tagMind ControlThe Addicted Natural Ch. 09

The Addicted Natural Ch. 09


Chapter 9 -- Dee's Diary -- The Boathouse


Dear Diary,

Bet you never thought you'd hear from ME again!

Early yesterday evening, Brenda came out of the house and walked down the hill toward the lake holding YOU. I couldn't believe it. I'd really, really forgotten all about you; but of course, I've forgotten a lot about my life ... before. She wasn't bringing you to me, of course, she was carrying you to Master, who was sitting on the wooden swing under the big oak, reading some school papers. She sat next to him and told him she'd found it among some of my old things, and they flipped through you and talked about me as if I wasn't just 30 feet away working in one of the flower beds. She grinned at me as she got up and walked back inside while Master became engrossed in you, the papers totally forgotten.

And then this morning after we'd finished breakfast (Master just LOVES my French toast!), he told me that I was to write one more entry explaining what has happened to me during this past month. I started to protest. But protesting, of course, is something I'm not allowed to do.

"Right after I do the dishes," I promised. "And the bathrooms. Today is bathroom day."

But Master would have none of my excuses, and to my utter horror, he instructed Brenda that she was to take over my chores until I finished my assignment. This seemed to delight her. She grinned broadly as she took the dishes to the sink and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, and she laughed at my obvious discomfort. These menial tasks are supposed to be MINE! Seeing her working at my chores absolutely tortures me, and she knows it!

"Please get started, Dee," Master urged. "I'd really like you to be done before dinner. Lord only knows what type of food Brenda will abuse if she has to take over cooking duties."

She stuck out her tongue at him.

And so, here I am again, Diary. Let's see. Begin at the beginning, I suppose.

I really don't remember what day of the week my new life began (Master has forbidden me to look back and read previous entries), but I do remember that it was early afternoon when I put you in a box in my closet and rushed downstairs to greet my Master in the old house. I drew up short when I found him deep in conversation with Ben, who was polishing the Ghost. I approached them tentatively, and Ben told me that he remembered him very well. Fred had actually interviewed him (and Daddy, too!) four years earlier while doing a magazine story on Rolls Royce's in the U.S. Can you imagine?! I must have been working inside in the office at the time, and HE'D BEEN HERE!

I took him on the grand tour, inside and out, which took the better part of an hour, of course, but for some reason, we wound up in the big office.

"Dee," he told me seriously, "I'm going to need to get some sort of feel about what you own ... money wise, I mean. Can you show me some sort of balance sheet; your assets, debits and credits ... that sort of thing?"

The look on my face must have been pretty emphatic, because he immediately asked me what was wrong. "Oh, nothing," I murmured, walking to the desk and beginning the task of entering all the passwords into the computer. I felt one of the old telltale tears slide down my cheek, and he more or less ordered me to tell him what the matter was.

"Brenda told me I'd never have to think about the money again," I said quietly. "But I should have known that was impossible ...."

And before I could finish logging into the accounts, he took me gently by the arm and hoisted me out of the chair. I looked up at him questioningly.

"Would you like to be hypnotized now?" he asked calmly.

"Yes!" I answered too loudly, too quickly, too earnestly. He laughed. I blushed. He told me to look into his eyes. And soon my whole world just spun away, and I was safely in my "room," away from all the thoughts of money and the other horribly mundane things that had defined my old life.

When he told me to awaken, I leaned back in the big desk chair and stretched. I felt wonderful. I glanced at the computer screen, but all my programs had been logged off, and I wondered what had happened while I was in my trance. He was straightening out a couple pages of notes, all in his own handwriting, but he laid them aside.

"Do you want me?" I asked in a small voice.

"Get up," he ordered, and of course I did. "Come here," he insisted sternly, and I walked around the desk and stood very close to him. I waited for another command, and I wanted to kiss him SO badly. Despite that desire, I was still shocked when he began undressing me. He unbuttoned and removed my blouse, tortuously slowly, and then my skirt and folded each in its turn, draping them across the computer. Next came my bra, and he feasted on the site of my big breasts bouncing and swinging before him. He peeled down my panties, and I was acutely aware of my sandals, the only article of clothing left on me, and more or less in spite of them I felt more naked and vulnerable than I've ever felt in my life.

