange and incredibly improper? How could I explain to him that my actions and my words that night had been informed by a memory of my mother's youthful sexuality and by a photograph of our own daughter?

What could I have said?

Certainly I could never have admitted that the emotions and thoughts that had come out during our somewhat aggressive sex had not ceased with our shared orgasms. As much as it embarrassed me, as much as it frightened me, the origins of my behavior were still very much upon my mind. I confess, I had honestly gone a little further in my mind since that night, down a path that was both fascinating and frightening to me.

The first time I had masturbated to the Polaroid I had found, the one which showed my daughter Corrie holding a young man's penis in her hand and licking as his ass with he tongue, I had excused my behavior by telling myself that it had simply triggered a fantasy, that the image, combined with the memory of my mother being roughly taken on my childhood breakfast table, had simply provoked in me a desire to imagine myself in the same position. I had not brought myself to orgasm while thinking of my daughter with a man, I had done while imagining myself in a similar position with my husband. In the same way, I had not cum with Simon that night because the image of my mother being taken roughly had popped into my head, I had come because Simon was fucking me, and it simply reminded me of something that had already been upon my mind.

But in the days that followed that first passionate night, I found myself returning again and again to those images in my mind, to the fantasy I had constructed around them. And if I am honest, I was not only imagining myself in the place that my family members had occupied. Instead, more and more, I found myself thinking of those images as they were, as other women caught in a moment of erotic delight. And as much as I tried to ignore the fact that it was my own mother and my daughter that I was using as the fodder for my fantasies, I had to admit to myself that in part that was what made the fantasies so thrilling.

Quite frankly I had passed the point of confusion and entered into a territory stranger still, a mental space of creeping fear. For what did it say about me that I could find pleasure in such things? In the sexuality of my own mother and of my own beautiful daughter? What kind of mother was I, what kind of person even? On that same note, it troubled me what I had cried out to Simon during sex, the desire I expressed to be treated as a slave. How was I to explain such a thing to Simon when I could not fully justify it within myself?

When a few days had passed and we finally sat down to talk, I was relieved when Simon took the initiative, as I really had no idea myself of how or where to begin.

We sat down together in the evening, side by side upon our living room couch. It is funny now to think how shy we were, how much we stumbled in our beginning. The way we both seemed so intent on keeping our eyes down on our feet, the way we did not know what to do with our fingers, with our hands. We had been married more than twenty years, three children already grown and there we sat shy as two virgins dancing around the edge of a great precipice.

Simon began by telling me that he loved me of course, and that he hoped I was not embarrassed by the things I had said, the things i had asked him to do.

"I'm a little surprised." He admitted, "But the truth is I really did like it...the way you were acting, it was just so unexpected and surprising...it was like making love to...well..."

"To someone else?" I asked, nodding. "I felt like someone else to be honest."

"That's not something I've ever considered of course," Simon said quickly. "I mean, you know how much I love you Gwen, you know that I'd never go after other women...but yeah. I guess it was nice to fantasize. Like for a little while I wasn't a public figure and you were not my beautiful wife...we were just two people who could do whatever they wanted. I guess we've been so focused on our public lives that I never stopped to consider what I might really want behind closed doors. I guess I never considered what you might want baby...I'm really sorry for that."

"Honey, there's nothing to be sorry for. I've always been so happy in our marriage, in our lives...it's only in the last little bit that I've just been wondering about other things."

"And you don't know what brought it on?"

"Not really." I lied, knowing full well what had spawned my newfound desires. "Maybe it's just that things are changing...Corrie graduating, Tim and Joanne going away for the summer...Maybe I'm just at the point in my life when I have more time to look inwards, start to wonder what certain experiences might be like."

"And did you?" Simon asked and he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "I mean, did you like it rough like that?"

"Oh, baby, I loved it." I promised him. "You were so good, so powerful...It felt great to be so free and uninhibited with you. But if it makes you uncomfortable than it's not something we have to explore. I'm happy with the way things are."