He gently turned me around so that my back pressed against him, and I could feel the hardness of his cock through his pants. He slid his hands around my waist, up and down my sides, forward over my tummy, upward to cup my breasts, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, over and over again. His palms felt rough against the tender flesh of my pliable mounds, and I began to feel oh so feminine. Sliding his forearm down around my waist, he bent me over the big desk, my chest ballooning against the highly polished finish. His hands roamed my back and sides and legs and buttocks, stroking, petting, rubbing. He pushed my legs apart. I urgently wanted to please him, but my traitorous body forced my mind to other matters. He dipped a finger into my slippery opening, then two (three? Two, at least. It might have been three), and I felt moisture on my inner thighs just below my cunt. I was dripping. A moan escaped my lips, and I was suddenly embarrassed to realize that it was not the first. I want to please him, my mind said. Shut up and feel what he's doing to you now, my body replied. Oh, yes. Yes! I pushed back against the wonderful fingers (it MUST be three!).

But they were suddenly gone, and I gasped in utter disappointment. I should have gotten up and fallen on my knees in front of him, taking his wonderful cock into my mouth, but all I seemed capable of doing at the moment was panting, my breasts flattening as I filled my lungs with precious air.

That's when I heard the zipper! A fascinating source of sound, a zipper. It seems to have the power to force all sorts of thoughts into one's head. The cock he rubbed up and down my slit was maddening! It touched me in just the right spot, then slid away, searching, searching, then at last it found its target, pushing into me, spreading me, forcing itself, so slippery, so big ... SO BIG! ... Oh!

I found myself somehow with my hands gripping the far edge of the desktop, holding on for dear life, pushing back to meet him. Gosh, he was so deep ... so deep ... so deep. He was pressing into that thing, that spot inside me that he had first introduced me to the night before, and as he established his rhythm, his thighs slap, slap, slapping my buttocks as he spread and filled me over and over and over, I knew I was not far away. My mind was still frantic, trying to think of SOME way, someTHING to increase HIS pleasure; but soon I was once again so lost in my own mounting ecstasy that all I could do was arch back against him and just hold on. That's when he reached around me and touched me right on my clit. He didn't rub or pinch or fondle; he didn't need to. Just the touch, like a push-button on a machine, like a pleasure switch that, once pressed lightly, activated my whole body. I screamed. And came and came and came.

I must have passed out for a moment, because the next thing I knew, I was standing limply in his arms, breathing raggedly, crying softly. Slowly, I put my arms around him and held his clothed body against my very, very naked one. I felt something warm and wet and slimy against my tummy, and without looking down, I knew it was his deflating cock, dripping out its last effluence. I felt his juices dripping down my inner thighs, too, and I knew the joy of having been the receptacle of his pleasure.

"I love, you," I whispered into his chest. "I'll do anything ... anything ...."

And he just held me for the longest time.

He ordered me to get dressed again, and once presentable, he told me to go and get my suitcase and then meet me near the front door. I raced to do his bidding, and when I found him again, he was talking to Ben and Martha, telling them that I would be staying in town tonight, and not to worry. Martha took me aside and told me that she thought my new "guy" was a real winner, and I blushed and gave her a hug.

Fred told me to get the keys to my car, and we left his vehicle parked at the house while he drove the Mercedes. He looked good behind the wheel. It was his car now, I thought. Everything I used to have is his.

He stopped along the way and bought a bucket of fried chicken with the trimmings, and when we got home, we found that Brenda had already set the table for dinner. Fred uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay, and we toasted our first night together as a "threesome."

Now, since I have been instructed by my Master not to look back at previous entries, I'm not sure I've commented to you, Diary, about my little drinking problem. I have ALWAYS been very, very susceptible to the effects of drink. I really love white wine, which is a shame, because even one glass has always made me very tipsy and giggly. After two glasses, I become embarrassingly drunk, and I can hardly talk. Looking back on my relationship with Brenda, I guess that this commonality should have alerted us to our strange kinship. It's obviously a prominent trait among "Naturals."