And I realized as I said those words that I was lying again, or at least I was not being wholly honest. It was true that I was happy in our life together, but there was also a growing part of me that yearned for more. The fantasies that my mother and daughter had triggered in my mid were desperate for release, screaming to find a hold upon my life and the waking world.

I wanted to experience what they had experienced, to finally push the boundaries of my sexuality further, far further than they had ever been tested before. I wanted to feel what my mother must have felt in that hazy memory in my mind, to be thrown nude across a table, to be taken roughly from behind as a gag muffled my cries for more. I wanted to be down on some cold floor and feel rough hands upon my skin, controlling me, bending me to a will beyond my own, to be taken and to be dominated completely by a force that I was powerless to resist.

If Simon did not want to go any further I would have accepted it. I would have fought against the desires coursing more and more frequently through my body...but I don't think I would have been happy with it. I would have pretended for Simon's sake, I loved him after all, but I doubt that it could have ever been more than a pretense. Something had woken up inside of me, and it was demanding to be satisfied.

Yet then I felt Simon's hand softly upon my knee, and he smiled at me as he told me once again that he loved me.

"Maybe we've both been a little too concerned with what people think." He told me, and slowly his hand crept upwards towards my thigh. " Maybe it would be good for us to explore a little bit more. After all, were two consenting adults, very much in love...what's the harm if we get a little rough, or talk a little dirty?"

His hand had slipped beneath the hem of my skirt and I felt the brush of his fingertips upon the cotton panties that covered my pussy, which had quickly moistened at his words. I spread my legs a little wider, allowing his hand easier access to my most sensitive area, and I moaned a little bit as his finger pressed against the crease of my vaginal lips, danced fleeting across my covered clitoris.

"No harm at all baby." I sighed. "Nobody will ever even know."

"Then I guess the question Gwen...how far does my little black slut want to go?"

His fingers brushed my panties to the side, and I gasped as his index finger passed my lips and entered me, wiggling as it went.

"All the way." I told him as I closed my eyes and let the sensation of his finger wash over me. "I want to go as far as you will take me...use me baby, make me your bitch...oh god...I want to be dominated. Baby, I want to be your slave..."

"Alright honey...if that's the way you want it..."

And I gasped all over again as I felt a second finger slide in to join the first.

That night was the wildest I had ever had, and I think both of us were surprised by the depths of the passion that we had stored up within us.

Simon quickly fingered me to an orgasm right there on the couch, no thought of the noise that I made or the fact that we had not drawn the blinds on the windows. To be sure, our nearest neighbor was two hundred yards down the road and we could not even see his house from our own, but it was a risk that we had never before allowed ourselves, and it felt wonderful that evening to let my voice climb as loud as it liked as Simon's fingers did their work upon m sopping pussy and my tender clit.

Nor was that the whole of it, not by a long shot. For I had not even finished my orgasm before Simon rose from the couch and taking a hold of my hair dragged me down to the floor, dropping his trousers before my wide and surprised eyes. There was no shy request, no hesitant plea for my mouth upon his prick, no, the hot shaft was all at once simply pressed against my cheek and it was obvious what my husband wanted in that moment, and without a word I was happy to oblige.

Kneeling there on the floor of my living room, with Simon's burning prick filling my mouth, so eager for one another that we had not even bothered to undress I could not help but to wonder what had taken us so long. Why had it needed so much work to bring us to the place we had now reached? And had these desires and impulses always lurked inside of me, some secret place which I had always been too timid to venture?

On the floor, giving the loudest and sloppiest blowjob that I was capable of, while Simon's hands held my head firmly upon his dick, it seemed as though there must have been. I had never been more turned on in my life, it did not matter that I had cum already, I wanted more, so much more. I could feel my pussy throbbing each time that Simon whispered some fresh slur, some filthy label for how he saw me in that exquisite moment. I think I would have done anything then, I would have happily let him cum in my mouth, or even on my face if that was what he had desired, I think I would have happily let him fuck me in the ass for the first time...I would have loved it it if he had turned around and ordered me to tongue his ass, just as I had seen my daughter doing for some boy in the photograph that I had discovered.