Our dinner conversation started with Fred beginning a very well-thought-out list of rules which would effectively govern my life from that moment forward. Each one only added to my sense of total servitude and well being. To begin with, I was not allowed to even think about the family's financial affairs. I was to henceforth consider myself penniless and totally dependent on Fred for all necessities. He would grant me the use of a bank debit card on grocery shopping days, but I was not to use it for anything else without prior permission, and I was to account for every item purchased with a receipt. Brenda would be in charge of buying all my clothes and personal items, and if I felt I needed anything at all for myself, I was to go to her and ask her to purchase it for me. I was to do all of the cooking, cleaning, and household chores. I would always make myself available to him sexually. I smiled meekly. This whole situation was turning out to be more than I could have possibly hoped for. I found myself thinking that I was fabulously happy.

That groundwork being set, the conversation turned to what we had done during the long afternoon, and Brenda talked about the article she was writing. She can be a very passionate person, in her work as well as her private life, and due to the wine, she was soon expansively making her point about a woman who had been wronged by "The System," meaning of course, state government bureaucracy. When she'd talked to her own satisfaction, she asked what I'd been doing, and from my blush, she quite rightly assumed that I'd been "good and properly porked" by her loving husband; an accusation that left us both laughing and giggling uncontrollably while Fred could only smile and shake his head.

But we both sobered up promptly when he told us that we would be moving to the lake house during the next couple of weeks. After the shock of the announcement wore off, we two women could talk of nothing else. I thought it was an absolutely fabulous idea, and after some consideration, Brenda concurred. But again Fred laid down some strict guidelines. I would be left to pack up the household items here for the move, while Brenda would pick some things of mine from the big house which I would be allowed to have in our "new home." There wouldn't be many, he warned. My old life was gone. There was nothing in my new life except dedication to my Master.

After we'd talked some more, and it was obvious that dinner had officially ended, I got up and started doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Left alone with my thoughts, I once again considered my utter joy at my new freedom. But when I had finished in the kitchen and walked into the living room only to find it empty, I followed faint noises until I finally found Fred and Brenda in the master bedroom. Those noises begged a certain degree of cautious stealth, and I tiptoed to the doorway and peeked around the corner into the room. Sitting on a chair, stark naked, his back to me, my new Master sat looking down between his widely spread knees as his equally naked wife bobbed her head up and down on his cock.

"I don't know, Brenda," he groaned. "I only came a couple hours ago .... I .... Oh, my God!" He threw his head back, his eyes shut tightly, and he moaned loudly. Brenda opened her eyes and looked up at him, then she shifted her gaze and caught me watching. I involuntarily stepped back a small pace, but I didn't seem to have the power to stop gawking at the spectacle. I don't think I have ever seen a more compelling sight. Brenda's interest in me lasted only a second, and her eyes raised again toward the enraptured face of her husband. He moaned once more, and she opened her mouth as wide as she could, and lowered herself fully onto his engorged manhood, taking him fully into her throat.

With another loud groan, he reached down and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away. She lurched back at him as if he was denying a bit of food to a starving girl, and she struggled feebly to regain the massive morsel. "I want to fuck you," he hissed between clenched teeth, and with a great effort, she stopped her struggling and jumped up.

"Can I get on top, Freddy? Please! Please, I want to get on top!" and she pulled him to his feet and then pushed him backwards toward the bed. As he turned and lay back, I could see the questioning look on his face, but he consented. He never saw me in the darkened doorway. Brenda leapt upon him, straddling him easily, but she had to struggle to get him inside. She leaned forward as she fed the monster into her cunt, groaned loudly, then leaned back to sit straight atop him. Again, it was his turn to make a sound, which came from deep in his throat. He closed his eyes, moved his hands to her breasts, and breathed raggedly as she began moving up and down on his manhood. In an easy motion, she raised her right hand and swept her long, sleek black hair over her left shoulder, then glanced back over her right one and again made eye contact with me. I just stood there, rooted to the spot, watching, watching. There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I placed the palm of my hand against the flat of my tummy and tried to imagine what he felt like to her. I thought that if I closed my eyes, I could almost feel it. My eyes were locked into hers. It was as if there was some sort of link between us. And then her eyes fluttered for a moment, opened again and locked on mine, fluttered once more, then rolled upward. She shouted "Oh Golly, Freddy!" and turned back toward her lover, unable to think about me any longer.

I dropped to my knees and crawled to the foot of the bed, reached up, grasped the edge, and pulled myself up to peek over it. I'm sure, had either of them glanced back to see me, that I'd have looked like Kilroy peering over a fence. Fred's legs were spread slightly, Brenda's ass moved upward, downward, upward; and the cock was very visible as it stuck proudly up from his loins. It glistened. Her juices coated it and dripped from it, as well as down the insides of her thighs. Did I get that wet during sex? There was oily wetness everywhere. It even coated the top of his balls.

She suddenly cried out and started a series of "Aaahh -- Aaahh -- Aaahh -- Aaahh!" noises, and as she did, I could see the muscles of her thighs, and even the ring of cunt flesh that surrounded the phallic invader, tighten and contract in rhythm with her exclamations. Fred suddenly bellowed loudly, and when he did, Brenda began pumping up and down again very rapidly, still making her "Aaahh -- Aaahh" noises. The juices coating the monster cock suddenly turned white. His cum joined and mingled with her juices. I could smell it.

Slowly, I slid down, turned and sat on the floor, my back to the footboard of the bed, and I tried not to breathe too loudly. Oh, I needed to cum. I wanted to feel it SO much. But I couldn't. This was my destiny now. I would only know sex when I was called upon by my Master to provide it. I lowered myself to the floor, finding comfort from at least being in the same room with him, and I lay down and curled into a fetal position, staying like that for a long time. I might have slept a little.

But then Brenda was pulling me to my feet, shushing me, and telling me to strip out of my clothes. It was very dark (she must have turned off all the lights), and I could feel her hands on my skirt, helping me remove it. Soon, I was completely naked, and her body was very near mine, touching it here and there with her own as she pulled me over to the edge of the bed, raising the sheet and turning me so that I would lie facing the edge. I heard Fred snort once, then calm and finally he began to snore. Brenda pushed me toward him gently, and he threw a lazy arm over me and pulled me to him, cuddling into my back. I stayed like that for many long seconds, when I became aware of yet another hand on my body. Brenda had crawled into the bed from the other side, and she had put her arm over both of us, her hand lying gently on my hip. Fred was sandwiched between his two women. I sighed and closed my eyes. I've heard countless stories of people who are kept awake at night by a person's snoring. Fred's, however, has the opposite effect on me (I have since found that it's the same with Brenda). If I listen to it for a few minutes, I always fall right asleep. And I did.

(Brenda just walked by with the cleaning supplies, going from the job in one bathroom to the other. It's torturing me, knowing that she's soiling her beautiful hands on a job that is rightfully mine. She's so pretty and so petit. I just can't stand it! She's smug, too. She KNOWS what it's doing to me inside. She's really infuriating, sometimes. God, I love her.)

(But I must continue or Brenda will be cooking dinner tonight.)

For the next two weeks, I was very busy. Fred has morning classes four times a week, and Brenda was nearing a deadline for the article. I cleaned the little house over and over, and walked to a small grocery every other day, where I used the debit card Fred had given me to buy the things I needed to prepare meals. I also began the task of boxing up the books and other items in the living room, getting ready for the big move. Every afternoon, he and I would go to the big house, where we would chat with Ben and Martha for a few minutes and then go right to the office. There, I would quickly and willingly be put into a deep, deep trance by my Master. I never looked at a clock, but I know that we would spend many hours at a time in there. Letters started coming for me, very official letters, some from state and federal government offices, but I was never allowed to open and read them (or if I was, it was only after I had been "put under"). A few times, Brenda would accompany us to the mansion, and while I was in my trance, she was up in my room (and sometimes in Mommy's room, the attic and some of the storage rooms), rummaging through things and picking which clothes and other items would accompany me to our new home at the lake. She packed several boxes, but I neither knew nor cared what was in them.

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