That night the last of my inhibitions were dying away, and I only wanted more, wanted everything and all at once.

After I had sucked my husband off for a while, and it seemed that he was getting close, he pulled his prick from my slurping and eagre moth, and we simply fell upon each other, tearing away the clothes that separated our bodies. Right there on the floor I rode my husband like a woman possessed and when he shot his load into my hot pussy I came once more, screaming on his dick.

After that night things moved rather swiftly. Our timidity could not hold in the face of our newfound desire, and in a matter of days our sexuality found a way to upend the staid balance of our so carefully arranged lives. For the first time in years I actually took time off from work, telling my legal partners that I would be going on vacation, but really it was simply so I could be at home and available anytime that Simon had a spare minute to fuck me. For his part, Simon was as eager as I was, and cut his work on the campaign back as far as he possibly could.

That first week we hardly left the house and we were both carried on in a wave of amazement as we glimpsed depths of our natures that we had never known to have existed before.

Simon had taken me quite literally it turned out when I had screamed that I wanted to be his slave, and from the night where we came to an understanding my husband lost no time in making that fantasy come true. Maybe even as I slept off the passion of our lovemaking Simon had immersed himself online, reading up on the subject and making discrete online purchases which began to arrive on our doorstep within twenty four hours. He clearly had no concern for the expense, and even though many of the items were alien to both of us Simon seemed confident that we could figure them out and find them quite desirable.

That first week I found myself spending most of my waking hours in positions and in situations that just a short while before I would have found dangerous and terrifying. I found myself handcuffed, blindfolded, gagged, mewling in pleasure as Simon explored the kinkiest of his long dormant desires upon my helpless and willing body.

His appreciation for my firm round ass blossomed into an obsession it seemed, Simon could spend hours squeezing it, petting it, and of course punishing it. The latter seemed especially thrilling to him, and from the start of our experiment it was clear that it was probably what thrilled him most. He would bend me over on the bed, or over the arm of a sofa or chair, my hands manacled at the wrist behind my back and a gag in my mouth to keep me from crying out, and he would lose himself completely in the act of spanking me, delighting in every jiggle and movement of my ebony cheeks from the impact of his hard white hand. Sometimes he would go further still, using a yardstick on my ass like I was a naughty child in some old schoolroom drama. When a heavy leather flogger arrived in one of the packages that quickly became his favorite toy.

He would tie me down and whisper soft cruelties to me as I moaned and felt those wide leather straps bite into my helpless flesh. For hours on end, until my eyes were brimming with tears and my skin did not feel like it could take another stroke and I would be pleading through my gag for Simon to stop and let my black behind have a rest. When he had brought me to that point he would usually cease, and then he would get behind me and spend a long time running his tongue over the welts and marks which he had raised, usually stroking himself off as he did so until at last he could not hold back any longer and would fuck my ever needy pussy like an animal. He clearly got a special thrill out of shooting his load upon my ass and watching the thick white semen slowly roll off my dark black skin. A few times he even spread my cheeks with his hand and carefully shot his cum at my tight asshole, using that as a sort of bullseye to protect his aim.

By the end of the first week we had made love in every single room of our large house, the most thrilling for me was when Simon tied me down on the bed of Corrie's old bedroom. The mattress still smelled faintly of my daughter's body, of her old perfume, and when Simon decided he did not want me crying out he had gone through Corrie's old dresser, and stuffed an old pair of my daughters panties into my mouth. It was an innocent thing of course, Simon had no idea how hot it made me, to smell Corrie all around me as my husband hammered away at my wet pussy. To hold something that had touched my daughters most precious secrets in my mouth as Simon stood over me and sprayed my face with his hot cum...